Overcoming the Struggle

The sun had just fallen below the mountains on the horizon as I drove along the 14 freeway.  I had just passed through a mountainous region known locally as "the grapevine" and was now arriving in the city of Palmdale.  Palmdale and Lancaster are two cities that lie close to each other at the northern edge of Los Angeles county.  I always joke that those two cities have just about every restaurant, store, and service imaginable because they are the last cities you pass through before you're out in the boonies and the first cities you arrive in after driving through miles of remote desert and countryside.  My destination for the night was the Schulman Grove visitor center, which is nestled deep within the White Mountains of eastern California, near the Nevada border.  To get there, I would travel north on the dark road, passing through several small towns along the way, turning right in the town of Big Pine and following a winding road through the mountains up to the visitor center which rested at 10,000 of elevation.  I would then wait for my friends to arrive, who were driving separately in a rented off-road vehicle, leave my car in the parking lot, and travel with them on a sixteen-mile dirt road that would take us into an even more desolate area to a trailhead, where we would begin out trek to White Mountain Peak.

The drive from the Los Angeles area to Big Pine, California is about four hours but it always seems to go by quickly.  I've driven this route numerous times to Mammoth Mountain to snowboard in the winter and to the Sierra Nevada mountains to go hiking.  To me, it never gets old.  I love driving through the peaceful emptiness of the desert and through Owens Valley with the mountains to my left and passing through the small towns along the way.  This is a part of California that so many people never experience and is definitely a hidden gem.  After arriving in Big Pine, I continued east up the 168 freeway through the mountains, arriving at the visitor center about forty-five minutes later.  After passing by the visitor center, the paved road gives way to a rugged and rocky dirt road which traverses up and down several hills through the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest and dead ends at the trailhead that leads up to White Mountain Peak.  I had been in contact with my friends along the way but had lost cell phone reception shortly before arriving at the visitor center parking lot.  Last I heard, they were about an hour behind.  After doing some research, I realized that my Camry would likely not do well on the dirt road leading to the trailhead, since the websites all recommend using off-road, high-clearance vehicles.  My plan was to wait here for my friends to arrive and travel the rest of the way in an off-road pickup truck to the trailhead with them, where we would sleep for a few hours and then being hiking.  After parking my car, I got out and stretched, admiring the surroundings.  The sky was filled with stars, I was the only car in the parking lot, and it was pitch black outside.  It was so quiet that I felt like the sound of shutting my car door could have been heard from a mile away.  I was alone in my car, engulfed in darkness, miles away from anything and everything with no cell phone reception.  This is usually the part in horror movies where people get axe murdered.  Who knew what was out there in those dark woods?  I laughed to myself as my imagination ran wild.  I figured it would be at least an hour before my friends arrived so I decided to try to get some rest in the meantime.  I reclined my seat to a lying down position, turned over on my side and promptly drifted off.

I awoke in a panic to the sound of someone tapping on my passenger side window.  I immediately recognized that it was my friend Jose, much to my relief.  I looked at my watch and was surprised to see that it was approaching 3:00 in the morning.  I had fallen asleep two and a half hours earlier, waking up several times thinking that I saw headlights driving into the parking lot, but it turned out to be a false alarm every time.  When I got out of my car to get my gear from the trunk, I saw not only the pickup truck that Jose had rented, but also a twelve person van.  I learned that at the last minute we had some additional people joining us and between coordinating the additional van rental, slow service at a Denny's in Palmdale, and a small mishap at a gas station, the trip up to the visitor's center had gotten delayed.  After saying hello to everyone, I loaded my gear into the truck bed and we began the treacherous drive to the trailhead along the unpaved road.  The ride was bumpy, but we were mostly in awe of our surroundings.  It was unlike anything I had ever seen in the California wilderness.  Bristlecone pine and limber pine trees lined the road in the beams of the headlights as we traversed over the hills.  This area is named the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, owing to the fact that the oldest trees in the world are located here.  In an effort to prevent vandalism, the exact location of these trees has not been disclosed to the public, but they can be found at certain points along trails that pass through the forest.  Once we arrived at the trailhead, I introduced myself to the people I hadn't met yet.  We had a group of twelve, some of us visiting this mountain for the first time, myself included.  I looked up at the starry sky as I made my final preparations.  White Mountain is one of the twelve 14ers in California (mountains with an elevation of 14,000 feet or higher), with a summit of 14,252 feet.  Many hikers say that it is the easiest of the California 14ers to climb, however extreme weather and altitude sickness are still a hazard.  The trailhead is situated at 11,680 feet of elevation, and about fourteen miles of the fifteen mile round trip hike are above 12,000 feet.  Once everyone was ready, we began our trek up the wide fire road.  Unlike the other hikes that I've done in California, the route to the summit of White Mountain features no single track trail and is composed entirely of fire roads and wide paths of dirt and stone.  We began at 5:00 AM and our group quickly spread out with faster hikers pulling ahead.  Merwin, who I had met almost six years earlier, hosted speed hikes at Griffith Park on Thursday nights and was known for being tough and fast on the trails.  When we hiked together, he would often move quickly up the trail and meet the rest of the group at the summit.  He took off with Delores and Tuyet, while I stayed behind with the rest of our group, which included several of my friends with whom I've hiked before; Edith, John, Jose, and Alberto, along with Marielena, Juan, Israel, Maria, and Laura, all of whom I was meeting for the first time.  I was excited that Alberto (or Beto, as we call him) was with us.  He and I had become friends through work when I first moved to Los Angeles and he introduced me to the Los Angeles hiking community which allowed me to meet so many awesome people over the years.  He and I had hiked together several times over the years but we lost touch for a while due to life happening.  This was the first time I had seen him and Merwin in a couple of years and we were having a great time catching up.  The sun began to rise as we approached the Barcroft Station about a mile and a half from the trailhead.  In addition to being a popular destination for hiking, White Mountain is home to the White Mountain Research Center, which is operated by the University of California.  Along the route is the Barcroft Station, and a small station at the summit.  Both stations are dedicated to researching the effects that high altitude has on physiology.  At the Barcroft Station we took a break to delayer and eat, so I took the opportunity to get to know some of the new people.  Juan, Israel, Marielena, and Maria had gotten to know Merwin through his Thursday night workout hikes, and Laura was a friend of his.  Marielena, Laura, and Israel were natives of Mexico, Juan was from El Salvador, and Maria from Colombia.  We had a diverse group, and meeting new people for the first time was is something I've grown to love about going on these adventures.

