Category Archives: Random Notes

Just a collection of random notes that don’t fit the other categories

Grindstone 100, Definitely a Grind

It had been over 3 years since my last 100mile race (2015 UTMB), and with family now in the Durham region it gave me a little extra incentive to try my hand at an East Coast 100. If you know me you know I like things with lots of climbing and the more technical the better, so the Grindstone 100 seemed to fit the bill. I spent my summer doing my usual thing of running around the mountains and just playing, though I threw in some long runnable mountainous terrain, knowing that Grindstone had a lot of runnable vertical and my legs would need to be in shape for the grinds.

On the summit of Castle Peak, with the rest of the Elks over my shoulder, it was a long journey.

Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate training, but on September 9th I completed a 31hour solo ‘run’ of the Elks 14er traverse. The 55mile, 24000ft vertical, class 3-5 felt good and I had faith that if all else failed I could slog out Grindstone. So all that was left was a few maintenance runs and a solid taper. Well I kind of failed on the taper part, throwing in a few flatiron tempo run/scrambles and the week before Grindstone a 26mile pacing gig at the Bear 100, but hey, they were all tons of fun 🙂

Scrambling up Fi Fun the week before Grindstone (I’m third), its hard to taper with cool shit like this in the backyard. Photo by Todd Straka.

Pacing Bailee at the Bear 100, we were twins! Photo by Lori Burlison.

Taper jog with the nephews and sister. Next time the older one will be pacing me!

The week before I spent a few days relaxing with family, slowly adapting to the steamy humidity of the East Coast. The race was shaping up to be a warm and humid affair (60s-70s). As I packed my drop bags I felt as though I was missing something, was I really not going to need any warm clothing? I arrived at Camp Shenandoah just in time for 2pm check-in, met up with fellow Coloradans Nick and Andrew and settled in for a quick race briefing before laying down to try and catch a few hours of napping in the steamy afternoon sun. I laid in the car for a few hours, not really sleeping, but getting some pre-race rest none the less.

Race kit, ready to rock and roll.

Pre-race briefing madness all crammed into the dining hall.

I roused around 5pm, did my last minute race prep, then made my way over to the start line. Runners were nervously wandering every which way and a crowd was gathering near the start line, it was almost go time. Pre-race I always try to keep my distance from too much of the madness, just trying to relax the nerves and the anxious energy, Grindstone was no different. A few minutes before 6pm on Oct 5th the mass of runners assembled behind the banner in the field, all of us hoping that in less than 38hours we’d be crossing back under that banner in one piece. I took my place about 3-4 rows back, hoping to start out more casually and to stick to my strategy of just cruising the first 51miles, then seeing what would happen after that. The count down was on, and off we went, at a hot 7min pace, no surprise there. I dialed it back quickly to an 8:30, much more comfortable and reasonable. You see, 100milers are, well, 100miles long, so hitting it hard the first few miles never does you any good.

All lined up at the start, 70F and humid, its gonna be a warm one.

The first several miles alternated between single track, open double track road and rocky creek beds. The pace was quick as we all pushed to squeeze in as much daylight running as possible. I blew through the first aid station at mile 5 (as planned) and just kept on jogging toward the first major climb of the race to Elliot Knob. The initial part of the climb was fairly runnable, save for some really wet and rocky sections along the creek. As we made our way up through the trees another runner asked if anyone had checked the dew point….why would that matter, what a silly question, or was it??? When we hit the fire road that leads to the summit of Elliot Knob I was sooo excited to be in steep hiking territory, that’s where I excel (at least more so than running). I settled in to a nice strong power hike, slowly picking off people as we climbed up and up.

As we climbed higher the fog started to descend upon us, so that’s why he was asking about the dew point! Soon we were fully enveloped in a dense mist, our headlamps reflecting every way but to the ground, moisture building up on my eye lashes, this was going to complicate things for sure. Elliot Knob was full on zero vis, so I pulled off my headlamp and held it in my hand as I ran down the hill, catching up to Andrew as we made our way over to Dry Branch Gap (2:53). I eased off the gas a little bit on the rolling downhill and settled in for the long night ahead. The section from Dry Branch Gap through Dowell Draft, Lookout and into North River Gap was a misty blur. I settled into my own head and just let the miles flow by.

I jogged into North River Gap (7:30) at mile 37 feeling ok, the course had been very runnable to this point, definitely not my strength, but I was looking forward to the long climb to Little Bald Knob. I took a few minutes to refuel at North River Gap and started jogging up the rolling climb before settling back into a power hike. The fog dropped back in, and I was once again isolated, just me and my headlamp. After cresting the endless climb the terrain mellowed out and it was back to shuffling along the muddy double track (I gave up dodging puddles and just ran through everything), through the Little Bald AS up Reddish Knob, and finally on to the pavement that led to the Turn Around.

My legs were feeling a bit tight so I opened up the stride on the road, it felt good to just run downhill. I even flipped off my headlamp for a few minutes, and to my excitement saw the stars breaking through the fog overhead. After a fairly quick stop at the Turn Around (11:20) I settled into a brisk power hike back up the road. When I crested the uphill near Reddish Knob and began running down the muddy road everything just felt good, so I started pushing the legs a little faster, then a little faster. I ran all the gentle uphills and cruised back into Little Bald Knob AS with a new fire, now I was racing. I jogged most of the rolling uphill back to Little Bald Knob as the first rays of sun light streamed through the fog. It was game time, and I opened up the pace hammering the downhill, passing 6 more runners on the steep terrain (including Andrew and Nick) moving up into 8th place.

After a long 12hours in the dark the sun breaks through the fog and day is here.

My legs felt really good and I rolled back into North River Gap (14:18) almost an hour ahead of schedule, so early that my friends Tressa and Doug weren’t expecting me. I quickly dumped all my night time gear in my drop bag, grabbed a handful of gels, some gummy bears and started running up the road toward the Lookout AS. I was determined to keep pushing as long and as hard as I could. Tressa’s friend Doug joined me for this section and it was nice to have company for a bit, since I’d run almost all night alone. As we hiked and jogged our way up toward the Lookout AS I could feel the after effects of pushing hard the past 20miles catching up with me. We rolled into Lookout and took a few minutes to try and recharge, I’d put myself into a hole that I now had to dig out of.

