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2025 Dark Divide 100km, Revisiting the Cascades

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The last time I ran a race in the Cascades my emotional and mental state were in a dark place, and I hadn’t fully accepted the toll losing one of my best friends was having on me on so many levels. What started out optimistic about a sub-24h finish at the 2023 Cascade Crest 100, turned into a mental and emotional meltdown and slog into the finish. Glad to have completed it, but far from what I’d consider a successful race, and what continued to be a challenging grieving process. 2024 found me battling back from severe sciatic nerve pain, and after 6months of not running, just being happy to be back on trails again, racing being far from a focus.

Dark Divide Roadless Area in full fall colors.

Flashforward, spring of 2025 Abby pitched the idea of the Dark Divide 100km in Washington and it piqued my interest, but not quite enough to get me to pull the trigger right away. The idea of a remote, super low key, adventurous wilderness run was what I was searching for. As Spring turned into early Summer and the calendar got packed full of running adventures; Big Bend NP, Hawaii, Four Pass Loop, Great Basin NP, Hardrock and High Lonesome pacing, I realized I was actually in pretty decent shape and with a 6week training block would feel ready to race again. So, Abby and I started talking logistics for Dark Divide (of which there were many). Plans were in motion, Airbnb options were being researched, flights booked, rental cars reserved but many more questions remained.

The Dark Divide Roadless area is a remote region of Southern Washington, sitting right between Mt Rainier, Mt St Helens and Mt Adams. The 76,000acres of wilderness is definitely one of the lesser-known areas of the Cascades, but boasts the same lush deep forests, craggy volcanic summits and sweeping ridgeline views that make the rest of the Cascades so magical. Long remote sections of rugged trail, steep climbs, technical descents, gratuitous summit tags, and lots of amazing views were promised to all runners. The 100mi race was in it’s 4th year, while the point-to-point 100km race was to make its debut in 2025. Being a point-to-point (>2h drive end to end) the pre-race logistics were a challenge, especially since there was no lodging at the finish. It quickly became evident that RD hadn’t fully considered this challenge after he was unable to secure a race shuttle service, so it left Abby and myself (along with many other racers) stressing the week before the race trying to cobble together a plan. Thankfully we were able to get it all sorted out, thanks to some amazing pacers/crew. After a smooth flight and drive down to Randall, things were in motion (more on logistics at the end).

Sunset at camp the night before the race.

On Friday before the race we deposited our drop bags at the finish as the Cispus Learning Center and hopped in with our “chauffeur” Korrine for a 2h ride to the 100km start line at Wright Meadows, the nearest ‘city’ being Cougar, WA and it’s 113 people, 75min away. We arrived at Wright Meadow a little before sunset, set up our camp and chowed down on the cold dinner we’d packed. I caught up with James Varner for a bit as he manned the Aid Station for the 100mile runners (we started at their mm52). The RD rolled in a little after 7p for the ‘race briefing’, which was truly brief and a little all over the place, but very much encapsulated the low-key homegrown nature of the race. We crashed out soon after, Korrine and I in our tents, Abby and Stephanie in the car, ready for our 4am wake-up alarm.

I slept better than expected, and when the alarm went off, was up and straight into my pre-race preparation and routine. Get dressed, eat 2 poptarts, drink some water, sunscreen, get the muscles moving and spend some time recentering myself. The race wasn’t about redemption or proving anything to myself, it was about soaking in the experience, treasuring the reasons I started running (adventure and joy) and embodying the lessons Bailee had taught me over many years of friendship; approach everything with love, embrace every experience (good and bad) and don’t take any of it for granted. Just after 5am the RD counted down 3-2-1 GO and we jogged off into the warm early morning hours, four of us forming a lead pack from the start as we cruised down 2000ft to the Lewis River below. The downhill was quite pleasant, and we quickly found ourselves popping out of the forest onto a dirt road with signage pointing in two directions. Instinctually we continued straight ahead, but quickly realized this was not where we needed to be going, and a check of the map showed up doubling back along the road to the Aid Station, BEFORE continuing on the single track. After the Lewis River AS (mm5.4, 0:55) we continued on in the early twilight hours as the trail rolled upwards, until we abruptly hit the 1000ft climb to the Quartz Butte AS (mm14.2, 3:00).

Single track along the Lewis River.

From Quartz Butte AS it was up to the ridgeline, where we’d stay for the next 28mi. I pushed the climb to the top of Quartz Creek Ridge, then continued to roll the forested section over to Prairie Summit AS well ahead of schedule (mm20.4, 4:40). I stocked up on food and filled my bottles for the long 11.4mi stretch over to Sunrise, though I made a critical error not filling my third water bottle. The trail rolled from deep sweltering forest to sunbaked alpine terrain as we traversed our way towards the Sunrise AS. The heat of the day started to take its toll, and I very much regretted only taking 2 water bottles with me for the long stretch. The final uphill before the Sunrise AS was the somewhat ridiculous mini climb up Jumbo Peak, where we were told to climb the stupid steep avalanche slope until we hit an ‘obvious sign’ to turn around, but not summit. Alex and I slogged our way up the 40degree dirt slope along with two other 100mi runners, reaching a confusing sign that only said “Futility”, unsure if we were supposed to stop, we continued upwards into the blueberry bushes. After another few minutes we saw no other signs of a course, so three of us flipped, while Alex decided to top out because he was only 100ft from the summit. So back down the steep dusty slope we went, sliding in “Futility” down the 4-6” of dust that covered our “Trail”. I plodded onwards, rapidly dehydrating in the midday sun, finally reaching the 1mi descent into the AS. I rolled into the Sunrise AS fully cooked, very dehydrated and needing to refuel (mm31.8, 7:40).

