Chuckanut At Sunrise

I went up Chuckanut on Saturday morning--Fragrance Lake to Chinscraper, and then on the ridge, for just short of three hours. I ran horribly--it was more of a hike, and I wasn't much into moving fast. I've been doing a lot lately--this is a-ok. I started in the dark, at roughly 6:15 AM, and it didn't get light until 7 or so. It was nice getting up early, and driving across the valley floor with dark skies over the fields. I should've started earlier, to catch the actual sunrise from the top, but I was late. Still, it was a headlamp run for the first half hour, which sounds cool, and it kind of was, I guess--this "run" is sounding better as I write--but I didn't start out thinking headlamp run.
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I heard a coyote screeching for quite some time before the sun came up, and not much else. Two huge crows flew above me at the top of C-nut, and you could hear the displacement of air as they flapped their wings. I spent a good five minutes watching a big redheaded woodpecker go to town on a tree. First I heard it, above me--it's actually in the picture below, looking upwards, but the picture is worthless for seeing it. Probably a Pileated Woodpecker, about a foot tall, though I haven't opened a book to check yet. I spent a good ten minutes picking mushrooms--I'm not sure yet if they're edible, but I'm working on that too. They look edible. Sunday night could be a kick. I was totally not into running, and it took me eight minutes longer than normal to "summit". I'm fine with this--I should be worn down, which I am--feel a little bronchially challenged. The point was to get out early, just get out, and then meet friends later for breakfast. I figure, to keep running and hiking the trails as I get older, the trick is to run easy and hike whenever that feels right.
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So....low key running weekend, but....GOOD NEWS! My overflow entry to the Mount Masochist 50 miler in southern Virginia was accepted!!! So, in less than a month, I get to jog around the Shenandoah (or whereever it is) for 50 plus miles AND do the Marine Corps Marathon. I'm so lucky!! I'm a little worried, because this is a bit much to do in a week for me, disregarding the 100s. Still, I can't pass on a shot at doing one of the reputedly cooler 50 milers around, going on its 26th year now. I'll just go slow. Plus, I get to hang out with the folks, and some of my Skagit friends, who will also be back there for USMC.
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Not sure if I'll do anything else this weekend, running wise. I might still go up somewhere this afternoon. So, regardless, it's an off weekend. My real Sunday focus is spiders and shrubbery control around the outside of the house. I'm trying to figure out if spiders are good, since they are insect predators, but I don't like their webs, and they ARE spiders. Also, I was gifted all sorts of veggies this week, so I might just have to get creative in the kitchen. Nice to gently enter into the fall.
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Baker Lake 50k

The Baker Lake 50k is my favorite race, period. If I was in prison, on death row, execution imminent, and they said you get one last ultra…I’d take Baker Lake. Not sure why, I just like it, and lots of people agree with me.
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The run has big trees, old growth of the sort that the timber wars were fought over—very special stuff, with moss growing up from gnarled roots. They, the Trees, come at you almost immediately once you hit the trail. Then there’s the Lake, turquoise green, and the tall dam crossing it in the first mile or so, with mist or maybe fog rising off the lake. There are log crossings, creek crossings, and fall away cliffs. Bears are somewhere out there, but I’ve never seen them. Baker Lake doesn’t have a whole lot of elevation gain, but the trail rolls and rolls and rolls; there are just enough rocks and slippery roots to slow you down. I saw bloody knees, sagging shoulders, but usually with smiles. The run is in the fall, right at the change of the seasons, football time, and it seems like hot apple cider, hot cocoa, or a bonfire is appropriate. Sometimes you get sun, sometimes you get rain, maybe even snow. Sometimes, if lucky, Mount Baker comes out and crowns the lake, glaciers so close you can almost see the crevasses. This run is, btw, all the more amazing by the full moon in winter, with the night reflection of Mount Baker on the lake. The runners are of course all cool, and for me it’s particularly easy to roll out of bed at 6 AM and get to the start line with plenty of time to spare. So, I like it.
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I had a great time out there this year, as always. The course was significantly revised due to a bridge outage—some wily beavers ate it, and there was no money to replace it. So, instead, we, the Runners, first went up high on this hill overlooking the lake, came back down to the main trailhead, and then did two out and backs, on the East Bank Trail. I walked the first five miles or so with the sweep team, taking in the foggy morning air, and then I felt like I had to run, so I took off. I had some trepidation on how I would run, two weeks after Wasatch, my feet still aching and semi-blistered. Still, once I started, the running came easy enough, and the whole event actually felt short, which I’m sure reflects the longer runs I’ve been doing this summer. Nice to have things click click clicking. As this was my fifth Baker Lake, I got a cool Baker Lake bag and entered into the "Hall of Fame," which is worth a smile. Kudos and thanks to Shawn, TC, and the Team, who all did a great job of continuing the Dutton family tradition of excellence for this first class trail run.