Not a bad place to slog out a few miles in some lovely hardwood forest.

The final 28miles was a brutal slog in proper 100miler fashion. My energy levels alternated between peppy and zombie, but my legs were totally shelled and I had no oompf uphill. Though I can’t say I ran well those final 20+ miles, I just kept on grinding. My legs were stiff, my muscles were exhausted, I smelled terrible (according to Tressa), but we were still able to share many laughs and stories in those final miles. We rolled into the final aid station and I told my sister (who was going to pace me) that we had 1:27 to go 5.3mi to make it in under 24hours, I didn’t know if my legs had it in them, but I sure as heck was gonna give it a shot.

Nick and I being entertained by Frank, Dave Horton and crew at Dowell’s Draft. Even when hurting you can still have fun.

I may have felt like crap, but its only running after all.

I put my head down and slow shuffled the flats, power hiked the ups and tried to let the legs roll on the downs. The miles slowly ticked away, and I just kept grinding. We finally reached the edge of the Boy Scout camp with 27min to go and 1.5miles, for the first time in the last 20miles I felt confident we were gonna make it under 24hours! We jogged through the trees and around the lake, the stiffness was still there, but the pain had temporarily gone numb as the adrenaline of the finish line surged. We ran across the field, I crossed the finish line in 23:51:27 (16th overall) and crumpled to the ground, thoroughly wasted. A high five from my nephew, hugs from my sister and friend Tressa and the satisfaction of knowing I’d given the race all I had, it had beaten me down, but I’d persevered regardless.

My sister and I joyously crossing the finish line in under 24hours.

The race had many ups and downs, for 20miles I’d felt nearly invincible, only to come crashing back down again. Despite all that it was great to share those final 20miles with first my friend Tressa and then my sister. 100 mile races are often very solitary adventures for me, as I end up running alone for countless hours, but it’s always great to share some of those miles with good people. Grindstone was an amazing adventure in brand new terrain. The race had lived up to its billing as a tough and unrelenting East Coast mountain run. The night was long and hard, the trails were a mix of runnable terrain and brutal climbs, the damp fog and mud added a whole new dimension to an already tough course. I would highly recommend Grindstone to anyone looking for a challenging but really well run and well supported 100miler. Thanks to both Andrew and Nick for sharing some of those miles and a few laughs along the course. To Doug, Tressa and Kirsten for slogging out those final 35miles with me, Vfuel Endurance for keeping me powered up to reaching my ‘A’ goal despite the ups and downs. 100milers are never easy, but they are always an adventure, looking forward to the next one on Nov 2nd (?!?!)….stay tuned.

This is what 100miles of wet and muddy feet without a shoe change will do.

Post-race recovery tour of Shanendoah NP.

The infamous 100mile burger, >2000calories of greasy amazing.

Short compilation video of the race

Elks Traverse 14er Link-up

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Map of my route through the Elks, with a few deviations.

“We do not conquer mountains, nor tame the elements. The true conquest lies in penetrating those barriers of self-imposed limitations within our minds.” – Sharon Wood (1st North American woman to climb Everest)

Oh great fresh snow on the scree, my favorite…as I stared up at the back side of Castle and Conundrum peak, rolling my eyes at the continued absurdity of the route commonly known as the Elks Traverse. I’d been awake and on my feet for almost 28hours at this time and what an adventure it had been… but let’s take it back a few years to where this stupidity all began.

I’ve always loved climbing mountains, gasping for breath in the thin crisp air, panoramic views, the technical challenges of route finding and scrambling. All of these things draw me to the mountains, but mostly it’s the adventure of delving into the unknown, into a landscape where you are the guest and not in charge, where you can go for hours without seeing another soul because no one else in their right mind would come this way. The mountains are a place I go to both escape and to find myself. The Elk Mountains near Aspen are no exception, a rugged group of crumbling peaks, containing seven of Colorado’s vaunted 14ers. The difficulties of these peaks is what initially drew me to them; from the Knife edge on Capitol to the ‘Deadly’ Bells traverse, and the crumbling ledges of Pyramid peak… the 14ers of the Elk Mountains are among the most difficult in the state.So naturally it wasn’t enough to just climb them, but could I link them all together in a single push?

This is what 7000calories looks like.

All my gear for the Elks traverse.

Over the past several years I’ve scouted various connections; running the sections, wandering through some scary and sketchy no-go routes, but eventually finding reasonably passable lines between all the peaks.In 2015 I made a horribly misguided attempt to link Pyramid to Capitol (it snowed and rained all day so I bailed), then in 2016 I linked Capitol through the Bells in a solid 15hour push, so linking them all together started to seem feasible. Fast forward to 2018, with no distinct summer plans other than to play in the mountains I was keeping a keen eye on weekend weather windows in hopes of finding a time to make an attempt at the linkup. Finally on the weekend of Sept 8th-9th the weather looked good enough, so I called up a friend Jeason to join for the first section and help with the car shuttle and we were set to start at 4am on Saturday…oh boy, here goes nothing.

Sunrise on our way up Capitol Peak.

Capitol Peaks knife edge and final ridge straight ahead.

We set off in the chilly morning air (410a) from the Capitol Creek TH just rolling along, jogging and chatting as we moved through the dark. As we ascended the switchbacks above Capitol Lake, the first hint of morning cast dark shadows across the tundra, and the horizon began to glow orange. The sky was completely clear and as we made our way up toward K2 the talus was finally bathed in warm sunlight, perfect. We scampered past a few groups, across the Knife edge, and up the direct ridgeline to Capitol’s summit (my preferred route, #1, 3:20). We had the top all to ourselves, and as I looked across the range it struck me that I could see all the peaks of the traverse…%#$ Castle was far away. Well, no time to waste, from here on out the route is mostly off trail until reaching Maroon Lake.

Looking down across Pierre Lakes basin, miles of talus.

