Tag Archives: Trail running

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).

Napali Coast and Kalalau Day Run, 10/27/24

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Start of the Kalalau Trail along the Napali Coast.

Kauai is known for its luscious jungles, rugged peaks and towering waterfalls, all fed and carved by the >450” of rain that fall annually. The pinnacle of Kauai is the Napali Coast along the North Shore of the island, accessed only by boat, helicopter and the 12mile Kalalau trail. Each mode offers a unique perspective on the iconic rugged coastline. While a helicopter ride allows one to see deep into the valleys and to view waterfalls not easily accessed, and a boat offers an at a distance view of the coast, the hike/run along the Kalalau is the only way to get up close and personal with the Napali coast.

Looking back down at Ke’e Beach around sunrise at the start of the Kalalau Trail.

The first hurdle for anyone who wants to hike/run the Kalalau trail is the permit and reservation system. There are two separate systems that one needs to navigate when setting up a trip, parking/shuttle reservations to access the park AND an overnight backpacking/camping permit for the trail. The backpacking/camping permit is needed even if you want to hike/run the trail in a single day (anywhere beyond the first 2.5mi). First you need to access the State of Hawaii website to read about the regulations and check the availability for the trail and determine what potential dates are open. Camping reservations typically open 3-4months out from your date of interest. Winter campsite availability is typically more open, though will book out over a month in advance, while the summer months are even busier. The second step is reserving either a parking spot or shuttle spot (includes park entry fee) on the Hāʻena State Park website. Reservations open about a month ahead of time, with the parking spots selling out very fast. There are typically ample shuttle spots available starting as early as 620am, with the final pickup from the park at 540pm. Even if you’re unable to secure a backpacking/camping permit, the park entry fee allows you to hike to Hanakāpīʻai Falls. Once the admin work is taken care of, it’s on to actually planning your trip!

Early morning along the Kalalau Trail, soaking in the views.

Once you arrive at the park (either park or shuttle), you’ll receive a short tutorial from a local about the park, safety and respecting the history. The trail starts with a 0.25mi flat path through the jungle to Ke’e beach, which is a lovely spot to have a picnic or take a swim on a nice day. This is where the Kalalau trail officially starts, quickly taking off uphill into the jungle. The first two and a half miles are often wet, slippery and muddy as the trail undulates high above the coastline before dropping to Hanakāpīʻai stream and beach. This is where the trail to Hanakāpīʻai falls splits off up valley and the boundary where you can hike without a backpacking/camping permit.

Rugged and lush coastline of the Napali Coast.

As the trail leaves Hanakāpīʻai it again climbs high up onto the cliffside, where it will stay for the duration of the journey. The trail undulates in and out of numerous valleys, crossing small streams, ducking into dense jungle before popping out to expansive coastal views. As the trail continues to traverse towards the east side of the island, the trail begins to dry out a bit more and the jungle gives way to slightly less dense vegetation, the trail also becomes more runnable. After about 7mi you reach the Hanakoa falls trail and campground. For people looking to break up the trip this is the only intermediate spot where camping is allowed before reaching Kalalau beach. Just beyond Hanakoa the trail enters a gravely and exposed cliffside area that includes crawler’s ledge. The trail is loose, a little more narrow (2-4ft wide) and the hill side steepens as it drops precipitously into the ocean below. The trail is easily navigated by those experienced with hiking/running on rugged terrain, but for those less experienced this could be a fairly uncomfortable area (see photos).

Taking a break along Hanakoa stream to refill water and splash off.
Aash along part of the infamous crawler’s ledge section of the Kalalau trail.

After crawler’s ledge the trail smooths out again as it weaves in and out of various small canyons, water can be a little harder to find in this section, with only a few small trickles available. At the 10.5mi mark the trail reaches its apex high above the ocean, and the foliage drops away revealing sweeping views into the Kalalau valley and down towards Kalalau beach far below, you’ve reached the heart of the Napali Coast. Aash and I bombed down the hill back towards the ocean, jogging the last mile through the temperate forest to Kalalau Beach. Sweeping white sand with waves crashing on shore, fringed by steep jungle laden cliffs on three sides and a waterfall plunging onto the far end of the beach. About as idyllic and movie picturesque as one could imagine. We took some time to splash in the waves, soak in the sunny afternoon and enjoy the fact that we had the beach all to ourselves. Other than a few helicopters circling overhead and a few passing boats, there was no one else at the beach, a rare pleasure at such a popular destination.

Beautiful sweeping singletrack along the Eastern portion of the Kalalau trail.
Looking down into the Kalalau Valley, Kalalau beach is located at the surf break.
Kalalau Beach in all it’s magnificence. A perfect destination.