After departing from the Barcroft Station, we began climbing up a series of switchbacks that led us to a wide, open bowl surrounded by mountains with the summit directly in front of us in the distance.  The setting was beautiful and serene.  The entire hiking route was above the tree line (a point in elevation where the environment becomes to harsh for trees to grow and survive), so the basin and mountains in front of us were completely bare of trees and had a green, mossy color to them with grey, rocky peaks.  The path that we were hiking along weaved through the basin and up towards the summit, and was visible several miles in the distance.  The sun was making its way into the sky and was now shining overhead, casting light on us.  I had been feeling cold and tired from lack of sleep, so the sunshine was putting life back into me, much to my delight.  As we continued along, we admired the grassy fields, multicolored rocks, and the occasional marmot running around.  After descending further into the bowl and coming around a bend in the climb back up, we caught up with Tuyet.  She had started with Merwin, but decided to move at a slower pace when she began feeling the effects of altitude sickness.  John volunteered to stay with her so she could continue safely and we advised her to take her time before we pressed on.  After climbing to around 13,500 feet, the terrain shifted from grassy fields to scree and rocks with small purple, red, and yellow wild flowers scattered about, adding color to the terrain.  By this time, Merwin and Delores had made it to the summit, Edith was a couple of hundred feet behind me, and everyone else was taking it easy to ensure that all twelve of us could make it to the top.  The small research station, which marks the summit, was now very close, but as Edith and I traversed the switchbacks, we could see below that other members of the group were struggling.  The whole group had gotten barely any sleep and Jose drove the whole way, so he hadn't slept a wink.  Going more than twenty-four hours without sleep is draining even under normal circumstances, but when you throw five hours of driving, and a fifteen mile hike, most of it above 12,000 feet into the mix, the results are even more taxing and it was evident that Jose was struggling.  We continued up the final switchbacks, and soon the summit and research station come into view.  Merwin and Delores were waiting at the summit and upon our arrival, they embraced Edith and I, congratulating us on our effort.  After a quick victory hug, we remembered how badly the other group members were struggling, so Edith, Merwin, and I decided to drop our bags and run down the trail to the others and help them by carrying their packs and offering some psychological encouragement.  When we approached them, Maria had given her bag to Edith to carry and Tuyet, although still battling altitude sickness, was trudging her way up the trail.  I ran down to help Jose but he advised me that Beto was behind him and was so defeated, he didn't feel like he could make it.  I ran a few hundred feet further down and when I found him, it was clear that he was suffering badly.  He was sleep deprived and the altitude was throwing his body into a tailspin.  He was barely moving forward even with the help of his trekking poles, and it looked like he was about to stumble over with every step he took.  Seeing him in this weakened state crushed me.  He was the guy who had introduced me to this whole hiking world and was one of the strongest hikers I knew.  He had summited several challenging peaks over the years and attended Merwin's notoriously tough workout hikes regularly.  He had been here before.  Not here, per se, but he had suffered before when attempting challenging hikes and had pulled through.  I knew he could make it to the summit and I was determined to help get him there and not let him give up.  When I approached him, I grabbed his backpack from him, threw it on my back, and walked behind him up the trail, assuring him that we would make it and we would just go nice and easy.  I trailed directly behind him as he made his way, step by wobbly step up the trail.  Up ahead, Edith was carrying Maria's pack and helping Jose up the trail.  "I know you can do this man, you're are a tough SOB" I said as I patted Beto on the back.  "We're going to go about 200 more feet, then it's one more switchback to the summit" I said to him.  During the final steps he began moving faster.  The adrenaline had kicked in, and seconds later, the five of us, Beto, Jose, Merwin, Edith, and I arrived at the summit together.  All twelve of us summited, and we celebrated and embraced each other, congratulating one another on our accomplishment.  In my mind, the one who makes it to the summit last and suffers the most is the toughest.  For so many of us, it doesn't require tremendous effort to climb mountains, but for those who are suffering and on the brink of quitting, it's amazing to see them push through the physical obstacles and the mental walls and continue the fight, refusing to give up.  These are qualities that separate the merely tough from the unbreakable.  In my eyes, Beto, Jose, and Maria were the toughest ones out there that day.

On the way down the sleep depravity and high altitude were beginning to have an effect on me as well.  We were about halfway down, John, Jose, and Tuyet about a tenth of a mile behind me, Maria and Edith about a tenth of a mile in front of me.  Our group had again become spread out along the trail.  During the ascent that morning we had descended into the bowl a couple of times, but on the way back the climbs back up were brutal.  I hadn't taken into account that we were going to be climbing back up these descents on the way back.  As I moved forward, I felt pressure on my head and my eye lids were getting heavy and dense.  Keeping my eyes open became a challenge.  Going up the inclines, my breathing became labored and the pressure on my head grew more intense.  I admired the scenery and I plodded along, and when I finally came over the top of the hill, the Barcroft Station came into view below.  When I arrived, Maria was sitting on a log near the station.  "Maria, como estas?" I called out.  "Muy consado" she answered with a weak smile.  "Yo tambien.  Pero es muy bonita a fuera" (Me too. But it's very pretty out here) I replied.  We sat for a few minutes to rest, and after chugging some water and wolfing down a little food, I felt slightly more coherent.  A few minutes later, Jose, John, and Tuyet came over the hill and began making their way down towards us.  Maria pressed on, and once the three of them arrived, we continued down the last mile and a half all together.  Chatting with Jose, John, and Tuyet for the last section helped put some life back into me, and when the cars in the parking lot finally came into view below, my headache wasn't completely gone but I felt much more alive.  Down in the parking lot we rendezvoused with the rest of our group and packed our gear up.  We planned to go have a celebration meal together, but it turned out Tuyet was under a time constraint and had to attend a family event early the next morning in San Diego.  Since the rest of the group had traveled in two vehicles, I agreed to give her a ride to the Rosamond area, where her and her husband lived. 

The ride down the dirt road back to the visitor center felt more rugged than it did that morning for some odd reason.  We could see the trees and views more clearly in the daylight and admired the scenery.  We were so sleep deprived we began seeing things along the road.  Tuyet thought she had seen a dead horse along the roadside, but it was really just a log.  Edith thought she had seen a goat on the hill but it was just pile a rocks.  The bristlecone pine trees along the way were leafless trees with twisting branches and we commented to each other on what they resembled from our point of view.  Jose thought that one of them looked like a dragon and another looked like a wolf howling at the sky.  All of these comments were followed by bursts of laughter.  We had been awake for way too long.  Tuyet and I told stories and shared laughs along the way during the drive home, which served me well since I was dead tired.  After dropping her off, I arrived home a little over an hour later.  Between the altitude, the sixteen mile off-road rally to the trailhead, and the scenery, this trek had been unique in many ways.  I loved the experience, but the part I enjoyed the most was getting my friends to the summit when they were struggling.  I live for the moments that I see people in such a state of despair but they refuse to give up.  If we challenge ourselves like we should, all of us will be in that position

one time or another.  Let's just hope that when it does happen, the right people are there to help us!

Minnesota Tough

“Aww man, I thought this was all over”.  When I raised my head, I saw another runner cautiously making his way down the hill towards me.  When he passed by, all I could do was give him a nod and a smile.  I couldn’t respond to him.  I was too busy trying to stop myself from sliding backwards down a steep dirt trail with two cramped legs.  Within seconds, he disappeared and there was not a sound to be heard except for the rumble of thunder in the distance.  I was thirty-nine miles into a fifty-mile ultramarathon and it had gotten to the point where whenever I ran downhill, the pressure would immediately trigger a round of excruciating leg cramps.  In an effort to mitigate the pain, I resorted to crawling down the hill backwards on all fours, stretching out my legs.  After painfully slow progress, I finally reached the bottom.  I waded through a river crossing and finally, after another ascent and descent, the trail deposited me onto a back-country road.  As I rolled into the aid station I was greeted with enthusiasm by the volunteers.  “Yay!  You conquered the power lines!” they shouted.  We exchanged high fives and I proceeded to gobble down pickles, chips, and every other salty snack in sight.  I was convinced that the most treacherous section of the race was now behind me.  If only I had known what was waiting for me during the last few miles of the race.

About two years prior, I had read a book called “Eat and Run” by legendary ultramarathon runner, Scott Jurek.  Scott was born and raised in Proctor, Minnesota just outside of Duluth, and lived a pretty typical Midwest meat and potatoes lifestyle during his youth.  He was a talented cross-country skier, did well in school, and initially only ran to stay in shape for skiing.  He later befriended Dusty Olson, a kid in Duluth who was not only one of the fastest skiers in the state of Minnesota, but also one of the fastest runners and bike racers.  Although they both shared a passion for cross-country skiing, Scott and Dusty were like night and day by comparison.  Scott trained hard, studied a lot, listened to adults, and generally stayed in line.  Dusty on the other hand, lived a more care free lifestyle, threw parties, and was always getting into trouble.  According to Scott, he would mouth off to coaches and when he won races, rather than congratulate the other students, he would taunt them.  I later learned that Dusty’s persona in the book had been exaggerated and he was actually a really nice guy.  In July of 1993, Dusty won a fifty-mile trail race near Duluth called the Minnesota Voyageur.  For the rest of that summer, and into 1994, Scott and Dusty trained together and after finishing second place in the 1994 Minnesota Voyageur, Scott abandoned cross-country skiing and went on to become one of the fastest and most elite ultramarathon runners in the world throughout the 2000’s.  Dusty followed him in his journey and served as his pacer in all of his races during the peak of his career.  The Minnesota Voyageur had essentially jump-started Scott Jurek’s ultrarunning career, and after listening to some interviews with Dusty and reading about the race, I became intrigued.  Despite growing up in Michigan, I had never visited Minnesota and I decided that a fifty-mile rally through the woods would be a perfect way to explore the country side near Duluth.  So, on the morning of July 28^th, 2018 I found myself standing in front of the high school in Carlton, Minnesota among 400 or so runners, ready to take on the Voyageur.  I flew into Minneapolis the day prior and after driving two and a half hours up to Duluth, I spent most of the day exploring the city, eating at a local hole-in-the-wall breakfast restaurant and visiting Austin-Jarrow, a local running store.  Jarrow Wahman, the owner, had known Scott and Dusty when they were teenagers and had a lot of history with them.  What was especially exciting about this trip was my Dad and Sister were going to be coming out for support.  They left Birmingham early on Friday morning and made the eleven-and-a-half-hour drive to Duluth.  They coincidentally were assigned the room right next door to mine at our hotel.  Shortly after they arrived in town, we enjoyed a nice dinner at a brewery in downtown Duluth.  I had gotten a surprisingly restful night's sleep and felt calm and collected as I breathed in the cool morning air.  I was anxious, but having my Dad and Sister with me helped put me at ease.  My Dad had a tremendous impact on my love for the outdoors.  He was never a runner himself, but he made sure I spent a lot of time outside as a kid, playing catch and tennis with me, teaching me how to ride a bike, and taking my sister and I sailing just about every weekend during the summer months.  It was just a few minutes before the start of the race, and I listened as the pre-race briefing was in progress.  Dusty’s brother Shane had just recently passed away and several members of the racing staff were wearing Hawaiian shirts to commemorate him.  Running in Hawaiian shirts had been a trademark of his for quite some time.  Immediately after the briefing, the pack of runners began charging forward up the road.  I hugged my Dad and Sister and weaved into the crowd, making my way forward.  The adventure had begun.