Back across the Knife edge, down the scree, we banked a hard right dropping into the scree chute that is the Wandering Dutchman couloir. After slip sliding our way down the class 2-3 gulley we were faced with crossing Pierre Lakes basin, several miles of rarely traveled scree and talus that separates Snowmass from Capitol Peak, bounded by the heinous cliffs of the Snow-Cap Ridge. Thankfully I have the route across the basin pretty dialed so Jeason and I made quick work of it (filling our water along the way), soon arriving at the base of the most hideous part of the route. The class 3-4 shit slope that leads to the Snow-Cap saddle and allows passage to the West face of Snowmass, a necessary evil.

Looking up at the Snow-Cap saddle, all the choss.

Crawling up to the Snow-Cap saddle, its that shitty.

We staggered ourselves and crawled (literally) our way up and over the saddle then rock hopped around to the West ridge of Snowmass Mountain. I felt like I was moving in slow motion up the ridge, but we hit the summit in 7:00 (#2), not bad considering the effort and terrain. The weather was still spectacular, so we quickly jogged off down the ridge, and descended the open scree and slab face formerly known as the ‘snowmass’. I made a last minute change that rather than take the high route over the subridge that I’d descend to Snowmass Lake, grab water then use the trail to traverse around to the back side of the Bells, approaching from below. This would allow for a water refill and also more oxygen, as I wasn’t feeling very strong above 12k.

The talus traverse around to the West Ridge of Snowmass.

View from Snowmass Lake back toward Snowmass.

The trail section over to the base of Buckskin felt really good, but before I knew it I was bushwacking my way up social trails towards the backside of the Maroon Bells. At first the travel was easy going on game trails (as I’d remembered), but soon I found myself traversing a bit too high above the valley and bushwacking through willows, ug. At last I arrived at the base of the Gunsight couloir and North Maroon, though with a slightly different plan this time. I took off at an ascending traverse around North Maroon, popping out right at the start of the Bells traverse, perfect! I’ve always enjoyed the traverse, as the climbing on the most technical sections is solid, but definitely in the low 5th class range. As I neared Maroon Peak I realized that the lingering snow was definitely going to be an issue, forcing me to tiptoe very carefully up the slick ledges to the summit (#3, 11:10).

Looking up the valley toward the backside of the Maroon Bells.

Looking up at the Gunsight (left) and North Maroon (middle).

Then, as per my plan, I set back out across the traverse again, this time getting to upclimb all the technical sections, making it back to the summit of North Maroon in just 46min (#4, 12:00). It was a quiet afternoon on the mountain as I began my descent of the standard route on North Maroon Peak, hopping around a few wet and snowy sections, losing the trail a few times but finally reaching the Buckskin Pass trail and the Crater lake junction. I’d be lying if I said that the ascent of Pyramid Peak didn’t scare me, but looking at my watch I knew I had about 2hours to get as much of the ascent done before things got dark…no time to waste.

View of South Maroon from the traverse, a little snowy.

Looking down the valley I climbed up to connect from Snowmass.

Making friends on the descent of North Maroon Peak.

I settled into a power hike up the very good climbers trail into Pyramid’s upper basin, feeling sluggish, but making good time. As I began to crawl my way up the dirty gravel slope to the saddle at 13000ft the evening light began to wane (15:20). I glanced up at the maze like upper slopes of Pyramid, well, here we go. As I began to scramble across the ledges the final light of the setting sun faded away and I was left with just my narrow headlamp beam, the occasional cairn and my memory of the route. To my surprise I soon found myself on the summit of Pyramid Peak (#5, 16:10). The descent went surprisingly well, and though the talus and scree was slow I made my way back down to the climbers trail without incident, very excited to be back on a trail again and able to jog a bit.

Sunset over the Bells from the shoulder of Pyramid Peak.

Last light as I climb my way up toward Pyramid Peak.

After a quick stop at the oh so quiet Maroon Lake TH to fill water and use the bathroom (19:00), I jogged off into the lonely darkness. I power hiked and yogged my way slowly up East Maroon creek, occasionally catching a few sprinkles, enjoying being able to move without too much thought to each foot step for the first time all day. As I ascended toward treeline a soft rain began to fall….then it picked up to a steady rain. I threw on my rain gear hoping for a passing storm, but no such luck this night. Above treeline the driving rain muted my headlamp and I lost the trail several times in alpine meadows, but I finally got myself up to Copper pass, as a cold sleet pelted my jacket, which was struggling (but thankfully succeeding) to keep me dry. As I traversed the ridge to Triangle Pass the rain finally began to let up and out of the darkness came a sign marking the top of the pass, a welcome sight (25:05).

Morning hot springs action at Conundrum hot springs. It was a long night.

I jogged down the steep trail into the valley below, just as the first light of morning began to illuminate the horizon. I’d survived the night, it had been a slow and damp slog, but I was nearing the final two summits, I was actually going to finish this thing. My feet and legs were soaked from the night’s rain and all the willows, so I walked straight into Conundrum hot spring (shoes on) to warm up my feet (26:10), and damn did it feel good. As I ascended up the valley on the backside of Conundrum it became apparent that the adventure of the Elks Traverse wasn’t over just yet. The last 600ft of talus to the saddle was covered in a delightful glaze of fresh snow, YEAH, because miserable talus wasn’t enough fun, now there was a glaze of snow and ice on top.

Climbing up more talus on the way to Castle and Conundrum, note the snowy talus ahead.

Staring at Castle Peak, my final summit, from the top of Conundrum.

On the summit of Castle Peak, with the rest of the Elks over my shoulder, it was a long journey.

I slowly crawled my way up the final talus slope, one step up, slide 6” back down. When I finally reached the sunlight streaming through the saddle a wave of relief came over me, all the adversities were behind me, and all I had to do was follow the standard routes to Conundrum and Castle. I quickly tagged Conundrum (#6, 29:00) then cruised over to Castle Peak’s summit, topping out on the beautifully clear fall day, all by my lonesome on the summit. It was only fitting that after spending over 29hours in the mountains (mostly alone) that I’d have the final summit (#7, 29:30) all to myself. I hiked and jogged my way down the Castle Creek Rd and back to the 2wd trailhead, finishing my journey in 31:34:52, the second fastest time on the route and the fastest known unsupported time.

