Tag Archives: Trail running

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!

Mt Rainier NP; Great Northern Loop Ultra Run

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Wow…I just….wtf???? The scene in front of us was beyond words and comprehension, the glaciated massif of Mt Rainier glowed in the early morning light, fields of wildflowers surrounded us on all sides, and not a soul was in sight, this is what we had come for.

Running across the Sourdough Ridge Trail at sunrise, what a start to an epic run.

Mt Rainier National Park was created in 1899, America’s 5th National Park, to protect the glaciers, alpine meadows, roaring waterways and lush forests of the mountain known to the natives at Tahoma (or Tacoma). The last time I had visited Mt Rainier National Park had been in 2004, and on that trip I’d barely scratched the surface of what the park has to offer. This trip was to be a bit different, a whirlwind tour of the North side of the peak, somewhere in the range of 50miles on already tired legs, game on. I’d convinced my friend Ely Gerbin to join me for this epic adventure of stupidity, and what a day we were in for.

Mt Rainier as seen from the aptly named Sunrise parking lot.

We left the Sunrise parking lot at the crack of dawn, just as the pink alpenglow lit up the hulking massive in front of us. As we jogged our way across the Sourdough Ridge trail the views were nothing short of spectacular, and we were only a mile in! Our route consisted of combining two loops; the Northern Loop with the Spray Park Loop. We opted to start by traversing the Southern portion of the loop first along the Wonderland trail, finishing with the Northern section along the Northern trail. As we rolled along the Wonderland trail through fields filled with wildflowers, the mountain loomed above in the sunlight. The trails were buttery smooth, the morning air was cool and the views were ever changing and stunning. Past the toe of the Winthrop Glacier, the clear reflection of Mystic Lake and on to the bridge over the Carbon River and the looming Carbon Glacier (mm13.4, 3:05). As we started the long climb up from the Carbon River the sun began to bake and the flowers were again popping. The creeks in Spray Park were our own private oasis, and we filled our bottles, drank our fill and dunked out heads (mm17.3, 4:37). Even during our brief stop the mosquitoes swarmed, so we couldn’t stop to smell the flowers for too long.

Reflection in Mystic Lake along the Wonderland Trail.
Ely running through fields of flowers with Mt Rainier looming behind us.
Ely cruising up the single track above the Carbon River.

The views were spectacular as we rolled through the high alpine meadows, then began the slow descent back into the forest and Mowich Lake. Ely and I rolled past the masses at Mowich Lake (mm22, 5:50) and onward to Ipsut Pass (mm23.2, 6:06), the halfway point of our big loop. From the top of Ipsut Pass we stared straight down 2500ft to the Carbon River far below, time to get those quads working. We cruised down down down, through lush green forest, along cascading creeks and past towering evergreens, finally crossing the raging glacial grey Carbon River (mm28.7, 7:21). We took a few minutes to refill our water and to cool off in a small tributary before the long climb up to Windy Gap.

Trudging our way up into Spray Park, the flowers were poppin.
More fields of alpine flowers, all is good.
The alpine gardens of Mt Rainier NP, totally worth it.
Looking down from Ipsut Pass toward the Carbon River.
Ely taking pausing for a moment of serene splendor.

We plodded on up through the trees on what seemed like endless switchbacks, finally breaking out into alpine terrain near the Yellowstone Cliffs into a massive field of bear grass. It was a spectacular site, cruising through the green meadow dotted with white puff balls as far as the eye could see. We continued our trudge up to Windy Gap (mm33, 9:11) and down the other side on some beautiful single track to Lake James. After a little off trail wandering we hit the long and steep switchback descent back to the West Fork of the White River (mm36.7, 10:17). After another water refill we started our final climb of the day up the Northern Loop Trail. The long miles of the weekend hit me like a sledgehammer, and the death march was on. Ely was very patient with me as I slowly trudged up the trail, deep in the pain cave, but the scenery was too spectacular to be too grumpy (but maybe a little).

Ely crossing the Carbon River on the inbound part of our journey.
Ahhhhh, fields of Bear Grass!!!!
View of Mt Rainier from the final climb up above the West Fork of the White River. My grumpiness faded away pretty quickly.

