2007 Race report by Anne Wade
Having completed the Marathon des Sables in 2006 with my husband Vaughan (the horrific year of the severe sandstorms and high drop-out rates), we thought that La Trans Aq’ would be much more benign. How wrong we were!
Based along similar lines as the MdS, La Trans Aq’ is a 6-stage ultra-distance endurance race along the Aquitaine coast in South West France. We thought that the weather would be kinder than in the desert and that there would be shade in the pine forests and, perhaps most importantly, we only had to carry 3 days worth of food at a time. However, it was incredibly humid and we have never run so permanently saturated with sweat. Also the trails were much hillier and sandier than we were expecting. Surprisingly, our sand gaiters were in far greater need here too.
La Trans Aq’ is organised by Gérard and Caroline Caupène, who work tirelessly to ensure that the whole event runs smoothly and they look after everyone’s well-being, including the 50 volunteer helpers. In fact, it was Gérard who greeted us at the railway station upon our arrival and, when we got to Le Pin Sec, ushered us into a marquee where a typical and most delicious French lunch awaited us, complete with copious quantities of Médoc wine! There was only a small group so far and it felt like we were meeting up with long lost relatives, such was the friendliness and camaraderie of everyone there. I was pleased that we could understand and speak some French, otherwise it would have been hard to join in the fun conversation and repartee.
The afternoon was hot and sultry and we spent the time exploring the dunes, beach and surrounding forest. More and more participants were arriving and by the evening meal (with more wine!), most of them were there: 130 or so in all. The catering team did an amazing job of feeding us all the most wonderful food out of the back of a truck. Then it was our first night in tents. We had 2-man tents arranged in groups of 4 around a central gas stove. This worked very well as we could socialise with our neighbours without even getting out of bed!
Next day was spent sorting, packing, weighing, resorting, repacking and reweighing kit. Until we had to finally give up our big bags and we were left with our rucksacks containing everything that we needed for the next 6 days, apart from the second 3 days of food. The weight limits for the rucksacks were 3.5 – 8 kg, without water, and mine weighed only 4.9 kg, so I was chuffed! Our halfway food bag could weigh no more than 2 kg, so mine contained food and nothing else. Out went the notion that I could have a change of clothes or even a luxury orange.
In the evening we had a briefing and we were given our ‘road books’ for the first day – a 28 km route from Le Pin Sec to La Gracieuse (a forestry house on the west side of Lac d’Hourtin-Carcans). The route was shown as a sketch map at a scale of approximately 1:25000. There was also an indication of the trail quality using a scale of S0 (no sand) to S5 (soft deep sand). Only a couple of S5 sections appeared on this first stage. Thank goodness! The locations of the orienteering punch controls, manned controls and water stops were also shown. Contour lines and spot heights completed the picture.
Our first taste of La Trans Aq’
An air of nervous anticipation greeted us in the mist of the first morning. The gas stove turned out to be frustratingly inefficient and it took ages to boil enough water for our tea and porridge. After several visits to the squat toilets, we waited to start the race that we had prepared and trained for over the past months. “Trois, deux, un”: we were off, careering up and over the dunes and down to the beach. The excitement and adrenaline enabled us to run fast along the beach in wet, but firm sand. In no time we were saturated from sweat, sea spray and drizzle, wiping it away from our eyes. After 6 km and with dripping hair we climbed up through the deep soft sand of the dunes, soon to reach the sandy forest tracks. There were plenty of volunteers at the road and cycle track crossings and we ran with “bon courage” and “bravo” ringing in our ears.
I fell behind Vaughan quite quickly and soon found myself alone in the forest. It was very dense and silent and beautiful and the narrow wiggly paths wound around, up and over the many hills. Forests are 3D spaces. They totally consume you and your senses are heightened as you feel their vitality: dripping leaves, swaying branches, cracking twigs, soft earth, tangible air. It all looks the same and, because there is no view, can become disorientating very quickly. Careful navigation is therefore essential and I kept my damp and increasingly limp road book at hand, hoping that it wouldn’t disintegrate before the end of the stage.