After 45min, we dried off, packed up our bags and slowly strolled away from Kalalau beach, back the way we’d come. It had been a fantastically beautiful day, no one around and everything I had asked for so far, though we still had 11-12miles back the way we’d come before reaching the shuttle. My legs still had a surprising amount of pop, so I took off at a brisk hike back uphill in the afternoon sun. The fact that we were running in the tropics started to hit us; hot, humid, sweaty and sticky. I took advantage of every small stream to splash off and soak my arm sleeves. We made steady and consistent progress back to Hanakoa, where we took a longer snack break to soak our feet and refill water. Since I was feeling good I pushed ahead the last 6miles, cruising through the slipping sections of trail and a few passing rain showers. I gingerly hopped my way down the final set of rocky stairs back to Ke’e beach. There are fresh water showers, bathrooms and benches here. After rinsing some of the mud off my shoes and legs, I jogged back to the shuttle stop, very satisfied and happy with how the day had gone. Other than a few passing rain showers, the weather had been spectacular, the trail stunning, and the final destination (Kalalau beach) was just as idyllic as I could have imagined.

The view from Kalalau beach back up into the cliffs and waterfalls that guard it’s inland side.
A sample of the muddy and slippery trail along the Western portion of the Kalalau.

24.1miles and just over 8hours round-trip for the entire journey. Though I would love to go back and do the trip as a single overnight at Kalalau beach and would highly recommend most people doing it this way. Stopping at Hanakoa part way would make for very short days, and the campsites in the jungle aren’t very appealing. Start planning your trip early, book as far in advance as you can, and don’t be dissuaded by the weather, because you never know what will actually happen, and often rain means passing showers with some sunshine.

Olympic National Park: Hurricane Ridge to Sol Duc

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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)

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

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.

Canyonlands Island in the Sky Ultra, 1/2/21

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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.

24hours of 14ers; Revisiting the Past

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Seven years ago a crazy idea was hatched out of an online discussion on 14ers.com, how many 14,000ft peaks was it possible to climb in 24hours, and what would be the optimal linkup? I love 14ers, and I love logistical challenges, so I set out working some variations and timing, scouted a few lines and put some wheels in motion. I made my first go at the linkup in July 2013 as a training run leading up to UTMB, ultimately bowing out after tagging Sherman in 18h37min, for a total of 9 summits. At the time it was a good first effort, but I felt that I had a left a lot more potential out there and that 12 was feasible on a good day. Since 2013 several others have improved upon my original 9 summits, pushing the number to 11 summits in 22h, though still no one had crossed the 12 peak threshold.

Smokey views from the Mt Evans Rd, 9/18/20.

After a summer of running around the mountains, I was searching for a little inspiration, something to cap the summer and add a little extra motivation to the weird race-less Covid year it’s been. The opportunity presented itself, so I worked the schedules, lined up a driver and was set to go. Friday morning at 430a my friend Misti picked me up and we headed out for the Mt Evans Rd, the starting point for the journey. At 6:11am on 9/18/20 I clicked the watch and started jogging up the Rd to Mt Evans. It was cool and breezy, smoke hanging in the air from all the wildfires, but on I ran. I hit summit lake at 1:10 and busted up the NE slope to the summit (1:43). For some reason I thought I was behind schedule so I cranked my way across the Sawtooth, gasping as I scampered around the snow on Bierstadt, hitting the summit in 2:38. Even though it was a Friday it was a bit of a cluster, so I wasted no time and hammered down the trail, passing dozens upon dozens of onlookers, not even registering their comments or questions, reaching the Guanella Pass Rd, and eventually 11000ft at 3:25 (10min ahead of schedule).

Headed across the Sawtooth to Mt Bierstadt.
Finally a bit of downhill after dodging the crowds atop Mt Bierstadt.

I jumped in the car, and Misti promptly took off for Stevens Gulch as I packed my water, food and gear for the next leg of the journey. The word of the day was ‘efficient’. We pulled up to the Stevens Gulch TH, I jumped out, poles in hand and headed straight onto the trail for Torreys Peak. I dug into the trail, and found a steady rhythm up and over Torreys (5:31) and over to Grays (5:55). Thankfully the trail wasn’t too busy and CFI has done some great work, allowing me to cruise at a quick pace back down to the car where Misti had a cup o’noodle waiting and off we bounced down the Stevens Gulch Rd, next stop Quandary!

Headed up Torreys and Grays Peak.