Traversing the high ridgelines of the Dark Divide.

After chugging several cups of Tailwind, eating a piece of salted watermelon and half a quesadilla, I started back uphill, again forgetting to fill my 3rd bottle, DOH. The climb to Sunrise Peak was a slog, as the exposed sunbaked alpine terrain started to wear on me, made more challenging by the deeply rutted and overgrowth trail up to the summit. I plopped down on the summit for a quick breather and to have my first mini-pity party of the day. Then, back down the trail, passing Alex and Ian on the out and back, continuing on the high traverse toward Juniper Peak. The skies were hazy from all the West Coast smoke, but the views were still spectacular along the ridge, making the death march go by a bit easier. After a quick side trip up Juniper Peak, still in death march mode, I pushed myself downhill to the Juniper Aid Station, set on taking a few minutes to rebalance (mm41.1, 10:05).

Alpine section of the Dark Divide.
Descending from Sunrise Peak down some ‘lovely’ chewed up dirt bike trail. Not a majority of the route, but definitely several miles worth.

I sunk into a chair at the Juniper AS, chowed down on a bowl of heavily salted watermelon as I chugged Tailwind. After consuming my delicious meal, I started the power hike up Tongue Peak. I hiked along at a steady pace as my body started to rehydrated and rebalance. I topped out on Tongue Peak (mm42.7, 10:55), still a bit lethargic, but starting to pep up. So, I stashed my poles and started the 3300ft descent to the Yellow Jacket AS, losing 2500ft in the initial 2.2mi! My legs were slowly gaining strength and I was able to hold a steady yog down the insanely steep, loose and rutted trail. It was actually a relief when the trail finally ended at the gravel road and I could just turn over the legs for a bit without worrying about footing. I forced myself to jog the final 1/2mi up to the Yellow Jacket AS (mm49.1, 12:10) where Ruth greeted me with my drop bag and the offer of food before the final big climb.

Plush forest trail near the Juniper Peak AS.

I drank some ginger ale, ate half a piece of white bread and started the long 4000ft slog up Burly Mountain right as 3rd place (Ian) rolled into the AS. I pushed up the climb to the best of my ability, but my legs were sluggish this late in the race. The climb was a steep grind up through the forest, at one point gaining 2000ft in 2mi. Ian caught me about halfway up the climb and put a gap on me to the summit. Though steep, the single track was mostly smooth, promising a speedy downhill. Finally, at 4000ft elev I popped out on the dirt road, the final 3mi to the summit only gaining 1300ft. My legs found their extra gear and I was able to crank out 15-16min/mi all the way to the summit. I passed John (1st place) coming down about 1mi from the top and Ian (2nd place) a few minutes from the AS, cranked my way to the lookout, allowing myself to pause to take in the breathtaking view. The sun was just setting, the smoke-filled air glowed orange and red, the valleys were filled with low clouds and expansive views greeted us in all directions. It was quite a scene to finish with, but I could only pause for a minute, rushing back to the aid station to grab some coke and water, turning down all solid food and rushing downhill to give chase to Ian, who was only 5-10min ahead.

Burly Mountain Lookout sunset at mile56.

I took off down the road at a steady clip, trying to click off miles as fast as my legs would move. As I descended into the trees the evening light waned and I flipped on my waist light. I passed 4th and 5th place far down into the trees, so knew it was only a race for 2nd/3rd. I dropped onto the single track and started to hammer down the 1000ft/mi descent giving chase to the lights far below. I blew past Abby and Ruth, gave a quick right-on, only later realizing she was first woman! I pushed the pace as much as I could, but once we got onto the Curtain Falls trail, the footing became quite technical and I had to slow WAY down. I passed behind the falls, hiked up the short hill and continued to casually jog the final mile to the finish, knowing Ian was too far ahead to catch. I popped out of the woods, rounded the pavement and cruised across the finish line, finishing in 15h42min, about 7min back of Ian in 2nd (but 1st Masters). My quads were sore, my knee was tight, feet beat up, but I felt good about the adventure, the effort and the experience the Dark Divide 100km had brought. I swapped war stories with fellow Coloradans Jon, Kevin and David who had all finished the 100mi Saturday evening. Abby finished several hours later in 18h 30min, 1st female, 7th OA and new course record holder, totally stoked on the accomplishment!

After chowing down on some soup, chili and snacks we stiffly limped our way back to the car and the Airbnb to get some sleep. Reflecting back, it was exactly what I needed in a race; remote, wild, more adventure run than race, alpine ridges, summits, deep lush forests, waterfalls, smooth rolling forest dirt, steep technical descents, some logistics to be improved, a home growth local event, with a passionate RD who was simply stoked to have new people experience an area he loved dearly. If this type of race vibes with your spirit and style, I highly recommend any of their distances; 50k, 100k, 100mi, just don’t expect crowds, big elaborate aid stations, beer gardens or a party, just beautifully rugged trails and good community all around.

Recovery, eating our way through downtown Seattle. Highly recommended post-race activity.