Photographers popped up in the most difficult places, capturing the grimaces of effort as the runners clawed their way up the sandiest steepest inclines. After 22 km I reached the lake and spent the remaining distance along the shore clambering over and under the many obstacles in the way. There were several heart-stopping moments of swinging out over the water to get around fallen trees. At last the finish was in sight and it was a good feeling to sprint over the line and amazingly enough I was second lady! I was so surprised. But it was only the first day.
The campsite was breathtaking – a very remote and spectacular lakeside setting. We spent the afternoon eating and snoozing in the warm sunshine. It was so relaxing and we decided that we were having a great holiday! We even got the slow stove sorted. In Heath Robinson style we put sticks under the pan supports and a sleep mat around to shield the burner from the breeze. The mat was held in place with safety pins and sticks in the ground to stop it tipping over. Ingenious!
After an excellent night’s sleep, we woke to another dull and drizzly morning, but: it was my birthday, and nothing was going to dampen my spirits. Today’s stage of 44 km began at 8.00 am after a French rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. The first 15km of the route were especially tiring and difficult with lots of soft sand and rollercoaster hills. I felt hungry, which was odd, because in the MdS we had the same food and I was not hungry at all. It was obvious that we were using up far more calories on this event. We were running, not just surviving. In fact, the quality of the running and the fitness and preparation of the participants was far higher overall.
Yesterday, I thought that I would get bored of 6 days of trees and sand. But today the scenery was different, with lots of open forest created by young trees and areas of brash from recent felling. We were also treated to a marvellously fast section along gravel tracks and a tarmac cycle path. A welcome relief from that sandy sinking feeling. The weather soon brightened up, though it remained incredibly humid and my body, clothes and rucksack were totally saturated.
Eventually I reached Le Lac de Lacanau and the next 10km involved finding my way along the lakeside, which proved difficult in places as there were a myriad of paths, patches of very soft sand and some commercial campsites to negotiate. Somehow I was catching people up and gradually overtaking them. On leaving the lake, there was a brilliant gravel track with a gentle downhill for at least 1km – heaven! Then a very prickly section through gorse bushes, before hitting a narrow concrete cycle path, which went on and on right up to the finish line at Le Lion (behind the dunes on the coast). It had been a very tough stage, but I was totally exhilarated!
One of the best things that greeted us at Le Lion was a water pump. This necessitated finding a friend to pump up the water by hand while you rinsed yourself and your clothes. It was incredibly refreshing and the camp soon resembled a Third World laundry with every branch of every bush sprouting new growths of colourful material. My legs had also sprouted hundreds of red spots where the gorse had attacked me.
The third day began in the dark as we rose at 5.00 am to get ready for the start at 7.00am. Again it was misty and running in the half light made it even more eerie and dream-like. Everyone set off at a fairly sedate pace as there were over 54 kms to run, but with less ascent. So today seemed much easier, although there were lots of very sandy tracks, which were very energy-sapping. Another helping of blood pin-pricks were also the order of the day from the numerous gorse bushes. After an area of forest with very dense foliage and encroaching ferns, the route climbed over the dunes and I was met by a huge expanse of empty beach.
It took a lot of mental stamina and many mind games to complete the run to the camp at Cap Ferret along the beach. I was glad that it was misty, so that I could not see the whole peninsula. I used the ruined concrete bunkers as ticking off points, whilst weaving from one patch of hard sand to another. I was totally alone running with metronome jellyfish legs. That is, until about 2 km from the end, when Gyslaine came steaming up from behind and overtook. I didn’t have the strength to fight back, but I managed to keep her in sight. Then, to rub salt into the wound, Sylvie appeared hot on my heels with only 500m to go. It was a race to the finish line and we even overtook a surprised man only 10m away. Whilst I was gutted about being overtaken, I still had a good buffer in overall time. I was trying to keep relaxed and to remain in a holiday mood, but it was getting harder as I was starting to feel competitive and, inevitably, this would change the nature of the event for me.
