"Holy Bejeezes#*!!!" Or something vaguely similar was the exclamation from Team 'Halva Boys' as their world exploded in a brilliant flash of white light. "Sorry guys" I apologised, as everyone's pupils slowly readjusted to the dimly moon lit scrub of Yengo National Park on NSW's central coast. "I just wanted to capture the look on you faces after 12hrs non-stop." I put my camera away and followed the two exhausted competitors towards the gathering of support crew's awaiting their own team's arrival.

Team no. 6 'Halva boys' were emerging at Mogo Creek Camp ground (or transition area three as it was known that night) after a 5hr, 35km hike/run through Yengo NP. Prior to this, they had completed a 39km kayak and a 50km mountain bike ride with only two transition stops to refuel body and soul, and change craft.

The Arrow 24 Hour series is now well established as a premiere Multi Sport Challenge, crossing the Tasman to include four NZ events and two Aus races. The Victorian Race held at Lake Mountain in South Eastern VIC earlier this year attracted a smaller crowd than the NSW seventy person strong field. The numbers were smaller in VIC, but the competition just as fierce as competitors faced extreme conditions including sleet and snow during the event.

Wiseman's Ferry, host to the NSW event was a little kinder weather-wise with near perfect sunny conditions lasting the whole weekend.

I arrived at the event area on the Friday afternoon as the sun sank low in the sky, bathing the valleys below in warm light. The Hawkesbury was a thread of molten gold trailing through the densely vegetated hills of the surrounding peaks. It was my first time to the area and I stood awestruck at the beauty of the serenity surrounding me. Half an hour passed as I soaked in my surroundings until it finally dawned on me that the valley below had faded from gold to green and was now in deep shadow, soon to be lost in the dark. I had a mate to meet and an event to photograph… It was time to move on.

An hour later I found myself sitting in a large, well-lit room at Del Rio Resort, situated at the union of Webbs Creek and the Hawkesbury River. Richard Anderson, the race organiser explained the event format to me and what I could expect in the next 36hrs. 'First the competitors will arrive and check in at registration. There will immediately be a kit check before the race details are handed to them. From that time on we leave them alone until we see them at the starting line at 7:30 the next morning.'

23 teams of two, three and four people would line up at the starting line. These teams were to spend the next day and night mountain biking, kayaking, running and navigating their way from one transition point to the next. The transition points were scattered around the cliffs and gullies of the Hawkesbury Valley and surrounding countryside.

Of all the teams that headed out early on the Saturday morning, all but three would cross the finishing line, some teams finishing well into Sunday morning. Most teams would cover the whole distance side-by-side, competing against relay teams who had the advantage of starting with a fresh competitor at each transition.

The starting line was a rough, winding one-hour drive from Del Rio Resort. The start time had been pushed forward to 7:30am ensuring all teams would be off the water by nightfall that evening, thus eliminating the possibility of having to perform a night rescue should any team get into trouble during the kayak leg.

My Magna Wagon seemed out of place amongst the convoy of Subaru Forrester's and Outback's, that wound out of the campground at 6:00am that morning. As the trail of headlights snaked their way around the dark, winding switchbacks of Bicentennial Road, I keenly kept sight of the car in front. If I missed a turn off, I would lead a separate convoy of nervous competitors, who happened to be following my taillights, into the middle of nowhere. Luckily we all made it to the starting line, though with little time to spare.

The track was sandy and the going looked tough, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky, or a whisper of wind in the tree tops so with high spirits and determination, participants took note of final details on the 50km bike leg, then the race was on. I had situated myself further along the track to check out the conditions and get some nice angles for photos.
I wasn't in sight of the start line but soon enough the crunching of tyres on sand drifted to my ears and bikes flashed past. There was no yelping or hooting in the still morning air, just the determined look on competitors faces flashing through the dappled sunlight of the green foliage. Soon the last team silently swished by and the soft sounds of the early morning fell back into place.

It was a different look on competitor's faces as they emerged out of the scrub 4 hrs later on a sandy downhill section to be confronted by a photographer on the side of the track. To some it was a sigh of relief 'they must be on the right course,' to others it was a face of worry as they tried to control the front wheel pressure through the deep sand at the bottom of the hill. All teams looked exhausted, but the sparkle in their eyes had not diminished and the sight of rivals in the distance brought on new energy. With the competition in sight, most teams put their heads down and the chase was on again. A few bumps off the fire trail and onto a rough dirt road, and all that was left was a trail of dust as teams sped off down the steep incline. At the time most teams didn't realise it, but chasing the team in front was not always the best way to win the race. This realisation was visible on nearly all teams faces as they reappeared twenty minutes later, struggling up the steep incline they had recently disappeared down. The map wasn't too clear, and the details said to turn right at the second T-intersection… 'Didn't they??? Was this the second T-intersection???' Most decided 'Yes!' … Most were wrong! I copped a good load of abuse for happily watching teams disappear down the wrong track, but all was said with a smile on the face and a with a chuckle off they went … this time in the opposite direction.

Transition One was back at Del Rio resort. Relay team 'Halva Boys' were the first in for changeover and were soon in their surf ski and paddling away in the distance. Teams began to trickle in and soon we had kayaks entering the water left, right and center. Most teams were using the changeover as an opportunity to have some food, stretch and re-hydrate although a lot of teams chose to eat on the move, paddling away with lunch in a plastic bag, strapped to the deck.