After what seemed like an eternity, we crested the climb to a spectacular view point of Mt Rainier looming high above the White River (mm39.8, 11:32), glowing in the afternoon light….a perfect moment to remind me of why I was enduring all the fatigue, all the suffering, all the soreness in my legs. I finally gained a little of my strength back as we rolled through the flat open plateau and down to Lodi creek. One last final little climb would take us back to Sunrise, and while it seemed to drag on, ambling along the creek through fields of wildflowers was a pretty spectacular way to end the day. As we neared Frozen Lake I was very ready to be done, and just at that moment Ely and I rounded a corner to a herd of mountain goats lazily grazing with the looming mass of Mt Rainier as the backdrop. The day wasn’t over, and the constant reminders of how spectacular the mountain and it’s surrounding environment was kept slapping us in the face. The final traverse back across the Sourdough Ridge trail was a fitting finish to an unbelievable day. Spectacular views and amazing trails start to finish, we’d been thoroughly brutalized (me more so than Ely) and had come out the other side, beaten but with our souls fully filled with an amazing appreciation for all that Mt Rainier National Park has to offer.

The amazing just didn’t stop, running our way up Lodi Creek to the finish of the loop.
Yeah that happened. A herd of mountain goats casually grazing along the Wonderland Trail in the shadow of Mt Rainier.

In the end our route totaled 46.5mi and 13,500ft, taking us a little over 13:30 (because of my slow death march finish). Without a doubt, my first real adventure in Mt Rainier National Park was a resounding success, and the route had been more than I’d ever have hoped for. For anyone who hasn’t had the pleasure of experiencing Mt Rainier National Park either half of our super loop would be spectacular, or any portion of the Wonderland Trail well worth the effort. I’m incredibly grateful for experiences like this, and for the fact that places like this have been protected for me to enjoy, hopefully for many years to come. Run fast, run healthy, but most importantly run happy.

North Cascades NP; Copper Ridge Loop

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One of the many amazing views along the Copper Ridge Loop.

The North Cascades are a massive wilderness full of jagged peaks, alpine lakes, towering glaciers and some of the last true wilderness in the lower 48 states. The National Park portion of the North Cascades Complex (which also includes Lake Ross and Lake Chelan National Recreation areas) encompasses a 500,000 acre nearly roadless wilderness. One that can not be experienced from roadways and lookouts, but must be explored on foot (or boat). It seemed only natural to ultra run the park, but the question is what set of trails best represented everything that makes the North Cascades amazing?

After doing some of my own homework and asking several locals with more knowledge than I, one recommendation kept hitting the top of the list…the Copper Ridge Loop. Well, if everyone (even locals) think it’s that amazing, it must be the proper North Cascades experience? So planning was set in motion for an epic weekend in the Washington mountains (also see Mt Rainier Northern Loop). The first weekend in August (8/2/2019) I flew into SeaTac (2h delays), met my friend Jason and we started our drive North towards the Mt Baker Highway and the Nooksack River. After crashing in a rest stop for several hours, we awoke the next morning to light rain, but a forecast that promised clearing skies, so off we went for the trailhead. Jason and I spent the entire drive catching up, as he is still to this day one of the people with whom I’ve logged the most trail time (cumulative in the months!). He was very nervous though, as this was to be his longest run (by almost double) since badly breaking his leg several years ago, but he welcomed the challenged.

Officially entering North Cascades National Park.

When we rolled into the Hannegan Pass trailhead we were greeted by a road closed sign, marking a huge washout that had undermined the last 200ft of the road. So we parked and packed up our gear, in no rush as the drizzle continued to fall. We cruised out of the trailhead at 9:30am, slowly jogging our way up through the forest towards Hannegan Pass. The low clouds and light drizzled continued to swirl around us, but every once and a while we’d get a glimpse of the mountains looming overhead. From the pass (4.3mi) we opted to do the loop CCW, dropping down to the Chilliwack River first, before climbing to the ridge on the return. As we descended to the river we passed through sections of overgrown trail and sections of open forest, and soon we were soaked from the rain drenched leaves.

Jason getting in touch with his inner tree hugger. Colorado just doesn’t have big trees like this <3
Buttery smooth forest single track in the North Cascades is so serene.