The afternoon and evening on the beach at Cap Ferret were glorious. It was sunny and warm and Amaury’s 30th birthday, so we were treated to a large crate of champagne and an impromptu party. No balloons or party hats, but plenty of freeze-dried food and instant hot chocolate!
Campsite at Cap Ferret
Next morning dawned misty, cold and drizzly and we did not have to get out of bed early. By 11.00 am the sun had his hat on and it was beautiful and warm. We had a briefing about the forth coming night stage and on our return to the tents we were greeted with a heavenly surprise. I was reminded of the part in A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson, where he describes “that the central feature of life on the Appalachian Trail is deprivation, that the whole point of the experience is to remove yourself so thoroughly from the conveniences of everyday life that the most ordinary things - ……… a can of pop gorgeously beaded with condensation – fill you with wonder and gratitude.” It was certainly “an intoxicating experience” to find and to taste an ice-cold can of Coke and to eat a luxury couscous salad, whilst staring at the mighty Dune du Pyla across the Gulf of Arcachon.
We had been instructed to be packed up by 5.00 pm and to go down to the sea to wait for the boats that would ferry us across the gulf. It transpired that the two boats were rather small and could only carry 12 passengers each at a time. Inevitably, the process took a while. Vaughan and I were fortunate enough to get in the first boat (because we were there on time), though not without the drama of me falling into the sea and Vaughan almost following me headfirst. We were saved by someone holding Vaughan’s ankles, while he held onto my arms. Luckily our precious rucksacks and shoes were already in the boat.
Boat ride across the Gulf of Arcachon
The speedy ride across the gulf was most exhilarating and we enjoyed spectacular views of the Dune du Pyla, which got bigger and bigger and was an enormous mountain of sand by the time we reached the other side. The prospect of ascending it, whilst racing, was scary. Everyone found a grassy bank to sit on and it was really funny watching people tending to their feet. It is amazing how one’s feet become totally absorbing and we stare in wonder at their black toenails, peeling skin and grotesque antiseptic colours.
Of course, there were no toilets here and as the start time of 8.45 pm approached, the need to find a suitable location became more urgent. This was not as simple as in the forest, since we had been landed in ‘civilisation’ with a car park, buildings and a cut lawn. People were wandering off in various directions and we eventually found some suitable bushes that we could hide inside, before meeting everyone on the beach behind the start arch.
I did not want to run the night section on my own, so we agreed to run together. The first km of this 34 km stage was in awful deep sand along the beach. I think it had been specially raked for us by a big machine and I was not thankful! By the time we left the beach, I could hardly breathe with the effort of running in the sand, trying to keep up with Vaughan and carrying the extra weight of 3 days of food in my rucksack. My noisy breathing continued as we ascended a steep path away from the beach. There were a lot of runners vying for position and I think I ran the fastest 12 km of the race so far to the base of the Dune du Pyla.
Our ascent of this sand monster commenced. A puffing slow-moving file of people crawled to the summit. We were met by ‘bon courage’, ‘bravo’ and photographers, together with a beautiful setting sun and stunning views, which made all the effort worthwhile. I was very happy.
As darkness fell we ran along a rollercoaster of sand on the top of the ridge. The inky blackness of the forest below looked very forbidding against the twinkling lights of nearby villages. I kept thinking about people going about their normal lives or even holidaying in the coastal resorts, and compared this to what we were doing. Too soon, we descended into the inky blackness and remoteness of deep, dense forest.
Now Vaughan and I were alone with only the white circles of headtorch light for company. Navigation was difficult as the narrow paths were blocked by large overhanging ferns and I fell over several times as I couldn’t see the stones or roots beneath them. It reminded me of Jurassic Park and velociraptors, which might leap out of the darkness and swiftly devour us. The only sounds were the swooshing of the vegetation, our breathing and footfalls as we ran through this damp primeval environment. We passed a group of nodding donkeys, which reared up like giant dinosaurs, and just added to the surrealism of it all.