We had a good rhythm going, I’d stuff my pack with food, water and gear, eat something solid and do some recovery work on my legs while we drove. After a short nap we navigated our way onto the Blue Lakes Rd on the South side of Quandary Peak, where I again hopped out of the car at 11200ft, intent on making quick work out of the dirt road section. I soon crested the dam at Blue Lake, and struck off on the climbers trail headed for Cristo Couloir. My semi-secret shortcut and little known fact that it’s only 2mi from 11200ft to the summit of Quandary via Cristo (1mi gaining 2300ft!). I’ve always been good at digging my poles in and just grinding out slow vert, so that’s what I did. Reaching the summit of Quandary Peak at 9:06 (1:24 from the car) to cloudy cool skies with only one other person in site. I made quick work of the steep loose descent, getting back to the car in 37min (9:43)! Then began the frantic recovery and repacking effort before we hit the Kite Lake Rd, this would be the shortest turn around, and with a long loop of the DeCaLiBron to come.

Looking down Cristo Couloir on my way up Quandary.

Misti dropped me at 11100ft on the Kite Lake Rd at 10:07 (4:45pm) and I began the long slog up to Kite Lake and Mt Democrat. After 10hours I wasn’t feeling as spry but I just kept grinding away, for the first time starting to struggle a bit on the uphills, reaching the summit of Mt Democrat at 11:52 (1:45 from the car), slower than I’d hoped for, but still on pace overall. I made decent time over to Mt Lincoln (12:48), spurred on by a bitter cold wind that froze my fingertips. Soon after I crested Mt Bross as the evening light faded into blackness, I paused long enough to take in the fact that I’d had the entire DeCaLiBron to myself, a rare occurrence. The darkness made the rocky descent far tougher than I’d expected, and I rolled back to the car at 14:13. For the first time all day I was a bit beat up, and was looking forward to the long drive over to Missouri Gulch, a chance to rest and recharge before the long night ahead. I refueled and napped as Misti drove, and before I knew it we were bumping down the Winfield Rd, screeching to a halt because we’d flow right by the trailhead!

Cold and windy sunset run up Mt Lincoln, all by my lonesome.

After a quick double check of my gear and food stores I bid Misti farewell and set off into the darkness. I put on some music and just focused on strong and solid movement upwards. I was hitting my splits as I neared treeline, but I could feel the strain in my breathing. As I began to climb the endless switchbacks to Mt Belford I knew I was in for a challenging night. My lungs felt congested and I couldn’t seem to get a full breath, forcing me to take breaks far more often that I wanted just to catch my breath. The switchbacks seemed to drag on forever, made worse by the lingering snow and ice that further slowed progress. At this point I was feeling very demoralized, moving as fast as I could muster, reaching the summit of Belford in 2:31 from the trailhead (18:16). It was dark, cold and I was struggling mentally to stay motivated.

Final bit of light fading away on the Rocky Mountains.

I pushed on to Oxford, once again forced to dodge a bunch of awkward snow and ice blocking the trail, reaching Oxford in 0:47 (19:03), far slower than what I know I’m capable of. On the summit of Oxford I did some fuzzy math, realizing that at my current pace it was gonna be tough to break the current FKT of 11 summits in 22h. When I’d started up from the trailhead 11 summits seemed almost a certainty and 12 seemed very reasonable, but now I was struggling to fathom climbing 11 in the allotted time. As I descended back to Elkhead Pass I was able to talk myself out of the funk….you know these routes, there’s still time on the clock, so keep pushing forward until you run out of time, nothing is certain.

The grind up Missouri felt like death, but I pushed on as hard as I could. 13000ft…..13200ft….13500ft….. dodging a few more snow patches, and not happy to see that my scree shortcuts down the SW face of Missouri was blocked by drifted snow from the prior week’s storm, so I’d have to go around the long way. At last I crested the summit of Missouri Mt, summit #11 at 21:00, giving me an hour to traverse the ridge and drop 3000ft to Clohesy Lake, a task that felt nearly impossible at the moment, but still off I went.

The glory of sleep deprivation and the excitement of endurance events…nap time.

I pushed across Missouri’s NW ridge as fast as I could move in the dark, the whole things is a blur in my memory. I finally turned West and began to drop, astonished to find that the popularity of Nolans had hacked a real trail into the ridge (when I began scouting 13 years ago, no trail existed). This gave me a fighting chance, because descending 2800ft on a steep rough trail in 40min was definitely within the realm of possibility! I charged downhill as fast as my legs and lungs would allow, sliding out now and again, but losing elevation in a hurry. At last I dropped out of the upper basin and began descending to Clohesy Lake. The final mile of trail seemed to take forever, but as I neared 11200ft I turned my path straight down the tundra to the lake, collapsing on the edge of Clohesy Lake at 10991ft at 4:01am on 9/19/20, 21hours and 50min after starting my journey on the Mt Evans Rd the previous day. There had been so much doubt and uncertainty the previous 4hours that I’d actually make it to this point that I was relieved, excited, exhausted and beat to shit. The only thing left to do was trudge my way out of the mountains and back down to the Winfield Rd.