The weather was starting to clear, and we could see glimpses of blue sky overhead, we’d momentarily dry out, just to be drenched by another set of wet dense brush. The river trail was mostly smooth running (where we could see our feet) and we soon found ourselves at the first Chilliwack river crossing, the cable car (11mi)!! But I was a bit dismayed to discover the cable car was down for repairs, so we’d be fording the river instead, sad face. So Jason and I linked arms, and slowly shuffled our way across the knee deep rapidly flowing stream, thankfully making it across without incident. We continued our hike/jog on the undulating descent to the second ford (16.2mi), thankfully the water here was far more docile, making for an easy crossing. This was our first moment of full sun all day, so we basked in the warm glow along the rocky shore for a few minutes, treating water and savoring the moment.

Crossing one of the side creeks along the Copper Ridge loop, somewhere deep in the Chilliwack valley.
Basking in some of that elusive PNW sunshine after our second crossing of the Chilliwack river.

We knew that what came next would be our physical test of the day, a 4000ft climb straight up to the ridgeline. We settled in for the long haul, switchback after switchback up through the forest, the sun percolating through the slowly thinning trees. As we neared the final switchback below the ridgeline, the trees began to open and the views began to explode behind us. The clouds had finally lifted and the jagged glacier capped peaks of the Cascades loomed across the valley. When we finally reached the top of Copper Ridge the weather was beautiful mostly blue sky, and we were completely awe struck by both the verticality and the depth of the mountains surrounding us on all sides (19.2mi).

Mountain views and wildflowers, welcome to the North Cascades!
So amazing and so runnable we couldn’t help ourselves.

The single track along the ridge was a mix of beautiful flowing dirt and rocky steep climbs/descents. This was the wow factor part of the loop without a doubt. We finally reached Copper Lake, set in a steep walled cirque, it’s blue waters glittering in the sun. Jason’s legs were definitely feeling beat up (this being his longest run in 3 years!), but we put our heads down and trudged our way up to the Copper Ridge lookout tower (24.3mi), the high point of the day. We met up with several groups of backpackers, all of whom were soaking in the expansive vistas, oogling the craggy summits, marveling at the hanging glaciers. In the soft evening light it was truly a spectacular site, the only sounds of civilization being the chatter of our neighbors. Unfortunately we couldn’t linger long as we still had 10miles to go and darkness would soon be descending upon us, so we began the long jog back towards Hannegan Pass.

Some rocky trail running near the Lookout, oh and the views were pretty ok.

As we descended the ridge the clouds began to roll back in, completely enveloping the ridge, then bursting apart to reveal the mountains around (finally including Shuksan, but not Baker). It was truly a surreal experience and some of the most beautiful trail running I’ve ever done (right there with Four Pass loop). After dozens of photos stops we finally made it back to the base of Hannegan Pass, all we had to do was conquer this final 500ft climb and it was a short few miles of downhill back to the car. Thankfully the final uphill was littered with fields of lupine, lilies, columbine and wildflowers of every color, a welcome distraction for the tired minds. After a quick snack atop Hannegan Pass (30.3mi) and one last moment taking in the Chilliwack valley that stretched out below, we scooted our way back down towards the car. I ran ahead a little bit, rounded a bend and stopped dead in my tracks…. A noise off to my right had perked my ears up, and when I paused to assess I was astounded to see two baby black bears clambering up trees not 50ft away. Where babies play, mamma isn’t far away, so I slowly backed off, signaling to Jason to stop and do the same. Mamma came sauntering through the woods, finally coaxing the two babies down and they went crashing off through the brush when she finally caught our scent. Wow, did that really just happen????

Moody weather along the ridgeline, watching the clouds roll back and forth.
Almost back to Hannegan Pass, this place is a trail runner’s paradise!

We rolled back into the parking lot just as the last bit of sunlight was fading out of the sky, tired but our hearts so full from the amazing experiences of the day that instead of worrying about camp or cleaning up, we sat next to the car eating ‘dinner’ and just recapping all the memories of the day. The Copper Ridge loop (or lollipop) had lived up to its reputation; beautiful forest single track, meadows full of wildflowers, crystal blue glacial rivers, and stunning mountain vistas. While the North Cascades have far more to offer, if you only have one day, this loop definitely encompasses what makes the North Cascades so special. I was very fortunate to be able to share this experience with such a good friend, on such an imperfectly perfect day. We may not have gotten the clear blue skies (and thus no views of Mt Baker), but the mist and drizzle giving way to a mix of low clouds and blue sky made for such proper PNW experience. This loop has easily jumped into my top 10 for National Park Ultras (it was my 18th completed NP Ultra) and should be on every ultra runner’s to do list. 34.5miles, 8950ft gain/loss, 10h35min.