Quick stop along Castle Creek Rd to take in some fall colors.

Now over a week after finishing I’ve finally been able to absorb a little of what the journey meant. It was the culmination of many years of scouting and planning. A line that when done unsupported requires one’s full physical and mental attention to deal with the constant off trail navigation, endless miles of talus and scree, numerous class 4-5 climbing sections plus the rest of the adversity that comes with moving through the high mountains for 30hours+. The scenery had been stunning, I’d traveled through areas very few others have seen, experienced two sunrises and a sunset without sleeping, but most importantly I’d proven to myself that such a daunting line was not impossible (for me). While I have no desire to go back and attempt this line again any time soon, the experiences of the journey will forever be etched into my memory, an adventure I will not soon forget.

Special thanks to Jeason Murphy for keeping me company for the first two peaks and for helping with the logistics of the car shuttle. To Vfuel for keeping me powered through such crazy endeavours, Salomon for providing me with the perfect tools for adventure (Advanced Skin 12 pack), to Myriam Desrosiers and Ginna Ellis at Boulderacusport for making sure my legs are able to keep up with such madness, and all my friends and training partners for always challenging me to be stronger and faster. I’ve included a handful of photos with this report, but am also working on a little video slide show of the journey.

Gear List for Unsupported Elks FKT, 9/9/18

Salomon Advanced Skin 12 pack
Patagonia R.5 long sleeve
Hind Drylete long sleeve
Tech shirt
Patagonia strider shorts
Ski socks
OR Fleece gloves
Smartwool beanie
OR Swift cap
Adidas Terrex sunglasses
Ski socks
Inov8 X-talon 212
OR Helium II jacket
Luke’s Ultralite silnylon pants
SPOT locator
Garmin Spartan Ultra watch
Samsung Galaxy Phone (also camera)
Emergency Kit: space blanket, bandages, alcohol wipes, gauze, lighter, 1.5″ pocket knife, ibuprofen, chlorine dioxide tablets, garbage bag, three 1q ziplock bags, hand warmers, albuterol inhaler.
1.5L of water capacity
Myo XP headlamp + extra 3 AAs
Fenix E12 flashlight + extra AA
7000 calories of food (see photo)
1:35000 paper TOPO maps for the whole route

Short video compilation of the journey.

A Year on the Road (The Traveler’s Life)

The Desert Bites Back; Guadalupe Mountains Ultras

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The neat thing about my National Park Ultramarathon project is it’s taking me to places that I normally wouldn’t think about visiting. Example, the Guadalupe Mountains of Southern New Mexico/Northwestern Texas. The Guadalupes aren’t your typical towering mountain range with distinct peaks rising above the surroundings; rather they consist of an uplifted inland reef (Capitan Reef) with deep canyons carving down through the ancient sea floor. The area is split into two parks, one being the Guadalupe Mountains National Park (in Texas) the other, and better known, being Carlsbad Caverns National Park. Over 200 million years ago the area that makes up these two parks was a vast inland sea. Then the inlet to this sea (the current mountain range) was cutoff and the sea slowly dried up, in the process covering the area in layer upon layer of mineral deposits. The continued uplift exposed these mineral and fossil layers in what is now the Capitan Reef of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and the power of slowly percolating water carved out vast caverns underground creating the massive labyrinth that is Carlsbad Caverns.

Sunrise on Guadalupe Peak from the Tejas Trail.

Descending the Bush Mt trail toward Dog Canyon. Not much of a trail.

I first set my sights on a 37mile lollipop in Guadalupe Mountains National Park (5/8). One of the local rangers told me “the magnificence of the Chihuahuan desert lies in its subtlties”, and I couldn’t agree more. As I climbed up the Tejas Trail from the Pine Springs trailhead the sun slowly began to illuminate the surrounding walls and the birds began to awake to greet the day. I ascended 2500ft of switchbacks out of the low arid desert and into the high altitude juniper and pine forest (<8000ft). The trail slowly disintegrated from a wide horse trail into an overgrown sparsely used foot path (Bush Trail) as I crested Bush Mountain (the high point of the day 8631ft, mm6.2, 1:45). The trail undulated along the high ridge through the pine and oak forest, before descending steeply down through an old burn zone to the meadows surrounding the old ranch settlement of Cox Tanks. Blooming cacti and an assortment of wildflowers dotted the desert terrain as I cruised down to the Dog Canyon TH, my only water resupply for the day (mm16, 3:50). The TH was completely empty except one couple and their RV. I doused myself at the water spigot, refilled all my water bottles (2.5L) and jogged back up the Tejas Trail toward Lost Peak.

Dog Canyon TH, refreshed and ready to roll another 21miles.

Wildflowers blooming in an old burn zone along the Tejas Trail.

As I jogged up the canyon the midday sun had begun to bake the open grasslands. I ran into a couple of volunteers who were in the process of clearing the trail, cutting back brush and moving rocks. They mentioned I’d run into more overgrown trail about 1.5miles ahead, as the park didn’t have the resources to clear everything just yet, an unfortunate, but all too common issue within the National Park system due to budget cuts. As I neared Lost Peak the trail became a little rougher, but was far better than the Bush Mountain trail I’d run in the morning. From the summit of Lost Peak (4:50) I had a nice view of the surrounding landscape, an endlessly undulating high plateau strewn with pines, junipers, oak trees and cacti. I cruised along the high ridge dotted with Indian Paintbrush and blooming prickly pear cacti until the junction with the Blue Ridge Trail (mm21.8, 5:20) where the trail descended deep into the pine forests. I hadn’t seen anyone else since the Dog Canyon TH, and was enjoying the trail solitude as I turned up onto the Juniper trail and steeply climbed my way up to the old water tanks at the top of Bear Canyon.

Indian Paintbrush blooming in the desert.

Looking down Bear Canyon at the valley over 2000ft below.