Since I don’t own a jeep this meant walking/yogging a slow 3mi back down the jeep road in the coldest part of the night. After wading through the river (twice) I walked up to Lana (my Rav4) and woke Misti to give her the good news… I’d done it, though barely. I’d set out the ultimate goal to climb 12 14ers in 24hours, and while I’d fallen short of that goal, I’d still managed to climb 11 summits and just squeeze in under the previous FKT by 10min, covering 22,300ft of gain and 48.7mi. It may not have been a perfect day; with all the physical struggles and the additional challenges added by the smoke and snow, but it had been one hell of a journey through the mountains. I’d over come the persevered despite the mental struggles and uncertainty, trusting in the process rather than giving in to the doubts. Though that 12th summit still lingers….Mt Huron, I’m coming for you.

Rocky Mountain National Park Skyline Traverse

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We threw up our hoods, put our heads down and leaned into the wind as we left the Alpine Visitor Center. The wind ripped across the Continental Divide and we ran, partly to make good time, partly to stay warm. An already challenging route promised to be extra challenging on this day.

11hours in and I’d made it to the Narrows on Longs Peak!

Twelve years after running my first National Park ultramarathon in the Grand Canyon I still hadn’t completed my Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP) ultra, despite it being my home park. I’d spent a lot of time debating the best route, settling on a ridge traverse through the park’s interior. The difficulty of the route was that almost the entire route was above treeline, holding snow late into the summer and being exposed to thunderstorms for most of the summer. My friend Ben and I picked a nice clear crisp September day (9/22/19), the one factor we didn’t count on was the wind. As we traversed the Ute trail along the Continental Divide a bone chilling wind howled from the NW.

Sunrise from the Alpine Visitor Center with the Continental Divide stretched out in front of us.
Following a section of the Ute trail early in the run. Most of the ridgeline was trailless.

We soon bailed off the trail and onto the ridge proper, where we’d stay for most of the day. As we made our way to Mt Ida, the first summit of the day, we had to duck onto the East side of the ridge to warm our hands and put on all our layers. The wind chill was brutal, and we could barely feel our hands and face. We trudged our way up and over Mt Ida to Chief Cheley (2:11, 7.3mi). Lake Azura and Highest lake were still crusted in ice and the views of the park were phenomenal. This section of the park is one of the most remote and seldom visited, miles from any trailhead and the nearest trail. We put our heads down and continued our trudge into the wind.

Proper Rocky Mountain ridge running near Mt Ida.
Highest Lake near the base of Chief Cheley, with Forest Canyon far below.
Tundra running near Sprague Mountain. Longs Peak still looks really far away (square top)

I tagged Sprague Mountain, Gabletop and Knobtop before finally reconnecting with the Flattop mountain trail (5:35, 15.6mi). Ben opted to bail off Flattop back to the car, as the wind was getting worse and there was uncertainty whether the route would go under the conditions. Solo, I crawled my way up Hallett and Otis, barely able to stand without being blown over. As I huddled in the wind block atop Otis peak, I debated my options….. Push on to the technical part of the route (the Class 5 McHenrys Notch), bail down the long East ridge of Otis Peak or return back the way I’d come to the Flattop mountain trail. Being over halfway across the traverse I opted to push on and try my luck.

Flattop Mountain with Hallet and Oatis in the background.
View from Taylor Peak towards Powell with Longs looming behind.

On the long slog up Taylor Peak (the first 13er of the day) my legs were starting to feel heavy, but the wind was actually lessening. From atop Taylor Peak (7:21, 19.1mi) I peered down on Skypond far below, and for the first time all day it looked as though the traverse would actually go! The traverse over to Powell Peak went slowly, but soon I found myself on the summit staring down the SE couloir, ready for the fun to begin. I descended a little over 200ft and located the grassy ledge system to skier’s left that would allow easy passage to McHenrys Notch. From McHenrys Notch the route is obvious, but far from easy. Directly across the Notch are two vertical Class 5 gulleys that lead to the NW ridge of McHenrys Peak.

Looking into McHenry’s Notch. The two gulleys in the middle are your class 5 options to reach the ridgeline above.