Bonus shot of Mt Baker from the Mt Baker Hwy the day after our Copper Ridge run. Sometimes being a tourist is pretty A-Ok.
Mt Shuksan reflected in a small tarn along the Mt Baker Hwy. Just touristing around the day after our Copper Ridge run.

Wind Cave National Park; Wildlife and Boxwork

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Wind Cave National Park was founded in 1903, the seventh National Park within the system. Even though it was one of the first National Parks, it ranks far down the list of visitations (<700,000), and many have never heard of Wind Cave. Tucked away on the edge of the Black Hills in South Dakota, Wind Cave is the 7th longest cave system in the world (over 150 miles) and new cave is still being discovered every year. Though what makes Wind Cave National Park so special is the intricate boxwork that adorns the cave (found almost no where else in the world) and the wildlife that roams the above ground portions of the park.

Bison are quite large and intimidating animals, keep your distance.

Fresh off my 6h sloppy mud run in Badlands National Park, and with bad weather looming the following day, I opted for a nice back to back National Park ultra combo. I had tickets for a 3pm cave tour along side my friends Ben, Amanda and Kedar, so at first light on 5/26/19 I hit the Wind Cave Canyon trail, jogging along the gravel road into the plains of Wind Cave NP. I soon turned north onto the Highland Creek Trail (3.5mi), traversing across the high plains, past endless herds of bison, several groups of elk and even a few pronghorn. Large sections of the trail were little more than a faint path cairned through the grasslands, and quite a few times I found myself glancing around looking for the path, but overall it was pretty smooth running.

Cruising through plains and along the rivers of Wind Cave National Park.
Smooth cruiser open plains single track in Wind Cave National Park.

Things were going smoothly and I soon found myself at County Road 5 (10.7mi), my lone 1.5mi stretch of road running for the day (dirt). I hit the Centennial trailhead , turned South and headed back into the park. The running continued to be smooth, as I rolled across the never ending plains, finally dropping into Beaver Creek canyon (16.5mi). I cruised up the creek through the narrow but shallow canyon alongside the creek, a nice change of pace to the expansive plains. I hadn’t passed a single person (or car) the entire morning, though I finally started to pass a steady trickle of people as I neared the Lookout Pt trailhead. I exited the canyon, passed through the trailhead and onto the Lookout Pt trail, headed back across the plains again.

Cruising along Beaver Creek in Wind Cave National Park.
Some elk scampering across the plains of Wind Cave National Park.

As I connected back onto the Highland Creek Trail I could feel the fatigue building in my legs from the past two days of running. When I got back onto the Wind Cave trail, I made a quick turn south onto the final leg of my run, an out and back of the East Bison Flats trail (23.3mi). As I slowly climbed my way back up to the high plateau the sun began to beat down on me, and I quickly realized I was running out of water. Onward I slogged, steeply back down into the river canyon, only to immediately climb right back up to Gobbler Pass (26.6mi). I was definitely feeling beat up now, but as I turned around with just under 4miles to go I had really no other choice than to finish up the run. The fatigue and dehydration were taking their toll, so the final miles seemed to drag on in a blur. At last I descended back to Wind Cave Canyon and slowly shuffled my way to the car. I still managed to finish the 30.4mi lollipop in under 6h, not too shabby for a back to back weekend, and in time for the 3pm cave tour!

Boxwork in Wind Cave.
Frost work crystals in Wind Cave.

After chugging a cold soda, tasted so good, I dragged myself over to the Wind Cave visitor center to meet my friends and to catch the 3pm cave tour. I felt a little pathetic, slowly hobbling my way at the back of the tour group (legs were getting stiff), but it gave me an extra chance to photograph some of the cave formations and to take in the smaller intricacies of the cave. Wind Cave is most famous for it’s boxwork formations, a lattice of spiderweb like crosshatching that is found almost no where else in the world. We admired some frostwork (tiny white crystals), spar and a few stalagmites and stalactites. While Wind Cave may not be the most ornately decorated cave, it’s combination of unique features and above ground wildlife make it a special place to visit. For the runners out there the trails are beautifully runnable and very unpopulated (other than the herds of wildlife). So next time you’re in the area (Custer, SD), stop on in to Wind Cave NP and it’s sister Jewel Cave NM right next door, for a little tour of the above and below ground wonders.