Race Logistics and Thoughts: The race takes place in a remote region of the South Cascades between Mt Rainier, Mt Adams and Mt St Helens. The nearest towns are Randall and Packwood, with a population of just over 1000, a few restaurants and markets and a handful of lodging places. As of 2025 the race finish line, drop bags and head quarters for all races are at the Cispus Learning Center near Randall. The start line for the 100km race is >2h away near the Craggy Peak TH off NF-9328, with race briefing the night before the start, basically requiring one to camp out at the trailhead the night before the race in the large dirt field near the aid station (there is NOTHING nearby). Pre-race information, meetings and communication is minimal, though the RD Sean was very responsive when we emailed him. Course markings were mostly adequate, though with minimal differentiation between races and some confusing intersections, having the route on your phone and watch is basically mandatory. The trails themselves were all very easy to follow; with some being smooth dirt, others being steep dusty dirt bike trails and some steep loamy PNW dirt. Aid stations were generally well stocked with all the basic amenities; fruit, candy, sandwiches/wraps, quesadillas, ramen, walking tamales(?!?), Spring Energy and Tailwind. This year there was no live runner tracking due to inadequate tracker service/connection, so they were scrapped at the last minute, the RD hopes to have them for future races. For those wanting pacers and crew, the remoteness of the race makes times between aid stations long, driving slow and mostly on bumpy dirt roads, so be prepared to do a lot of slow driving, away from a comfy house and a cross-over/SUV is highly recommended though not necessary. Overall, if you treat Dark Divide as a remote wilderness race with small but very adequate support you won’t be surprised.

Big Bend National Park Outer Mountain Loop Ultra, 5/17/25

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Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park.

WAY down on the US/Mexico border, Big Bend is probably one of the most remote National Parks in the Lower 48; 5h from El Paso, 6h from Lubbock and 6.5h from San Antonio with a whole lot of nothing in between (stock up on food and gas before heading down). Big Bend gets it name from the large bend in the Rio Grande River that forms the Southern border of the park, but the River is only a very small portion of the diverse ecosystems that make up Big Bend National Park. The lush green banks of the Rio Grande, to the vast Chihuahuan desert, to the high summits of the Chisos Mountains.

Timing wasn’t perfect, but with a free weekend in mid-May, I was able to convince Maddie to join me for the long road trip down to Southern Texas. It’s a LONG way from Boulder to Southern Texas, with a whole lot of nothing after leaving Northern New Mexico, other than oil fields and the extraterrestrial vibes of Roswell. Our intended goal was a popular backpacking loop known as the Outer Mountain Loop that spanned the low Chihuahuan Desert to the top of the highest point in the Chisos Mountains, Emory Peak. We were able to secure a campsite along Grapevine Rd, and after setting up camp, headed up into the Chisos Mountains to poke around a bit and drop some water for the following day’s run. After dropping almost 2gallons of water we headed back to camp to eat and get some rest before our early morning start.

Early morning glow along the Dodson trail in the lower Chihuahuan desert.

Our alarms went off at 430a and we rolled down to the Blue Creek Trailhead, the lower trailhead for the Outer Mountain Loop, with the goal of getting through the low elevation portion of the route before the 90F heat set in. We headed out just after 5am by headlamp into the cool pre-sunrise desert. The trail started out fairly smooth and easy to follow as we climbed and descended through the lower foothills of the Chisos Mountains. As we neared the top of our first major climb the trail dropped into a wash and started to become overgrown and scratchy, Maddie was NOT a fan of the catclaw and agave. As the sun began to warm the morning sky, we were treated to exquisite views of the towering Chisos mountains to our North and the expansive Chihuahuan Desert in every other direction. The trails were dotted with succulents, cacti, blooming prickly pear and claret cup and razor-sharp ocotillo.

Sunrise over the Chihuahuan desert.

We made quick work of our pre-sunrise section, reaching the junction with the Juniper Canyon Trail (mm11.6) in the early morning hours, beating the heat of the day. From here we started our 4000ft climb to the top of the Chisos Mountains, Emory Peak. As the day warmed I felt pretty decent, but Maddie was feeling the heat, and her stomach started to turn (it might have been the maple syrup drink). We trudged our way upwards into the mountains, longing for a little shade and a cool breeze. Around 5000ft we finally turned our way into the woodland forests of the Chisos Mountains and a little shady reprieve from the cloud filtered sun. After what felt like endless switchbacks we finally hit the saddle to Emory Peak, the high point of the day.

Headed up the Juniper Canyon trail to the Chisos Mountains.
Looking down from the summit of Emory Peak into the Chisos Mountains.

The final class 3 scramble to the summit was a pleasant change of pace, leading to expansive views and a great spot for a snack (mm21.1). This was the first time all day we’d encountered large groups of people. The clouds were burning off and the midday heat was starting to set in as we jogged downhill into Chisos Basin. After refilling our bottles and chugging a bunch of water from our water cache in Chisos Basin, we set off back up the trail to the Laguna Meadow saddle (mm25). This was my roughest section, as the hot sun baked our core and shade came at a premium. When we finally reached the Laguna Meadow saddle and jct with South Rim trail I sat down to have a little pity party (mm28.9).

Ascending our way out of Chisos Basin.
Pity Party time at the Laguna Meadow saddle.

I told Maddie to continue on without me, and that I’d slowly trudge my way in, but she wasn’t having any of it. “We started this together, we’re going to finish this together”. In an attempt to revive myself, I popped two salt tablets, chugged some water, and we started the LONG 2600ft downhill back to the Blue Creek trailhead. We both found a little more bounce heading downhill in the 90F+ heat, both bent on getting back to the car for cold beverages and to escape the heat. The canyon slowly mellowed out and the rocky switchbacks gave way to gravelly wash. We spent the last few miles slowly cruising through the wash, chatting about the highs and lows of the day and commiserating about how ready both of us were to get out of the sun. Finally, the Homer Wilson Ranch came back into site and we knew the car was CLOSE! One last little hill and we plopped ourselves down in the shade of the car, cracked open a cold soda and relished the day’s accomplishments.

Lower Blue Creek Canyon, almost back to our car.