 

We made our way up a gradual incline on a residential street, banking left onto a paved bike path, and about a half a mile later, picking up the single-track trail.  The scene had quickly shifted from residential streets with small houses lining the way to a dirt trail through a green tunnel with tall trees shading the course.  We had been advised that the first few miles of the course were extremely rocky and chock full of thick tree roots.  It was important for us to pay careful attention to our footing during this section to avoid taking a fall.  The temperature was around 57 degrees, perfect weather for running.  I had monitored the weather forecast closely during the days leading up to the race.  It was forecasted to be partly cloudy with the temperature climbing to around 79 degrees.  The forecast was favorable, however the summer air in Minnesota was much more humid than what I was used to in California.  The humidity level was around 83%.  I wish I could say that the weather was my only concern about this race, but if I did, I would be lying.  This course was hilly and had a lot of climbing.  Nothing I wasn’t used to, but In California, it is not uncommon to hammer through climbs that are between 2,500 and 3,000 feet during an ultra.  Most runners hike up these inclines or alternate between hiking and very slow running.  Most of the climbs on this course were 300-400 feet.  You’d think it would be easier, but this meant that I was expected hike less and run more.  This expectation became more apparent when I was made aware of the cutoff times at the aid stations.  The layout of the course is out and back, meaning it turns around at the halfway point and travels back the same route.  The course turns around at the base of Spirit Mountain in Duluth near the zoo.  There is a cutoff time to arrive at the turnaround as well as all the aid stations on the return trip.  Every aid station has a cutoff time, and if I were to arrive even a minute after, I would be forced to drop, even if I were physically capable of continuing.  I was forced to quit the first 100K that I attempted due to missing the cutoff time at an aid station, so I was adamant to not let it happen again.  I was trying to balance enjoying the scenery and the company of the other runners with staying focused and making my way to the turnaround point with plenty of time to spare so that I wouldn’t have to be worried about making the cutoff times on the way back.  Despite the rugged terrain, the setting was beautiful.  The trail ran parallel to the Saint Louis river, which was flowing through the trees to the left of us.  The view got even better when we crossed over the swinging bridge.  After passing through the first aid station, the course continued down a short, paved path and gave way to a relatively flat trail that weaved through the woods.  There was a lot of local pride in the air.  Several runners were wearing shirts and hats from other local races such as the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon, which is a point to point race held on this same course from Spirit Mountain to Carlton High School where we started.  One girl, Emily, was wearing a hat from the Birkie Trail Ski Race, which is a 55K cross country ski race held every year on the American Birkebeiner trail.  Virtually all of the runners I talked to were from the Minneapolis area or Duluth, with the occasional Chicagoan here and there.  The runners had spread out since the beginning of the race and after running over some rolling hills and crossing a highway, I caught up to a small pack of runners who were chatting amongst themselves.  One guy, Kyle, was running with his mother who was about a mile behind us.  He talked about how his mom was always a solid runner and he ran his first marathon at ten years old and his first 50K at eleven.  “I’ll bet your Phys Ed teachers couldn’t say anything to you” I joked.  Over the years he had abandoned running to play football and gave up running for fourteen years.  He recently had reignited his interest in the sport and was doing his first ultramarathon since he was eleven.  The girl in front of us, Andrea, was sharing crazy stories about her camping adventures over the years in the Minnesota wilderness.  After rolling through another aid station, we began the notorious “power lines” section of the race.  People had been talking about this section before and during the race.  About how challenging it was and how they hoped it wouldn’t be too muddy.  The power lines are a series of steep, exposed hills with grass fields, dirt trails, and very little shade.  I had reached out to Dusty on Facebook to get some advice on the race a couple of months prior.  One of the things he had warned me about was how steep and difficult the power lines are, especially if it’s wet outside.  Luckily for me, it was pretty dry out.  We made our way up the steep rolling hills and through the grass fields as a group, telling stories along the way.  Once we’d survived the power lines, the trail deposited us back into the woods, where most of the course was shaded by the trees and brush.  The group had spread out again and I soon found myself running alone on the trail.  I came to a junction just before an incline where I saw a volunteer standing off to the side.  As I glided by, he advised me to be careful on the wooden bridge about a mile ahead.  Apparently, some bees had taken up residence under the bridge and when the runners in front of me crossed, it shook the hive and ticked the bees off a little.  Growing up in the Midwest, I learned at a very young age (the hard way) to stay the hell away from bee hives, and if there is any kind of disturbance, you better run your butt off because if bees are disturbed, they’ll chase down and sting the first person they see.  Over the next couple of miles, I ran as quickly as I could over all the wooden bridges on the course.  Fortunately, no bee stings.

 

A couple of hours later, I came to the Skyline section of the course, which was two miles from the turnaround.  As we runners came over the top of a slope on Spirit Mountain, we were treated to an astounding view of downtown Duluth, Saint Louis Bay, and the Aerial Lift Bridge in the distance.  We ran on a grass trail along the mountain underneath the ski lifts and began heading downhill towards the turnaround.  Dusty had also warned me that the climbs on the way back were tough and the 800-foot climb back up Spirit Mountain after the turnaround is a doozy.  When I finally arrived, I was greeted with enthusiasm from the volunteers, and took a seat on a rock near the tent.  I gulped down water and Powerade and wolfed down watermelon, PB&J, and chips as I regrouped.  The cutoff for the turnaround was 1:00 PM (7 hours), and I had refused to look at my watch prior to my arrival for fear of psyching myself out.  If I could reach the turnaround with a big enough time buffer, I wouldn’t have to worry about busting my ass to make the cutoff times at the aid stations.  When I checked out of the turnaround point it as 11:38 AM so I had plenty of time.  I was relieved and excited that I could have a little more fun on the way back and I wouldn’t have to constantly worry about being forced to drop.  I climbed back up Spirit Mountain with Kyle and we started chatting with David, a twenty-one-year-old college student from Minneapolis.  He was tall and lean and hoping that today he would be finishing his first ultra.  As we ran underneath the ski lifts, we cheered on runners making their way to the turnaround.  I recognized Scott Kummer from Ten Junk Miles a Chicago based running podcast that I had discovered a couple of months prior.  Scott looked to be having a tough go at it, but he had run over fifty trail and ultramarathons all over the country and I had no doubt that he would finish strong.  I started to feel good as I continued down Sprit Mountain and back into the woods.  I ran with David, Kyle and Andrea for a few miles at a time before we’d lose each other at aid stations and catch up with each other again.  At around mile thirty-four the humidity began getting the better of me.  I felt dehydrated despite carrying two handheld water bottles and refilling them at every aid station and my legs were cramping.  After crossing a river in the gorge, I pulled into an aid station where I scarfed down pickles, chips, and other salty snacks to help balance my sodium levels.  Next to the pickles was a bowl of boiled potatoes beside a bowl of salt.  The idea was to take the potato, roll it around in the salt, and wolf it down.  I decided to give it a try.  It tasted pretty awful, but I was desperate to get my sodium levels back up.  The temperature was approaching eighty degrees and my legs continued to cramp as I made my way further down the trail.  While I was making my way through the power lines for the second time, I resorted to crawling down the hill backwards on all fours.  The cramps had gotten so severe, I couldn’t run forward down the steep hills.  Referring to this challenging section, a guy ran by me while I was on going down the hill and said “Aww man, I thought this was all over”.  When I finally made it to the bottom of the hill, I heard thunder rumbling and some dark clouds were rolling over head.  I made it through the power lines and replenished myself at the aid station, trying to regroup.  There were a couple of stretches of back-country road, but when I picked up the single-track trail again, it had gotten to the point where even running on the flat, gentle trail was making my legs cramp.  I had been battling cramps for several miles and I finally decided I’d had enough.  Having to stop and stretch every hundred yards was demoralizing.  I decided to pull off to the side of the trail and sit down in the brush to stretch my legs out.  I sat there for a good four minutes leaning against a rock with my legs out in front of me, trying to alleviate the pain.