Summit of Guadalupe Peak, high point of Texas.

El Capitan of the Guadalupes from above.

The view abruptly opened, and I was staring down on the Frijole trail 2000ft below. The descent was rocky, but runnable the whole way, and the temperature quickly climbed from the comfortable 60s into the low 80s. I reached my car in the Pine Springs parking lot a bit cooked (mm29, 7:20), but after a quick refill I felt like I was ready to tackle the 3000ft climb up to Guadalupe Peak (the Texas high-point). The trail climbed steeply at first then mellowed a bit more as it traversed into the trees. The heat and sun were definitely getting to me, and I had to take several breaks to cool off in the little bits of shade I could find. The final push from the saddle to the summit seemed to drag on forever, but I finally stumbled my way up to the summit pinnacle and plopped down for a breather (mm33mi, 9:20). Views were expansive, the vast Chihuahuan desert to the South and East, the rolling ridgelines of the Guadalupes to the North and the vertical cliffs of El Capitan (Texas, not CA) directly below. The jog down was a bit painful as I was pretty dehydrated and cooked from the day, but I finally reached the trailhead and sprawled out on the ground, 37mi and 10h and 25min after starting.

Descending into Slaughter Cave on a Ranger guided tour.

Formations in Slaughter Cave.

Day two (5/9) in the Guadalupes found me descending deep into Slaughter Cave in Carlsbad Cavern National Park. This 4h, $15 Ranger Guided tour of the cave was a fantastic way to learn about the history, geology and to see some of the phenomenal formations up close. Day three (5/10) I got a little more than I bargained for, my supposed 25-ish mile run of the Yucca trail-Guadalupe Ridge trail-Slaughter Canyon trail reminded me how cruel the desert can be. All are listed as ‘unmaintained trails’ but I figured how bad could they be? As I climbed up Yucca canyon the trail was well established, the ocotillo and cacti were blooming and the temperature was pleasant. But as I crested the high plateau the trail disappeared into the desert scrub, a nasty mixture of yucca, sotol, cats claw, cacti and agave, as I was relegated to navigating cairn to cairn….when I could. After thrashing my way across the high plateau I finally reached what I thought was the junction with the Guadalupe Ridge trail, wrong (mm11, 3:15). After a 1mi detour I reversed course and found the correct road, and was able to jog my way across the Guadalupe Ridge, only to miss two more unmarked turns on my way to the Putnam Cabin (mm15, closer to mm18.5 that day, 4:55). Then it was back to thrashing my way across the ridgeline until I reached a few old trail signs at the junction with the Slaughter Canyon trail, a trail which did not exist outside of a few rock cairns (mm19, mm23 that day, 5:50). I again thrashed my way down the ridge into Slaughter Canyon, legs ripped up from the sotol and cats claw, a few holes in my foot from agave spines that had pierced my shoes. By the time I reached the canyon bottom I no longer cared about dodging the skin ripping plants, and just barreled on through them, finally reaching the trailhead 7h and 17min after starting, and the ‘marathon-ish’ route turned out to be closer to 28.6miles of brutal bushwacking. My legs told the tale as small streams of blood dripped from scratches on my knees and thighs.

Sunrise on the Yucca Canyon trail.

Follow the cairns, because that’s all you got.

Useless signs at the Slaughter Canyon turn.

Descending back into Slaughter Canyon.

The ravages of yucca and cats claw, bloody legs.

No time to waste though, as I hopped in my car and booked it over to the Carlsbad Cavern main entrance for a self guided walking tour down into the heart of the main cave system. As I descended into the darkness, the air cooled, light faded away and all the noises of the outside world were cut off. The main cave is lit by artificial lights so no headlamps are needed, but one is nice if one would like to inspect some formations in more detail. As the paved walking path entered “The Big Room” the cave opened into a massive cavern, the size of 14 football fields. Thousands of soda straws and stalactites hung from the ceilings, calcite domes up to 30ft tall rose from the floor and crystal clear pools of water flowed deep into the depths of the earth. The standard walking tour of the cave is around 2.5miles from the surface, but there are several other Ranger Guided options to explore deeper into the cave. Wandering this underground labyrinth is truly mind boggling, especially when you consider that miles of cave passages and even new cave systems are being discovered all the time (like Lechuguilla in 1986). If you visit Carlsbad I highly recommend you take a Ranger Guided tour (minimal charge) and if you visit in the summer time stay around to watch the bats fly out of the cave (up to ½ million).

Entering the main Carlsbad Cavern.

The Big Room at Carlsbad Caverns, the size of 14 football fields.

Soda Straws and other formations in Carlsbad.

While the Guadalupe Mountains may not wow you from the outset, hang around a little bit and delve into the subtleties of this seemingly arid desert that is full of life. You’ll see mule deer darting through the scrub, lizards bask in the sun and even a rattlesnake or two letting you know how pissed off he/she is (from a distance of course). Prickly pear cacti blooming in brilliant yellow, the spiny ocotillo and their vibrant red tips and dozens of small wildflowers (including paintbrush) hiding amongst the yucca and scrub. If you stop and look a little closer you’ll be amazed what you find both above ground and below. And while the trail systems of the area won’t rival those of Yosemite, Glacier NP or North Cascades, the solitude you’ll find in the desert will provide you a much different experience than the overcrowded trails elsewhere. My only suggestion, wear full leg coverings and be smarter than I. Special thanks to Vfuel for powering me through crazy adventures like these and to the National Park Service for protecting these amazing lands for all to explore.

Walking by moonlight at White Sands National Monument.

End of a Journey, but the Adventure Continues

Embracing the Unexpected

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First views of the mountains reflecting in Lago Pehoè.

In my first blog after I quit my job I wrote about how I wasn’t sure what I expected out of my long term travels. Maybe some adventure, cultural enlightenment, new friends, but more that I’d just take the journey in stride, one day at a time. In my previous life as a working stiff, travels had always been very well planned out, because you don’t want to waste a day when you only have a few weeks. This is what really separates long term travel from it’s shorter counterparts (for me), the freedom and flexibility one has to take advantage of unexpected opportunities. In a 2-3 week trip one can visit all the beautiful places I’ve seen (obviously not in one trip), and meet lots of amazing locals and travelers, but what if an opportunity arose mid-travel? You probably couldn’t/wouldn’t change your entire trip to do something completely unplanned.