Dog tooth spar in Wind Cave.

Badlands National Park Ultra Run

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It rained 5” last week, oh boy…not what I wanted to hear the day before I was supposed to run a big loop around Badlands National Park, a place everyone told me not to go when it rained. As I drove through the park along the Rim road the early May sunlight began to illuminate the buttes, so I stopped at the first view point to take in the views of Sage Creek far below. I was greeted by a couple of grazing bighorn sheep, and a herd of bison. My first trip to Badlands was off to a pretty good start.

Sunrise over the Sage Creek area of Badlands National Park.

Badlands National Park has very few official trails, so to create a long distance route I pulled from a 22mile off trail backpacking loop with some planned detours and exploration, because that’s what Badlands is really about, a chance to explore, unencumbered.  I rolled into the Conata Picnic area just after sunrise on 5/25/19, geared up and strolled off into the meadows. It was immediately apparent I was in for a bit of adversity as the packed dirt meadow turned damp and then into full on swamp. Well, dry feet weren’t going to be an option today. I slopped my way across the valley for 1.5mi, then turned sharply right (North) for the Deer Haven saddle.

Headed up towards Deer Haven, just to the right up the valley.
Looking down the upper reaches of the Sage Creek wash.

As I climbed away from the low grasslands up onto the butte, I passed through dense stands of juniper, eventually weaving my way up the steep hillside, around the cliff bands, and onto the summit of the Deer Haven plateau. Now for the long winding downhill along the North Fork of Sage Creek. The route started out pretty pleasant, running through the tall grass, occasionally hopping the creek, but the footing was pretty good. After a short side trip up one of the canyons draining The Pinnacles, I continued my descent, things slowly got muddier and muddier and the creek got deeper and deeper. By the time I hit the confluence of the North and Middle forks of Sage Creek the muddy misery had escalated.

Running the plateaus along the North Fork of Sage Creek.
It was like running in peanut butter, yuck.

I cut over the high plateau above the creeks hoping that the mud would dissipate, but no luck. As I rounded the bluff I dropped onto the high plateau above the Middle Fork of Sage Creek, a small herd of bison dotted the plains. Their muddy hoof prints had torn up the grasslands, and it was a total mud pit. Despite the slipping and sliding, the terrain was fairly easy and it was really nice to be jogging through the open grasslands and jagged mud buttes with no one else around. I slow jogged and fast hiked my way up the Middle Fork, headed towards Sage Creek Pass. As I made my way into the upper basin the herd of bison had grown into the hundreds, dotting the plains as far as the eye could see.

Just before reaching Sage Creek Pass I took a detour slightly NE into some really interesting buttes, hoping to climb one. I scrambled up the hard mud slope, onto the crumbling ridgeline. As I neared the summit the slope pitched up to near vertical and the mud stone showed no signs of solidifying, well that wasn’t going to happen. From my vantage on the ridgeline I could see down into several of the nearby canyons, watched the bison trotting around the grasslands and very much enjoyed my isolation deep in the backcountry of Badlands. I spent anther half hour scrambling around the canyons of the butte, finding coyote tracks, bighorn droppings and lots of bison paths. Each canyon was a new adventure, would it be passable, where did it go? I finally popped out back on the South side of the butte not far from Sage Creek Pass.

Finding some semi-packed mud to run on!
Bison dotting the Badlands.
Trying to climb some of the mudstone ridges and buttes, not so solid.

The route down from the pass was an enjoyable jog down the water course right alongside one of the mud stone buttes, alternating between lovely packed dirt and greasy wet mud. At last I hit the park boundary fence, hung a left and headed back towards the car across the flat plains that abutted the mud stone buttes of Badlands. The grasslands seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, and as I soon discovered, were completely flooded with an inch of muddy water. I tried to jog sections, but soon gave in and was relegated to hiking. After what seemed like an endless slog I got back on the trail near Deer Haven and jogged back to the car. Tired, covered in mud, and excited to be back on hard pavement.