    

Sitting down and stretching helped for a while and I eventually came back to life and was able to throw down some faster miles on the flat sections as I continued on.  The rumbling of thunder continued and suddenly, rain began falling.  I wasn’t excepting it to rain but what choice did I have, really.  I still had nine miles left to go.  Most of the trail was still shaded but the rain came down pretty steadily for about an hour and a half as I lumbered up the climbs and ran through the wilderness.  When I came around a corner, I saw a guy bent over, hands on his knees on the trail side.  I couldn’t tell if he was puking or dry heaving.  “Hey man, you okay?” I asked as I pulled up.  His name was Siva and he was also part of the Ten Junk Miles podcast.  He explained that he had drank some pickle juice at the last aid station and it was making him feel nauseous.  I gave him some of my water so he could rinse his mouth out and hydrate himself a little.  We powered along together for a little while, and when I rolled into the final aid station with just 3.4 miles left, the rain had stopped and the sun had come back out, much to my delight.  I refilled my water bottles for a final time and crossed the bridge for the final stretch.  I had expected the climbs to be tough, the power lines to be challenging, and the humidity to be exhausting, but I was not expecting what I was about to encounter during the last three miles.  I had returned to the rugged section of the course and the rain had left the trail wet and muddy, effectively turning it into a giant mud puddle.  Wherever there wasn’t rocks and thick tree roots, there was slippery mud and puddles of water.  I made my way through as quickly as I safely could, but I was slipping and sliding everywhere.  If you’ve ever seen Home Alone 2, there’s the scene where Macaulay Culkin sets all the traps in the house in New York City.  During one scene, Daniel Stern is slipping and sliding on the floor through a greasy substance before falling and colliding into a shelf full of paint.  That’s pretty much how I felt going through this section of the course.  I approached a shallow trough, only about a six foot drop down a muddy embankment to a small pile of rocks, then back up.  Something I normally wouldn’t think twice about.  I took two steps down the trough when my feet slid right out from underneath me and I came crashing down, ass first, into the mud.  The fall immediately triggered mind blowing cramps in both legs simultaneously.  I rolled onto my side, trying to stand up.  But I couldn’t.  My legs couldn’t pick me up.  I felt pathetic lying there in the mud.  I only had two miles left but at this rate, I felt like I’d never make it.  I was miserable, hot, sore, and dehydrated.  After about a minute, the cramps subsided, and I reminded myself why I do this.  I reminded myself that this was what I loved about ultrarunning.  Having incredible highs and awful lows and priding myself on being able to plow through the lows and come out strong.  “This is crazy” I said to no one in particular (only, I inserted a bad four-letter word followed by “ing” between “is and “crazy”).  “But I love this shit”.  I picked my weary butt up out of the mud and continued my way through the mess.  It was a long slog, but I wasn't stopping come hell or high water.  I had come too far to give up now.  I still slid and stumbled frequently but I used trees and branches to catch my falls.  “Embrace the suck” I said to myself.  Just then, Siva caught up to me again and said he was still not feeling good.  I let him sip some more of my water to mitigate the nausea and he pressed on.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I came to the junction where the course leaves the trail for the bike path.  After a few minutes, I made a right turn onto the street, which meant only a quarter of a mile to the finish.  As I approached, I saw my Dad and Sister standing in the middle of the road about a block ahead.  I had been in contact with them throughout the race, but I was arriving a little later than I had initially told them.  As I ran the final steps to the finish, people were yelling out my name and my Dad and Sister were going crazy.  I crossed the finish line after twelve hours and thirty-five minutes of running, arms in the air, smiling ten miles wide.  Siva had finished just before me and we embraced as I crossed the finish line.  After a round a hugs from the volunteers, I was handed not a medal or a belt buckle, but a hand crafted finishers coffee mug, which I thought was awesome.  Seeing my Dad and Sister at the finish was a euphoric moment.  I thought about how far they had driven and all the support they were giving me, and my eyes filled with tears and I hugged them.  I was sweaty, dirty, muddy, and physically annihilated, but I was on cloud nine as I stumbled to my Dad’s car. 

That night, we had dinner at an Italian restaurant in downtown Duluth where I stuffed myself full of pizza and reveled in the deliciousness of a hot meal.  My flight the next morning was pretty early and I was going to need to leave the hotel around 6:30 in the morning to drive to Minneapolis, which worked out well because my Dad and Sister would have to leave around the same time to get back home at a descent hour.  Despite having to jump out of bed a few times in the middle of the night to stretch some cramps away, I slept pretty decently.  Saying goodbye to my family the next morning was hard, as always, but I was so grateful that they made the trip to Duluth to support me.  Until yesterday, they had never seen me in action, and I was happy and excited that they were able to experience this part of my life up close and personal.  Having them there with me, even for just a short time, made all the difference in the race experience, and it made me want to run more ultras in the Midwest so I can see them more.  I guess now I’ll have to go back and run the Superior Trail 100!  Just kidding, not really.  Not anytime soon.  But maybe someday…

We Beat the Storm! (Well, Sort Of)

Having spent the last six years living in California, I wouldn’t go as far to say that I take the nice weather for granted, but it has come to a point where if I have a running event, hike, camping trip, etc. coming up, the weather is generally not of grave concern for me.  I just assume the weather will be nice because after all, it is California, right?  This is not always the case.

 

This past weekend my friend Edith organized a hiking trip with a bunch of our friends to the summit of Mount Langley in the Sierra Nevada mountains to celebrate her birthday.  The original plan was to make it an overnight backpacking trip but when we were unable to secure a permit for camping in the John Muir Wilderness, Edith reserved a couple of campsites at a nearby campground just south of Lone Pine, California.  The new plan was to hike on Saturday and spend Saturday night at the campground.  I never questioned the weather until some of our friends began posting the weather forecast on the Facebook event page during the days leading up to the hike.  The forecast changed throughout the week and even improved slightly, but as of Friday we were still looking at a forty percent chance of thunderstorms in the afternoon and early evening.  Some of our friends were concerned about attempting the hike in such conditions.  When hiking in the rain it’s important to be cautious, but it is generally safe if proper gear is used and is even enjoyable for some people.  On the other hand, hiking at high altitude in thunderstorms is not safe.  Being at high elevation in the wilderness during a storm puts you at a higher risk of being injured by falling trees or rocks, or worse, being cooked by lightning.  After talking with the group, it was decided that we would still attempt the hike but if the weather got ugly, we would turn around immediately and get back to safety as quickly as we could.  So, on Friday night I walked in the door after work, ate a quick dinner, and promptly laid down for a nap.  Three hours later I woke up at 10:30 PM, gathered all my gear, and began the three-and-a-half-hour trip to the trailhead around 11:30 PM.  Nestled in the Eastern Sierras of California, Mount Langley has an elevation of 14,032 feet, one of the tallest peaks in the state.  The hike to the summit is about twenty-two miles roundtrip with breathtaking scenery, including alpine forest, blue mountain lakes, grassy meadows, and granite mountain peaks.  Due to the elevation, there are also patches of snow along the route all year around.  If you’re a nature junkie, it doesn’t get much better than here.

