Olympic National Park was founded in 1938, connecting the coastline to the temperate rainforest to the glacier lined high peaks of the Olympic peninsula. With over 900,000 acres of land and 600miles of trails, selecting a single day’s worth to visit as part of my National Parks project was a tall task. After combing through maps, talking to people with more experience in the park, I settled on connecting the sweeping alpine views of Hurricane Ridge to the deep forest of the Sol Duc valley. After a year of dealing with a chronic injury and rehabbing my way back to mostly functional, I decided to give the 39mi route a go, even though I was greatly undertrained, so the wheels started turning…
Sunrise from Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park
After landing in Seattle, I stocked up on supplies, grabbed my rental car, and headed straight to the Olympic Peninsula to meet up with my friend Jason, who had graciously (and excitedly) agreed to join for the long day ahead. We dropped a car shuttle at the bustling Sol Duc trailhead and headed back to Port Angeles to pack our gear and rest up for the long run. Sunday morning (8/25/24) we followed the Hurricane Ridge Rd to it’s end, parked our car, shouldered our packs and off we went. The clouds were swirling in the valleys below as the sun’s early morning glow illuminated the mountains, the whole scene felt very apt for a PNW adventure. We chatted as we cruised along the paved path to it’s end near Hurricane Hill, where our 5000ft descent to the Elwha River began.
Alpine ridge running along Hurricane Ridge.
The first several miles of alpine tundra cruised by as we descended down the endless switchbacks into the dense forest below. Soft forest dirt, swooping switchbacks, calm and quiet trails, about as serene as we could have imagined. After about 1:45 we reached the decommissioned Elwha River Rd. In 2012 the Elwha River project began, removing the two dams along the river, returning the river back to its original channel, allowing the salmon to swim upstream, the silt to flow downstream and the valley to heal. With only foot traffic and bike traffic allowed, the 6.5mi on the road was incredibly quiet and pleasant as we quickly made our way to our next destination, Olympic Hot Springs.
Gline Canyon Dam, decommissioned in 2014.
Soaking our legs in Olympic Hot Springs.
Olympic Hot Springs was long used by the Klallam Tribe, who introduced the first Europeans to the springs in 1907. A resort was then built to service the growing number of tourists visiting the area but was finally closed in 1966. This formerly busy hiking destination has now become quiet since the Elwha River project began in 2012, which turned the 1.5mi approach, into an 11mi haul. We stopped for quick soak in one of the toasty hot springs before continuing our 4500ft climb to Appleton Pass, it felt really nice to get our shoes off for a bit. Several miles after leaving the Hot Springs the trail finally kicked up as we pushed towards the pass. As we climbed over the pass, the trail changed from open grassland and tundra to deep dark forest as we descended into the fog that enshrouded the Western peninsula temperate rainforest.
Lush green forest on the way to Appleton Pass.
Land of big trees along the Sol Duc river.
Back down we went to the Sol Duc river 2000ft below. Rain and dew dripped off the trees and bushes, while the spongy duff underfoot sunk with each footstep. From the Sol Duc river we climbed steadily back to Heart Lake, which marked the transition back into the alpine. It also marked the furthest I’d run in over a year (>29mi), since Cascade Crest 2023. Low clouds danced around the ridgelines, enveloping the surroundings mountains and lakes, only to just as suddenly part and reveal their secrets. Most of our run along the High Divide trail was in the clouds, a bit of a bummer as we were hoping for views, but enjoyable in its own right.
Climbing up towards Heart Lake as the clouds drop in.
Seven Lakes Basin in Olympic National Park.
After a short wrong turn near Bogachiel Peak, we started our descent towards Deer Lake. As we descended the clouds began to part, and we got one final glimpse of the surrounding mountains before dropping back into the dense forest below. Now 32mi and 10:30 in to our day, my lack of training was starting to show. My legs were shelled, I was totally exhausted and it took all my remaining strength to just stay upright as we descended the rocky trail back to the Sol Duc River. We kept plodding along down, down, down, finally reaching the bridge across Sol Duc Falls. It was this spot 20 years ago, in a rainstorm, where I first fell in love with Olympic National Park. The calming thundering of the water, the beautiful contrast of the water, greenery and black rocks and the liveliness of the surrounding rain forest.
High Divide trail in Olympic National Park. A+ trail running.
Sol Duc Falls in Olympic National Park.
We jogged the last 1/2mi back to the trailhead, soaking in the soft smooth trail through the rain forest, finally reaching the Sol Duc trailhead 39.9mi and 12h30min after we’d left the cars at Hurricane Ridge. I was elated to have been able to complete the adventure after such a challenging year, but at the same time utterly shelled after pushing my body further than it was trained for. The traverse had provided everything I could have hoped for from the day, even though we’d barely scratched the surface of what Olympic National Park has to offer. Olympic doesn’t have the hype of it’s more well known brothers and sisters (it’s 10th on the visitation list), but it has all the majesty, beauty and diversity to inspire endless wonder.
Jade Lake in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness (not Olympic National Park)
Capitol Reef from near Torrey with the Henry Mts in the background.
Utah has 5 National Parks, each encompassing a unique and amazing landscape. Of those 5, Capitol Reef definitely gets the least attention, and so many people are missing out. Take the slot canyons and washes of Zion, throw in a few arches and the cherry on top is the amazing geology of the 100mi long Waterpocket fold and you’ve got a slickrock wonderland, full of hidden passages and deep and narrow canyons. Capitol Reef National Park may not have just one thing that wows people or that draws tourist from around the world, but spend a little time there and you’ll start to unravel the mystery and magic that makes this National Park so spectacular.
I started my Capitol Reef NP run from the Visitor Center along Sulphur Creek, jogging South along the park road, across the Fremont River and starting up the Cohab Canyon trail. The trail quickly climbs along the cliffside, breaking a gap in the wall the trail enters a high canyon cutting into the heart of the reef. My first destination was Hickman Bridge, a well known natural bridge the trail passes right under. Looping back to Cohab Canyon, I quickly turned off onto Fryingpan Trail, climbing up to the top of the reef. The Fryingpan Trail undulates along the top of the reefs, rims of the slot canyons and across the top of the reef. Eventually dropping down to the iconic Cassidy Arch and into Grand Wash.
Hickman Bridge in Capitol Reef NP.
Views along the Frying Pan Trail in Capitol Reef.
Grand Wash’s massive walls rise hundreds of feet above the 20ft wash, terminating at the Fremont River. After a quick water and food resupply at the road crossing, I setup for the first technical obstacle, the ford of the Fremont River into Spring Canyon. The water was very chilly, about thigh deep and moving with some speed. Once across I bushwacked my way into Spring Canyon, and started the slow ascent up the 25mile long Spring Canyon. Trapped deep within the canyon, with no easy exit for 10mi, it’s a very quiet and isolated place in the heart of Capitol Reef, only a few miles from the park road. Soaring white and red sandstone walls, massive spires, narrow slot canyons and lots of hidden nooks. The canyon finally opens up after 10mi near Chimney Rock Canyon, and the trail splits up and over Chimney Rock, which offers fantastic views of the back side of Capitol Reef and towards the Aquarius Plateau.
Grand Wash far below, driveable to the Cassidy Arch TH, then foot traffic only beyond that.
Spring Canyon’s long twisting hallways are seldom visited, but easily accessed from several sides.
The view from Chimney Rock back down towards Spring Canyon.