Poor Gérard spent a stressful night having to replace some of his waymarking tape, because some naughty hunters were removing it. So the navigation was made even more tricky and I had to concentrate on the map very carefully. I was chuffed to make the right choices and, eventually, after some very steep and sandy ascents and descents, we arrived on a tarmac cycle track with only 1.5 km to go. It was with immense relief that we crossed the finish line at La Salie and it was almost impossible to eat anything, I was so tired and slept immediately.
Next morning we had to be ready at 8.30 am for transport on a coach around the military zone. This meant getting up at 6.30 am after insufficient sleep, but the weather was sensationally beautiful – blue skies, warm and sunny. On arrival at Leslurgues forestry house (just south of Mimizan Plage), the usual diving into the forest occurred before the start at 10.30 am. A very lovely cycle track took us the first 4 km, followed by a series of forest paths and tracks for the next 10 km. In the shade of the forest it was cool and perfect for running, but in the direct sunlight on the sandy tracks it was very hot and debilitating. Still, we pressed on squeezing out every gram of energy and trying to make our meagre rations last the distance.
After climbing a steep hill with a control at the summit, we descended to cross a river (Courant de Contis). It was so inviting. I just wanted to jump right in and cool off. Instead, we wet our heads at the water stop. More sensational forest tracks led us to Cap de l’Homy campsite and on to Yons forestry house. On reaching another cycle track, we met a group of children on bikes. They seemed very bemused as to what we were doing, but were clearly enjoying the spectacle of mad people running by. Then we had several kms of unending rollercoaster track to the finish at St Girons (36 km in total).
I really enjoyed the run today. The environment was so beautiful, the weather gorgeous and not too many S4 or S5 tracks. And, even better, my time buffer was extended even further. I knew that I would not have to race too hard tomorrow to secure second place. Hoorah!
Campsite at St Girons
St Girons was a heavenly spot. I would definitely recommend it as a campsite. Here we indulged in luxurious hot showers, rinsed our clothes (and they dried in the sun!) and ate our supper sitting properly at a picnic table. The ambience was wonderfully tranquil and, whilst we soaked up the serenity of the slanting rays of the evening sun, there was a certain sadness that this was to be our last night in the tent and tomorrow would be our last day of running.
Stage 6 (30 km) started at the civilised hour of 9.00 am. By rights we should have flown along today and many runners did indeed record excellent times. However, I felt completely drained, both physically and emotionally. It started during the first 3 km along the beach. I think it was the combination of general running fatigue, calorie deficit and the fact that we had completed the non-stop Mid-Wales 100 miles the previous week. I had obviously not fully recovered and I just could not make my legs run any faster, despite Vaughan’s not-so-gentle encouragement and my tearful protestations.
After leaving the beach, I tried to savour the last day of running in this beautiful forest wilderness. At the11.5 km point we entered a nature reserve and my spirits were lifted by the fantastic running paths, especially as they twisted and turned mostly downhill next to the river (Courant d’Huchet).
Then came the part that I was dreading: 16 km along the beach to the end. This was awful and I thought that I would never get there. The tide was in and there was only soft wet sand, which was formed into large ridges and furrows. It felt like treacle, pulling me down and sucking the little energy that I had left out of my legs. I wearily trudged up the ridges and shuffled across the tops and down again. The hot sun beating down also sapped the energy from the rest of my body and I felt like I was in a dream. Everything was screaming at me to stop, but I forced myself to keep going. Keep going.
There were some diversions, however. Being a warm and sunny Saturday, 200m each side of any access points, the beach was festooned with colourful umbrellas, children playing, men fishing and ladies strolling or chatting by the water’s edge. The funniest thing about this was that a rather large proportion of the people were completely naked. It struck a huge contrast to us running along the beach in the midday heat wearing filthy clothes, a rucksack and shoes with gaiters attached.