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Headlamp Time

I left work at 6:15 last night and headed to Blanchard to jog a slow seven. It was dusk by the time I hit the parking lot, 6:35, and all dark by the time I finished, just short of 8. My first real after-work headlamp run of the year! On the way out, I spotlighted an owl, a great horned owl I think b/c of the tufts ("Bubo virginianus"--what a sorry latin name).....and chased it a quarter mile down the road, from tree to tree. Fifty-five degrees this morning, an extra blanket last night--summer is on the outs and here comes fall!

Wasatch 100: The Haeck Story

Before

After

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My friend B.J. Haeck wrote a great writeup of his Wasatch 100 experience, to share with a few friends, and I suggested it might be good to throw it up on the World Wide Web, for it to be read whereever the four winds blow, as it had all sorts of good info. BJ was kindly agreeable--nice not to be shy. His two conditions were that I also post his "Before" and "After" pictures, which are above---hilarious; and that I provide his contact information, in case anyone would like to reach him. Email: bengator & y&hoo.com. Here's his solid gold writeup:

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Sometime in the winter, I got an e-mail from Scotty. He said, "Hey, lets put in for the lottery for Wasatch!" I thought long and hard about it. Wasatch had the reputation of being one of the hardest races, if not the hardest race, on the 100 mile calendar. I only had 1 of those under my belt, and that was the relatively mild San Diego 100. After much thought, and a little badgering by Scotty, I finally said "OK", figuring if none of us got in, great. If Scotty got in and I didn't, great. I would go pace him. If I got in and Scotty didn't, great. I would give him my number and I would go pace him. The chances of us both getting in were less than 10 percent. No worries. Then the results came in. Oops.
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So here I was about 9 months later, staring at the dark sillouhette of cliffs looming above me, thinking about the 100 miles that lay between me and my next beer. The day in question broke clear and cold. Well, it didn't actually break yet. It was 4:55 and I had just arrived at the start line after a short night sleep following a battle with my ipod shuffle to load just the right music. As I grabbed my pack from the car, I heard the call of "Two Minutes!" I jogged to the start line, running into my friend Scotty by pure luck just before the start. Suddenly, before I had time to get nervous (or use the bathroom), we were off! Scotty had forgotten a light, but there was a string of headlamps that strung out in the distance, so the trail was fairly well lit. Ahead of me, and behind me, the string of lights up and down the trail like Christmas lights on a tree, outlined where I had been and where I had to go. I sat in the back of the pack, content to move along at everyone else's place. Every once and a while someone would crash by, anxious to move up a few places. I didn't think that a few minutes here or there this early would make that much of a difference. Somewhere in the first few dark miles, Scotty stopped to tie a show and I lost him.
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After about 4 miles of nice single track running with a few creek crossings, the race turned up hill, with volunteers waiting to collect the water bottles distributed at the start, a bottle which I had missed out on. But I had three bottles in my pack plus an insulated water bottle in my hand, so i figured I was OK. I was wearing a vest, long sleeved shirt and short sleeved shirt, which was too hot at the beginning, but I would be grateful shortly.
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The trail up was narrow and rocky and often overgrown. It was mostly switchbacks with occasional steep stretches. As sunlight came over the crest, bringing a gray pallid light to the day, I reached a traverse running south and towards some pine trees. After the pine trees, the trail bucked up to the fabled chinscraper. In all actuality, the climb, while long, was not that steep, even at the end. The last 5 minutes at most were truly difficult, but really nothing compared to the hills that were to come. I stepped by someone who was already struggling and knew that he was going to be in trouble. I still thought I was going to be in trouble.
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I hit the top of Chinscraper right at 8, which was right on my schedule. I was surprised by the number of short but steep climbs that dotted the way from the top of Chinscraper to Francis Peak, which was visible for miles around as 2 golf ball shaped radar domes. The views back down to the west over the Salt Lake and the cities nestled along the Wasatch front were especially spectacular. I stopped at one such place to relieve myself with a view, and lo and behold Scotty went up behind me and on, not to be seen until the end of the race.