Playing in the canyons and plains.
The wide open plains surrounding the Badlands mud buttes and canyons. Endless grasslands (filled with mud this day).

My first trip to the Badlands had been an overall success. Despite the crazy mud and insanely wet conditions, I got to wander through the backcountry all my by lonesome, explore the maze of mudstone buttes and towers, watch the massive herds of bison take over the planes and just be out in an undeveloped part of one of America’s more obscure National Parks. Badlands may not look as dramatic as some of the mountainous national parks, but once you’re lost wandering the backcountry you get to better understand what the park is all about. I look forward to returning to Badlands again, when it’s less muddy and I get more time to just explore all the random canyons (but beware of the rattlesnakes!).

After a 6h of running in the mud, success.

2019 Ultra Tour Monte Rosa (UTMR); The race that wasn’t…

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“Welcome to Gressoney, in case you haven’t heard your race is canceled…” -Aid worker
“Excuse me, what?” -Me

Shock, disbelief, confusion…. even four days later I’m still trying to process everything that happened at the 2019 Ultra Trail Monte Rosa. But let’s start from the beginning…. May 2019, after losing out on both the Hard Rock and Tor des Geants lotteries I committed to the 2019 Ultra Trail Monte Rosa. A little known 170km run around the Monte Rosa massif in Switzerland. It’s basically UTMB on steroids…170km, 37,000ft of elevation gain, 30h course record, 60h cutoff…

2019 brought unprecedented snow to Colorado, so my first trail race (San Juan Solstice) was canceled, then my replacement run (John Cappis) was shortened. Less than a month out from the race I recieved the unfortunate news that my company was laying off a large number of people, me included… well %*&@. Training hadn’t gone quite as expected, but I guess I’d have a lot of time to train and recover just before the race. After a lot of miles and all kinds of vertical (79,000ft of gain in August alone), I was feeling apprehensively ready to take on the race, though admittedly I was scared.

On August 23rd my friend Ellen and I hopped a series of planes to adventure; Denver-Salt Lake City-Amsterdam-Zurich-Ljubljana. After 10 days of traveling and play time in the Julian Alps and Dolomites (in a later blog) we made our way to Grächen to checkin and prepare for the races. The weather forecast for the races had progressively gotten worse, calling for rain and snow during night 1 and into day 2. We were warned to be prepared for changes and bad weather, ok can do, we had a whole assortment of mandatory gear we were going to get to use.

2019 John Cappis course was too snowy to run the full 50km, so it was shortened to 30km/12500ft gain. And there was still a lot of snow.
A beatiful pre-race day in Grachen, but the storm’s a coming.
‘Tapering’ very poorly in the Dolomites, this place is amazing.

After the usual restless night of sleep the alarm went off at 3am Thursday 9/5 and last minute prep was made. We set off nervously from the start line into the foggy but pleasant and chilly morning. The pace started out fast as we cruised through the first 10km in an 1:15 to the start of the first climb, then up we went, 4300ft in just a few miles. I settled into a steady power hike, working my way up through the fast starters. The first light of day slowly began to percolate through the mist and fog as we neared the top of the climb and rolled into the Europahütte aid station (17.1km, 3:24)

The next stretch was a narrow rolling traverse over to Taschalp. Some really cool single track cut into a steep hillside that had some runners nervous to run, but I found it awesomely fun (see photo). I was continuing to move up through the field, and cruised right through Taschalp (26.4km, 4:51) and on towards Zermatt. This next stretch was a blur as we rolled up and down, finally hitting the cruiser descent into Zermatt.

Running in the fog before Taschalp.
Roped in on the trail to Zermatt.
Runners crossing a bridge along the trail to Zermatt.

I was feeling good rolling into Zermatt (36.8km, 6:06), but had realized how much I’d underestimated the course, and there was a long way to go. At the aid station I calmly went about my business, and rolled on through, all packed up (microspikes included) bound for the Theodule glacier and the high point of the course. As I rolled through town I ran into Clare and Allister, it’s always nice to see friendly faces in random places.