At the Chimney Rock TH my route crossed the highway, and the next section of the Capitol Reef adventure loop began, descending into Sulphur Creek. Sulphur Creek is carved by a cold water natural spring, deep into the eroding mudstone. After passing through the wide portion of the upper canyon, the creek bottom begins to narrow and takes on a more slot like appearance. As the canyon slots up, the options for travel become fewer, and one finds themselves splashing alongside the creek and scrambling on the cliff edges. All of a sudden I rounded a corner and came face to face with the swim, a 8-10ft wide, 50ft long chest deep pool. I undressed, packed all my gear into my drybag and waded into the chilly water. I cruised through and back into the sunshine, redressed and continued down the narrow fluted heart of Sulphur Creek Canyon. After climbing down the final small waterfall the canyon widens back out and terminates back at the Visitor Center.
Entering the narrows of Sulphur Creek. The water starts out avoidable…for a bit.
The final obstacle in Sulphur Creek, a short 4ft downclimb around this waterfall.
30mi and 7h later, I’d completed my ultramarathon loop of the Central Capitol Reef region. A fantastic mix of trail running, adventure, solitude and stunning scenery. With short car shuttles one could easily break the run into three distinct pieces. The Visitor Center to Grand Wash, Grand Wash through Spring Creek to Chimney Rock TH, and Chimney Rock TH through Sulphur Creek. Each section offers a unique, yet stunning view of Capitol Reef’s beauty; the lonely canyons, massive arches/bridges, sculpted walls, and intricate uplift of the reef formation.
After going for a little swim through the narrows of Sulphur Creek. The water is chest deep and chilly.
Sunrise from the Island in the Sky in Canyonlands, 1/2/21.
Better late than never? It’s been a whirlwind of a year and 8 months later I’m finally catching up on my early year projects. Winter motivation is often a hard thing to inspire, but the desert has definitely been my oasis in this department. Adler, Owen and I headed to Utah for New Years. After a couple of cold days in Central Utah exploring Capitol Reef (the next blog to come!) we made our way back to Moab for the next installment of the National Park Ultra series, Canyonlands Island in the Sky.
Canyonlands is divided into three distinct districts by the Colorado and Green Rivers; Island in the Sky to the North, Needles to the SE and The Maze to the SW. When I started my project to run an ultra in every National Park I decided that some parks just require more than one run, because one really can’t experience each unique landscape without dividing them up, and Canyonlands is a prime example. The Needles consists of a desertscape chopped up by giant rock fins and slickrock canyons, The Maze is just that, a maze of narrow slots and deep chasms that carve up the landscape while The Island in the Sky consists of a high plateau guarded on all sides by imposing walls, dropping thousands of feet down to the rivers below. All three can seem impenetrable at first glance, but improbable breaks in the canyons allow one to move across the complex landscape.
Adler cruising around the White Rim Rd in Canyonlands, 1/2/21.
The most well known feature of the Island in the Sky district is the White Rim Road, this 71mile road follows the White Rim sandstone formation as it circles the Island in the Sky, 1500ft below the plateau and 1000ft above the Green and Colorado Rivers. I started my morning at the Murphy Hogback trailhead at sunrise jogging the paved road North as it traversed it’s way through the park. I passed the jam packed Mesa Arch TH and onward to the Lathrop TH where I met Adler and Owen (7mi in).
Descending down the Lathrop Trail into the depths of Canyonlands.
From there we began our descent down one of the improbable trails that switchbacked down the cliff bands into the depths of Canyonlands, 1500ft below. Across this ledge, down this seam, over this talus rock fall and finally down the rim of a small slot to the White Rim. The cool winter air was delightful to run in and we had this region of the park all to ourselves. We hit the White Rim Rd (mm13), bid Owen farewell (as he headed back up to the car), and took off CW on our journey. The White Rim is mostly very cruisy jeep road, trapped between the towering Chinle/Wingate/Navajo sandstone walls above and the Cedar Mesa sandstone below. When you run/ride/drive the road you truly get a sense of the immensity that is Canyonlands, and the isolation that one can find in it’s depths. We continued on the road past the Airport Tower, Washer Woman tower and several immense canyons to our left that dropped to the Colorado River, still miles away. At mm24 we intersected the Gooseberry trail, our only easy bail exit (ie trail) from the canyon. We were still feeling great so forged onward with the long looping traverse around Grand View Point at the head of the Island in the Sky.
A dusting of snow coats Canyonlands, Adler and Owen lead the way.Monument Basin Canyonlands.
A few snack breaks, one floss break above Monument Basin and lots of photo-ops later we finally turned the corner and began to head back North towards Murphy Wash (mm35). The miles were starting to wear on both Adler and I, so we settled into a mixture of fast hiking and jogging, finally reaching our turn back up to the Rim. This run is what I describe as a ‘Pay Later’ run, as with only 5miles to go we had a long sandy wash and 1400ft to climb back to our finish line. The sand felt like cement to our tired legs, but when we finally reached the steep cliff-bands that marked our final ascent back to the rim the hiking actually felt really good after all the flat runnable miles. As we climbed our way up through the different layers of sandstone the views started to expand and the late afternoon light lit up the walls with a reddish/orange glow. We hit the top of the climb right as the sun started it’s descent below the horizon, what a way to end an amazing day in the canyons.
Looking down from the White Rim towards the Colorado River far far below.25mi of White Rim Rd done, back up the Murphy Trail we go!
After a quick high five we booked it back to town to eat every single thing we could get our hands on (9h12min and 43.69mi of running makes one hungry!). On the surface the desert may not have the diversity or grandeur of the mountains, but look a little closer and she just might reveal her secrets to you. The Island in the Sky district is a wonderful example of the diversity of Canyonlands; juniper forest on the high plateau, massive sandstone cliffs, arid slicrkrock and two rivers that create an impassable oasis far below. So many sections of this park are nearly inaccessible to all but the most dedicated, and that’s what makes it so special, you earn what you get, and nothing is easily given up. Huge thanks to Adler and Owen for sharing this adventure with me, Vfuel for powering me through yet another 9h unsupported adventure and to being healthy enough to challenge the body in such spectacular ways. Strava Track.
Hiking the way up the Murphy Trail back to the top!
Sunset from Island in the Sky looking towards the Lasals. Winter in the desert is beautiful.
By now some
of you know that this past weekend I took a very short trip back to see family
in California, traveling by plane both directions. I know many people are itching
to hop back on a plane, travel and to get away from it all. So to help everyone
make a more informed choice I’ll lay out what I did to mitigate much of the
risk of flying and how my experience went navigating all the public spaces that
come with traveling to a different state. If you want to ask (or scold if you
must) me about my personal reasons for doing this you are more than welcome to
send me a DM or email and I’ll respond individually with that information, but
its personal and thus not suited for a public forum and not the point of this
writeup.
Every departing flight from Denver between 6p-11p on a Friday afternoon….. wow!
My Mitigation Plan For me this whole process was a test of my ability to creation infectious disease mitigation plans, a skill I learned and honed working in tuberculosis and HIV labs for many years. So I did not simply hop on a plane and wait to see what happened, I had a whole step by step plan of all the risks involved with travel, how I would protect myself and how I would act in certain situations. Below is my initial plan that I laid out BEFORE traveling, and it is VERY conservative.
Now on to the reality of the situation and what I observed and found. I’ll lump both my flights together as a way to give the sum of a couple different experiences for each step listed above.
The whole journey for me started in Boulder boarding the RTD AB bus which heads to the airport. Under normal circumstances these buses are packed and can be standing room only, but right now RTD is limiting the number of passengers on each bus to <20, has suspended fare collections and is requiring all drivers/passengers to wear face coverings. When I got on it was apparent it was going to be a quiet trip, just myself and one other person headed to the airport!
On my way to the airport on RTD, the bus is empty except for one other person and the driver.