 

Once I was out of the late-night traffic of the Los Angeles area, I made a right turn in the town of Mojave and my route became a dark and desolate road that passed by the mountains through Owens Valley.  When I arrived in the small town of Lone Pine at 2:15 AM I stopped at Lee’s Frontier to grab some food and water for the hike.  As I waited in line at the register, the guy in front of me was eyeing the sausage snack display and asked the clerk if they had a snack called “little dudes”.  The clerk looked at him quizzically and said the store did not carry them.  “Oh man, we had those in jail, they were really good”.  You encounter some interesting characters when you inhabit convenience stores in the middle of nowhere at 2:15 in the morning.  After the food and water purchase, I hit the road once again.  From Lone Pine it’s two left hand turns and twenty-three miles to the trailhead.  An easy drive, but the only minor detail is that over those twenty-three-miles, you drive the equivalent of a vertical mile and a quarter into the sky up a twisting mountain road.  The factor that poses the greatest challenge to hiking Mount Langley is the altitude.  About ninety percent of the trail is above 10,000 feet and it tops out at the summit at 14,032 feet.  Oxygen levels are noticeably lower at this altitude and hikers often become susceptible to altitude sickness which is the result of being exposed to low oxygen levels at high altitude during strenuous activity.  As I drove up the pitch-black road, the terrain shifted from desert rocks and plants to alpine forest with tall pine trees.  The road eventually emptied into the parking lot of the Cottonwood Lakes trailhead.  Several tents were set up at the nearby campground and early morning hikers were making their preparations outside of their cars and tents.  There was no cell phone reception in this remote area of the mountain wilderness, so I drove around the parking lot in search of my friends.  I quickly spotted Edith and Christina getting ready near their SUV.  We said hello and after parking my car and making my final preparations, I walked over to the trailhead.  Our group of ten consisted of Edith, Tuyet, John, Christina, Meredith, Iris, Iris’ boyfriend Dave, myself, Alfredo, who was an old friend of ours that met up with us at the last minute, and his friend, Patenco (I’m sure I spelled that one wrong, sorry buddy).  I had hiked with Edith, Christina, Tuyet, and Alfredo before and was meeting Dave, Patenco, John, and Meredith for the first time.  I had not seen Alfredo in three or four years, so It was great to have him there.  We all greeted each other and began our trek just before 3:30 AM, making our way through the midnight wilderness over the river crossings and along the switchbacks, talking casually.  Just after the sunrise a couple of hours later, the trail gave way to a grassy meadow with granite rocks strewn about.  The summit of Mount Langley rose directly in front of us in the distance.  There are two ways to access the summit; via Old Army Pass or New Army Pass.  Old Army pass is shorter, but more technical and New Army Pass is slightly longer but less technical.  Both routes lead to the final section of the trail to the summit which is a steep two-mile climb through rocks, following a series of large cairns.  We decided to take the shorter more technical route and followed the trail to Old Army Pass.  The sun had now made its way into the sky and the sunlight sparkled off the Cottonwood lakes as we passed.  After passing through some gorgeous mountain scenery, we climbed up the switchbacks to Old Army Pass and began the two-mile push up the boulder littered winding path to the summit, using the cairns as our guides.  The weather was holding up perfectly so far and we hoped it would stay that way, although we knew it could change in an instant.  The weather at high altitude can change abruptly, and we knew that we’d better be ready to turn around and get back to the trailhead very quickly if things were to get ugly.  Along the ascent we met up with Rochelle, Delores, and Shirleen, all of whom were part of the LA hiking scene and were friends with Alfredo.  During the final climb our group had spread out considerably.  Tuyet had began to feel the effects of altitude sickness so John and Meredith stayed with her along the way.  Despite the group spreading apart, we all kept each other in sight, and we all made it to the summit within about forty-five minutes of each other.  We all displayed strength and resolve along the way; Edith was contending with sleep deprivation, Christina was hiking with a Plantar Fasciitis injury, other people were dealing with slight altitude sickness, and I myself was feeling sleep deprived as well.  Once we made it to the summit we all came back to life and when Tuyet arrived, her eyes filled with tears of joy.  As long-distance hikers, these are the kind of moments we live for; pushing our minds and bodies to the limit, contending with the pain and misery, and reveling in the accomplishment of completing the task at hand.  Like life, hiking twenty-two miles almost entirely above 10,000 feet has euphoric moments of joy and elation as well as demoralizing moments of pain and despair.  “This hike is amazing, but I wanted to quit a million times” Christina joked at the summit.  After taking some pictures, we quickly began making our way back down the trail to beat the storm.  The forecast called for a forty percent chance of storms in the afternoon and by the time we left the summit it was approaching 12:30 PM. 

The weather remained nice throughout most of the descent, however with two miles left, it began to rain hard and we heard the crackling of thunder.  We put our rain jackets on and hustled down the last two miles of the trail in an effort to stay safe from the storm.  By the time we arrived back at the trailhead at 5:30 PM the thunder had stopped but the rain was still coming down.  Our group embraced in a hug and congratulated each other on our successful summit.  Despite the heavy rain during the last two miles, we were very fortunate that the weather had played out the way it did.  We expected at any moment that we would need to turn back, but we beat the storm and were able to summit and make it back safely.  We were proud of our accomplishment and decided to go celebrate with some hot pizzas and beer at the Lone Pine Pizza Factory before heading to the campground.  My plan was to hang out at the campground for a while then drive home.  As we drove down the winding mountain road from the trailhead into Lone Pine all seemed right with the world.  Until we came around a bend in the road and saw a line of about six cars stopped.  In front of the first car in the line was a massive slew of mud and water on the road with two cars stuck side by side in the mud and unable to move.  Shortly after stopping I saw Iris walking up the road.  I rolled down my window as she approached.  “Hey Iris, what happened?” I asked.  The heavy rainfall had created a mudslide on the mountain road and two cars had gotten stuck, blocking the road, and making it impossible to continue down to the base of the mountain.  We decided to turn around and head back up to the trailhead, get some sleep, and try again in an hour.  An hour later, we approached the site again.  The two cars were still stuck but this time a police car was there.  We learned that they needed to pull the cars out of the mud and then clear the road, which would take at least a few hours.  It was becoming increasing apparent that we would not be able to get down from the mountain anytime soon, maybe not even until the next morning.  Back at the trailhead we shared food with each other and Alfredo made sure that I was okay since I wasn’t prepared to stay overnight.  We mostly stayed in our cars to keep warm.  Even though it was the middle of July, the temperature dropped into the low fifties as the sun began to set.  All I had left to eat was a half a bag of trial mix, so Meredith, Tuyet, and John gave me some potato chips and Iris, Edith, and Christina each had an extra blanket that they lent me.  I felt foolish that I hadn’t been more prepared but none of us were expecting a mudslide to keep us from leaving the trailhead.  As I sat in my car, I wondered how long we were going to be stranded here.  I had almost no food and water and I was already hungry.  Besides, how would we know when the road was clear?  There were no rangers in this area so who would notify us?  I decided that we’d better take matters into our own hands.  I got out of my car and told the group that I was going to drive down and check on the road.  If it was still being cleared, I would wait on the roadside and when it was clear, I would drive back up to the trailhead and let everyone know.  There was no cell phone reception, so we would have to settle for this method of communication.  The others were hunkering down in their cars to sleep for the night as I left and drove down the road.  As I approached the site of the mudslide, I could see in the darkness up ahead that the cars were still stuck, but there was a bulldozer in front of them clearing mud off the road and a tow truck had just arrived.  The road was still impassable, but progress was being made.  I turned my car around and parked on the shoulder, about a tenth of a mile up the road from the chaos.  For the next hour I sat in my car on the roadside listening to music, flipping through pictures on my phone, and staring into my rearview mirror.  All I could see were flashing white and yellow lights from utility vehicles in the darkness.  I was unable to tell if the cars had been removed from the mud.  I sat there hoping that it wouldn’t be too long before the lights disappeared, the road was clear, and I could go deliver the good news to my friends that we could be on our way.  Two cars came driving down the road past me, towards the carnage.  “Yeah, good luck guys” I said to myself, fully expecting that they would turn right around.  But strangely, after pausing for about thirty seconds, the cars passed through the mudslide.  “No way” I said.  Was the road clear?  I immediately started my car and headed down towards the mudslide to see if I could pass.  As I approached, I realized that there was much more mud on the road than I initially thought.  The pavement disappeared and was covered in mud as far as the beams of my headlights could reach.  I was immediately waived down by two guys in reflective vests, signaling for me to stop.  When I rolled down my window, they greeted me, and the first guy said “so, you want to make an attempt at passing through this?”  I thought he was being sarcastic but wasn’t entirely sure.  “Eh, probably not a great idea, right?” I replied.  He explained that the two cars I had seen minutes earlier barely made it through the mud and if I was going to try to pass, I would be doing it at my own risk.  I don’t even have a four-wheel drive vehicle and if I got my car stuck in this mess, I’d be screwed.  I turned around and parked my car in the same spot up the road to continue waiting…and promptly nodded off.  I awoke thirty minutes later, confused of my whereabouts for a moment.  When I gathered my senses, I saw in my rearview mirror that not only were the lights from the tow truck and bulldozer still flashing, but I saw three lights approaching my car from about a hundred feet behind.  They looked like headlamps and were getting closer by the second.  Who were these guys?  Were they the tow truck guys walking up to tell me to beat it?  As they approached, they walked along the driver’s side of my car.  I prepared to roll down my window, but they turned out to be hikers and kept walking up the road.  It was now 11:30 PM.  Even if the road were to be cleared tonight, none of us were going to make the three-and-a-half-hour drive back to Los Angeles at this hour of the night.  There was nothing else to do but drive back to the trailhead.  When I arrived I parked my car, adjusted my seat into a lying down position, covered myself with the blankets that were lent to me, and rolled up my sleeveless vest to use as a pillow.  Everyone else had gone to sleep long ago and the parking lot was quiet and still.  It took me a little while to fall asleep as I turned over in the front seat trying to get comfortable.  I ran the heater during the drive back to the trailhead but the heat was slowly escaping through the car and the temperature outside had dropped into the high forties.  I was tired, hungry, and cold, and I still wasn’t exactly sure when we were going to be able to get down from the mountain.  How much worse could it get?  The answer was “much”.  Despite the grim situation, I was thankful that our group was safe, and everyone kept a positive attitude.  It could have easily been one of us stuck in that mudslide.  It had turned into a beautiful night.  The sky had cleared, and the moon shined brightly above the pine trees.  As I finally fell asleep, I took a moment to think about where I was; up on a mountain in a parking lot in the wilderness at 10,000 feet above sea level after hiking twenty-two miles through the Sierra Nevada mountains.  Not too shabby.  In fact, it was pretty cool.   

