Going Long

Prologue
The Eco-Challenge, in its prime, was one of the toughest, most grueling adventure races in the world. Each year, hundreds of teams would vie for a spot in the race, and each year, hundreds of teams were disappointed as only 75 were picked. What follows is the story of the first Israeli adventure racing team ever assembled. To make the event even more monumental, we decided to go for it all, and make our first adventure race the Eco-Challenge. Sometimes it’s better to let ignorance lead the way… Our team consisted of Ran Mey-Raz – 25, Ofer Yarom – 25, Or Kirsch – 30 (our female representative) and myself, Elad Benjamin – 25.
The 1999 Eco-Challenge took place between December 1-12 in Patagonia, Argentina. The disciplines required for the race were open water kayaking, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, mountaineering, glacier travel expertise, rope skills and orienteering. Our team prepared for a year, trying to get up to speed in all the different disciplines. What is often unknown about adventure racing is the logistical challenge of putting together an adventure racing team. Between the four of us, we eventually departed for the race with approximately 350 kilograms of food and equipment. For months prior to the race, we spent hours trying to get sponsorships, testing and retesting equipment, experimenting with different amounts and types of foods, etc.
Since this was our first race, our only goal was to finish. We wanted to soak in as much of the adventure part of the race as possible, and not worry about placing. We had also ‘bootstrapped’ much of our preparation, and while other teams came with shiny new, ultralight equipment from the top brands in the world, we arrived like four travelers off on a long trek, with large packs and cumbersome equipment.
Race headquarters were placed in Cerro Catedral, a ski resort 3000 feet above the town of Bariloche, overlooking the Nahuel Huapi lake (which we would become intimately familiar with in a few days). The first few days after our arrival were spent checking our gear, performing the manual proficiency tests in the various disciplines, and getting to know the other teams. Finally, 24 hours prior to the start, we were given the course maps to study and prepare.

And We’re Off
8:30am on December 1st, 1999, found me sitting in a two person kayak 500 feet from the northern shore of Nahuel Huapi. In the water next to me were 74 other racers, each sitting in their kayak, while holding a second kayak close to them. On the shore, the remaining 200+ racers lined up, waiting for the start. As Mark Burnett, the race director, shouted “Goooooooo” into his microphone, everyone ran to the water, for the 500 foot swim to their kayaks. I would have to help my teammates board the kayaks, and then we’d be off for a 90km paddle across the lake, with two land portages in the middle. We were expecting to sit and paddle for the next 15 hours.
What do you do for 15 hours on a kayak? At first you talk, then you’re silent, then you complain, then you laugh, then you struggle to stay awake, then you try to switch paddling techniques to keep your arms from getting stiff, then you eat and drink a little. That’s about four hours gone right there The rest of the time you do nothing but paddle. Your mind goes blank, your eyes focus on some distant point on the horizon, and your body moves in a rhythm of its own – one, two, one, two, one, two.

Go Horsey…
We arrived at the end of our kayaking leg at last, and quickly mounted our horses, which would be our companions for the next 40km. We were all good riders, and we had hoped this would be an easier part of the course – but my horse had other plans. Our ride took us across some of the famous pampas plains Argentina is known for. It had rained a few days before, and our course was now crisscrossed with little streams of water that had made their way through little valleys and indentations in the soil. Some of these were quite wide and steep, and while jumping out of one, my horse lost his footing and slipped on his side, with me underneath him.
I would have been happy to have the story end there, but as the horse quickly got up, he panicked and started running. The only problem was that my right foot had gotten stuck in the stirrup, and so there I was, being dragged across the pampas by a horse at full speed. After about 150 yards he finally stopped and I managed to get my foot loose. In the course of the run, he had managed to kick me in the eye, which was now throbbing and aching and trickling blood. In the background I could hear my good friends and teammates rolling with laughter…so much for camaraderie and concern for another.
I was lucky – I had no serious injuries except for my ego, and so we pushed on to finish the horse section. We arrived at La Bunterra Ranch 40 hours after the start, without having slept a moment yet – and so we promptly dismounted and crashed…