The
Airport
Needless to say the ride went smoothly, but I still kept my mask on the whole time. Arriving at the airport I unloaded my own bag and headed up the escalators to security. I was astonished to find 1 person (TOTAL) in line in front of me. I walked up to TSA precheck, handed the security office my ID, she didn’t even request I remove my mask (though they did in Oakland), then I passed on through. In Oakland they didn’t even have a precheck lane running, instead they specially escorted me through normal security (shoes on, liquids in the bag). After security I sanitized my hands and ID and headed to the gate. I only passed by a few people, almost all of whom were wearing masks of some variety (they are mandatory in the airport). As I approached the gate I was astonished to see the bar at Timberline Steaks (Denver) was open and seating patrons at the bar/restaurant? I filled my water bottle, washed my hands and headed over to the gate. At the gate there were only about 20 people heading to Oakland, and 30 people on the return flight, for planes that have a capacity for 140 people. I found a spot at the gate spread out between others, which was easy, and sat down to eat my snacks and grab some water before the flight. This was the first time I removed my mask and it was only for a few minutes in a safely spaced out area. While waiting for my first flight an SWA worker came and sat right behind me, no attempts to space out, and while waiting for my second flight a woman came and stood right in front of me to await boarding. In both instances there was plenty of space to maintain at least 6ft of distancing, but neither person was aware enough to realize the situation.
TSA Checkpoint in Oakland, not a single passenger to be seen. TSA precheck was even closed in Oakland, though it was open (with 1 person) in Denver.
Waiting for the airport train at Denver International, people nicely spaced out, wearing masks.
Walking through Terminal C at Denver International, barely anybody around at 6pm on a Friday evening.
Southwest Airlines boarding process in Oakland, a mad rush to the podium as always (only 10 at a time), not much organization to the boarding process.
The
Flight
Now on to the fun chaos of boarding. Southwest is famous for their open seat policy, normally boarding in groups of 30 at a time, all crammed together in small lines. Now they are calling up 10 numbers at a time to allow people to spread out. The problem is, when they call those 10 numbers it’s a free for all, no organization, so of course everyone immediately rushes to the counter and stands right next to each other trying to be the first on. I simply stood back, let them crowd ahead and walked on once my group had thinned out. Boarding the plane you have to walk by/near people, there’s just no fix for this situation (wearing my N95 still). I chose a window seat about halfway through the plane, spread out from other passengers, right now there is plenty of space on many flights. But, of course, on my first flight someone came and sat right in front of me (there was no need), so I moved over two seats to the aisle. As planes begin to fill up more and more the actual seating part is going to become impossible to not have several people within a 6ft radius of you, so that’s a part of travel risk one will just have to accept as being unavoidable. On the plane almost everyone was wearing masks, including the crew. But not long after take off many people removed their masks for most of the flight (about ½ on my first plane, and 10-20% on my second). I even witnessed one woman call the flight attendant over to ask a question, then promptly pull down her mask to speak directly with her (really???). On the flight I spent most of my time working and reading as I watched the scenery go by. I did sanitize my hands and remove my mask for a brief few seconds to grab a drink of water, but that was the only time in the 2.5h flight my N95 came off. Overall a pretty uneventful flight once we were in the air, no food and beverage service, a few trash collection passes by the friendly flight attendants, but that was it. Both flights landed early so we had to wait a few extra minutes for our gates. Even though very few flights are running (<30-40/day outbound at DIA and Oakland it looked like) each airport is only operating a fraction of it’s gates. When we finally got to the gate and the captain turned off the seat belt sign, the mad rush to the aisles to be the first off was on. Social distancing be damned, everyone did their normal thing and crammed into the aisle way right next to each other. So I simply stayed in my seat at the window, let most of the people deplaned, then grabbed my bag and headed out. I cleaned off my hands, took off my outer jacket and headed to the curb side. Again both airports were fairly empty for now, and getting through was a breeze.
On board headed to Oakland, most people spread out. After all, there’s only 20 of us. Masks still on.
Headed back to Denver, a few more people, but still everyone has their own row and plenty of space. Imagine this plane 2/3 full, with only middle seats empty. People in front and behind you, people across the aisle from you, etc.
People can’t help their natural tendencies. As soon as we land, it’s a rush to the aisle, everyone lines up nice and close to each other to rush off the plane.
Final
Thoughts
Right now the overall take home from my experience is that airports are fairly empty and the airlines are still trying to figure out how to manage travel during the Covid-19 pandemic (which will continue on for many more months ahead). While I was able to protect myself fairly well throughout the entire travel process, it was evident to me that one can not rely on the airline’s good intentions or the unaware strangers around you to protect you. And while right now it’s easy to find some space, once passengers start returning to air travel (and they will) you will be forced into closer quarters/contact with people no matter how hard you try to avoid it. Lines for buses, security, trains, escalators, seating areas at gates and on planes will all become busier to the point where you’ll have to be within 6ft of people, some will wear masks, some won’t (unless it becomes a Nationally enforceable law, unlikely). So if you choose to travel by plane in the next few months be prepared to accept the risk you are taking and knowing that you will be exposing yourself to people outside your realm of control and to people who might not all be acting very conservatively (or even think the virus is real). Hopefully during this lull in travel the airports and airlines can better test and implement their policies (I’ve written to Southwest), but that remains to be seen. And for those wondering, I’m now on a 14 day quaratine/watch for any symptoms (5/21, Day 3, ending 6/1).
Well here goes nothing…. At 5am I set off into the darkness, slowly climbing my way up from Davenport Gap into the silence of the hardwood forest. It was Oct 14th, just over a month after my disappointing race at Ultra Trail Monte Rosa, a very unfulfilling would be end to a big year of training, so I immediately went searching for the next big challenge. Naturally my National Parks project came to the forefront, and at the very top of that list was the “Smokies Challenge Adventure Run” (SCAR). If you’re not from the East Coast I totally get your confusion at the name of the route, I was equally surprised when I first came across it in blogs in early 2019.
Pre-scouting Davenport Gap the day before the big dance. Oh boy, oh boy!
In short, the SCAR is a 72mile traverse of Great Smokies National Park from Davenport Gap to Fontana Dam (or the other way) along the Appalachian Trail, it was a logical, aesthetic and seriously challenging line (72mi, approx. 18000ft, current FKT 14h28min). My goal was to simply survive it, experience it, and take a lot of photos (it would be my first time in the Smokies). So as I power hiked and jogged up the hill from Davenport Gap, my head was swirling with doubts… was I trained enough, did I pack enough food/supplies, would the natural springs be flowing, would the weather hold? The only thing I was certain of was that I was in for one hell of an adventure.
First light hitting hitting the Appalachian Mountains in Great Smoky National Park.
A little splash of fall colors along the AT.
The initial climb went by fairly quickly, and as I crested
the ridgeline near Mt Cammerer the first glow of sunrise was showing in the
East (5.2mm, 2:45). Now atop the ridgeline I settled into my goal pace for the
day, hike up each knob/peak, then jog the descents and flats. The trail was a
mix of deep hardwood forest with fleeting views from the various lookouts and
knobs along the trail. Finally, I crested Mt Guyot and jogged my way down to
the Tricorner Knob shelter (15.7mm, 4:10), my first reliable water source. 2019
was a dry year in the Smokies, as such many of the springs had dried up, and
even the ever reliable Tricorner Knob was reduced to a piped trickle, though
just enough to treat a bottle before moving on.
Early morning light filtering through the deep forest.
Tricorner Knob shelter, the trickle of water is on the right.