In total we’d completed the 34.6mi/8000ft Outer Mountain Loop (+Emory Peak) in just over 12hours car to car in temperatures ranging from 70F to 97F! Our journey covered the high desert, deep canyons, woodland forests and summit of the highest peaks. For most of the year there are no natural water sources along the route, so planning water resupplies is key. The three access points are Chisos Basin (will be closed for construction through 2026), Blue Creek TH near Homer Wilson Ranch, and Juniper Canyon 4×4 Rd TH. On the day we each carried about 1.5-2gal of water, but could have used even more. Outside of Emory Peak and Chisos Basin we mostly had the trail to ourselves, so got to truly experience the solitude the desert can offer. Big Bend National Park is a wonderfully diverse array of ecosystems, tucked a long way from anything along the US/Mexico border. For anyone looking to visit I’d highly recommend late November through March, unless you really like it HOT.

Big Bend National Park Hot Springs along the Rio Grande River.

The following day we took a little road trip to the far SE side of the park, first for a soak in the Rio Grande Hot Springs. The old bathhouses were built in the early 1900s right along the border and all that remains are the old pools along the river, frequented by the wild horses that live in the area.  After a nice soak, alternating between the warm spring and the cool Rio Grande river, we headed off for the Boquillas Port of Entry into Mexico. Because, how often do you get to wade through a river into another country? After a short visit with the single US Border Patrol Officer in the small office, we popped off our shoes and waded our way across the Rio Grande (you can also take a boat for $5). Once in Boquillas we checked in with the Mexican authorities, paid the small tourist fee and went for a stroll. The town of Boquillas is more of a small hamlet with a few restaurants, a couple of shops and a LONG drive to anywhere else. We grabbed lunch, took a quick stroll across town, then headed back to the US. Other sites within the park worth visiting are Boquillas Canyon, Santa Elena Canyon, 4wd River Rd, Chisos Mt South Rim trail, Dog Canyon/Devil’s Den.

US Border Patrol Station at Boquillas Crossing in Big Bend National Park.
Maddie getting ready to walk across the Rio Grande into Mexico during low water (May).

Kings Canyon National Park Ultra, 8/23/2020

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Erika, Adler and Flan crossing the river on the way to Echo Lake from Lake Sabrina.
Erika, Adler and Flan crossing the river on the way to Echo Lake from Lake Sabrina.

I grew up backpacking the deep canyons and rivers of Kings Canyon National Park, then later in life honed my mountaineering skills and scrambling head on the high peaks of the Range of Light. The remove alpine meadows, rugged peaks, crystal blue lakes and abundance of lonely places are all reasons that Kings Canyon National Park holds a special place in my heart. From the John Muir Trail to Mt Whitney, there are numerous well known landmarks that draw outdoor enthusiasts to the area, and rightfully so. In all of my exploring, one area that had eluded me was the infamous but remote valley of Ionian Basin. A high alpine granite playground, guarded by the hulking figures of the Black Giant, Charybdis, the Three Sirens, Scylla and Mt Gottard, containing numerous crystal blue alpine lakes and seen only by a handful of eyes each year, it’s a destination only for the most dedicated, hardy and adventurous. A place I’d only seen from the summit of Mt Solomon in 2004 while hiking the John Muir Trail.

Early morning light on Lake Sabrina.
Sierras we have arrived. Taking in the early morning light enroute to Kings Canyon NP.

With the Covid pandemic raging throughout the US, Flannery, Adler, Erika and I decided to plan a trip to the California mountains to explore a little not too far from home nature. The wheels went in motion to do some trail running, hot spring exploring, Whoa Nellie chowing, capped by two epic runs in Kings Canyon NP and the Yosemite NP High Country, ticking off two of my National Park Ultra Marathon project runs. I was excited to share a little of my former backyard and old stomping grounds with several of my best friends and craving a little new adventure. After quickly getting settled in to our Eastern Sierras campground outside of Bishop the night before our Kings Canyon adventure, we began to pour over maps for the proposed route.
Flan and Adler: “So how much of this route is off trail?”
Me: “Maybe 50%? It’s all fine.”
Flan: “Wait, what?”
Woops, I guess I had underplayed the amount of off trail navigation, talus and challenging terrain the run would entail, a lesson we’d all be learning the next day.

The beautiful reflection of Echo Lake with the SE ridge of Mt Wallace in the background.

We started out at sunrise from our car at the North Lake Trailhead, jogging the road across to Lake Sabrina, then on up the trail towards Echo Lake. The early morning light was hazy with all the smoke hanging in the air, but the scenery was stunning, and our spirits were running incredibly high. Our trail started to thin out as we neared Echo Lake, one of the most stunning turquoise blue granite lined lakes I’ve ever seen. From Echo Lake the fun began, with a loose talus scramble up to the elusive Echo Col, we missed the correct notch on our first try, getting cliffed out, but found easier passage through the cliff bands and down towards the JMT. Our route from Echo Col down to the JMT was some of the loosest and most heinous talus I’ve encountered, and the group was not too pleased (understandably so). Finally we stepped off the alpine tundra and back on to the well constructed trail of the JMT, now deep within the heart of Kings Canyon…. But our adventure was only beginning.

Navigating the complex landscape below Echo Col (back Right) on our way to the JMT.

With a realization that the day was already quickly passing by, the travel had been tough and slow, the other three opted to follow the JMT directly over to Evolution Basin and Darwin Canyon, while I made a mad dash from the JMT southward up and over the divide and into Ionian Basin. We bid our farewells for the moment, and I powered up the hill as the others took a dip in the icy water of Helen Lake. As I crested the western saddle of the Black Giant and descended the talus into Ionian Basin I was greeted by a dozen beautiful shimmering alpine lakes and the imposing North face of Charybdis. I rocked hopped across the talus West through the basin towards the low point on the Goddard Divide that would drop me back to Wanda Lake. As I climbed away from Lake 11592 towards the saddle, taking in the expansively stunning views, dark clouds began to roll over head…. then a clap of thunder…. all of it way to close for comfort.