I scrambled my way up the lefthand ledge system to the broad ledge on the South side of the peak, and finished the easy traverse over to the summit of McHenrys Peak (8:39, 21.3mi). It felt great to have surmounted the crux, until I looked across Glacier Gorge at Longs Peak, oy vey, I still had a long way to go. I picked my way down through the talus field to Stoneman Pass (not the low point, but the first notch) and descended into Glacier Gorge. This would be the only time I descended into the valley. Glacier Gorge (especially the upper section) is an absolutely magical gem and one of the most iconic hiking destinations in all of Rocky Mountain National Park. Sheer granite faces surround one on all sides, Arrowhead and Spearhead jut abruptly out of the middle of the valley and numerous alpine lakes have carved out depressions amongst the barren white landscape.

Looking across Glacier Gorge from Stoneman Pass. The Trough is the obvious gulley that ascends just right of the Longs Peak summit block.
Frozen Lake tucked in the shadows of Chief’s Head Peak.

I refilled my water in one of the side streams, crossed over the head of Frozen Lake and made my way to the base of the Trough, a 2500ft gulley that swoops its way from Glacier Gorge up to the West face of Longs Peak. I felt like death as I crawled my way up through the talus and slabs just climbers right of the gulley. Time seemed to be passing in slow motion, 100 vertical feet at a time. At last I pulled myself through the windy notch at the top of the Trough and out onto the Narrows. For as many times as I’ve climbed Longs (30?), this was the first time I’d been on the Keyhole route in non-winter conditions alone. I pulled myself up the Homestretch and onto the summit block (11:16, 24.4mi), collapsing with exhaustion, but also with a smile on my face. It was 6:15pm, I was the only person on the summit, the wind had stopped, and long shadows draped themselves across the park.

Feeling like death as I slog my way up the Trough towards Longs.
The shadows of Longs Peak stretching East into the foothills.

After taking a few long breaths in, I knew I had to get moving, sunset was only an hour away, and I wanted to be below the Loft before it got dark, so back down I went, dropping down Keplinger’s couloir, ascending up past Clark’s Arrow and into the Loft between Longs Peak and Mt Meeker. I summitted Mt Meeker just as the final rays of warm sunlight disappeared over the shoulder of Pagoda Peak (12:04, 25.6mi), bathing the talus in a soft orange glow. I took off at a fairly rapid pace down through the talus, in search of the climbers ledge that would lead below the cliffs. As the light began to fade, I started to panic a little bit as I hadn’t reached the climbers trail yet, but luckily, as the last bit of daylight turned to darkness I spotted the trail just below me. Once on the ledge I knew I would be able to navigate myself back down to trail, and in the end the Longs Peak Trailhead.

The Pallisades guarding easy entry to the Loft, down and around I go.
Sun flare over the shoulder of Pagoda Peak with the Longs Peak summit block on the right. What a day.

Progress was slow as I picked my way down the Class 3 slabs and into the talus below. Once I reached the trail in Chasm meadow I was finally able to jog again….it had been over 13miles since I’d last been on trail, so being able to slowly jog felt wonderful. Tired, beat down and totally satisfied I took my time jogging down the Longs Peak trail back to the trailhead. At 8:45pm, 13:46 after leaving the Alpine Visitor center early that morning I stumbled my way onto the pavement, sat on the bench and hung my head in exhaustion. I had only covered 30.6mi and 12000ft of vertical gain, but it had taken 13h46min and I was worked.

At first glance Rocky Mountain National Park may look just like the rest of the Colorado Rockies, but for those with the time and energy to delve a little deeper into it’s depths, the rewards are some of the most stunning scenery anywhere. From the 2000ft high Diamond of Longs Peak to the glacial carved valleys of Glacier Gorge, Sky Pond and Dream Lake to the deep forests teaming with wildlife of the North Boundary; RMNP has it all. I chose my route because it showcased some of the most remote sections of the park, the high alpine terrain, the crystal blue lakes, the glacial carved valleys and of course Longs Peak in all her majesty. There are countless number of adventures within the park, but for me this route offered a taste of all the best. For those looking for something less committing I highly recommend the hike to Glacier Gorge and Mills Lake, Dream Lake and Emerald Lake and for those with summit fever and some scrambling skills Longs Peak.

This route, being a point to point was not possible without the help of a couple of good friends. So a special thanks to Michael Hodges from McGregor Mtn Lodge for helping with the car shuttle and to my friend Ben for the company on the first half of the loop and for waiting patiently at the end for me to slog my way home. And as always a special thanks to Vfuel for keeping me trudging along through such crazy adventures. My RMNP traverse was National Park Ultra #20, and I completed #21 only 3 weeks later in the Great Smokey Mountains. Even after all the time, suffering and misery I can say I’m super excited to see where this project continues to take me.

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!