The route stuck pretty close to the ridge for the next
section, with several beautiful narrow sections of ridgeline where one could
look down both the North and South sides of the ridge. Over Mt Sequoyah, Eagle
Rock, Laurel Top, Porter’s Gap and The Sawteeth. The foliage was several weeks
behind, but the hillsides were dotted with yellows, oranges and reds, just
enough to break up the endless sea of green. As I passed Charlie’s Bunion I
began to encounter a steady stream of hikers. By the time I reached Ice Water
Spring and Mt Kephart there was an almost endless line of hikers strung out
along the trail. Thankfully most people were aware enough to allow me to cruise
on by, and I soon popped out of the woods into the madness that was Newfound
Gap (30.3mm, 7:15).
Splashes of yellow adorn the Great Smoky Mountains.
A little fun rocky single track along the AT.
I knew Great Smoky NP was the most visited National Park in
the US, but I was definitely not ready for crowds. Cars were backed up for a
mile on either side of the pass as many more endlessly circled the parking lot.
By a stroke of luck I was actually able to find my mom, who had offered to meet
me at the trailhead for a food and water resupply. I reloaded my S-lab 12 and
jogged out of the parking lot, quickly leaving the masses behind. I hike/jogged
along the rolling forested AT up towards Clingmans Dome, the high point of Tennessee
and the day. As I neared Clingmans Dome I had my first low point of the day, I
bonked hard, slowly slogging my way up the Clingman Dome fire tower (39.6mm, 10:05).
Selfie atop the lookout at Clingmans Dome, back from the dead….for now.
View from Clingmans Dome into Tennessee.
The soft afternoon light makes the forest glow.
The views were 360 degree panoramic and the air was
unusually clear, allowing one to see a long way into both Tennessee and North
Carolina. After taking in the views I again disappeared back into the dense
hardwood forest, losing all the crowds instantly. It was all downhill from
here, literally and figuratively. The trail slowly became rockier, and my legs
were definitely not getting any spunkier. Down, then up, then down again, then
up…. I didn’t seem to be losing any elevation, even though I’d passed the high
point? I finally reached the Derrick Knob shelter (49.3mm, 12:45) for a water
resupply, the pipe was again trickling, just enough.
Derrick Knob shelter, water refill station and new friends.
A little solo silent single track running soothes the soul.
I paused for a moment to chat with the group staying at
Derrick Knob, and the inevitable question came up…”So where are you coming
from”….”Davenport”….”How many days did it take you”……”I started this
morning”……”WHAT?!?!?”. I don’t know why I bother trying to explain, but they
were nice enough to point me in the right direction, so off I went. The light
was slowly fading away, and the end didn’t seem to be getting any closer. The
short steep climbs up Thunder Mountain and Mt Squires were soul crushing, the
last just as the sunset faded away in the West, it was going to be a long dark
road (54.4mm, 15:15).
Sunset from Mt Squire on a long day, with many miles to go.
The miles seemed to drag on, over Mollies Ridge and down to Ekaneetlee Pass. I had been dreading the climb to Doe Knob, though knew it was my last significant uphill before what I hoped would be a cruiser downhill to the Fontana Dam. The power in my legs had disappeared on Thunder Mountain and it took all my concentration just to stay upright and on my feet. The dense forest seemed to wrap the darkness tight around me, and it felt as though there was nothing but me and the trail. Finally, I reached the turn where the AT leaves the ridgeline of the Great Smoky Mts and heads due South (64mm, 17:18). I started to jog down the overgrown track, only to find my legs were jello, and I was struggling to not stumble off the trail with every single step. I finally gave up and settled into a soul crushing 16min/mile stumble down the trail, frustrated I couldn’t run, usually my strength.
Just after midnight at the Fontana Dam, happy to be done, and completely worked.
Spending the day after the SCAR quietly recovering along one of the many gentle rivers in Great Smoky National Park.
The miles seemed to pass be excruciatingly slow in the darkness, but at last I popped out of the dense woods at the trailhead, only 0.5mi of road left to the dam! Now back on smooth ground I was able to slow jog down to Fontana Dam and the sign marking the boundary of Great Smoky Mts National Park. 72miles (+/-), 18000ft (+/-) and 19h and 25min after leaving Davenport Gap I’d completed the SCAR. I had received a thorough ass whooping on some beautiful but challenging East Coast trail and my first introduction to the Great Smoky Mts had been one hell of a ride. I definitely underestimated the run, but was grateful to have had the opportunity to experience such a classic AT route. Special thanks to my Mom for helping me out with logistics and making the run possible, and to Vfuel for keeping my energy up throughout most of the run. 21 National Park ultramarathons down….only 35 more to go!
Wow…I just….wtf???? The scene in front of us was beyond words and comprehension, the glaciated massif of Mt Rainier glowed in the early morning light, fields of wildflowers surrounded us on all sides, and not a soul was in sight, this is what we had come for.
Running across the Sourdough Ridge Trail at sunrise, what a start to an epic run.
Mt Rainier National Park was created in 1899, America’s 5th National Park, to protect the glaciers, alpine meadows, roaring waterways and lush forests of the mountain known to the natives at Tahoma (or Tacoma). The last time I had visited Mt Rainier National Park had been in 2004, and on that trip I’d barely scratched the surface of what the park has to offer. This trip was to be a bit different, a whirlwind tour of the North side of the peak, somewhere in the range of 50miles on already tired legs, game on. I’d convinced my friend Ely Gerbin to join me for this epic adventure of stupidity, and what a day we were in for.
Mt Rainier as seen from the aptly named Sunrise parking lot.
We left the Sunrise parking lot at the crack of dawn, just as the pink alpenglow lit up the hulking massive in front of us. As we jogged our way across the Sourdough Ridge trail the views were nothing short of spectacular, and we were only a mile in! Our route consisted of combining two loops; the Northern Loop with the Spray Park Loop. We opted to start by traversing the Southern portion of the loop first along the Wonderland trail, finishing with the Northern section along the Northern trail. As we rolled along the Wonderland trail through fields filled with wildflowers, the mountain loomed above in the sunlight. The trails were buttery smooth, the morning air was cool and the views were ever changing and stunning. Past the toe of the Winthrop Glacier, the clear reflection of Mystic Lake and on to the bridge over the Carbon River and the looming Carbon Glacier (mm13.4, 3:05). As we started the long climb up from the Carbon River the sun began to bake and the flowers were again popping. The creeks in Spray Park were our own private oasis, and we filled our bottles, drank our fill and dunked out heads (mm17.3, 4:37). Even during our brief stop the mosquitoes swarmed, so we couldn’t stop to smell the flowers for too long.
Reflection in Mystic Lake along the Wonderland Trail.
Ely running through fields of flowers with Mt Rainier looming behind us.
Ely cruising up the single track above the Carbon River.
The views were spectacular as we rolled through the high
alpine meadows, then began the slow descent back into the forest and Mowich
Lake. Ely and I rolled past the masses at Mowich Lake (mm22, 5:50) and onward
to Ipsut Pass (mm23.2, 6:06), the halfway point of our big loop. From the top
of Ipsut Pass we stared straight down 2500ft to the Carbon River far below,
time to get those quads working. We cruised down down down, through lush green
forest, along cascading creeks and past towering evergreens, finally crossing
the raging glacial grey Carbon River (mm28.7, 7:21). We took a few minutes to
refill our water and to cool off in a small tributary before the long climb up to
Windy Gap.
Trudging our way up into Spray Park, the flowers were poppin.
More fields of alpine flowers, all is good.
The alpine gardens of Mt Rainier NP, totally worth it.
Looking down from Ipsut Pass toward the Carbon River.
Ely taking pausing for a moment of serene splendor.
