Kimberley - A futile attempt to locate our position on the map confirms my worst fears: we’re lost. We scale the nearest peak and search the winding canyons and boulder fields for other runners.
Nada. I’m sweating, not just because of the heat, but also because of anxiety. We’re deep in the Richtersveld, the mountainous desert wilderness that forms South Africa’s northern border with Namibia.
For the next four days we’ll be taking part in the annual Richtersveld Wildrun, a 150km journey over the mountains into the most inaccessible sections of the rugged park. This is serious 4x4 country that puts fear into the hearts of even seasoned adventurers, yet we’re deliberately avoiding the 4x4 routes in favour of faint goat paths. There’s no cell phone reception out here, no springs or rivers, no settlements and no chance of helicopter rescue. So if we don’t get back on track we could be in serious trouble. But I have only myself to blame.
I have a preloaded track on my GPS, but despite the thorough briefing last night I’ve clearly not understood the instructions. Shaen Adey, my running partner, is equally bewildered. We decide to take a water and food break, hoping that sustenance will bring inspiration. Then, after deciding that our route lies to the west, we fall back on the tried and tested method of navigating by compass.
Soon we find a faint sandy track with the unmistakable spoor of other runners and follow it south. Cresting a rise I see what looks like a figure on a ridge in the distance. My heart soars then I have a moment of doubt. The ‘person’ is not moving. Perhaps it’s one of the Richtersveld’s famous Halfmens succulents. As we approach the figure waves: Mark Middleton, the brother of Wildrunner founder Owen Middleton, has walked back up the hill from the checkpoint.
I feel like crying with relief. It’s taken three hours to cover 15km. Unless I master some navigation skills quickly it’s going to be a long four days.
By the time we stagger into camp nearly five hours later we’re footsore and weary, but we’ve gone slowly stopping often to photograph flowering desert plants and to marvel at the bizarre geology of this ancient landscape. As I wander over to my tent I check the standings. Despite the international field, Pretoria-based rookie Thabang Madiba (well, not exactly a rookie – Thabang has quite an accomplished trail running podium record), has taken the day’s honours, while last year’s women’s winner, Cape Town based Katya Soggot, is sitting third overall.
A hot shower later – you run hard by day but are spoilt at night with soft beds, great food and other treats – I join the other participants swapping stories and sharing photos in the chill tent. Everyone’s buzzing with excitement, blown away by the wild beauty of this little-visited part of the world. Many have taken part in the tough three-day Wildcoast Wildrun, the original ultra-marathon dreamed up by Owen and his wife Tamaryn, that also involves significant route finding and tough terrain, but all agree that the Richtersveld is in a different league.
To add to the challenge the forecast is dire and sure enough we wake to thick, engulfing mist. Struggling out of our tents we gather in the moody dawn light for the staggered start. By the time we reach the midway checkpoint the elite athletes have stormed past, and it’s bucketing down. The climb up then next high mountain pass is steep and relentless, but the descent is worse. The heavy rain has turned the clay slope into a treacherous quagmire that we slip and slide down.
The rain lets up for a while as we near camp allowing us to eat out around the open fire. The talk is all of the crossing of the fabled Tatasberg that’s on the programme for the morning. I’m excited.
What a day. We weave our way up narrow gorges to the top of the plateau and jog over the forgiving plains of Springbokvlakte to the foot of Tatasberg’s vast rounded granite boulders. The field divides into rock rabbits and those who are uncomfortable on such extreme and exposed terrain. Thabang is fearless, bounding from boulder to boulder without breaking stride. Thea-Mari Franken, in contrast, is terrified. It’s her first ever ultra-run so she’s already out of her comfort zone and she’s frightened of heights. She sobs uncontrollably as her husband and other competitors coax and help her through the maze. The view from the top is so mind-blowing that even the serious runners take a few minutes to take in the incredible tortured landscape and to pose for photos.