Don’t feel bad I didn’t get to backpack the loop, I got in two pretty nice long runs.

The volunteer crew at Erratic Rock before heading out. Photo courtesy of the @TDPLegacyFund

After being shut out of the multi-day trekking options in Torres del Paine, I did some long day runs (see earlier blog), returning to Puerto Natales each night to relax at Erratic Rock. One night while sitting and having a glass of wine I overheard the hostel staff Bill and Jess talking about a volunteer trail building opportunity that they were helping to organize in Torres del Paine the first week of March. For those of you who know me well, you know I have a passion for giving back to the parks and trail systems that so many of us heavily use, and sometimes neglect and abuse. I’ve even taken several courses on trail design, maintenance and construction, along with how to lead volunteer groups in such settings (Thanks Boulder Country Parks & Open space!). So with all that in mind I couldn’t pass up the possibility of joining the group and proceeded to beg my way into the team. Thanks to the folks at the Torres del Paine Legacy Fund I was now part of the team of volunteers, and I’d be back in Puerto Natales the first week of March to head into the park for a full week of camping and trail building.

The team enjoys the catamaran ride across the lake.

The sea of tents at Paine Grande town.

After a five day stint in Ushuaia and a little over a week playing around on the trails of El Chalten and El Calafate I caught a bus back to Puerto Natales for a few nights at Erratic Rock before heading into the park to work. It was kind of like hanging out with the family, and I even got put to work by Bill a little bit, always happy to help out. Friday March 3rd much of the crew met up and made some last minute arrangements before heading out. The group was comprised of several of us gringos from the States, a couple Chileans from up north, a few local guides, a traveler from France and a whole bunch of the local Guarda Parques (park service). On Saturday afternoon we loaded into several vehicles and drove the back road into Torres del Paine. Those of us non-locals marveled at the views of the mountains reflecting off a dead calm Lago Pehoè, how did we get so lucky? We then transferred all our gear from the vehicles onto the catamaran at Pudeto and set off on the 30min journey across the lago to Rifugio Paine Grande, our home for the next week. We were treated to beautiful views as we slowly motored across the Lago. Saturday was spent setting up camp and getting to know our colleagues as we dined in the rifugio, fancy living.

Day one of trail work, the team getting acclimated.

Relaxing back in camp after a successful day.

Work began on Sunday with John (ex-US forest service ranger) from Oregon heading up the trail design and organizing the team. I’d take a secondary role alongside Legacy Fund leader Emily helping organize the teams of workers and answering questions about trail design and trying to translate to the Spanish speakers when possible (my Spanish is still pretty rough, but getting better). We built waterbars, cut bushes, cleared calafate (damn thorny bastards) and dug new trail thread from 9-5 each day. For those of you who haven’t done this it’s a heck of a cross training workout. We then spent our afternoons unwinding in Paine Grande town, multi lingual chatting, playing games and drinking beer/wine. It was such a wonderful mix of personalities and people from all backgrounds, and while we slaved away all day, we had plenty of fun in the process.

The Milky Way stretching over Lago Pehoe. Not sure why it won’t rotate.

Sunrise on Paine Grande town from the catamaran dock.

Digging new trail, with some nice views.

We had to trim a shit ton of brush and stubborn calafate.

Torres del Paine (and Patagonia ) is known for unstable weather, and after three days of hard work in misty conditions Wednesday looked terrible (3-4cm of rain). We decided a day of rest would do us all good, so we kicked back, wrote in journals, played games and just enjoyed each other’s company, because boy did it rain, just nice and steady all day. When I awoke Thursday morning the rain was tapering off, but I found a lake around my tent, and that several of my neighbors were less fortunate and their tents were IN the lake. We made a mild effort to dry some things out, and moved tents out of the lagoon before heading out to inspect how our handy work on the trails had held up to the rain.

Working away on both sides of the outlet of Lago Skottsburg.eventually there will be a bridge here.

Afternoon break to enjoy the views.

Relaxing in the dining hall as the rain fell.

Lago Rifugio, my tent sat front and center on the hill, while four others sat in the puddle to the right.

Obstacle #1 was crossing the shin deep river that had appeared between us and the guard shack. Thursday we split into two groups, one building boardwalk over a marshy section, while Emily and I took team #2 back to keep cutting new trail. Obstacle #2 came in the form of our usual river crossing, formerly on stones, but now fully submerged. Many of us resorted to damp feet, then it was back to cutting, weeding and digging. Though our group was slowly dwindling, those that were left made for a fun crew, as we got to know each other even better. Friday dawned our last day of digging in the dirt, after bidding John (our fearless leader) farewell, we finished up some last sections and called it a successful week. We’d dug more than 1km of hard fought new trail and built 37 waterbars.

Crossing the river at peak flow .

How pretty is this newly cut trail? Our final segment of the week.

Before and after construction #1.

Before and after shot of some new trail #2.

The last thing in the agenda was a night of celebration with all our new friends as a full moon rose into clear skies illuminating the mountains, lakes and fields. It was fitting that our final morning dawned clear, as the sun’s rays slowly melted their way down Paine Grande and into camp. Sadly this is where we had to bid many of the Guarda Parques farewell, while the rest of us headed back to Puerto Natales before eventually going our respective ways. Simply getting to work in the park for the week was an absolute treat in its own right, but getting to meet and share the experience with such a wonderfully diverse group of people made it just magical. Our Spanglish games in Paine Grande town, dance parties on the trail, plenty of poor translations (many by me), realizing you pitched your tent in a stream bed and quiet mornings with friends watching the sun rise over the the magical land of Torres del Paine. I couldn’t have asked for anything more from the week, and am so glad I decided to say “screw the plan, I’m doing this”, when the opportunity arose. While most people won’t have this flexibility while traveling I’d implore you not to be afraid to say yes to the unexpected, and let life be fluid, because who knows what opportunity might come your way, and when it might happen. A life of experiences and memories is much better than one filled with “What IFs”.