We plodded on up through the trees on what seemed like
endless switchbacks, finally breaking out into alpine terrain near the
Yellowstone Cliffs into a massive field of bear grass. It was a spectacular site,
cruising through the green meadow dotted with white puff balls as far as the
eye could see. We continued our trudge up to Windy Gap (mm33, 9:11) and down
the other side on some beautiful single track to Lake James. After a little off
trail wandering we hit the long and steep switchback descent back to the West
Fork of the White River (mm36.7, 10:17). After another water refill we started
our final climb of the day up the Northern Loop Trail. The long miles of the
weekend hit me like a sledgehammer, and the death march was on. Ely was very
patient with me as I slowly trudged up the trail, deep in the pain cave, but
the scenery was too spectacular to be too grumpy (but maybe a little).
Ely crossing the Carbon River on the inbound part of our journey.
Ahhhhh, fields of Bear Grass!!!!
View of Mt Rainier from the final climb up above the West Fork of the White River. My grumpiness faded away pretty quickly.
After what seemed like an eternity, we crested the climb to a spectacular view point of Mt Rainier looming high above the White River (mm39.8, 11:32), glowing in the afternoon light….a perfect moment to remind me of why I was enduring all the fatigue, all the suffering, all the soreness in my legs. I finally gained a little of my strength back as we rolled through the flat open plateau and down to Lodi creek. One last final little climb would take us back to Sunrise, and while it seemed to drag on, ambling along the creek through fields of wildflowers was a pretty spectacular way to end the day. As we neared Frozen Lake I was very ready to be done, and just at that moment Ely and I rounded a corner to a herd of mountain goats lazily grazing with the looming mass of Mt Rainier as the backdrop. The day wasn’t over, and the constant reminders of how spectacular the mountain and it’s surrounding environment was kept slapping us in the face. The final traverse back across the Sourdough Ridge trail was a fitting finish to an unbelievable day. Spectacular views and amazing trails start to finish, we’d been thoroughly brutalized (me more so than Ely) and had come out the other side, beaten but with our souls fully filled with an amazing appreciation for all that Mt Rainier National Park has to offer.
The amazing just didn’t stop, running our way up Lodi Creek to the finish of the loop.
Yeah that happened. A herd of mountain goats casually grazing along the Wonderland Trail in the shadow of Mt Rainier.
In the end our route totaled 46.5mi and 13,500ft, taking us a little over 13:30 (because of my slow death march finish). Without a doubt, my first real adventure in Mt Rainier National Park was a resounding success, and the route had been more than I’d ever have hoped for. For anyone who hasn’t had the pleasure of experiencing Mt Rainier National Park either half of our super loop would be spectacular, or any portion of the Wonderland Trail well worth the effort. I’m incredibly grateful for experiences like this, and for the fact that places like this have been protected for me to enjoy, hopefully for many years to come. Run fast, run healthy, but most importantly run happy.
One of the many amazing views along the Copper Ridge Loop.
The North Cascades are a massive wilderness full of jagged peaks, alpine lakes, towering glaciers and some of the last true wilderness in the lower 48 states. The National Park portion of the North Cascades Complex (which also includes Lake Ross and Lake Chelan National Recreation areas) encompasses a 500,000 acre nearly roadless wilderness. One that can not be experienced from roadways and lookouts, but must be explored on foot (or boat). It seemed only natural to ultra run the park, but the question is what set of trails best represented everything that makes the North Cascades amazing?
After doing some of my own homework and asking several locals with more knowledge than I, one recommendation kept hitting the top of the list…the Copper Ridge Loop. Well, if everyone (even locals) think it’s that amazing, it must be the proper North Cascades experience? So planning was set in motion for an epic weekend in the Washington mountains (also see Mt Rainier Northern Loop). The first weekend in August (8/2/2019) I flew into SeaTac (2h delays), met my friend Jason and we started our drive North towards the Mt Baker Highway and the Nooksack River. After crashing in a rest stop for several hours, we awoke the next morning to light rain, but a forecast that promised clearing skies, so off we went for the trailhead. Jason and I spent the entire drive catching up, as he is still to this day one of the people with whom I’ve logged the most trail time (cumulative in the months!). He was very nervous though, as this was to be his longest run (by almost double) since badly breaking his leg several years ago, but he welcomed the challenged.
Officially entering North Cascades National Park.
When we rolled into the Hannegan Pass trailhead we were greeted by a road closed sign, marking a huge washout that had undermined the last 200ft of the road. So we parked and packed up our gear, in no rush as the drizzle continued to fall. We cruised out of the trailhead at 9:30am, slowly jogging our way up through the forest towards Hannegan Pass. The low clouds and light drizzled continued to swirl around us, but every once and a while we’d get a glimpse of the mountains looming overhead. From the pass (4.3mi) we opted to do the loop CCW, dropping down to the Chilliwack River first, before climbing to the ridge on the return. As we descended to the river we passed through sections of overgrown trail and sections of open forest, and soon we were soaked from the rain drenched leaves.
Jason getting in touch with his inner tree hugger. Colorado just doesn’t have big trees like this <3
Buttery smooth forest single track in the North Cascades is so serene.
The weather was starting to clear, and we could see glimpses of blue sky overhead, we’d momentarily dry out, just to be drenched by another set of wet dense brush. The river trail was mostly smooth running (where we could see our feet) and we soon found ourselves at the first Chilliwack river crossing, the cable car (11mi)!! But I was a bit dismayed to discover the cable car was down for repairs, so we’d be fording the river instead, sad face. So Jason and I linked arms, and slowly shuffled our way across the knee deep rapidly flowing stream, thankfully making it across without incident. We continued our hike/jog on the undulating descent to the second ford (16.2mi), thankfully the water here was far more docile, making for an easy crossing. This was our first moment of full sun all day, so we basked in the warm glow along the rocky shore for a few minutes, treating water and savoring the moment.
Crossing one of the side creeks along the Copper Ridge loop, somewhere deep in the Chilliwack valley.
Basking in some of that elusive PNW sunshine after our second crossing of the Chilliwack river.
We knew that what came next would be our physical test of the day, a 4000ft climb straight up to the ridgeline. We settled in for the long haul, switchback after switchback up through the forest, the sun percolating through the slowly thinning trees. As we neared the final switchback below the ridgeline, the trees began to open and the views began to explode behind us. The clouds had finally lifted and the jagged glacier capped peaks of the Cascades loomed across the valley. When we finally reached the top of Copper Ridge the weather was beautiful mostly blue sky, and we were completely awe struck by both the verticality and the depth of the mountains surrounding us on all sides (19.2mi).
Mountain views and wildflowers, welcome to the North Cascades!
So amazing and so runnable we couldn’t help ourselves.
The single track along the ridge was a mix of beautiful flowing dirt and rocky steep climbs/descents. This was the wow factor part of the loop without a doubt. We finally reached Copper Lake, set in a steep walled cirque, it’s blue waters glittering in the sun. Jason’s legs were definitely feeling beat up (this being his longest run in 3 years!), but we put our heads down and trudged our way up to the Copper Ridge lookout tower (24.3mi), the high point of the day. We met up with several groups of backpackers, all of whom were soaking in the expansive vistas, oogling the craggy summits, marveling at the hanging glaciers. In the soft evening light it was truly a spectacular site, the only sounds of civilization being the chatter of our neighbors. Unfortunately we couldn’t linger long as we still had 10miles to go and darkness would soon be descending upon us, so we began the long jog back towards Hannegan Pass.
Some rocky trail running near the Lookout, oh and the views were pretty ok.