Looking back at Helen Lake as I climb towards Ionian Basin.
Ionian Basin in all it’s glory with Charybdis and The Three Sisters guarding it’s entrance.

I put my head down and began to power up towards the saddle, cresting just in time to see the sky explode behind me as bolts of lightning hit the peaks directly across Ionian Basin, oh shit, must go faster, must go faster. The rain began to fall, thunder rolled overhead, and I was still miles from any significant amount of tree cover and safety. My heart raced and all the hairs on my arm stood on end as I raced down the now rain-soaked talus towards Wanda Lake. When I reached the lake shore at 11400ft, a bolt of lightning struck the ridge behind me and pea sized hail began to fall. I ducked under the nearest large boulder, which only provided marginal protection from the elements in the mostly barren landscape surrounding Muir Pass. Outside of my attempt on the Colorado 14ers in 2015, it was the most terrified I’ve been in the outdoors in my entire life. I donned all my clothing, rain jacket, rain pants and beanie, then crouched down under the small overhang, praying that it would provide me enough protection from the massive storm raging directly overhead.

I sat wondering if this was going to be the day where my hubris got the better of me, how long was I going to be stuck under this rock, praying that my friends (who were ahead of me down valley) were faring better than I was, and that I’d get to see them again later that day. Finally, after what seemed like hours (probably was 40-50min) the storm passed on down Evolution Basin, and dissipated North as it cleared Mt Darwin. In it’s wake it had left everything coated in two inches of hail, my teeth chattering but an immense amount of gratitude that I had survived the ordeal. I jogged down the hail and rain soaked trail into Evolution Basin, one of the crown jewels of the John Muir Trail. At last I reached the climbers trail turn off into Darwin Basin that would take me to Lamarck Col, and eventually back to the car.

Flan’s view and Adler’s “Unhappy with Eric” face as they ride out the storm.
I was stuck in this landscape for almost an hour as the storm raged. It’s aftermath, clear skies and hail strewn boulder fields.

The challenging terrain, emotional distress of the storm and the long day were already wearing on me, but I soldiered onward with a single purpose, to get it done. As I rounded the first lake in Darwin Canyon I saw three figures on the far side of the lake: it was Adler, Flannery and Erika and we all let out cries of joy at seeing each other and being reunited after so many hours and the harrowing ordeal we’d all endured. They too had gotten ravaged by the storm and had been forced to hide under a few boulders for an hour as it passed directly overhead. We slogged our way up canyon, finally hitting the final 1300ft climb to Lamarck Col. By this point we were all pretty toasted, and it took all of our strength to navigate our way through the boulders upward to the pass. We crested the pass just as the sun’s final rays were illuminating the Western sky, and took that moment to express a little gratitude for the beauty of where we were and what we had experienced, despite the hardships of the day.

Sapphire Lake along the JMT in the heart of Evolution Basin.
Sunset from the top of Lamarck Col looking back into Darwin Basin. What an epic day, and what an epic journey.

We descended down the endless gravel and sand towards North Lake, finally collapsing at our car, 16hours after we had started. We were all exhausted, starving but ecstatic to be done running for the day. The day had been anything by smooth, but we had all come out of it, learning more about ourselves, our friends and with a profound respect for the unforgiving power of Mother Nature. Because along with her beauty, comes a sometimes uncontrollable fury that reminds us all, we are not in control and we are but guests in her amazing landscape. Kings Canyon still holds an incredibly special place in my heart, a place filled with so many wonderful memories, stunning vistas and unforgettable experiences at all levels. Being able to share it with my friends meant a lot, though I think we all could have done with a little less death talus and without the violent thunderstorm that soaked and shook us all. Kings Canyon National Park Ultra Run, 33mi, 8600ft vertical gain, 15h17min. From Lake Sabrina, over Echo Col, over Muir Pass, into Ionian Basin, through Evolution Basin, into Darwin Basin over Lamarck Col and back down.
Strava Segment #1
Strava Segment #2

Great Sand Dunes NP Ultra, 5/1/21

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Nestled along the Western edge of the Sangre de Cristo Mt range is a wind-swept area of the San Luis Valley where the winds push the sand from Medano Creek into towering dunes.

Medano Creek in full flow in May at Great Sand Dunes NP.

Who knows what a pulse flow is? Unless you’ve been to Great Sand Dunes in the spring/early summer you’ve probably never heard of this term. A pulse flow is a phenomenon that happens when the river flowing through the dunes, dams itself up with sand, eventually breaking those dams, so you get pulses of increased flow (or mini floods) working their way down stream in a wave like pattern.

Great Sand Dunes National Park was established as a National Monument in 1932, and upgraded to a National Park in 2004 to protect the unique sand dunes forming at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mts as Medano Creek flowed down. This ecosystem brings in a variety of flora and fauna not typically seen together and creating 500ft tall sand dunes! Most people come to this National Park to play in the river, climb the dunes and some to sandboard down. Very few get to experience the heart of the dunes or the mountains surrounding them. When I hatches the plan to do a Great Sand Dunes crossing (7mi of sand), I got lots of “Hell No” from friends, but not my friend Ben. Ben loves anything novel, and this sure was going to be a novel experience.

Sunrise over Great Sand Dunes NP with the Sangre de Cristos in the background.