As I started the 1700m climb out of Zermatt I slowly drifted into the pain cave, dehydrated and fuel deficient. I spent the next hour trying to put myself back together and took a few extra minutes at Gangehütte (46.9km, 8:34) taking care of myself. Then I cruised up to the glacier, donned my microspikes and off we went across the ice. The fog dropped in, the temperature dropped and for the first time in 9h I got to use my jacket. We soon found ourselves at the high point of the course, Theodule pass, 3300m high (49.2km, 9:22)!

Looking back on Zermatt from the climb toward Gangehutte.
The rocky abyss near Gangehutte, slow going.
Exiting the glacier (1km long!) and back onto the rock of Theodule pass.

Down down down; note a theme, climb up, yog down? From the pass it was mostly dirt road through a quarry to Lago Cime Bianche (54.9km, 9:55). The fog had begun to lift and the skies were clearing up a little bit, for the first time all day we were actually getting some views! At the aid station I continued my self care, a little lentil soup and some cake, mmm. Then back uphill we went, again, just a short 300m up this time. Then began the long decent to Rifugio Ferraro. I continued to hop my way down the rocky terrain, that felt like a snail’s pace, but turned out to be about average for that section.

My quads were definitely starting to feel the burn, but I was still moving alright, so yogged on. The weather was looking a bit moody, but nothing beyond a few sprinkles. As myself and UK runner Philip Williams rolled into Rufugio Ferraro a steady rain began to fall so we popped on our rain jackets for the first time (67.5km, 12:00). We took a few moments fueling up before the long climb (800m) and even longer descent (1100m) into Gressoney. I had flipped my phone on for the first time, happy to find no texts from the race, onward we go!

Theodule Pass, looking down towards Lago Cime Bianche.
Gran Lago, on the way to Rifugio Ferraro.
High mountain meadows and cows….moooo

As we hiked out of the aid station up the jeep road, another runner and I noticed Philip ahead of us, but on a different flagged track? He checked his GPS and indeed we were on a parallel flagged route that was not the normal race course. So we cut back on course and continued upward towards the pass. The sun came out as we climbed, descended, then climbed steeply again on very rocky trail to the pass (73.9km, 13:27). The views looking down valley towards Gressoney, were spectacular as the clouds drifted around the mountain tops.

The descent was incredibly steep and rocky, but I managed a hop-jog down. Passing several small alpine lakes, through green meadows, around a large herd of sheep and down to the ski hill above Gressoney. As I cruised down the trail and onto the ski road I noticed a Japanese runner coming straight down the road above me, huh? He said he took ‘the other route’, nothing we could do now but keep running I guess? The final downhill into Gressoney was moderately technical and damp from the light rain that was falling again so I took it slowly.

Atop the pass, beginning the long descent into Gressoney.
Gressoney dead ahead! Weather looking good, ready to roll.

The trail dumped us onto the dirt road, <1km to the aid, SWEET! I began to take a mental tally of what I needed to do in Gressoney; eat a meal, hydrate, put on tights and overall just prepare myself for what appeared to be a long, cold, damp, dark night ahead. I rolled through town, hopped through the aid station door (79.8km, 14:27) with a smile on my face (I was feeling a bit spunkier), ready to keep rolling, that’s when it happened….

“Welcome to Gressoney, in case you haven’t heard your race is canceled…” -Aid worker
“Excuse me, what?” -Me

I was stunned and completely dumbfounded. I’d only used my rain jacket for a total of 45min, I was sweating and the weather wasn’t bad at all, wtf was going on???? I spent the next half hour trying to understand what was going, then pleading for them to let us continue, then trying to convince them to let us continue in the morning with the other races (Friday’s 100km and stage race hadn’t been canceled…yet). As those of us in the aid station commiserated, we watched the face of each new arrival go from excitement to disbelief to sadness. We were all still having trouble processing the news.

After much deliberation those of us waiting in the aid station decided to throw in the towel and catch the 9pm bus back to the start line in Grächen as there was a good chance they weren’t going to let people run from Gressoney on Friday morning either. We were trying to lighten the mood as much as possible, but it was evident how depressed many of us were that our race was so suddenly cut short, but the adventure didn’t end there…

Gressoney is the furthest point on the course from Grächen, 5h by bus, and our 9p departure, turned into 10:15p. Oh, and there was only one bus (48 seats) for the 80 something runners, meaning half the crew would be spending the night in the aid station on the benches and dozen mattresses available. The first priority was based on arrival time, and thankfully I fell squarely within that group. I dozed intermittently on the bus, and we finally arrived back in Grächen at 3:10a, to light rain. I quickly showered and went straight to bed.