The shoes with gaiters were then to become sodden with another diversion entitled ‘a ford to cross’. This turned out to be the estuary of the river that we had so enjoyed earlier in the coolness of the forest, where it was more like a benign babbling brook. On the beach it was a wide brown swathe of fast-flowing water into the sea. Our kind volunteers had strung a rope across the expanse and, of course, were accompanied by the photographers ready to immortalise our discomfort. As it happened the crotch deep water was immensely refreshing and the photographers captured huge smiles and laughter, rather than the grimaces and groans that they might have expected. The discomfort came later when what seemed like several kilos of sand stuck to the wet gaiters and made the job of lifting one foot in front of the other even harder.
The beach went on and on. Between the sea and the dunes, it was ever-changing, yet ever the same. There was always one more set of fluttering umbrellas and with the shuffling weariness, it was impossible to keep track of how far we had come. Eventually, after ages and ages, there were the concrete bollards snaking out of the estuary at Vieux Boucau. They got bigger and bigger and we peeled away from the sea in a final sprint of exhilaration. The umbrellas enveloped us wishing us well and we ran hysterically uphill through the sand and with lungs bursting from the effort crossed La Trans Aq’ finish line. Immediately, even before drawing breath, ice-cold Cokes were thrust into our hands and a television camera appeared asking us about our experience of this tremendous race. How can you put such an holistic and all-consuming event into just a few words? All I could think about was the mint imperials that had kept me going and the joy of finishing in a remote and light-headed way.
The end
We staggered off to the marquee, where a delectable buffet of cold meats, cheese, bread and wine awaited us. It was easy just to sit and stare and to contemplate the achievements of the week, whilst eating and sharing experiences with fellow runners. Then we found our big bags and walked through the village to the campsite, where hot showers awaited us and we had the luxury of using soap and a razor and putting on clean clothes. How fresh, clean and smart everyone looked!
Sylvie Appruzzese (3rd), Anne Wade (2nd), Alexandra Rousset (1st), mayors of Le Pin Sec and Vieux Boucau
Unfortunately, as the presentations were coming to a close an immense and ferocious wind blew up and sand was flying everywhere. All I could think was that it was the MdS all over again. A horrible feeling. The brass band valiantly played a few numbers, but it very quickly became obvious that a huge storm was rolling in and that we would have to evacuate. With no idea of where we were heading, we picked up all of our luggage and followed the trail of people down the road. Darkness descended and big, fat raindrops fell. By the time that we reached the sports hall on the edge of town, the air was electric with enormous cracks of thunder and forks of lightening.
Hooray for Gérard and his superhuman ability to solve a crisis and to look after us so well. In the sports hall large round tables and chairs miraculously appeared, together with copious bottles of wine and even the brass band. Soon we were immersed in a sumptuous gala dinner and much merriment. It was only around midnight when the festivities diminished that we realised that the thunderstorm was still raging outside and we were eternally grateful that we had somewhere indoors to sleep.
Next morning a delicious breakfast was provided and we boarded the coach for the long journey back to Bordeaux. It is only when you travel back along the distance that you have journeyed on foot that you realise how amazingly far it is. The sense of achievement is immense and the satisfaction and well-being that this brings stays with you forever. Or, at least, until the next time!
A
2006 Trans Aq'
The Trans Aq’ is an “ultra” foot race covering 230Km in 6 stages; run in the Aquitaine region of South West of France.
The Trans Aq’ is a race run under dietary self-sufficiency open to individual ultra runners or teams (3 to 5 members).
The runners will sleep at a bivouac in communal tents. The bivouacs are set up in some truly magnificent sites; in wild nature along the Aquitaine coastline.
Each stage of the race varies in length from between 25 to 60Km and each stage is completely different from another, for example the 3rd stage is extremely long (approximately 60Km) but is followed by a recovery day on the magical beach of Cap Ferret, facing the famous Dune du Pyla, the 4th stage starts at sundown and is run through the forests during the night…
85% of the circuit is run along forest trails and only 15% on the beaches or over the dunes.
Runners having finished a Trans Aq’ say that it is a very difficult race but humane! The organisers have wished to maintain the friendly, family atmosphere of the Trans Aq’ (everyone knows everyone whether they be runners, helpers or organisers), that is why the number of participants is limited to 220.
All relevant information can be found on the website: www.trans-aqu.com