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Eventually we came up a short climb with John Grobben, the race director, at the end, waiting with a few good words and a pitcher of water to top off the bottles. Then a little more climbing, and a beautiful, runnable downhill pitch on a smooth road, the last one we would see all day. But, with about 4 beautiful downhill miles between the radar domes and the first aid station at mile 19 at Francis Peak, I suddenly got cramps in my hamstring behind my right knee. I had never had any problem there before, and I worried for a moment that I had damaged my knee somehow. So I slowed to a walk for a few minutes and made sure to eat and drink as I headed downhill. After a few minutes I tested it again, with no luck. So I walked again for another few minutes, but then I tried again, and success! As long as I kept it below a certain level, my body seemed to cooperate, so I enjoyed the long blissful downhill, leaning forward and letting gravity do the work. I pulled into Francis Peak at almost exactly 10 AM, right on my schedule.
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A quick turnaround put me out on the section to Bountiful B aid only about 5 miles away. I could not make any speed on the flats, so I resigned myself to a jog/walk combination as the 4WD road headed through Aspens and down past beaverponds into a valley, The course then turned onto a brushy trail, difficult to follow in places, and with steep pitches insterspersed with Aspen laded meadows which served as platforms to catch your breath before you launched upwards again. I passed a few people on the uphills here and finally broke out onto Skyline Drive and the aid station there.
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The road from Skyline to Sessions was rolling, but with a lot of downhill and I found myself making decent time. I found the BYU v. UW game on the radio to keep me focused as we tackled a series of short but steep ups. The Session Hills laid out before us and then the trail to Swallow Rocks, which was for the most part a beautiful traverse along the sides of the hills. I found myself passing people on the uphills and getting passed back on the flats and downs, a trend that would continue right to the end of the race.
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At Swallow Rocks, my stomach was having problems, but I was promptly rescued by turkey sandwiches cut into quarters and individually wrapped which I stuffed in my pockets as well as a grape popsicle that was quickly replaced after my first one plopped to the ground.
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The run from Swallow Rocks to Big Moutain was a good stretch for me with a lot of traverse running, a few hills, and then a big fun downhill to the aid station. You could hear the cowbells and screaming from a long ways away before you hit the switchbacks past the streamers and pink flamingos at the aid station. I almost got run over by a motorcycle crossing the street, but was then quickly directed to the weigh in where it was revealed that I had lost 8 pounds so far, and it was just 5 PM. Yikes! I sat and ate what I could, having already ingetsted those yummy turkey sandwich quarters, put on a warm vest, and headed out for Alexander Ridge.
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The Section between Big Mountain and Alexander Ridge looks mostly downhill on the profile, but there is definitely some climbing before the payoff. Like before, I found myself with a group of three people, stuck behind on single track on the way up but then losing them on the flats. I gradually became frustrated, but soon I had somehow gotten ahead of both of the runners and their pacers and was by myself. On the section between here and lamb's canyon, I passed 11 runners and did not get passed back. Knowing that I finished last, and knowing who passed me at the various other times during the race, I know that these guys didn't finish. Getting back to the run, I got to some fun downhill when YIKES I got stung by a bee in the back of the knee. I saw the bee hive was actually in the ground next to the trail and I had stepped on it. Yelping a little, I pushed on down the ridgeline, looking for the obvious path to the aid station. I never saw the aid as I ran on the south side of the basin until I was almost right on top of it. Again, a quick stop and fill up of water and out I went.
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It was starting to get dark now, but I was trying to avoid turning on my light as long as possible. I was worried about getting lost in this section, but I knew if I followed the power lines, everything would work out. Luckily, I was right. The trail here was through knee high grass and very mellow. Even when the trail turned off, the climb was minimal. However, the trail was more of a bushwack marked by ribbon here and there. It was completely dark by this time, and I wished I had been faster to reach this section in the day as it was slow going from marker to marker. Finally, Lamb's canyon aid station was seen below, but I had been told that things would twist and turn before I actually got there. I was glad I had been warned as the run, while downhill, seemed to take forever. As I got close, I ran right through a stream I hadn't seen through the overgrown trail. Cold, wet feet for the night. Ugh.