The rest of the day’s run is glorious: a fast descent down a forgiving sandy basin before then a tricky section through a steep rocky kloof in which we come across a fresh leopard kill. The overnight camp is right on the Orange River so we throw ourselves in hoping that the chilly water will soothe our aching legs. The surrounding rocky peaks glow orange in the late light then, as darkness falls, a million stars twinkle in the night sky. I’m aching all over, but sleeping out in the wilderness is ample reward.
The final day takes us away from the river and over yet more high, untracked passes to a ridge adorned with flowering Halfmens then back through a bizarre, moon landscape to base camp at Sendelingsdrift. I confidently maintain a good pace, chuffed that I’ve finally mastered navigation. Thabang sprints by, still out on his own, but the next seven competitors come through in a group, navigating by consensus and enjoying each other’s company and the extraordinary landscape that they’re passing through. Their collaboration epitomises the spirit of the event: while it certainly lived up to its Wildrun moniker, this was no ordinary race. Quite the opposite; instead of pitting us against each other, our journey through the Richtersveld has brought us together into a tightly knit family united and enriched by the privilege of being able to go where few others have ever been, and by our sense of achievement at having survived.
I leave feeling proud. Of Thabang and Katya, who retained her title, of Thea-Marie for overcoming her fears, and of the organisers and SANParks staff for being brave enough to host such an extreme event. How quickly I’ve forgotten the pain. My memories are full of waking to birdsong, running through some of the most dramatic landscapes on earth, being welcomed at each checkpoint by big-hearted staff and volunteers, and sitting under the stars at night.
l The next Wildrun is on June 13-17 2016. It’s a 200km, five-day crossing through the /Ai/Ais-Richtersveld Transfrontier Park that include the untouched southern section of the Fish River Canyon, www.wildrun.com
Abstract: The Galileo program is in continuous evolution to develop and deploy all the necessary elements and functionalities for the provision of the Galileo services. In this regard, the European Commission (EC) has been working together with the European GNSS Agency (GSA) and industry for the definition, demonstration and performance assessment of the future capabilities of the Galileo Commercial Service (CS). With this purpose, the Navigation Authentication through Commercial Service-Enhanced Terminals (NACSET) project has been recently launched. The project has a twofold objective: to study and assess system evolutions for cryptographic key management, and to develop a resilient receiver combining receiver aids and sensors with the Galileo CS Authentication features to increase robustness against spoofing attacks. NACSET comprises the design, implementation and experimentation phases of two key elements: a key management simulator (KMS) that will support the cryptographic key generation, transmission, storage, renewal and destruction, including signal-in-space and ground-assisted solutions; and a Commercial Service Resilient PVT Platform (CS-RPP), a navigation platform with improved anti-attack techniques based on different elements: two antennas, atomic clocks, dedicated signal processing techniques, inertial sensors, and remote assistance for navigation authentication and time synchronization through non-GNSS channels. This paper presents the NACSET system, architecture, elements and operational modes. The assistance service and user terminal are described in detail, including the characteristics of all its elements: antennas and RF Front End (E1-E6 enabled), CSAC and TCXO clock features, signal processing techniques, IMU features, PVT algorithms (including integrity and authentication) and secured communication protocols. Special focus is put on the definition of the anti-spoofing measures to be implemented in the User Terminal, including Angle-of-arrival and Automatic Gain Control interference detection, clock drift monitoring, anti-replay signal processing techniques, etc., all integrated with the level of authentication obtained from code-encrypted Galileo CS signals.
Winter. Such a beautiful, horrible time of year. Here in Southeast Iowa we may not have it as bad as, say, parts of Canada. Or the North Pole. But there aren’t very many of us who, come January, aren’t ready. To. Be. Done. Speaking for myself, my already-pale skin starts to develop a bluish-green tinge, my eyes glaze over, and my brain turns to mush from too many episodes of (insert BBC show here). If we are getting really honest, I’ve also been prone to slipping into the cracks of depression from time to time. Most of those times are when I’m trying to date someone. All of the other times are in the winter. Ugh. Winter.
The holidays certainly help. Be it Solstice, Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, or Festivus, preparing for a holiday (and gleaning as much gratitude, joy, and entertainment out of it as possible) helps us forget that our hydrangea shrubs are uglier than sin and that we haven’t felt our toes for several days.