Fresh dusting of snow on the mountains Friday morning after our race had been cancelled.

I awoke the following morning to steady rain and a fresh coat of snow on the mountains above. As I chatted with other runners more stories began to trickle in; many were stopped at Gangehütte (47km) due to white out and snow. I then got a message from Ellen that there race was delayed until noon, then that a bus was coming to move runners to Macugnaga?, then the 100km was outright canceled!!! WTF was going on??? It took Ellen, Dana and a few other 100km runners until 4pm to get back to Grächen, all of them understandably frustrated and mad they hadn’t run a single step!

The 2019 UTMR event (all races) was a bit of a mess, not because of bad weather, but because of how it was handled (in my opinion). The weather was a known factor coming into the race (cold, wet, possible snow), but it was evident the race committee hadn’t laid out a definitive alternative plan in case of bad weather. When I asked the aid workers if the 170km runners would be allowed to continue if they started the 100km race the following day (a delay, not outright cancellation) they were surprised, because apparently no one had thought of that scenario??? Really???? When the 100km race was told the mountain passes weren’t safe so they’d just have to go home and NOT RUN A SINGLE STEP, how is it acceptable that no alternative was planned out ahead of time?

European races make runner safety a big priority; mandatory gear list, runner tracking, experience requirements (we all had to prove we’d run mountain 100k/100mi races before), but when it comes to actually putting runners in a situation where they’d need this gear….then it’s not safe? Anyone who’s spent time hiking/climbing/running in the mountains has been rained on, snowed on, had to escape storms….but this year at UTMR we were told that we couldn’t handle what POSSIBLY might happen. When they stopped the 170km race it was warm (60F/15C), partly cloudy, with a few showers around….but there was a forecast storm that night, so we had to be protected from the potential weather that might come?

I’m not saying that we should have been sent over the high passes with the impending forecast (yes it did snow), but with known bad weather coming in, how was there NO contingency plan created? How was the only option to pull the plug, throw in the towel and tell runners, sorry you trained so hard, spent all this time and money on this race, but bye??? That’s mostly what left a bad taste in my mouth, the lack of commitment to making the event the best it could be, even despite the poor weather. This is what frustrates me the most and many other runners as well (I know because I’ve spoken with dozens of them, even if they haven’t shared their stories/opinions yet). While UTMR seems like it might be a wonderful event, the handing of this year’s weather situation and cancellation has me doubting if I’ll ever come back. I’ve helped organize/put on races, volunteered at dozens more, and run numerous race course ‘reroutes’ because of bad weather/snow. But in all those previous circumstances I felt like the race organization did their best to not only look out for runner’s safety, but to make the race/run the best experience possible for it’s participants. I have no doubt the UTMR race committee had runners safety in mind when they cancelled, but the commitment to the latter was not apparent. In the end many of us jumped into the 20km race on Saturday 9/7 (also with a rerouted course, we didn’t touch a single drop of snow) just to get some sort of running in. This definitely helped to lighten the mood around town, as most of us were a bit run-gry from sitting around for 24-36h doing nothing (instead of running).

Runners ascending through the clouds during Saturday’s 20km race.
Clouds parting to mountain views, briefly, during the 20km race.

So now this leaves me (and several hundred other runners) in a very strange place. We’re fit and tapered with no where to go? I personally have a strong interest in personal unsupported, self-created adventure runs, so the wheels are already turning for how to use this untapped fitness. Others are stressing to find ways to cap off a season’s worth of training with something fulfilling and meaningful. In the end it’s just running, and any day you can come back from the mountains safely is a win, but most of the time we prefer to also enjoy some sort of adventure or experience as part of that process. Here’s to always moving forward, dreaming of the next big adventure, and not dwelling too much on the past that can not be changed. Huge thanks to all the volunteers who did everything they could to helped us run what we did, made every aid station stop I had a fantastic experience, and who really did try to help us navigate the mire of confusing messages and constantly changing news.
My Strava track for the route I ran.
I’m still working on a video from the 80km I ran on the course, so hopefully will have that put together by next week.