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Finally, about 9:40, I pulled into Lamb's Canyon, still feeling OK and ready for night running. Lambs was chaos to me, with lots of runners, crews, and pacers running around and about 5 or 6 different tents set up. However, as they were going to forego this station altogether only a few days earlier, I wasn't one to complain. I grabbed a cup of soup and a grilled cheese. I also changed into dry socks, if not dry shoes, and warm clothes for the night. After a slower stop than I would have liked, I was out the station on the paved road up to Mill Creek. I chatted on the cell with a few people as I planned, as the road was smooth and the Utah-UNLV game which had held my attention was over. I powerwalked the trail and turned off my light, enjoying the stars. The course then left the paved road up Lamb's Canyon and up over the Elbow Fork trail.
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This part of the course was much more difficult than expected. Not only was it brushy and steep, but it also was slippery as the temperature cooled and moisture coated the trail. After a difficult uphill stretch, finally the trail made a downward turn, but it was difficult to run given the steepness and loose rocks. I reached the bottom about the same time as two other groups, and I put myself directly behind them walking up the road to Mill Creek, just trying to hold onto their shadows. I turned off my light again, only turning it on to show upcoming cars where I was. Unfortunately, I found this section to be fairly boring as there was nothing on the radio and I was realizing that I still had a long way to go. Finally, Mill Creek was in sight. After another slow stop, I was off on my way to Desolation Lake.
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I really enjoyed this section, having scouted it and run it two days before in daylight. The inclines were very gentle and the trail wide and smooth. I powered up the trail. Soon, I was caught from behind by Ray. Ray lived in Seattle, as had I, so we had much in common. He also knew Scotty and was pleased to hear Scotty was somewhere ahead of us. Ray also was the drum major for the Stanford Band that went out onto the field against Cal for that famous play. You never know who you are going to meet at these things. Ray was staying with me on the climbs, but I felt I would lose him as soon as we hit any significant downhill.
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We heard some crashing off to our left as we went up towards dog lake. I shone my light off the trail and saw a black bear walking through the woods. Not worried, but not knowing if Ray would worry and not thinking Ray had seen what I had seen, I made some joke about some runner going to the bathroom in the woods. Ray said, "Maybe its a bear." Yeah, Ray, maybe . . .
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As we hit some downhill, I was back on my own again with a slog up to Desolation Lake ahead of me. I was managing to keep down fruit snacks as I tried to find anything on the radio. Finally, giving up, I pulled out my Ipod and started listening to old Art Bell broadcasts. I pulled into Desolation lake being careful to sit way away from the comfortable looking fire. Then it was a power trip up red lovers ridge to Scott's Peak. This section was much easier than I had thought it would be, although I had a little navigation problem finding the exact way up to the very top. That was followed by some ridgeline running where I caught up to Ray again, which surprised me. He said he needed some energy, so I offered him some gels which he took and then powered into the darkness.
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I knew it was starting to get light as I ran along the ridge from Scotts Peak, and also knew I wanted to be at the Brighton aid station about 6:30, keeping plenty of buffer over any time cut offs so I wouldn't have to worry about being timed out. Knowing this, I tried to motor from Scott's to Brighton, and again passed a few people on the way down who I would not see again, meaning they eventually dropped at some point. Surprisingly, I caught Ray about a mile from the aid station and we shared stories until we got close to the station. It was the last I would see of him as he would finish at least a half hour in front of me.
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Brighton was a little warm ski lodge. I weighed in and was still about 10 pounds down, so I was OK. They had lots of stuff there, but scrambled eggs sounded GOOD, so I slurped down 2 plates full as I reloaded for another day out there. God, could I really have 10 hours of running still to go? It seemed impossible, and I tried not to think about it. I had a sour stomach and was tired, but still felt relatively good and confident I could finish. I pulled out of Brighton a little after 7, a little later than I would have liked, but still with plenty of buffer I felt. I put on my audio novel for the day: Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. There's something about ultra running and Hemingway that mesh well to me. My last and only other 100 I had enjoyed To Have and Have Not, so I figured I had to have some kind of tradition.
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By now the sun was just beginning to light the peaks and bowls of the Wasatch range. I had studied the climb up to Point Supreme, the high point on the course, on the profile many times and felt that it would not be that hard. WRONG! I was doing well up past the first two lakes, but then there was a steep pitch up Catherine Pass and to Point Supreme that really was a struggle. I thought it was at least as steep, if not steeper, than Chinscraper, and it certainly was longer. I'm sure some of that was because I wasn't mentally prepared. Finally, after watching a group of 6 or so that I had been trailing beat me off into the distance, I reached the top and the steep descent. Was this the Dive or Plunge? I couldn't remember where those were, but didn't think they could be any worse than these descents. I pounded down, doing the best I could on feet that had become blistered. (Aside: I wore road shoes for this course thinking only the last 1/3 would be rocky. Horrible mistake! My blisters on my two big toes were a direct result of not wearing trail shoes and it cost me, in my estimation, at least 1/2 hour on rocky downhills).