Enjoying some vino and pisco by moonlight.

Taking in one last sunrise.

One last boat ride out of the park with some new friends.

Goodbye for now, but not forever.

Travelers Guilt

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Planes, trains and buses. Sometimes you’re packed in like a sardine, other times you have half a plane to yourself. In route to Malaysia.

In the developed world many of us are very fortunate to have the means and the opportunity to travel, both domestically and internationally. I could write pages on the benefits of traveling to different cultures and becoming an international citizen, but that’s not what has my brain cranking. No, what has me pondering what it means to be a traveler is something I’ve deemed “travelers guilt”, let me explain. During my time in Asia I spent a lot of time talking with locals, learning about their culture and lifestyle and sharing mine. Both in Nepal and Myanmar I talked about my travels to many different countries and cities and about all of what I’d seen. For most people in the western world, you may be jealous of the things I’ve done and seen, but the fact that I’m doing them is not a surprise to you. Most of you probably know a dozen other people who have taken off on a several month long journey (or longer), to distant far off lands.

Christmas festivities ibn the Seoul airport, complete with a woman singing songs from Frozen, in Korean.

Most people in the developing world don’t have this luxury. Life focuses on family, friends, home, farm, school and the essentials. Many people in SE Asia and Nepal have never been out of their own country, and some may not have ever left their districts/regions. Traveling for pleasure is just not something they think about or that is part of their culture, so to talk to world travelers opens up a world of different experiences and possibilities. So far, this is all good, sharing different experiences and ideas.
Now the guilt. Both in Nepal and Myanmar the question came up about how much it costs me to travel; hostels, airplanes, buses, visas, etc, there are a lot of different expenses that go into traveling internationally. I’m a fairly thrifty traveler, but flights still cost hundreds of dollars, visas upwards of $150 in some countries. My new friends asked me about all these things and I wasn’t going to lie or sugar coat anything. But as I recited some of the numbers I realized, even my cheap $400 flight to Asia was an amount of money that they could live off for a month, it’s an amount that takes them some time to wrap their head around, and we spend it merely for pleasure.

Our adopted Burmese family, they invited us to their family picnic, gave us beer and food and did out makeup, because…

Teaching my Nepalese kids about America and world geography.

I began to feel very guilty and extremely self continuous about my travels, and spent my several days of transit to Hawaii (via Thailand and Korea) pondering what this concept really meant. Should I not be traveling and instead just donate my extra money to charities, should I travel but share my money more freely with as many locals as possible, or is this just the nature of economic inequality? In the end I came back to the advantages of international travel for our society and individuals. Awareness, understanding and sharing our cultures brings tolerance and in my opinion makes us all better and more compassionate people, but that’s just my opinion on how I travel and what I want to get out of travel.

Wedding in the village of Shishaghat. Family, friends, food, dancing and everyone (even me) is invited.

But this doesn’t mean “travelers guilt” hasn’t changed how I travel. Since there are huge economic disparities between the western world and developing countries I think those of us do have a responsibility to do the little things to help those who need it most. Don’t stay in big corporate hotels instead find a small B&B or guesthouse. Buy from street vendors and small shops instead of big commercial operations (guess this is true for the US too). And even though you have more money than the locals don’t flaunt it, be respectful. I’ve started trying to spread my money around when I can, but not spending more extravagantly than I normally would, just being conscious of where my money goes. I’ve seen way too many people throwing money around and treating the economically less fortunate as slaves, which just disgusts me.

Shopping the street markets of Yangon, Myanmar for fruits and veggies.

Most of you reading this were born with a similar level of privilege that I was, and I feel it’s our duty to be responsible citizens and try to help those wonderful hard working folks who offer more than a simple product, but a story and friendship (I guess this is some degree of socialism for mankind). I welcome different thoughts, opinions, and arguments for/against what I’ve written above. These are just my ponderings and musings and I’d love to hear other opinions or if anyone else has struggled with this topic. For now, I’ll keep on traveling, but am a little more aware of how I do it and how much of a privilege it is. Thanks to ask those who have shared this journey with me, opened their lives to me and whom have helped me grow along the way.

So no matter how you travel, enjoy the ride. The people and places are what make the experience, not how much it costs.

Where Fire meets Water; Volcano National Park Ultra

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An ever changing landscape, Volcanoes National Park is one of the few parks that’s still being molded on a macro scale. Not one mm a year like the grand canyon or a few inches like the redwoods, but in some places dozens of feet of new land are added to this national park by the flowing bubbling lava. Ben and I spent a rainy night at camp along the Hilina Pali Rd at Kulanaokuaniki, but awoke at first light to clear skies. After a short drive we located the unmarked trailhead along Hilina Pali Rd (sometimes called the Halape trail), parked in a small pullout and set off along the cairned, but barely visible route toward Halape.

Ben starting down the Halape ‘trail’ definitely unmaintained.

Following the ‘trail’ through the grass, really just a bunch of cairns.

The ‘trail’ started out as a faint path well marked by cairns, but we were soon dumped onto an old road that was horribly overgrown, but still quite visible. We thrashed through knee to waist deep grass for a few miles until the road disappeared into deep grass and we were left with nothing but a line if cairns to follow. The trail began to descend southward toward the ocean rather than traversing back toward the Chain of Craters road as we’d expected, but it was so well marked we continued forward. We descended steeply down some old switchback to the Halape junction (2:15), much further west along the trail than we were expecting because on the map the unmaintained trail was supposed to drop us onto the Keauhou trail closer to Chain of Craters road. Sadly we’d missed the trail down to Halape and decided that because of the slow conditions we’d alter the route and continue on the loop minus Halape.

Ben making his way across the Ka’aha trail, a major trail in the park.

Lava tube near Ka’aha, a little exploration.