We set out just before sunrise, hopping across the sandy shallows of Medano Creek and on up Star Dune, the tallest in the park at 741ft. We quickly found if one stuck to the ridges and valleys the sand was actually not bad to walk on. As we crested the high dunes, the first rays of sun were lighting up the sky above the Sangres, leaving us far below in shadow. We cruised across the dune tops and through the massive valleys, slowly making our way North to the Sand Ramp trail. We made quick time across the dunes (3h for 7mi), reaching the ‘trail’, which was really more of a sandy path. We jogged/walked back to the Medano Pass 4×4 Rd, where Ben and I would part ways. After dumping a pound of sand out of our shoes, I continued up to Medano Pass, while Ben headed back to the visitor center.

Ben traversing the dune tops in the morning sunlight.
Sand dunes and snowy mountain tops.

The road was smooth and went by quickly until about 500ft from the pass, where I started to hit patchy snow. Small at first, but they slowly grew bigger and deeper as I neared the pass. I reached the top of Medano Pass without too much difficulty, marked only by a sign describing the early pioneer’s efforts to get over the pass. It was early enough in the year that no cars were allowed up to the pass, so I had a quiet run down back to the Sand Ramp trail. From there it was the final grind back around the East side of the dunes, with a quick stop at the overlook to take in the immensity of the dunes. Then on back to the visitor center for a dip in the creek and a soda.

Making our way across the Sand Ramp ‘trail’.
Medano Pass Rd, climbing high into the Sangre de Cristo Mts. The source of Medano Creek and all the sand that makes up the dunes.

29mi and 4300ft later I pushed through the reeds growing along Medano Creek, arriving back at the beach party, closing my loop. I found the rest of our gang hanging out in Medano Creek: building sandcastles, dams and splashing in the water. It’s truly the closest thing Colorado gets to a beach day, and it’s such a unique way to experience it. I wouldn’t classify the Sand Dunes as a great running destination, but it is a unique place, especially in the late spring/early summer when the water flows and the days are warm. If you’re feeling bold, wander beyond the first 1/2mi into the heart of the dunes where you’ll have the park almost entirely to yourself. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Reminder…sand dunes can move and cover the trail and bury signage.
View of the Sand Dunes from viewpoint near the end of the run.

2022 Hardrock 100; Acceptance

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The best crew and some of the best humans around.

Going into the 2022 Hardrock 100 I had grand aspirations and goals (which included a sub-30h finish). The quick answer is things went about as well as it could have, but not as well a I dreamed it would. I’ve always set big goals for myself, many of them born out of insufficiency and insecurities from past lives; You’re too slow, you’re not strong enough, you’re too short, too awkward, not smart enough…
Every person who steps foot on the line at Hardrock has dealt with their own challenges to get there and most likely still carries some of those challenges through the race and life in general. To claim we are all equal is a lie, we all are unique and none of us will ever have the same experience and that’s perfectly ok. Something I’ve struggled with for a long time is the idea that if I worked hard enough I could achieve some of the lofty aspirations, maybe not Killian level, but pretty high. 16 years after I started ultrarunning, I’m finally accepting that’s just not the case. To be clear, I’m not looking for a pity party, but rather through a recognition of my own weaknesses (and also my strengths), I can become the best version of that self and achieve whatever my personal limits may be.

Pre-race nervous shakeout and relaxation up at Hematite Lake with Jason.

Ok, back to Hardrock. Last year (2021) I went into the race determined to push hard and really find my potential, and a new level of success (time and place). What ended up happening was out running my capabilities early and suffering through the last 1/3 of the experience. 2022 brought a much different approach, listen to my body, be grateful for every experience (good and bad) and to enjoy a much as possible. In the past what’s done me in is running to others expectations, trying to keep up with others (not myself) and not fully listening to my body. The biggest challenge was admitting that my airways and lungs are my weak point and will always limit what I can do, especially at high altitude. This is not new (Nolans, past Hardrocks, 24h 14ers, Elks and others), but it’s been a hard thing to admit that it’s not something I can train past or “overcome”. I’ve found ways to cope and build other strengths; getting faster downhill, increasing overall fitness, running longer and slower, but none of these will ever remove this weak link of mine.

Cresting the Putnam Divide early in the race, mm10.
The infamous Island Lake near Grant Swamp Pass, always a worthwhile visit.

I slept terribly the week before the race (another temporary challenge) and work stresses had me a bit out of sorts, not the best way to start a super hard 100mi race. But I was promised to spend a long weekend running around some is the most beautiful mountains, with a crew of great friends, I was lucky indeed. The first climb went by smoothly, as I focused on just taking in as much of the experience as possible, soon finding myself in the familiar position of leap-frogging with Darcy. Maggie soon caught up to us not too much later and the three of us would spend the next 30miles leap frogging back and forth (them on the ups, me on the downs). Every time I rolled through an Aid Station the friendly faces would provide a boost, finally getting to see my crew in Telluride (mm28). The stoke was high, I was still feeling great and just doing my own thing. As we (Darcy, Maggie and I) left Telluride a big storm dropped in and pummeled us with rain and hail for 45min, but it was fine, we were below treeline and safe, just moist. The ominous skies still threatened as we approached Kroger’s Canteen. A couple of perogies, some coke and off down to Ouray I went. I was finding my own rhythm, playing to my strengths, listening to my body and just letting the miles roll by. Ouray was a wild circus full of energy. Tons of friends, spectators and confused tourist everywhere. For the first time at Hardrock I left an Aid Station without a pacer, focusing just on myself and the mountain experience I was seeking. Darkness fell as I led a group of us up and over Engineer Pass and down into Animas Forks. The aid station was a bit of a mess and I almost ran right by my crew without either of us realizing it. After a quick change into my nighttime gear, Jason and I were off to Handies, my white whale.

Nearing the summit of Virginius Pass, just after one thunderstorm had passed over, right before another one was about to hit.
Crew stop and refeul in Ouray before heading up to Engineer Pass.