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Finally, I reached Ant Knolls aid station and enjoyed a pancake with grape jelly. I took off out of the aid station, only to hear someone calling my number. I turned to see what I had done wrong, but it was only the aid captain cheering me on. That guy had some energy! After coming out of there, I headed up the Grunt, of which I had heard much. Its bad reputation is much deserved. I was passed here by at least two groups of runners and pacers. I started to become downhearted, but remembered that I was here to do my own race, so I did my best to struggle up, and soon was winding down some very fun single track to the next aid station.
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As I pulled into Pole Line Pass, the day had turned hot. It was coming on 10 AM and the sun was bright on the exposed trails. I changed out of my cold weather clothes which I had worn from Brighton and was now in shorts and a shirt. I knew I would have to hydrate a ton as a runner my size goes through a lot more water than the average skinny Joe! I filled up with ice water and off I went. BTW, all of the volunteers were GREAT, but I had a first time volunteer, a nice blonde lady, helping me here who was an absolute angel. She was the nicest, most eager volunteer I have ever run across, and she had me turned around and ready to go in no time. Huge thanks whoever you were!
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With some kind words, I was off on what I considered the last section. There were two more sections, but I knew if I could push and concentrate on this section, then the last part would take care of itself as there was a lot of downhill. I told myself to keep focused as I headed out. I knew the mile marks of some of the major aid stations and landmarks, so I tried to set these in my head and pushed towards each one. My first mark was going to be Rock Springs. This is where things started to get kind of funky. About two miles out of the aid station, I saw a car pulled up in the middle of nowhere. I could clearly see the trunk and bumper. As I ran past, it was just a rock with an Aspen tree. I had heard that people sometimes had hallucinations on this course, and mine were just beginning. Immediately after I saw a mother deer and two fawns. And yes, these were actualy deer. Having been able to actually identify a real object, I continued my run.
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The section to Rock Springs was, I thought, very gentle, and I began to wonder whether or not this section of the course, known as "Irv's Torture Chamber" had been overblown. Well, screw you Irv. It would really start to suck. I got through the plunge and dive no problem, as they were very similar to the rocky downhills I had done in training back in San Diego in Mission Trails. But then came these uphills that ground me to a halt. They were steep and not short, as it appeared on the profile, but long enough to sap the wind out of you. What was worse, I seemed to be making no progress whatsoever. I looked at my watch, thinking any minute I would see my next marker. But it never came and never came. Finally, I actually sat down in frustration, figuring I needed a cold drink of water and to refocus. After a minute, I got up again and took off, thinking surely now it would be just around the corner. Nothing. I glanced a little nervously at the clock. I still had plenty of time, but I wanted as much of a buffer as I could get!
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After what seemed like forever, I passed lets buck junction (although I couldnt' find the namesake tree) and headed finally downwards towards where I knew the aid station had to be. But I couldn't see it, though I kept thinking I did. I saw trees that I thought were lampposts, bushes that I thought were trail signs with ribbons tied around, rocks that looked like picnic tables. I was really tripping and laughing at myself the whole time. The topper was when I saw a clearing with a van in it. "We made it" I yelled out loud, only to emerge from the woods to find my "van" was in fact a HUGE male moose who was standing on the trail in a very un-van like manner, clearly annoyed that he had been mistaken for a vehicle. I apologized for any slight, and he went on his way and I went on mine, still pushing for the final aid.
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FInally, and for real, the aid station! I merely had them fill my water bottle, eschewing my drop bag and everything else other than to make sure I had plenty of water as it was easily in the mid-80's. I pulled out at 2:30. Plenty of time to finish, so I relaxed as I headed out to the final 7 miles to the finish. I knew there was a climb followed by a long descent, so I braced for one final push. THere was a stream crossing the road which I gladly plunged through, cooling my feet in the water. It would cross multiple times, and each time the water felt so good on my blistered, swollen, aching feet. I dipped my hat in for some cooling as well. The climb went much longer than I thought, but finally, I saw the ribbon that indicated the downhill was about to begin! I hit the downhill and was immediately disappointed with how rocky it was. My feet at this point could barely take hitting the rocks, so I tip-toed down the hill, getting passed by 4 or 5 different groups or pacers/runners. I was disappointed, but OK, because I still felt a finish was well in hand.