When I awoke the next morning at 5:45 AM, I felt rested, despite only getting about five hours of sleep.  A few minutes later I saw Christina approaching my car.  We greeted each other when I rolled the window down and I told her I was going to check the road again.  When I arrived at the mudslide area, the vehicles were gone, and the road had been cleared.  Thank goodness!  We were finally able to pass and head back home.  I told everyone the good news when I arrived back at the parking lot.  It turned out Tuyet, Meredith, and John had left at 2:00 in the morning and were probably already home by now.  The rest of us packed our stuff up and laughed and joked with each other about how crazy this trip had become.  Who would have thought that we would be able to beat the rough weather during our hike, but a mudslide would keep us trapped in the parking lot over night?  A few minutes later we were all on the road heading home.  It was an unforgettable experience and another great trip with great company.  Not only was it a lot of fun, but some very important lessons were learned; It probably wouldn’t hurt to have some extra food and water when going on adventures like this.  You never know what could happen.  A mudslide in one of the driest states in the country could trap you at a trailhead.  Never take a successful summit for granted, it’s all about the team work, and even if the weather forecast looks rough for a planned hike, go for it anyway.  But if you hear thunder or see lightning, you’d better be ready to turn around and get your ass back to the trailhead quickly!            

Mount Shasta, Round 2 - Rocks and Wind

The state of California has numerous landmarks.  Some notable ones include the Hollywood sign, the Golden Gate bridge, Half Dome, etc.  One of the many, and perhaps one of the more secret landmarks of California, is Mount Shasta, a potentially active volcano just off the 5 Freeway near the Oregon/California border.  Standing at 14,157 feet, Mount Shasta is a free-standing mountain and dominates the Northern California skyline.  It is completely blanketed by snow during the winter months and even into the spring and summer, the slopes above 10,000 feet are largely covered year-round.  In June of 2017 I found myself with my friends at the Bunny Flat trailhead preparing to climb this beast of a mountain.  There are several routes that lead to the summit but the most popular route, and the route we were going to take, is through Avalanche Gulch.  Our plan was to climb up to Lake Helen Campground, camp for the night, and push for the summit early the next morning.  We arrived that night at Lake Helen as planned, however when morning came, we were awakened by 50 mile-per-hour winds blowing snow, ice and camping equipment down the mountain.  We waited at the campground for a couple of hours, hoping the winds would dissipate, but they did not let up one bit.  There was no other option except to hike back down to the trailhead.

This past weekend, a year later, another opportunity came to attempt Mount Shasta.  We had been monitoring the weather forecast closely, but unfortunately it looked like the winds were going to be fierce on the day that we were planning to summit.  Due to its prominence and altitude, Mount Shasta is notorious for drawing in extreme and volatile weather, making it difficult for meteorologists to accurately forecast mountain conditions.  These forecasted wind speeds were merely an educated guess and we hoped they wouldn’t be as severe as they were anticipating.  The original plan was for me to drive to my friend Tony’s house after work on Thursday night.  My friends Nemo, Cisko, and I would all pile into Tony’s Jeep Rubicon, hit the road at 8:00 PM, drive through the night, meet up with the rest of the group at the trailhead, climb to Lake Helen Campground on Friday, camp for the night, and push for the summit very early on Saturday morning.  I had planned to leave with them on Thursday night, however due to unforeseen technology issues at work, I needed to come into the office for a few hours on Friday, rather than take the whole day off like I had originally planned.  My new plan was to leave Los Angeles after those few hours of work on Friday, drive myself up to Mount Shasta, hustle up Avalanche Gulch, and catch up to the group at some point along the way.  It certainly wasn’t ideal, but the situation didn’t weaken my spirit, and I was looking forward to attempting this climb again with my friends.

Getting up to Mount Shasta is an endurance event in its own right.  The drive from Los Angeles is between nine and nine and a half hours depending on traffic.  I rolled into town shortly before 11:00 PM on Friday night.  The drive up to the small town at the base of the mountain had been fairly uneventful until I was driving up a pitch black, twisting road through the Shasta-Trinity National Forest to the trailhead.  As I came around a bend, I saw three dead deer lying in the middle of the road.  Startled by the bodies, I slowed to a stop.  Then, to my relief and delight, the three deer were not dead or even injured.  They stood up as I approached.  It was a mother and two fawns.  They stood still and stared at me for a few seconds before casually walking off the road and disappearing into the wilderness.  After that brief delay, I resumed forward progress.  It was very dark, so I drove cautiously, looking for more animals that may be crossing the road.  Several minutes later, a cluster of parked cars emerged in the darkness, indicating that I had arrived.  I took an empty parking space near the sign marking the beginning of the trail.  When I opened my car door, the cold mountain air came pouring in, crisp and refreshing.  I stepped out of my car, admiring the surroundings as I stretched.  It was an absolutely stellar night.  The sky was filled with thousands of shining stars and the tall pine trees that surrounded the parking lot were engulfed in bright moonlight.  In front of my car, the mountain stood prominently in the darkness above the tree line.  I walked over the restroom, brushed my teeth, took out my contacts, retrieved my blanket and pillow from my trunk and spread them out in my backseat.  My plan was to start climbing at around 4:00 in the morning, about the same time that my friends would start pushing for the summit from Lake Helen.  I would hustle up the mountain and hopefully catch them along the way or at the summit.  Before going to sleep, I took one last look at the mountain.  In the darkness, the Lake Helen camping area was visible on the snowy mountain side, well off in the distance.  Somewhere up there my friends had set up camp and were probably already hunkered down for the night.