As we descended the ridge the clouds began to roll back in, completely enveloping the ridge, then bursting apart to reveal the mountains around (finally including Shuksan, but not Baker). It was truly a surreal experience and some of the most beautiful trail running I’ve ever done (right there with Four Pass loop). After dozens of photos stops we finally made it back to the base of Hannegan Pass, all we had to do was conquer this final 500ft climb and it was a short few miles of downhill back to the car. Thankfully the final uphill was littered with fields of lupine, lilies, columbine and wildflowers of every color, a welcome distraction for the tired minds. After a quick snack atop Hannegan Pass (30.3mi) and one last moment taking in the Chilliwack valley that stretched out below, we scooted our way back down towards the car. I ran ahead a little bit, rounded a bend and stopped dead in my tracks…. A noise off to my right had perked my ears up, and when I paused to assess I was astounded to see two baby black bears clambering up trees not 50ft away. Where babies play, mamma isn’t far away, so I slowly backed off, signaling to Jason to stop and do the same. Mamma came sauntering through the woods, finally coaxing the two babies down and they went crashing off through the brush when she finally caught our scent. Wow, did that really just happen????
Moody weather along the ridgeline, watching the clouds roll back and forth.
Almost back to Hannegan Pass, this place is a trail runner’s paradise!
We rolled back into the parking lot just as the last bit of sunlight was fading out of the sky, tired but our hearts so full from the amazing experiences of the day that instead of worrying about camp or cleaning up, we sat next to the car eating ‘dinner’ and just recapping all the memories of the day. The Copper Ridge loop (or lollipop) had lived up to its reputation; beautiful forest single track, meadows full of wildflowers, crystal blue glacial rivers, and stunning mountain vistas. While the North Cascades have far more to offer, if you only have one day, this loop definitely encompasses what makes the North Cascades so special. I was very fortunate to be able to share this experience with such a good friend, on such an imperfectly perfect day. We may not have gotten the clear blue skies (and thus no views of Mt Baker), but the mist and drizzle giving way to a mix of low clouds and blue sky made for such proper PNW experience. This loop has easily jumped into my top 10 for National Park Ultras (it was my 18th completed NP Ultra) and should be on every ultra runner’s to do list. 34.5miles, 8950ft gain/loss, 10h35min.
Bonus shot of Mt Baker from the Mt Baker Hwy the day after our Copper Ridge run. Sometimes being a tourist is pretty A-Ok.
Mt Shuksan reflected in a small tarn along the Mt Baker Hwy. Just touristing around the day after our Copper Ridge run.
Wind Cave National Park was founded in 1903, the seventh National Park within the system. Even though it was one of the first National Parks, it ranks far down the list of visitations (<700,000), and many have never heard of Wind Cave. Tucked away on the edge of the Black Hills in South Dakota, Wind Cave is the 7th longest cave system in the world (over 150 miles) and new cave is still being discovered every year. Though what makes Wind Cave National Park so special is the intricate boxwork that adorns the cave (found almost no where else in the world) and the wildlife that roams the above ground portions of the park.
Bison are quite large and intimidating animals, keep your distance.
Fresh off my 6h sloppy mud run in Badlands National Park, and with bad weather looming the following day, I opted for a nice back to back National Park ultra combo. I had tickets for a 3pm cave tour along side my friends Ben, Amanda and Kedar, so at first light on 5/26/19 I hit the Wind Cave Canyon trail, jogging along the gravel road into the plains of Wind Cave NP. I soon turned north onto the Highland Creek Trail (3.5mi), traversing across the high plains, past endless herds of bison, several groups of elk and even a few pronghorn. Large sections of the trail were little more than a faint path cairned through the grasslands, and quite a few times I found myself glancing around looking for the path, but overall it was pretty smooth running.
Cruising through plains and along the rivers of Wind Cave National Park.
Smooth cruiser open plains single track in Wind Cave National Park.
Things were going smoothly and I soon found myself at County Road 5 (10.7mi), my lone 1.5mi stretch of road running for the day (dirt). I hit the Centennial trailhead , turned South and headed back into the park. The running continued to be smooth, as I rolled across the never ending plains, finally dropping into Beaver Creek canyon (16.5mi). I cruised up the creek through the narrow but shallow canyon alongside the creek, a nice change of pace to the expansive plains. I hadn’t passed a single person (or car) the entire morning, though I finally started to pass a steady trickle of people as I neared the Lookout Pt trailhead. I exited the canyon, passed through the trailhead and onto the Lookout Pt trail, headed back across the plains again.
Cruising along Beaver Creek in Wind Cave National Park.
Some elk scampering across the plains of Wind Cave National Park.
As I connected back onto the Highland Creek Trail I could feel the fatigue building in my legs from the past two days of running. When I got back onto the Wind Cave trail, I made a quick turn south onto the final leg of my run, an out and back of the East Bison Flats trail (23.3mi). As I slowly climbed my way back up to the high plateau the sun began to beat down on me, and I quickly realized I was running out of water. Onward I slogged, steeply back down into the river canyon, only to immediately climb right back up to Gobbler Pass (26.6mi). I was definitely feeling beat up now, but as I turned around with just under 4miles to go I had really no other choice than to finish up the run. The fatigue and dehydration were taking their toll, so the final miles seemed to drag on in a blur. At last I descended back to Wind Cave Canyon and slowly shuffled my way to the car. I still managed to finish the 30.4mi lollipop in under 6h, not too shabby for a back to back weekend, and in time for the 3pm cave tour!
Boxwork in Wind Cave.
Frost work crystals in Wind Cave.
After chugging a cold soda, tasted so good, I dragged myself over to the Wind Cave visitor center to meet my friends and to catch the 3pm cave tour. I felt a little pathetic, slowly hobbling my way at the back of the tour group (legs were getting stiff), but it gave me an extra chance to photograph some of the cave formations and to take in the smaller intricacies of the cave. Wind Cave is most famous for it’s boxwork formations, a lattice of spiderweb like crosshatching that is found almost no where else in the world. We admired some frostwork (tiny white crystals), spar and a few stalagmites and stalactites. While Wind Cave may not be the most ornately decorated cave, it’s combination of unique features and above ground wildlife make it a special place to visit. For the runners out there the trails are beautifully runnable and very unpopulated (other than the herds of wildlife). So next time you’re in the area (Custer, SD), stop on in to Wind Cave NP and it’s sister Jewel Cave NM right next door, for a little tour of the above and below ground wonders.
It rained 5” last week, oh boy…not what I wanted to hear the
day before I was supposed to run a big loop around Badlands National Park, a
place everyone told me not to go when it rained. As I drove through the park
along the Rim road the early May sunlight began to illuminate the buttes, so I
stopped at the first view point to take in the views of Sage Creek far below. I
was greeted by a couple of grazing bighorn sheep, and a herd of bison. My first
trip to Badlands was off to a pretty good start.
Sunrise over the Sage Creek area of Badlands National Park.
Badlands National Park has very few official trails, so to create a long distance route I pulled from a 22mile off trail backpacking loop with some planned detours and exploration, because that’s what Badlands is really about, a chance to explore, unencumbered. I rolled into the Conata Picnic area just after sunrise on 5/25/19, geared up and strolled off into the meadows. It was immediately apparent I was in for a bit of adversity as the packed dirt meadow turned damp and then into full on swamp. Well, dry feet weren’t going to be an option today. I slopped my way across the valley for 1.5mi, then turned sharply right (North) for the Deer Haven saddle.
Headed up towards Deer Haven, just to the right up the valley.
Looking down the upper reaches of the Sage Creek wash.