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After a while, I became not so calm. I still hadn't seen any sign of the slight uphill I knew had to come. I ran into a local runner and asked him how far. "4 miles" he told me, "with two uphills." Two? Hmmm, and I only had about an hour and a half left. Still should be fine, but I tried to pick it up just in case. Luckily, it became more runnable and the uphills weren't too long. Finally, the turn through the maples. There were two groups who were behind me. I offered them a pass, but they seemed really too tired to lead, so I pushed downhill as hard as I could, making real good time, taking both of those groups in my wake. Soon we ran into a third runner complaining about losing his pacer and the poor marking of the trail, neither of which seemed warranted to me. I told him to calm down, that we had plenty of time and to grab my tail, which he did. We had quite a group of 6 bombing straight downhill as hard as we could, all nervous about just how long the trail would take to dump onto the streets. I still felt confident we had time, but tried to push anyways. Finally, I ran out of gas and let the others take the lead, and 2 minutes later we spilled out onto the pavement.
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I didn't have the strength to hold onto them, so, as my Hemingway novel had just ended, I put in some music for my half mile finish. I power walked a little, then, once I saw the finish field, broke into my best shuffle. After almost getting run over (AGAIN) crossing the street (we crossed 2 paved roads in 100 miles and I almost got hit by cars on both. What kind of moron am I?), I ran onto the field to a great round of applause from everyone and crossed the finish line approximately 35 hours and 45 minutes after I started. Whew!
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I shook hand with the race director, who I mistakenly called Charlie, then stumbled to a seat, glad to be done. I later learned that Scotty had finished about 45 minutes in front of me, as had Ray. In the end, I finished dead last, which actually I was kind of proud of. I really thought someone would come in during the 18 or so minutes that remained, but in the end, I was the donkey's butt! Ha!
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As I write this on the Thursday after the race, I am starting to feel better. I still feel a little like I have a hangover, but the blisters are starting to go down. My appetite didn't come back until Tuesday lunch, but now its back with a vengance. Fortunately, I haven't even begun to think about what race next.
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In the end, this race deserves its reputation. Its really tough, but there are some incredible views, and I never expected to see the wildlife I saw. Even though I finished last. I am really proud to have finished at all, and my heart goes out to those who made the effort and didn't make it for whatever reason. I hope that you all come back for another go at it. And big thanks to Scotty, to whom goes the glory and the blame for me being out there in the first place. I still owe him a punch to the face.

Wasatch Front 100

I ran the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run in Utah last weekend, and finished!! Feels really good!, except for my swollen feet right now, but that will go down. Buckles are forever. It’s a hard race, as hard as advertised. Very doable--for sure if I can do it--but very hard, just the same. And gorgeous, amazing, awesome, worthwhile too. My memory is spotty. but here’s my story and a few things I would pass on, to whoever comes this way.
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Race starts at 5 AM Saturday morning. Pre-race meeting is the day before in a park in eastern Salt Lake City. The start of the race itself is north of the city quite some way, on a dirt road. It’s cold in the morning, and dark. You catch a bus downtown at 4 AM, so it’s an early AM morning, leading to a long weekend on the trail, with a 5 PM cutoff on Sunday. Lots of places to stay near the bus departure point—this trip can be planned without crew, without car rental. I rented a car and spent the week before in Moab, which is also highly recommended. A few pics of the Moab/Arches trip are in the previous post.
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The day before, at the park, they weigh you, and then you get weighed three times during the race. You will weigh more than you think. There are opportunities to buy hats and shirts, with the apropos slogan 100 Miles of Heaven and Hell. Drop bags are deposited on Friday, and it is quite the exercise figuring out what you might need when, especially if you don’t have a crew. Totally killed my Friday morning, but as they say, the 7 Ps---prior proper planning prevents piss poor performance.
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(Just to clarify, if you know me, you know this is a total joke--I'm not a planner. I leave that to my friends at the city.)
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The first water stop on the course is roughly 13 miles in. They give you a free bottle of water at the start, Talking Rain, filtered, I think, and some nice folks will collect the bottles about 3 miles in. It’s a good idea to bring a headlamp or flashlight for the beginning of the race, since it is pitch black dark. If you don’t, like Someone did this year, you’ll have to become a Light Bandit, and follow annoyingly close on someone’s heels for a couple hours, or run slow in front of them. Making friends!
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I suggest talking to someone about the race before you do it. That is, someone who has done it. I got all sorts of good information from a few veterans. Veterans, thank you.