 

The rooster alarm went off on my cell phone at 3:45 AM the next morning, and I slowly awoke and began preparing for the trek.  The trail from Bunny Flat would lead through the wilderness to the mountain, which looked to be about a half a mile in the distance.  The trail would climb to Horse Camp and would end at Lake Helen.  From there, it’s a more technical climb up the snowy mountain face to the summit, which requires the use of crampons and an ice axe.  I made my final preparations, threw on my pack, and began hiking up the trail towards the mountain.  2017 had been an enormous winter for California, and last year the whole trail was covered in snow all the way to the parking lot.  This year, however, all the snow had melted, and the trail was much easier to navigate.  I hiked through the wilderness, passed by Horse Camp, and by the time I arrived at Lake Helen two hours later, snow had taken over, and the sun had risen.  There were about a half a dozen tents scattered throughout the campground and I set my pack down to drink some water and put on warmer clothing.  Just then, I saw my friend Monica standing outside of her tent looking up at the mountain.  I ran over to her and after saying hi, she explained that Tony, Cisko, and Nemo were the only three out of the group that decided to try to climb to the summit.  Monica, Mariel, Carisa, Linda, Edgar, Ronald, and Ronald’s teenage son Leo had decided that the winds were too severe to attempt the climb, and they stayed at the campground.  The wind had let up a little by the time I arrived, but apparently throughout the night, it had been fiercely strong and howled ruthlessly through the campground.  Carisa, Mariel, and Edgar emerged from their tent and said good morning.  Carisa had been suffering from migraines during the climb up to Lake Helen, but was now feeling better thanks to the magic of medicine.  “You should be able to catch up to those guys” Monica said.  “They’re taking it pretty easy”.  “Cool! I’ll see how far I get” I said.  I bade the group farewell and began the long climb from Lake Helen up to the Red Banks, where I would make a left and climb up Misery Hill to the summit.  Up ahead of me on the slope, several climbers were struggling up the steep, snowy terrain.  To my right up ahead, I could see a man sitting on the mountain side with the rest of his group standing over him.  It looked like something was wrong, but I wasn’t entirely sure.  A strong gust of wind blew down the mountain, causing me to almost lose my balance.  Immediately after it dissolved, I heard voices shouting from above: “Rocks! Rocks!”.  A couple of seconds later, three melon sized rocks came bouncing down the mountain right past me.  The spring snowmelt had dragged rocks and chunks of earth down the mountain and the strong winds dislodged them from the snow near the Red Banks, which were about two thousand feet up the slope in front of me.  By the time the rocks flew past me they had gained enough speed to do serious physical harm if they were to strike a climber.  A bit rattled, I sluggishly continued climbing up the steep incline.  I caught up with a couple from San Francisco.  “Is that guy okay down there?” I inquired.  I pointed to the man sitting on the mountain below.  It now looked like his friends were attempting to carry him back to the campground.  “He was hit by a falling rock.  I think they said his leg may be broken” The guy answered.  Just then, the wind howled and almost blew me over again.  I was growing concerned for my safety and questioned whether I should keep going.  I decided to keep moving forward while being overly cautious to avoid getting injured.  The climb to the Red Banks was steep and tough.  I moved at a snail’s pace in the snow up the 40-degree incline, using my ice axe to help push myself up.  Strong gusts of wind howled down the mountain and pellets of ice bounced off my helmet and snow goggles.  The Red Banks were getting closer and closer with each step, but they still looked to be well off in the distance.  During the last few hundred feet, I was on all fours, using my ice axe to pull myself up the mountain side.  Shortly after reaching the Banks, I saw two men in front of me as I crawled up the mountain.  They were making their way back down, and when I said hello as they passed, I realized it was Tony and Cisko.  Their faces had been disguised by their goggles, helmets, and face warmers.  We embraced in a hug and they explained that they did not summit due to the strong winds and falling rocks.  I learned from Tony that the man sitting on the mountain below had his ankle broken by a falling rock.  Still not good, but less severe than a broken leg.  Upon witnessing the incident earlier that morning, Tony dispatched a rescue team to bring in a helicopter to airlift the man to safety.  I began having doubts about whether I would be able reach the peak.  After a quick break, I slowly moved forward as Tony and Cisko continued back to Lake Helen.  I kept moving and found Nemo a short time later.  He had been climbing at an aggressive pace and was able to summit but advised me to be very careful if I chose to continue.  As he continued his descent, I stood there, unsure of what to do.  Just then a gust of wind blew a few more rocks right past me from Misery Hill and a small stone struck my arm.  I had about three quarters of a mile to cover before I reached the summit, but the strong winds and flying rocks were scaring the hell out of me.  A skilled climber could have trekked to the summit in high winds, and even could have powered through the flying ice pellets, but melon sized rocks being blown at dangerous speeds down the mountain created a major safety hazard.  The Mercy Medical Center in the town at the base of the mountain was not where I wanted my journey to end.  So, demoralizing as it was, I turned around and began making my way back down towards Lake Helen.  There would be no summit today.

 

Descending the slope was just as vexing as the trek up, and I struggled to find an effective way of moving down the steep mountain face.  I tried numerous methods, including side stepping, going down backwards, and the spider crawl method, which involved sitting on my butt, and moving down the mountain with my arms and legs.  Several other climbers were glissading down the slope along the shallow troughs in the snow.  I inched down the mountain from the Red Banks in one of the troughs when suddenly I heard shouting behind me.  “Look out! Look out!”.  A glissading climber was coming down towards me at full speed and I dove out of the way and rolled a good ten feet down the slope, narrowly avoiding collision.  It was a long slog to get back to Lake Helen.  Glissading would have been the fastest way to get down, but the slope was extremely steep, and I refrained from using this method out of fear of hitting a rock and colliding with other climbers.  After an hour and a half of spider crawling, side stepping, and going down backwards, I finally arrived at Lake Helen.  Tony, Cisko, and Nemo had just packed their camping gear and were getting ready to head back down to the trailhead.  Monica and the rest of the team had gone down a while ago and were most likely sightseeing around town.  During the descent from Lake Helen, I saw that there was another glissading shoot carved into the snow.  This descent was less steep, so I decided to give it a shot.  I took off my crampons, sat down, and let gravity take me down the mountain.  I soon discovered that glissading down a snowy mountain takes practice.  The idea is to slide down the mountain and use your ice axe to stay in control, digging it into the snow to slow yourself down.  Like snowboarding, it takes practice to develop the skill and move at a decent speed while still maintaining control.  “Woohoo!” I shouted as I slid down the trough.  By no means was I an expert in glissading.  My butt was numb, and my pants were soaked, but it was a fast, effective, and fun way to get to the bottom of the slope where the snow ended.  Once the snow ended, Cisko, Tony, Nemo, and I made the quick descent back to the trailhead.  As we made our way down to Horse Camp, I was in awe of the beautiful setting.  Colorful rocks lay strewn along the path, tall green pine trees dominated the landscape, and snow-capped mountain peaks jabbed at the sky in the distance in front of us.  Once back at the trailhead, we caught up with Ronald and his son, Leo.  Tony had heard that Monica, Mariel, Linda, Carisa, and Edgar were having lunch at Black Bear Diner, so we drove over there to meet up with them.  When we arrived I met Linda, who had been sleeping when I hiked up to Lake Helen.  She had driven down from Portland, Oregon to join us on this adventure.  After enjoying a hot meal, sharing stories, and lots of laughs, we said our goodbyes, congratulated each other on our attempt, and began the long drive back home.  The traffic was lighter coming home than driving up, and I finally arrived back home shortly after 1:00 in the morning after nine hours of driving.  I dropped my bag, changed my clothes, brushed my teeth, and promptly fell asleep shortly after lying down.

After two attempts and no summit at Mount Shasta, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little frustrated.  Even though I was annoyed that I had failed to reach the summit again, I was thankful that I had gotten back safely and that I was still able to enjoy the natural beauty of this mountain.  No mountain is worth injuring yourself or dying for.  Summit or no summit, Mount Shasta is one of the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen.  There truly is no place quite like it.  I may not have summited this time, but I know that somehow, some way, we’ll be back next summer for round three.  Third time’s a charm!       

The Long Way up the Mountain

“Damn it.  Did I seriously just go in a circle?” I asked myself out loud.  After a few seconds of assessing the situation it occurred to me that the answer to my question was “yes, I definitely had”.  Great.  I was less than a mile up the trail and I was already getting lost.  To add to the complexity, it was 3:45 in the morning and this trail was notoriously difficult to navigate in the dark.  The path was rugged, and the scattered rocks and boulders created a setting that loosely resembled a maze, making it difficult to stay on course.  But I had been here before.  I had first visited this trail three and a half years earlier during which my friend advised us that if we followed the white dots painted on the rocks, we’d stay on course.  This area wasn’t maintained by any government organization, but over the years, fellow hikers and volunteers have generously marked the route by painting large white dots on the rocks that lay strewn along the path.  Remembering my friend’s words, I plodded along from the trailhead following the dots until I took a wrong turn, banking left instead of right, following the terrain as it curved, and taking a right instead of going straight, effectively ending up exactly where I had been a few minutes prior.  After gathering my thoughts, I decided to back track, heading back the way I came to determine where I had gotten off track.  After a few short minutes, I realized my blunder and once again began seeing big white dots on the rocks every hundred feet or so as I resumed forward progress.  The moon was only casting off a sparse amount of light so I mainly moving forward with the power of my flashlight.  What was I doing out here all alone at 3:45 in the morning?  Great question.  Most people are at home sound asleep during this time on a Saturday morning.  Not roaming around on a trail in Palm Springs up the side of Mount San Jacinto trying to find their friends.