As we started across the Hilina Pali trail toward Ka’aha it was very evident that the day was going to be a slow trudge. While this ‘main’ trail was very well marked we were wading through knee to waist deep grass the entire time and almost nothing was runnable. We passed through a lovely grove of trees (shade!) and then slowly descended toward the beach at Ka’aha (5:45).

At the ocean near Ka’aha, weeee.

The rolling lava fields between Ka’aha and Pepeiao

The Ka’aha shelter is a funny little shack with a rain water tank and a bathroom near a protected swimming bay. We dipped our hands into the ocean and continued onward along the coast. The character of the coast dramatically changed, and we soon found ourselves running across buttery smooth black lava dunes. It was by far the most runnable and most enjoyable section of the entire day. We spent several miles cruising through the barren lava field, the ocean on one side and the Hilina Pali cliffs on the other, finally arriving at the sandy promontory overlooking several sea arches and the crashes waves of the Pacific. This is what I pictured Volcanoes National Park to look like, barren lava beds, towering sea side cliffs, crashing waves and compete solitude, it had only taken us 6 hours to find it.

Seaside living, lava, arches, big waves.

Pepiao shelter high in the hill side.

We then left the ocean and started the long, slow, hot trudge up toward Pepeiao. As we ascended the rocky lava the wind died and we started to bake in the hot sun. I was definitely fatiguing so the pace died a bit. We finally reached the Pepeiao hut perched high on the Hilina Pali with expansive views I the lower park (6:45). We again refilled our water and proceeded to immediately lose the trail coming out of the cabin. After 10min of bishwacking through the grass we finally located the over grown trail headed uphill away from the cabin.

Ben leaving the Pepiao shelter into the deep grass.

Less than a mile out from the cabin Ben began to cough and some horrid smell was tickling my nose, it took us a few minutes but we finally realized it was SO2 fumes from Kileuea, which made both of us a little sick and uneasy. Over the next few miles we’d continually get inundated with toxic fumes, go through coughing fits, then push onward. Finally as we neared the Hilina Pali overlook we left the fumes behind and were free and clear, thank god nothing lasting. The Hilina Pali overlook is a quiet little cabin with good views of the coast and lava field below, but it’s hard to gain perspective I the area from so far away (8:30). All that was left was to jog the final 3.5 miles of road back to the car and closer the loop. We arrived back at the car at 4:10, 9 hours and 10 minutes after starting, having covered between 26-29 miles (unknown because of trail changes and wanderings).

One of the things I’ve learned from my first six national park ultra run adventures is that not only is there a huge diversity of landscapes within the park system, but often this huge diversity applies to a single park. Volcanoes NP transitions from rain forest, to subtropical, to chest deep grasslands, to barren lava beds and finally sandy beaches. And while the route we ran (really mostly hiking) in Volcanoes was not exactly what I thought it would be, it lived up to the showing the true character and diversity that Volcanoes National Park had to offer. The variety of landscapes, the ruggedness of the terrain, the battle between man and nature (nature is winning), and some beautiful solitude. So the project continues on, with six National Park ultraruns competed, and >40 to go, I’ve got a lot of work to do.

NOTES:

First off Volcanoes National Park suffers the same issue as many other parks, a gross lack of funding. In fact we later found out that the park had laid off all their trail crews for months prior, explaining the overgrown trails. Because I’d this don’t expect super smooth runnable trails, but more an adventurous bushwack, bring a good map. Camping at the ocean side shelters would be quite nice, but Pepeiao want very inspiring and was full of red ants. Since lowers volcanoes is mostly dry grasslands don’t expect to find any water except for the rain collection at the shelters, inquire with the park as to how full the catch basins are and whether the trails have been maintained at all. Note that because of the volcanic activity this run does not include the active lava flows of Kileaua or Pu’u O’o, but both are must see side trips, especially where Pu’u O’o flows into the ocean. So if you’re looking for solitude in a unique volcanic moonscape, give lower Volcanoes National Park a go. Thanks to Vfuel for supporting my habits and to Ben for joining me for this adventure.

Lava flowing out of Pu’u O’o into the ocean at sunset.

The lava glow of the Kileaua crater at sunset.

Navigating Medical help in Chile

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Morning stroll through the Plaza de Armas on my way to the clinic.

First off, I’m fine nothing major, but I contracted a nasty case of poison oak in California a week ago which has spread to all my lower extremities and has my left leg swollen as if I’d run 100 miles. I’m quite allergic and since it wasn’t improving I made the venture into the wide world of Chilean healthcare for a little assistance.

My swollen and rash covered leg, hard to appreciate my cankle and giant calf.

First off I was relieved to learn that the Chilean healthcare system is quite good. The network of pharmacies is wide, but while one can get many things over the counter, corticosteriods are not one. So my choice was a ‘hospital’ or a ‘clinica’ to get a prescription. Hospitals are government subsidized facilities while clinics are privately run (and often better), so I opted for the Clinica Davila near downtown Santiago. My traveler insurance doesn’t cover small medical visits, so that was of no use, so it was all going to be out of pocket.

Entry to the Clinica Davila, looks legit.

I walked in the main doors of the clinic and up to the front desk, where it became apparent I’d be doing my transactions in Spanish, I wanted to practice and what a way to learn. I was sent to a check-in desk where I was able to get my name on the list for a doctor consult, then came the fun adventure of getting my information in the system as a foreigner without insurance. The guy at the payment desk had a little trouble, but we figured it out, $45 later, then came the wait to be called in to see the doctor. An hour later I was called in; the doctora examined me, we navigated my issues with my limited Spanish, she looked at my leg and prescribed an antibiotic and a steroid and off I went.

Bottom is my appointment form, top my prescription, mmm steroids.

I stopped in at the local Ahunada farmacia and picked up my meds without issue ($18). In total the process took about 3h, but if I didn’t speak any Spanish I’m not sure how I would have done it. So just a word of warning, that while the healthcare in Chile is wonderful and very available, finding English speakers is a tough task and be ready to fumble your way through the process if you don’t speak Spanish. Here’s to hoping the swelling goes down quickly and I can get back to normal. It’s been a rough start to 2017, full of all kinds of learning experiences.