As I climbed away from the low grasslands up onto the butte,
I passed through dense stands of juniper, eventually weaving my way up the
steep hillside, around the cliff bands, and onto the summit of the Deer Haven
plateau. Now for the long winding downhill along the North Fork of Sage Creek.
The route started out pretty pleasant, running through the tall grass, occasionally
hopping the creek, but the footing was pretty good. After a short side trip up
one of the canyons draining The Pinnacles, I continued my descent, things
slowly got muddier and muddier and the creek got deeper and deeper. By the time
I hit the confluence of the North and Middle forks of Sage Creek the muddy misery
had escalated.
Running the plateaus along the North Fork of Sage Creek.
It was like running in peanut butter, yuck.
I cut over the high plateau above the creeks hoping that the
mud would dissipate, but no luck. As I rounded the bluff I dropped onto the
high plateau above the Middle Fork of Sage Creek, a small herd of bison dotted
the plains. Their muddy hoof prints had torn up the grasslands, and it was a
total mud pit. Despite the slipping and sliding, the terrain was fairly easy
and it was really nice to be jogging through the open grasslands and jagged mud
buttes with no one else around. I slow jogged and fast hiked my way up the
Middle Fork, headed towards Sage Creek Pass. As I made my way into the upper
basin the herd of bison had grown into the hundreds, dotting the plains as far
as the eye could see.
Just before reaching Sage Creek Pass I took a detour
slightly NE into some really interesting buttes, hoping to climb one. I
scrambled up the hard mud slope, onto the crumbling ridgeline. As I neared the
summit the slope pitched up to near vertical and the mud stone showed no signs
of solidifying, well that wasn’t going to happen. From my vantage on the
ridgeline I could see down into several of the nearby canyons, watched the
bison trotting around the grasslands and very much enjoyed my isolation deep in
the backcountry of Badlands. I spent anther half hour scrambling around the
canyons of the butte, finding coyote tracks, bighorn droppings and lots of bison
paths. Each canyon was a new adventure, would it be passable, where did it go?
I finally popped out back on the South side of the butte not far from Sage
Creek Pass.
Finding some semi-packed mud to run on!
Bison dotting the Badlands.
Trying to climb some of the mudstone ridges and buttes, not so solid.
The route down from the pass was an enjoyable jog down the
water course right alongside one of the mud stone buttes, alternating between
lovely packed dirt and greasy wet mud. At last I hit the park boundary fence,
hung a left and headed back towards the car across the flat plains that abutted
the mud stone buttes of Badlands. The grasslands seemed to stretch as far as
the eye could see, and as I soon discovered, were completely flooded with an
inch of muddy water. I tried to jog sections, but soon gave in and was relegated
to hiking. After what seemed like an endless slog I got back on the trail near
Deer Haven and jogged back to the car. Tired, covered in mud, and excited to be
back on hard pavement.
Playing in the canyons and plains.
The wide open plains surrounding the Badlands mud buttes and canyons. Endless grasslands (filled with mud this day).
My first trip to the Badlands had been an overall success. Despite the crazy mud and insanely wet conditions, I got to wander through the backcountry all my by lonesome, explore the maze of mudstone buttes and towers, watch the massive herds of bison take over the planes and just be out in an undeveloped part of one of America’s more obscure National Parks. Badlands may not look as dramatic as some of the mountainous national parks, but once you’re lost wandering the backcountry you get to better understand what the park is all about. I look forward to returning to Badlands again, when it’s less muddy and I get more time to just explore all the random canyons (but beware of the rattlesnakes!).
“Welcome to Gressoney, in case you haven’t heard your race is canceled…” -Aid worker “Excuse me, what?” -Me
Shock, disbelief, confusion…. even four days later I’m still trying to process everything that happened at the 2019 Ultra Trail Monte Rosa. But let’s start from the beginning…. May 2019, after losing out on both the Hard Rock and Tor des Geants lotteries I committed to the 2019 Ultra Trail Monte Rosa. A little known 170km run around the Monte Rosa massif in Switzerland. It’s basically UTMB on steroids…170km, 37,000ft of elevation gain, 30h course record, 60h cutoff…
2019 brought unprecedented snow to Colorado, so my first trail race (San Juan Solstice) was canceled, then my replacement run (John Cappis) was shortened. Less than a month out from the race I recieved the unfortunate news that my company was laying off a large number of people, me included… well %*&@. Training hadn’t gone quite as expected, but I guess I’d have a lot of time to train and recover just before the race. After a lot of miles and all kinds of vertical (79,000ft of gain in August alone), I was feeling apprehensively ready to take on the race, though admittedly I was scared.
On August 23rd my friend Ellen and I hopped a series of planes to adventure; Denver-Salt Lake City-Amsterdam-Zurich-Ljubljana. After 10 days of traveling and play time in the Julian Alps and Dolomites (in a later blog) we made our way to Grächen to checkin and prepare for the races. The weather forecast for the races had progressively gotten worse, calling for rain and snow during night 1 and into day 2. We were warned to be prepared for changes and bad weather, ok can do, we had a whole assortment of mandatory gear we were going to get to use.
2019 John Cappis course was too snowy to run the full 50km, so it was shortened to 30km/12500ft gain. And there was still a lot of snow.
A beatiful pre-race day in Grachen, but the storm’s a coming.
‘Tapering’ very poorly in the Dolomites, this place is amazing.
After the usual restless night of sleep the alarm went off at 3am Thursday 9/5 and last minute prep was made. We set off nervously from the start line into the foggy but pleasant and chilly morning. The pace started out fast as we cruised through the first 10km in an 1:15 to the start of the first climb, then up we went, 4300ft in just a few miles. I settled into a steady power hike, working my way up through the fast starters. The first light of day slowly began to percolate through the mist and fog as we neared the top of the climb and rolled into the Europahütte aid station (17.1km, 3:24)
The next stretch was a narrow rolling traverse over to Taschalp. Some really cool single track cut into a steep hillside that had some runners nervous to run, but I found it awesomely fun (see photo). I was continuing to move up through the field, and cruised right through Taschalp (26.4km, 4:51) and on towards Zermatt. This next stretch was a blur as we rolled up and down, finally hitting the cruiser descent into Zermatt.
Running in the fog before Taschalp.
Roped in on the trail to Zermatt.
Runners crossing a bridge along the trail to Zermatt.
I was feeling good rolling into Zermatt (36.8km, 6:06), but had realized how much I’d underestimated the course, and there was a long way to go. At the aid station I calmly went about my business, and rolled on through, all packed up (microspikes included) bound for the Theodule glacier and the high point of the course. As I rolled through town I ran into Clare and Allister, it’s always nice to see friendly faces in random places.
As I started the 1700m climb out of Zermatt I slowly drifted into the pain cave, dehydrated and fuel deficient. I spent the next hour trying to put myself back together and took a few extra minutes at Gangehütte (46.9km, 8:34) taking care of myself. Then I cruised up to the glacier, donned my microspikes and off we went across the ice. The fog dropped in, the temperature dropped and for the first time in 9h I got to use my jacket. We soon found ourselves at the high point of the course, Theodule pass, 3300m high (49.2km, 9:22)!
Looking back on Zermatt from the climb toward Gangehutte.
The rocky abyss near Gangehutte, slow going.
Exiting the glacier (1km long!) and back onto the rock of Theodule pass.
Down down down; note a theme, climb up, yog down? From the pass it was mostly dirt road through a quarry to Lago Cime Bianche (54.9km, 9:55). The fog had begun to lift and the skies were clearing up a little bit, for the first time all day we were actually getting some views! At the aid station I continued my self care, a little lentil soup and some cake, mmm. Then back uphill we went, again, just a short 300m up this time. Then began the long decent to Rifugio Ferraro. I continued to hop my way down the rocky terrain, that felt like a snail’s pace, but turned out to be about average for that section.