As we headed up the Grouse saddle the work stress and lack of sleep were catching up with me and I’d spend the next 5h a walking zombie. My lungs strained in the cold air and I knew if I didn’t slow I was at risk of damaging the rest of my race, so upwards we crawled. After much bitching and moaning on my part (Jason was great) we made it to Burroughs AS where Jesus greeted us with open arms (no I want hallucinating yet). I kept trudging forward at what felt like a slow crawl, picked up Gwen at Sherman, then slowly staggered my sleepy way to sunrise at the pole creek divide. As the sun illuminated the surrounding mountains, my spirits began to lift. Gwen commented that she knew I was back when I made some very juvenile comment that only a 12yo would make, oops. So we ran (some) and walked (a bunch), enjoying what was a mostly lovely day. I probably groaned a bit when we hit the precipitous descent into Cunningham, but that meant only 1 AS left! I did my best to keep things fun at our last crew exchange, but I was just a wee bit tired, so who knows how well that came off. Bailee and I set off at a slow trudge up Dives/Little Giant, trying to keep my breathing in check (and not set off my asthma), but also wanting to get done. As we crested the top, I took one last look back at Green Mt and finally let myself believe I was going to get it done.

Full moon rising as Jason and I make our way over Handies Peak at 14000ft.
Down into Maggie we go, endless wildflowers all around and Day 2 sunshine.
Still kinda smiling and kinda having fun, final climb up and over Dives/Little Giant, almost done!

Whatever pain and fatigue I felt didn’t matter, all I had to do was will my way downhill to the finish. We ran as fast as I could down the technical descent, taking a few walk breaks to catch my breath. We stomped through the river and hit the final few miles into town, running into Jefferson along the way. I ran as hard as my lungs would allow, but with two miles to go I was sent into a coughing fit, diaphragm spasms and promptly threw up. This was the first time that’s ever happened during a race. Once I stopped coughing I felt fine, so we jogged it in. As we cruised through town we were greeted by many familiar faces, including my crew. It felt really good to kiss the rock for the 3rd time, but it felt even better to be in good spirits (despite puking) and to have enjoyed the experience (for the most part).

Finish line vibes.

The rest of the day was spent on a quick nap, cheering on the multitude of friends finishing that afternoon/evening and eating all the food I could find (burrito, 2x burgers, cookies, soup, etc). My training had succeeded, my legs held up (my legs are never my limiting factor at elevation), and other than my 5h sleepy stretch so had my energy levels. I’ve learned that no matter how hard I train, at Hardrock I can’t outrun my lungs, so sub-30h may never be in the cards for me, and I’m ok with that. I had a great run with my good friends, and that is really what I wanted most out of the experience. Sure it would be awesome to run faster, but after 34:38, 33:52 and 33:10 finishes I’ve accepted this is who I am. On to other new adventures, different races and to enjoy crewing my friends at Hardrock in future years, where I get to eat all the food, take a few naps and not run 100miles of that crazy course all at once.
Big thanks to Vfuel for supporting my training and my Hardrock adventure, all the Rocky Mountain Runners for the training miles shared and my friends and crew for dragging my sometimes grumpy ass around the San Juans yet again.

Great Smokies Challenge Adventure Run (SCAR)

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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!

Forests of Green and Holes in the Ground; Mammoth Cave National Park Ultra

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Squish, splash, splosh….what had started out as such a beautifully promising trail had quickly descended into a horse trodden mud bog….would the whole run be this way? The Maple Springs Trail had started out as beautifully cruiser crushed gravel meandering through the lush green forest, but as soon as I turned onto the Mill Branch Trail I found out what the ranger had warned me about, the horse trails were muddy….

Lush green forests and muddy trails of Kentucky along the Mill Branch trail in Mammoth Cave NP.

Mammoth Cave National Park is best known because its currently (May 2019) the world’s longest cave system at over 406miles of passageway with more still being discovered. The cave system has a long history of human exploration and exploitation along with a hugely diverse ecosystem inside and out. While the cave itself may be the best known feature of the park, the park also has a beautiful trail system, covering over 70miles, exposing one to the surface geology and weather that makes the formation of the cave possible (more on the caves at the end).

My run set off from the Maple Springs Trailhead cruising the beautiful crushed gravel paths through some of the greenest forest I’ve ever run through. Several days of rain had really brought everything to life…. including the mud. As I transitioned onto the duel use horse trails, the smooth path turned into a chopped up muddy mess. I sloshed my way around the North edge of the park on the Mill Branch and Blair Springs trails, both of which consisted largely of ankle deep mud…bleh. I got a short reprieve as I passed the First Creek TH (7.6mi, 1:30) and climbed the ridgeline high above Second Creek. The foliage briefly transitioned to pines and hemlock, before returning back to the dense hardwood forest.

My starting point at the Maple Springs TH in Mammoth Cave NP.
One of many cascades along the trail in Mammoth Cave NP.

When the trails weren’t a mud bog they really were beautiful…rolling single track, swooping through the neon green forest and limestone rock formations randomly jutting out of the hillside. As I made a turn to parallel the Nolin River the trail transitioned back to the horrid mud bog, and I splashed my way passed First Creek Lake (nice campsites) and then up the steep hill to Temple Hill (14.3mi, 3:00).

First Creek Lake, several lovely campsites.

Most of the terrain had been incredibly runnable to this point, so it was nice to have some hiking grade to break up the pace. I passed a few hikers on this stretch, the first people I’d seen all day! After a short but abrupt descent down the McCoy Hollow trail, the grade mellowed and the trail weaved in and out of various river drainages before descending to the Wet Prong of Buffalo Creek (20.4mi, 4:20). Another short steep ascent up to Collie Ridge before the trail plummeted straight down to the Dry Prong of Buffalo Creek. When I finally turned onto the Sal Hollow Trail (24.4mi, 5:25, final trail of the day) I was pretty ecstatic to see find it was a non-horse trail, meaning it was the most beautiful section of trail I’d been on all day.