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At around 9 miles, you hit the original “Chinscraper”. I run a hill in the Chuckanuts a few times a week called Chinscraper, but the Wasatch Chinscraper is the real deal. You can cut your chin, and you can kick rocks down on the people below you. This one guy kicked a rock down, young guy, and I looked at him to see if he’d yell out a warning to the people below. He said he’d only yell a warning if it really looked like someone was going to take a hit, because otherwise you become the complete object of derision, a trail scandal, for your sloppy footwork. He probably didn’t say it quite like that, but that was his message. Nobody took a hit so I guess he handled it right.
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This race is hilly. That is so understated. It has 26,000+ feet of ascent, total, I think. 26,000 feet of descent too, and some just mean pitches at that. All at higher altitudes than what I’m used to, sea level guy.
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So, up over Chinscraper, and then a beautiful skyline over Salt Lake City, with the Great Salt Lake to the west. Life is so good! The sun will come out, and it will be big--- it was really pleasant on Saturday. The trail is supposedly dusty, but it wasn’t that bad this year, because of a recent rain. Folks were saying “ideal conditions!” Happy trails!
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The first real aid station, with drop bags, is at a place called Francis Peak. Johnny from Kelowna helped me out! Francis Peak has a golf ball type radar/cellphone/somethings on top of the hill. Again, there are many peaks and passes in this run. They never stop coming. This race is really really hard. Also, there are many dives and plunges---really steep downhills. I’ve been having the weirdest nightmares the last couple nights.
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My Dad said I should have my heart checked before doing this race. I didn’t, but I think this is reasonable advice for anyone over 40.
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Of course, then my Dad’s wife said I should have my head checked. She’s such a card.
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Honestly, I don’t remember much for the next 20 miles. There was a nice family with popsicles, and I declined on the banana flavor. There was this friendly young gamer named Tyson that I kept trading places with, and a few other regular faces. Lots of long runs along stretched out ridges, where you could see runners a ½ mile ahead. I switched from the camelback, which was perfect for the first 17 miles (with food tucked inside—long day ahead!), to handheld water pistols for this section. Much better, and doable, b/c of the more frequent aid stations.
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My running was good. Around Mile 48, I stopped and ate some bananas with a vial of salt, and got really nauseous for the next 3 miles. I know not to do this, but I keep doing it, thinking it should work. 3 very slow miles followed, just waiting it out. I fell in a hole at Mile 49, because I didn’t have a light, again. Other than that, my running was good.
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The aid station at Big Mountain at about Mile 40 is awesome. Western theme. This one couple was the All Time Best at helping me, Ever. They filled my bottles, got me tuna fish, helped restock my GU, just amazingly good people—cheered me up. Trail saints. All over the course….this was the story—the aid station worker up at 4 in the morning, talking on the radio, serving up hot drinks and soup, having done this 8 years straight. The bonfire at Desolation Lake, mile 60something. The hashbrowns and sausage at Brighton. The pancakes at this one aid station after Catherine Pass (10400 feet--slayed me), a touch burnt, which I thought was cool—campfire hotcakes. Great OJ. It’s readily apparent that Wasatch is a shared love for many involved.
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I had two pacers. Ray Daurelle and Keith Klundt. I posted a request on Craig’s List, and it totally worked. Claude's List, I mean, the website. These guys emailed me, claimed they had pacer experience—turns out they did—and they met me, and were just awesome, giving support, helping me stay unlost, and keeping me in good cheer, as best they could. Great people. Thank you to all who offered to pace. If you are thinking about doing this race and don’t have a pacer, think about getting one. There are many people out there who don't want to run the whole race, but would really like to run part of it, and support a runner and the event.
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Keith picked me up at Lamb’s Canyon, the midway point, and accompanied me to Upper Big Water, about Mile 60. I got all sort of info on the race, Salt Lake adventures, etc. Ray helped me through my collapse at the end of the race, patiently traveling the last 25 war zone miles to the finish, tolerating my wheezing, altitude challenges, hands-on-the-knees moments, which were pretty much all the time towards the end. He also took some great photos, a few of which I’m posting here.
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Carry a light out of Big Mountain. It may be dark before Lamb’s Canyon, and there are holes you can fall in. As I mentioned, I fell in one. And stepped in a creek. The itty bitty book light wasn’t enough. Faster people won’t need to worry about this, and I thought I’d come in before dark too, but I carried the small light just in case, which was ok, just not enough.