The Snowstorm
Four hours later we were off again, on a 40km hike up and across the Andes foothills, our destination being the Los Baqueanos campground on the shore of Lago Gutierrez. For most of the day we climbed under the forest canopy, trying to make sure we kept our bearing. As we ascended, the temperature got cooler and cooler, and in the late afternoon, as if out of nowhere, the storm struck. We would later be told that was the worst snowstorm in the past 15 years for that time of the year. Within 2 hours there were 4 inches of snow on the ground, and what had previously been a challenging but manageable climb now turned into an icy, windy, sub-zero ascent in the dark without proper gear. The wind was ferocious, visibility turned to zero, and after a team consultation we decided to stay put until the morning, not wanting to risk injury or hypothermia.
Our decision turned out to be the right one. Of the 9 teams still on the mountain when the storm struck, none made it to Los Baqueanos in time. Two were lost, one team suffered from severe hypothermia, and the rest arrived later the next day after the storm had subsided – but also after the cutoff time.

We Push On (some of us)
Officially, we were now disqualified from the race – we had missed a cutoff. Such is the nature of these races. A year of training, intense effort and sacrifices were swatted down like a fly on a window by a freak snowstorm. But all was not lost – we had the option of continuing to race without being officially ranked, just for fun. Or and I immediately decided to go on, but Ran and Ofer had had enough at this point and decided to head back to the warmth and comfort of the hotel at Bariloche.
We hooked up with the Guatemalan team, who had also missed the cutoff because of the storm, and continued on as a team of six. For some reason we were all in high spirits at this point, despite being disqualified. The pressure of racing was off, we were now officially having fun, and everyone was relaxed, cheerful and eager to move on.
The next leg of the race had us paddling two person inflatable whitewater rafts along the Rio Manso. The Rio Manso is a glacially fed, fast moving river. You don’t want to find yourself overboard – it’s freezing!!! Luckily, this 50km portion went by without mishap, and we arrived at checkpoint 13, the start of our climb up to the 11,000 foot Pico Tronador (so named because of the thunderous noise made by glacier sections that break off the mountain).

Cerro Tronador
The climb up took us all day. The first 4,000 feet were through a dense forest, ending with the thickest 3 miles of bamboo forest I had ever seen. I literally couldn’t see Or, 5 feet in front of me, as the bamboo veil closed after her with every step she took. We were scratched, pulled and beaten from every direction. It took us 5 hours to pass through 3 miles of that bamboo forest!
Finally we were through, reaching the Argentina-Chile border around 9pm. From here it
would take us about 10 hours of non-stop climbing to get to the summit of Tronador. We stopped to eat, drink and rest a little, and at 11:30pm we were off. All night long we climbed in silence. Six silhouettes in the dark, slowly climbing up the glacier, tied to each other. The moon was out, and we could actually see better without our headlights on, which made for an even eerier feeling. As I climbed, I thought about nature’s grandeur, and how insignificant the six of us were against the backdrop of this magnificent glacier which had been here for millions of years.
We reached the peak at 11am. The view was breathtaking. Around us we could see the Andes range, with hundreds of peaks dotting the landscape as far as the eyes could see. After some congratulatory hugs and photos we began our descent, knowing that the end of our journey was approaching.

The Finish
December 9, 7:45pm. Three kayaks emerge from the fog to see the finish line, 2 kilometers away, on the shore of Bahia Lopez. 4 Guatemalans and two Israelis paddling in sync, getting faster and faster as we approach the finish. We reached the shore at 8pm.
We hugged, shouted, kissed, screamed and sprayed champagne on each other. Our feeling of accomplishment was complete, regardless of whether or not we were ranked. We had climbed more than 30,000 feet, paddled for 150km, trekked across glaciers and forests for 130km and ridden for 40km. We had met wonderful and amazing people along the way – elite athletes as well as beginners like us, who all had in common a love of adventure and the outdoors. I will always remember the Argentina Eco Challenge as one the great adventures I’ve undertaken.