Yep. I like me some Christmas. Even though my family upbringing wasn’t very religious, it was very musical, and there are a couple Christmas carols that, when sung aloud, tap into something sacred inside and get me all teary-eyed. I’m also a total sucker for twinkling lights and wrapping paper, and have recently discovered that the smell of balsam fir brings me to ecstatic delirium. When my time comes, I hope they bury me in a pile of balsam.
Nothing says Christmas to me like some good old-fashioned mushroom cookies. Now, before you jump to conclusions, rest assured there are no hallucinogens or fungi in these holiday treats. They are Lithuanian spice cookies that the neighbor lady (thank you, Betsy Schafer!) gave to my mom in 1979, which we have made every December since. And they happen to be shaped like fat, little mushrooms. If ever a cookie was adorable, this is it. Now, imagine a soft, doughy explosion of ginger, clove, citrus, and poppy seed in your mouth. Something about those ingredients is like crack to me.
I will say, however, that five-eighths of the fun is in the making of them. It’s an elaborate, precise, and sometimes hilarious process that requires several hands, several hours, and a good soundtrack. (I recommend Vince Geraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas. This album is so good it’s even tolerated by Abram Siemsen, who gets downright nauseous around Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole Xmas classics.) Back to the ’shrooms. I’ve made these crowd-pleasing cookies with family, and I’ve made them with friends. It’s always a wintry Sunday afternoon well spent.
Christmas aside, there are a few other inherently seasonal happenings that make me giddy. There is an excitement in my heart when a fresh snow falls (I hope I will always have a friend who will do donuts in the junior high parking lot with me), and I am blessed with a mother who can knit a mean pair of wool stockings. Every chilly day that I get to put on a pair of those socks is a good day.
I bumped into Yvonne Koopmans walking her dogs on the Fairfield square the other day, and I asked her about her wintertime traditions. She was inspired to share with me a few memories from her winters in Roermond, Holland. “I had a friend, Marcel, who I’d see once a month. We were reading the same books, so he would come over and we would have a big feast of food and talk endlessly—exchanging ideas of how we were experiencing the books we were reading. That combination with putting log after log on the fire. . .”
Her eyes have a faraway look. “My father had a garden, and once he had to cut down the cherry tree. That wood on the fire would last the longest and smelled very nice. Made it more special.” She smiles. “Yes, the fireplace is central in my experience of winter.”
Apparently, Fairfield troubadour Tom Morgan is on the same wavelength. When I inquired about his favorite cold-weather tradition, he said, “Romantic scenes on a bear rug in front of the fireplace . . . with hot toddies.” I’m not sure what I expected to hear, but that was not it. “Is that really a tradition for you?” I asked. “No. But I would like it to be.”
Ho, ho, ho, all kidding aside, Tom is a big fan of the winter walk. He’s done some serious trekking in the Himalayas, so comparing the Fairfield Loop Trail seems a little unfair, but he does have a favorite section of the trail through Lamson Woods, which is most beautiful in the snow.
Tom, who plays old-time country blues and ragtime on guitar, adds, “Playing music is a particularly cozy thing to do in the winter. . . . I find it’s a good time to work on new music.” If you are lucky enough to have him at your holiday gathering, you can bet that he’ll bust out his ol’ six-string. “It all comes down to music and food and friends.”
But don’t forget about family. I work part-time at the At Home store on the Fairfield Square, and I meet interesting family folk there every week. One of our regulars—a mother (and grandmother) who thrives on creating festive experiences for her kin—recently came into the store. Her son has married into a British family, and she is all about adopting a few new traditions from that culture. She was thrilled to find a new pudding bowl from the U.K., and mentioned she was also on a quest to create the perfect Christmas “cracker.”
Don’t be fooled—the brits call their crunchy conduits for cheese “biscuits,” but Ye Olde English Christmas cracker is something else entirely. She explained: “We are saving up our empty toilet paper tubes to fill with candies, coins, and jokes—the joke is very important. I’m going to order the little snaps you put inside that make them go “crack!” when you pull them open and everything flies out. My grandsons will just love them.” Such fun!