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Have heavy clothing for the evening. If they say it will be forty degrees, it may be a three-ply evening, due to the winds that blow through the canyons, raising the cold off the ice water creeks. I suspect a lot of people pull out because of how unexpectedly cold it can get. Saturday night wasn't that bad, but the sharp drop in temperature was still a surprise--I run in the 40s all the time in the NW. People talked about not hanging around Brighton, for risk of DNF. I think the same goes for Upper Big Water--it got warmer as I climbed out of that valley, away from the creek.
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So, after Upper Big Water, you start ascending through switchbacks in the woods, again. It’s a lot of climbing, but not as bad as I thought it would be. Just steady trail climbing. There’s also some fun nighttime downhill switchbacks. At this point, I wasn’t that lucid, and I really can’t remember that well where we were. My friend BJ—more on him later—spotlighted a bear and saw a moose, and some deer, sometime up around here, out by Dog Lake. So he claims, at least. It was late, dark, cold, and 65 miles in. I believe him.
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Green glowsticks light the way at the night, hanging from trees. People are spread out, and so company is optional at best. It gets dark and spooky, and you find a quiet place with yourself, hopefully, enjoying the stars. The bonfire at Desolation Lake/Pass/Peak/Place, roughly mile 65, was so tempting, just to stay at all night. I got out of there quick. I love campfires. If they had smore’s, I would’ve DNFed, snap, crack your back, just like that. The stars were amazing—clear Utah sky, milky way, and I’m getting to know a few constellations.
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My clothes seemed to retain some moisture---I was wearing three layers—so maybe I should’ve worn a different shell. The night is long and wet clothes are definitely a plan for hypothermia. One of the veterans I talked to, Charlie, mentioned mountain etiquette, and carrying the right clothes any time you get up there high. This might’ve been one of the best tips I got, because it goes beyond Wasatch. There are just some common sense things to do in the mountains, whether it is a race or not, and carrying a good shell is one of them. Also, a good tip was to leave empty drop bags later in the race to dump clothes, even if I didn’t need to pick up stuff at the drop location. I did, and it worked better than the postal service—my clothes are home, in the washer.
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Wrapping this up, and thanks for getting this far (Grandma? Anyone else?),….I ran a basically solid run for me until Mile 75, Brighton, the ski lodge. From there, I struggled with some sort of bronchial problem, and the next 20 miles were above 9000 feet. I probably should’ve taken a bit more time to eat a full breakfast on Sunday morning, but I wasn’t eating well at that point. After Brighton, steep pass after steep pass, like Catherine Pass and Grunt Pass—they just kept coming. Then, little climbs over rocky knolls, crazy ½ mile drops like the Plunge, the Dive—the last 20 are worthy. I hurt, but kept my attitude reasonable. I had enough time to fight my way through it, and the Homestead lawn eventually arrived. I’m really happy. The finish line was absolutely terrific, with everyone gathered on a lawn, and a great awards ceremony and dinner.
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Again, thanks to Ray, Keith, Charlie, the race people, my grandma—you guys rock.
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Hats off to my good friend BJ, pictured with me at the finish above. We look like two guys just back from a fishing trip. BJ and I were in school together, but we live in different towns now, but are still very good friends. Years ago we trained together for our first marathon, or maybe it was my first marathon. He got injured at the last minute, playing softball I think. But now we’ve kept on this trail running thing, and neither of us is exceptionally fast, but it has kept us outside, in good health and spirits. We keep plodding, and enjoying the rewards. We both threw in for the lottery, got in, and spent all year with this race in the background, preparing in our own ways. We both finished, and it just feels great.
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Next up….not sure. Potato chips and pizza, for sure. Then probably Baker Lake. A trip to Virginia in October to see the fam, do the Marine Corps Marathon with some Skagit friends, and Mount Masochist 50m if I can get in.

Arches, Moab, and Canyonlands

I spent last week in Utah, visiting Moab, Arches National Park, and Canyonlands National Park, prior to Wasatch. Now I have to read Desert Solitaire by Ed Abbey. Abbey is dead now, but he wrote a lot of fiction related to the environment and this part of the world. Arches was one of the most amazing places I've ever been. While there, I hiked the Devil's Garden in Arches, Negro Bill Canyon outside of Moab, and atop the cliffs of the Island in the Sky in Canyonlands. I also went into Arches in the middle of the night twice, to catch the stunning clear sky, with the Milky Way plainly visible, above the balanced rock.
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