My quads were definitely starting to feel the burn, but I was still moving alright, so yogged on. The weather was looking a bit moody, but nothing beyond a few sprinkles. As myself and UK runner Philip Williams rolled into Rufugio Ferraro a steady rain began to fall so we popped on our rain jackets for the first time (67.5km, 12:00). We took a few moments fueling up before the long climb (800m) and even longer descent (1100m) into Gressoney. I had flipped my phone on for the first time, happy to find no texts from the race, onward we go!
Theodule Pass, looking down towards Lago Cime Bianche.
Gran Lago, on the way to Rifugio Ferraro.
High mountain meadows and cows….moooo
As we hiked out of the aid station up the jeep road, another runner and I noticed Philip ahead of us, but on a different flagged track? He checked his GPS and indeed we were on a parallel flagged route that was not the normal race course. So we cut back on course and continued upward towards the pass. The sun came out as we climbed, descended, then climbed steeply again on very rocky trail to the pass (73.9km, 13:27). The views looking down valley towards Gressoney, were spectacular as the clouds drifted around the mountain tops.
The descent was incredibly steep and rocky, but I managed a hop-jog down. Passing several small alpine lakes, through green meadows, around a large herd of sheep and down to the ski hill above Gressoney. As I cruised down the trail and onto the ski road I noticed a Japanese runner coming straight down the road above me, huh? He said he took ‘the other route’, nothing we could do now but keep running I guess? The final downhill into Gressoney was moderately technical and damp from the light rain that was falling again so I took it slowly.
Atop the pass, beginning the long descent into Gressoney.
Gressoney dead ahead! Weather looking good, ready to roll.
The trail dumped us onto the dirt road, <1km to the aid, SWEET! I began to take a mental tally of what I needed to do in Gressoney; eat a meal, hydrate, put on tights and overall just prepare myself for what appeared to be a long, cold, damp, dark night ahead. I rolled through town, hopped through the aid station door (79.8km, 14:27) with a smile on my face (I was feeling a bit spunkier), ready to keep rolling, that’s when it happened….
“Welcome to Gressoney, in case you haven’t heard your race is canceled…” -Aid worker “Excuse me, what?” -Me
I was stunned and completely dumbfounded. I’d only used my rain jacket for a total of 45min, I was sweating and the weather wasn’t bad at all, wtf was going on???? I spent the next half hour trying to understand what was going, then pleading for them to let us continue, then trying to convince them to let us continue in the morning with the other races (Friday’s 100km and stage race hadn’t been canceled…yet). As those of us in the aid station commiserated, we watched the face of each new arrival go from excitement to disbelief to sadness. We were all still having trouble processing the news.
After much deliberation those of us waiting in the aid station decided to throw in the towel and catch the 9pm bus back to the start line in Grächen as there was a good chance they weren’t going to let people run from Gressoney on Friday morning either. We were trying to lighten the mood as much as possible, but it was evident how depressed many of us were that our race was so suddenly cut short, but the adventure didn’t end there…
Gressoney is the furthest point on the course from Grächen, 5h by bus, and our 9p departure, turned into 10:15p. Oh, and there was only one bus (48 seats) for the 80 something runners, meaning half the crew would be spending the night in the aid station on the benches and dozen mattresses available. The first priority was based on arrival time, and thankfully I fell squarely within that group. I dozed intermittently on the bus, and we finally arrived back in Grächen at 3:10a, to light rain. I quickly showered and went straight to bed.
Fresh dusting of snow on the mountains Friday morning after our race had been cancelled.
I awoke the following morning to steady rain and a fresh coat of snow on the
mountains above. As I chatted with other runners more stories began to trickle
in; many were stopped at Gangehütte (47km) due to white out and snow. I then
got a message from Ellen that there race was delayed until noon, then that a
bus was coming to move runners to Macugnaga?, then the 100km was outright
canceled!!! WTF was going on??? It took Ellen, Dana and a few other 100km runners
until 4pm to get back to Grächen, all of them understandably frustrated and mad
they hadn’t run a single step!
The 2019 UTMR event (all races) was a bit of a mess, not because of bad
weather, but because of how it was handled (in my opinion). The weather was a
known factor coming into the race (cold, wet, possible snow), but it was
evident the race committee hadn’t laid out a definitive alternative plan in
case of bad weather. When I asked the aid workers if the 170km runners would be
allowed to continue if they started the 100km race the following day (a delay,
not outright cancellation) they were surprised, because apparently no one had
thought of that scenario??? Really???? When the 100km race was told the
mountain passes weren’t safe so they’d just have to go home and NOT RUN A
SINGLE STEP, how is it acceptable that no alternative was planned out ahead of
time?
European races make runner safety a big priority; mandatory gear list,
runner tracking, experience requirements (we all had to prove we’d run mountain
100k/100mi races before), but when it comes to actually putting runners in a
situation where they’d need this gear….then it’s not safe? Anyone who’s spent
time hiking/climbing/running in the mountains has been rained on, snowed on,
had to escape storms….but this year at UTMR we were told that we couldn’t
handle what POSSIBLY might happen. When they stopped the 170km race it was warm
(60F/15C), partly cloudy, with a few showers around….but there was a forecast
storm that night, so we had to be protected from the potential weather that
might come?
I’m not saying that we should have been sent over the high passes with the impending forecast (yes it did snow), but with known bad weather coming in, how was there NO contingency plan created? How was the only option to pull the plug, throw in the towel and tell runners, sorry you trained so hard, spent all this time and money on this race, but bye??? That’s mostly what left a bad taste in my mouth, the lack of commitment to making the event the best it could be, even despite the poor weather. This is what frustrates me the most and many other runners as well (I know because I’ve spoken with dozens of them, even if they haven’t shared their stories/opinions yet). While UTMR seems like it might be a wonderful event, the handing of this year’s weather situation and cancellation has me doubting if I’ll ever come back. I’ve helped organize/put on races, volunteered at dozens more, and run numerous race course ‘reroutes’ because of bad weather/snow. But in all those previous circumstances I felt like the race organization did their best to not only look out for runner’s safety, but to make the race/run the best experience possible for it’s participants. I have no doubt the UTMR race committee had runners safety in mind when they cancelled, but the commitment to the latter was not apparent. In the end many of us jumped into the 20km race on Saturday 9/7 (also with a rerouted course, we didn’t touch a single drop of snow) just to get some sort of running in. This definitely helped to lighten the mood around town, as most of us were a bit run-gry from sitting around for 24-36h doing nothing (instead of running).
Runners ascending through the clouds during Saturday’s 20km race.
Clouds parting to mountain views, briefly, during the 20km race.
So now this leaves me (and several hundred other runners) in a very strange place. We’re fit and tapered with no where to go? I personally have a strong interest in personal unsupported, self-created adventure runs, so the wheels are already turning for how to use this untapped fitness. Others are stressing to find ways to cap off a season’s worth of training with something fulfilling and meaningful. In the end it’s just running, and any day you can come back from the mountains safely is a win, but most of the time we prefer to also enjoy some sort of adventure or experience as part of that process. Here’s to always moving forward, dreaming of the next big adventure, and not dwelling too much on the past that can not be changed. Huge thanks to all the volunteers who did everything they could to helped us run what we did, made every aid station stop I had a fantastic experience, and who really did try to help us navigate the mire of confusing messages and constantly changing news. My Strava track for the route I ran. I’m still working on a video from the 80km I ran on the course, so hopefully will have that put together by next week.