Fairfield is a pretty diverse town, so winter and holiday traditions are all over the map. I did some gardening work with Hungarian transplant Peter Hodak this summer, so I felt comfortable cornering him at Cafe Paradiso where he was sharing a scone with his son, Yadu. Peter has fond memories of his childhood Christmases. Peter has fond memories of his childhood Christmases..
Peter’s Christmas tree, in particular, was like none that I’ve known. Get this: His mother always chose not to buy a “cut” tree, but to bring home a living tree in a pot, which was then decorated with (real) candles, sparklers, glass ornaments, and “Szaloncukor” candies. When the weather began to warm, the tree would be planted outdoors. (What a revelation!) The benefits of having a living Christmas tree, of course, being: no tears shed over killing a perfect specimen of nature; no unsightly dry needles shed on your carpet; and vital, green branches that will not burst into flame when the candles and sparklers are lit for five precious minutes on Christmas Eve. “Believe me,” Peter said, “special care was taken to make sure the tree was not placed too near the curtains.”
Peter Hodak and his son Yadu take in the massive train display at Everybody’s Whole Foods in Fairfield. The ever-growing display appears shortly before Thanksgiving each year and stays up for visitors to enjoy through the end of December.
I asked Yadu, who was looking, wide-eyed, at various pictures of colorfully wrapped Szaloncukar candies on Peter’s smartphone, “What do you like most about Christmas?” This kid, who I’d rarely heard put two words together, said with a faint Hungarian accent, but with total clarity, “Remember all the trains they put at Everybody’s!?” Ahhh, yes, there is a very fine annual display at our local whole foods grocery. Trains, tunnels, winter villages galore. It’s pretty magical.
Later that morning I asked local card shark Greg Gasaway, over a cup of his phenomenal chai tea, what he likes to do in the winter.
“Leave town!” He may have laughed, but he wasn’t kidding. “You need to break it up, especially if you’re my age. The holidays are nice, but then comes January. If you leave town for three weeks—India or Europe do nicely—you can actually enjoy the good parts of winter here.”
“Getting out the snow plow!” Boys and their toys. Greg also informed me that “anytime after November 1st, but not a day sooner, you can start making Vanillekipferl!” He showed me a picture of the sugar-dusted, horse-shoe-shaped German pastry. “It looks like winter and it smells like Christmas.”
“Yes, well, have you actually made them?” I asked. “Of course,” he said. Coming from a dude who has his own outdoor wood-fired pizza oven, this should not be a big shocker.
Greg’s chai-sipping friend, Frank Wintroub, chimed in. “Going to see the Southeast Iowa Chamber Singers is a must. . . . And whenever the ice is suitable on Bonnifield Lake, I get out my skates.” Frank and his wife also love having friends over to watch movies and make soups. Frank says, “For me, winter is really about the richness of the relationships I have with people I’ve known for years.”
Of all my friends this lifetime, my old Chicago pal, Scott Borchert, is one of my favorites. Apart from being easy on the eyes, Scott has an absolute gift for turning an ordinary day into an excuse to celebrate. And when it comes to winter events and holidays, he knocks it out of the park. From chili cook-offs to ugly sweater parties to a traditional Irish breakfast on St. Pats, he knows how to bring people together and create music-filled, laughter-filled, belly-filled fun. He’s a man who makes his own traditions, ones that become beloved by all who know him.
Scott lives in Astoria, NY, now, but even from afar he inspires me to hold onto the few traditions I have, and keep creating new ones. If they can be shared with other people, even better. (Snowshoes, anyone?)
Winter can be challenging, but it comes with its own opportunity. We can choose to cherish what little daylight we have; find ways to appreciate the cold—and the golds, blues, and browns of Mother Nature at rest; and on the days when we’re stuck inside, we can embrace our own creativity and the company of the others.
Meredith, an Iowa native, was baffled when she earned her high school's writing award in 1993. It wasn't until twenty years later that she discovered she actually enjoyed wordcraft. (Too bad she's still a two-fingered typist.) Thanks for reading, friends!