The Hawkesbury is no small creek and the section paddled was wide and open. The waterway is surrounded by steep treed hills with brilliant orange cliffs jumping out from the khaki tones of the Australian bush. On a bad day this section of water can be a grueling challenge, particularly if the wind is up and you are attempting to travel against the tide. Luckily there was not a breath of wind under the cloudless sky and the paddlers were traveling on a glassy outgoing tide. Perfect conditions may keep you dry and moving fast, but a 39km paddle is no walk in the park and by the time teams reached Spencer, 30 km's into the paddle, there were few who had the energy do more than stumble to dry land, grab some more food, attend to blisters and continue on. Rosie King, who's partner had pulled out of the event earlier the same week, chose to complete the entire event on her own and came powering into Spencer with the simple request for some padding for her bum. Padding installed, a quick smile of relief and she was off again. Immediately, Maximum Adventure race organiser, Gary Farebrother and teammate Andy jumped back into their kayak, not content to be shown up by Rosie who had been within their grasp most of the day.

The sun began to sink behind the hills and as it had the previous night, the river slowly changed hue from a deep blue to a glowing orange and then to molten gold. As the competitors pulled in to Transition Two, they would leave a wake of golden ripples lapping the shoreline behind them. I sat on the shoreline, catching the last rays of sun and again I marveled as the peacefulness of the area and only whished I was out on the water, slicing a golden trail though the glass of Mangrove Creek. I'm not sure team 'Rookie Triad' had the same enthusiasm for being on the water as the three-person team drifted into shore, totally exhausted and numb from the long paddle. The moon was now rising over the valley and the temperature had dropped considerably… those still on the water were starting to feel the chill and fingers were slowly losing feeling.

The guys of team 'Rookie Triad' had thrown amusing comments at me whenever our paths crossed, but as they focused head torches and hiked out of Transition Two for the 35km trek, I had a feeling the comments may not be as jovial. The guys appeared out of the dark into my camera viewfinder. Don't look at the camera I warned as I depressed the trigger but no flash fired and all I got was a laughing retort from the darkness further up the track… 'We're not coming back just for the photo… you'll have to catch us!' and with a hoot echoing through the night, they disappeared. ', not sure what their support crew fed them but most teams stumbled passed without enough energy to even raise their heads.

Transition Three saw the majority of teams stumble in at some stage between 8:00 pm and 4:00 am that night. The campground was full of support vehicles and their crews. The area was a awash with mountain bikes being tuned under gas lamps hanging from branches overhead. Food was being prepared on glowing stoves and fires were scattered around with support crews crowding around their warmth in the still night air. Every now and then a Coooeee!! Would be heard from the darkness beyond the firelight and bodies would materialize out of the bush, exhausted, battered and scratched but glad to be on the final leg home.

Rosie King yet again, powered into the campground in the early hours of the morning, this time accompanying another team. Rosie had set out on the trek under the light of the full moon, but on switching on her head torch she had found that the battery was dead. 'The torch must have switched on inside my pack' Rosie explained later. Luckily the moonlight was brilliant in the clear sky and the track was of light colour so she was able to catch and pass the team in front. After passing them, Rosie dropped her pace, deciding it may be a better option to stick out the rest of the trek along side people with light.

Team 'Last Minute' were not so lucky! After missing a major turn off they traveled on in the wrong direction until they came to a Buddhist Wat. Upon reaching the Buddhist camp, they politely interrupted a meditating monk to ask directions. 'Just go out the gate and turn right' were the directions given and so the team traveled on. A good while later, after stumbling on yet another unmarked trail, the two realised their mistake and did an about face. Not sure whether they were unwanted at the Buddhist camp or the monk simply had a poor sense of humor, the two left the monks to their meditation as they silently passed on by… this time heading the right way.

By 10:00pm the first teams were on the final mountain bike leg home. The finish line was at Del Rio and this meant a fairly straightforward 52km ride back to the finish line. The dirt road wasn't hard to follow and although potholed, it traveled well… the danger was in the wildlife. Team 'Halva Boys' nearly took out a stunned Wallaby… or more likely a Wallaby nearly took out a stunned 'Halva Boys' at one stage on a fast descent.
Team 'Checkpoint', forth place getters in the Victorian race dodged the bulls on the road but managed to wake every farm dog on the way to their second overall place and first Open category win. I chose to catch up with the guys on the road but as I got out of the car in the middle of nowhere to come face to face with a big, scary looking wolf barring it's teeth at me (OK, Maybe it was simply a large white dog!) I chose not to photograph the guys at this point and instead to leave them to fend for themselves… after all this was an adventure race.

Sunday dawned with another perfect morning although patchy clouds occasionally threw dark shadows over the campground. The last of the teams had finished at around 7:00am and at 8:00am event organisers had collected struggling teams, who were exhausted and in no state to complete the event. The morning was spent recalling stories of what went wrong, where and how. All teams had their own tale to tell of wrong turns, wolves (???), blackberries, punctures, blisters, injuries and exhaustion. Plates were piled high with hot food and tables were full as stories were repeated over and over again. The official winner overall was relay team 'Halva Boys' closely followed by team 'Checkpoint'. Both teams finished the demanding course in under fifteen hours.

As usual the real winners of the day were all that completed the grueling course and came out alive. Bodies were tired, equipment was dirty, proof of the taxing event evident on the faces of those scattered around lying face up in the sun. Although the faces were worn and the bodies exhausted, if you looked closely you could see that sparkle in the eye that kept them going when all else had given up. I now know that behind those eyes, plans for the next event are already underway and next time the 'rival in the distance' will become a 'rival in the dust.' Mistakes made this event would not be made next time and a lesson learnt by all is 'never ask directions from a Buddhist monk.'

All words by Mark Watson.