Limestone formations and lots of greenery await you on the trails of Mammoth Cave NP.
Soaking my legs in Sal Hollow to wash off a little mud and cool the feet.

The damp single track weaved around trees and rocky limestone outcroppings, passing springs flowing out of caves and sink holes where the water was most likely draining into the cave system below. I even took a short break to crawl into one of the cave springs for 20-30ft, opting not to delve too deep on my own though. I splashed through a puddle now and again, but overall the footing was stellar, and my tired legs were glad for the reprieve from the mud bogs of earlier. This was the trail I’d been hoping to find all day, and despite being a tired and a little grumpy I was thoroughly enjoying the cruise through the forest, listen to the birds singing and the water cascading out of every hollow. It was on this stretch that the clouds finally broke and the first rays of sun shown through the foliage, dotting the green underbrush with its yellow glow. If only all of the trail system had been this lovely….After 33.1mi and 7:17 I popped out of the forest and back onto the Maple Springs Rd, what a day it had been. National Park Ultramarathon #15 complete.

One of several cave springs along the trail in Mammoth Cave…where did the water come from?
Riding the Green River vehicle ferry across, and me without my floaties.

This trip had been my first real exploration of Kentucky, and it further confirmed my belief that every single state has something beautiful and unique to offer. The rolling green hardwood forests are so unlike anything we have in the West it was a nice change of pace. While I could have done with a little less mud, I’ve never minded getting a little dirty on the run, sometimes you don’t get the perfect conditions, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have an amazing experience. The forests of Kentucky may not have the altitude or expansive views of some of the Western parks, but the beauty lies in much more subtle things. The millipedes crossing the trail, a heron flying across First Lake, unexpected caves dotting the hillsides or simply the ability to get lost in the forest for hours and only see a handful of people.

Sunlight trickling through the leaves of Mammoth Cave NP.

Now on to what brings most people to central Kentucky, the underground labyrinth that is Mammoth Cave….and it sure is mammoth! With a history dating back 1000s of years (to early Native Americans), Mammoth Cave was a known entity long before the Europeans arrived to exploit it. It wasn’t until the mid 1800s that people really began to explore the cave (Stephen Bishop) and cave tourism began to form. Mammoth Cave became a National Park in 1941, and now to visit the caves most people must participate in one of many organized cave tours. While I was not fortunate enough to get on one of the ‘Wild Cave tours’ (reserve early!, includes crawling and scrambling) I did get onto three different tours into very different parts of the cave. In the following paragraph I’ll describe the three tours I took and what I liked/disliked about them. Cave tour reservations can be made here.

The first tour I got on was the ‘Domes and Dripstones tour’ that enters through the New Entrance, which is essentially a dynamite blasted hole into the cave. From this entrance one descends straight into the heart of the cave down a very steep narrow set of stairs. You get a sense of the size of the size of the massive domes where water seeps into the cave and underground rivers. The tour then winds through a variety of passages ending at the Frozen Niagara formation, one of the few formations in this section of the cave. While interesting and beautiful, it was my least favorite tour as it’s a very large group and moves pretty fast, giving one less time to enjoy sections of the cave.

Descending the steep stairs down from the New Entrance deep into Mammoth Cave.
The Frozen Niagara formation in Mammoth Cave.

The second cave tour I took was the ‘Historic Tour’, this one enters through the original historic entrance in the center of the park. The initial passageways are massive, quickly letting one understand why people call it ‘Mammoth’. You then learn a good bit about the history of the cave, from early Native Americans to the salt peter mining and tourism of the 1800s. The walking tour then crosses the Bottomless Pit and into Fat Man’s Misery, a narrow section of passageway (all walkable, with a slight crouch). I found the Historic Tour more interesting than the Domes and Dripstones, partially because of the history, but also because you got a much better sense of the size and variety the cave offers.

The main hallway in Mammoth Cave is pretty darn big.
Looking up one of the giant silos in Mammoth Cave.

The last tour I took was the ‘Great Onyx Cave’ tour, part of the Flint Ridge cave system that as of this writing does not connect with the rest of Mammoth Cave (but is believed to). As we passed through the damp entrance, careful not to step on the cave salamanders (cool!) we quickly emerged into a room adorned with cave formations (drapes, columns, stalagmites/stalagtites, flow stone). As our small group of 20 slowly made our way deeper into the cave by lantern light the cave slowly dried out and the formation disappeared. Replacing the flow stone formations were delicate gypsum crystals, some of them assembled into the most beautiful gypsum flowers I’ve ever seen. While we didn’t cover as much cave passage on this tour I found that the time allotted allowed us to better appreciate the cave and the formations, as did the smaller group size. This was by far my favorite tour of the day.

Wandering Great Onyx Cave by lantern light.
Delicate gypsum flower formations in Great Onyx Cave.

It may be becoming cliché, but my National Parks project is taking me to areas of the country I otherwise may have never visited and explored. The rolling green hills of Kentucky and the always fascinating underground world of the cave truly exceeded my expectations. The US National Park system is not just a collection of big mountain landscapes or desert canyons, though those get most of the attention. Mammoth Cave is definitely worth exploring, both above ground and below. Because it’s the world above (the rain, the rocks, the ecosystem) that make the caves what they are. As always, special thanks to Vfuel for powering all my crazy ideas and adventures and to our National Park System for preserving such amazing places for all to see and experience in a responsible manner. Next up….Badlands National Park and Wind Cave National Park!