 

A week prior, my friend Edith had organized a group event in which a small handful of us would be attempting one of the most challenging hikes in the United States.  The route begins at a trailhead behind the Palm Springs Art Museum and climbs 10,300 feet over sixteen miles to the summit of Mount San Jacinto.  This route is respectively referred to as Cactus to Clouds, the name deriving from the route beginning at the desert floor and climbing up above the clouds at 10,834 feet.  Mount San Jacinto is a popular attraction for tourists visiting Palm Springs.  In late 1963 the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway was created as a means of transporting people through Chino Canyon up to Long Valley and Mount San Jacinto State Park, which lies 8,300 feet up the mountain.  Long Valley offers a variety of outdoor activities and there are gift shops and two restaurants near the tram station.  Many hikers ride the tram to the station in Long Valley and hike to the summit, which is an eleven-mile roundtrip trek with about 2,500 feet of elevation gain.  Rather than taking the tram, those who hike Cactus to Clouds climb up to Long Valley, where the Skyline trail ends.  From there, they proceed up another trail from the tramway station to the summit.  When Edith created the event, I jumped at the opportunity.  However, due to my work schedule, I was going to be starting three hours later than the rest of the group.  Many Cactus to Clouds hikers begin their trek well before sunrise not only to avoid the intense heat, but due to the length and difficulty of the route, an early start is needed to finish at a decent hour later that day.  The group was planning to start around midnight on Saturday morning.  Meanwhile, I would leave work, get some sleep, drive out to Palm Springs in the middle of the night, and begin around 3:30 AM.  The plan was for me to haul ass up the trail and catch up with my friends somewhere along the path before we reached Long Valley.  It was quiet and still as I sat in my car in the vacant parking structure outside of the museum with my driver’s side door open.  I was making my final preparations when I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.  A white F-250 pickup truck pulled into the structure slowed down considerably as it approached my car.  The windows on the truck were dark and I couldn’t see inside.  I then remembered that my friend Dave, who was attending this hike, drove a white F-250, but the group had started hours ago.  The truck stopped behind my car and cut the engine.  What was going on? There was a split second where I wondered if some psycho was going to jump out and come at me with a shotgun, but just then, the door opened, and Dave and Christina hopped out.  “Hey guys!” I said with great relief.  They had started hiking with the group but promptly turned back due to a nagging Plantar Fasciitis injury that Christina had been battling.  She was an accomplished hiker having tackled many challenging climbs over the years, but in the last few months her injury had temporarily sidelined her.   They advised me that the group had started around 12:45, a little later than planned, which was a good thing because that meant I’d likely catch them more quickly than anticipated.  They bade me farewell and drove off to park the truck and get some sleep for a little while.

As I continued onward, the trail cut further into the mountain range and became easier to follow.  The path was initially composed of rock and loose stone but had now softened into smooth dirt with occasional rocks littering the path.  Even though the sun hadn’t risen, it was very warm outside, and perspiration began dampening my shirt and bandana.  I gulped water from my camelback to stay hydrated.  The good news was the ranger station at Long Valley offered access to potable water, so we could fill up once we arrived and have enough water for the remainder of the hike.  I marveled in the surroundings as I ran along.  The sky was filled with stars as I followed the trail east with the towering mountain range sitting above me to the right and the city lights of Palm Springs to my left far below.  Rocks and desert plants continued to line the path and there were no trees as far as I could see.  Periodically I’d see lights from other hikers well off in the distance and wondered if it was the rest of the group.  As the trail weaved and turned westward, the crack of dawn began lighting up the sky behind the San Bernardino Mountains above the city lights of the Coachella Valley.  There were several points along the way where there were “short cuts” which would cut uphill through the rocks past the switchbacks but for the most part, I stayed to the designated path.  As the sun began lighting up the sky, I was enjoying the tranquility of the quiet trail and making pretty good time, running and speed hiking.  By the time I passed the second water stash box along the trail it had been about three hours since I began moving and there was still no sign of the group.  I was listening to music and in between songs it was dead quiet with no hikers were in sight.  Was I still on the right path?  I kept moving forward hoping that I wasn’t traveling in a huge circle as the trail rolled along.  Finally, I looked up to my left and saw a line of hikers moving up the switchback.  I instantly recognized my friends and was ecstatic that I had finally caught up with them.  “Morning guys!” I shouted out.  Finding them was a big relief that I was on the right path all along and having the camaraderie of other hikers, especially my friends, brought me comfort.  We all said hello once I caught up to the end of the pack.  “Why are you so happy?” they jokingly asked me.  I had my hands on my knees and when I looked up I could see that the heat and challenging terrain was getting to them as well.  The sun had now made its way into the sky and my clothes were wet from perspiration.  “Because I found you guys!” I exclaimed.  “It was getting pretty lonely out here”.  Among the group was Juan Carlos (JC), Janet, and Felipe, who were all attempting this hike for the first time, Jose, our hike leader, Tuyet, who had attempted Cactus to Clouds once prior, and Edith, the organizer of the event.    After a few brief minutes, we pressed on with about three miles ahead of us before we reached Long Valley.  The trail had rolled for a while along the ridge and was now beginning an increasingly steep ascent that would lead to a series of switchbacks during the final push.  Along this challenging section of the trail the group grew quiet and we took frequent breaks to sip water, delayer, and eat.  Most of the group was going on very little sleep and Tuyet was struggling to stay awake.  There was a lot of discussion about how much more distance we had left and how long it would take.  Some people said it was two miles, some said a mile and a half.  Some people said we’d be at Long Valley in an hour and a half, others said it would be an hour.  There were a lot of conflicting responses.  “We have about two more miles until Long Valley, right?” Jose inquired as he looked at me.  I had been quiet in the discussions about mileage and time up until this moment.  “I think we should not worry about how much distance we have left and how long it’s going to take” I said.  “No one knows for sure how much further it is or long it’s going to take so we might as well just enjoy it and not worry.  We’ll be there before you know it”.  I’ve never questioned the mileage or used a GPS tracker during hikes and ultramarathons.  Psychologically, a GPS is my biggest enemy on the trails.  When I’m hiking with a group and other hikers use audio GPS, I just tune it out because I’d rather not know how much longer it is until we get to our destination.  If the distance is on my mind the whole time it distracts me from why I’m there in the first place; to enjoy nature and spend quality time with my friends.  There as a brief pause but then the group seemed to understand where I was coming from.  More miles were covered, and we were soon making our way up the final push along the switchbacks.  Over the last few miles the mountain terrain had shifted from rocks and desert plants to pine trees and granite rocks.  Occasionally we’d look up and see that the horizon where the ground met the sky was getting closer.  Finally, the trail leveled out and Long Valley came into view.  The entire group crested the climb and we embraced each other, congratulating one another on our arrival.  We had climbed 7,900 feet from Palm Springs and the most difficult part of the trek was now behind us.  As far as natural beauty goes, it doesn’t get much better than Long Valley.  The mountain air was fresh, laced with the scent of pine, and considerably cooler than Palm Springs.  All around us were dirt trails leading to campgrounds, tall pine trees, pine cones, granite rocks, and sawed up tree logs.  The group seemed to come back to life as we walked along the trail.  From the end of the Skyline trail it was about a half a mile walk to the ranger station in Long Valley where we would pick up another trail that would take us an additional five and a half miles to the summit of Mount San Jacinto.  After refilling our water and taking a quick break at the ranger station, we began our push to the summit.  Compared to the Skyline trail, this section was much more maintained and orderly.  The topography had completely transformed from an exposed, rocky trail to a dirt path surrounded by alpine forest.  Even on this more modest terrain, the sleep deprivation was catching up with us and we took frequent breaks.  When we reached the saddle, it was clear that the mounting drowsiness was having an adverse effect on some of the group.  Hiking through extreme sleep deprivation can be dangerous especially on trails with long, steep drop offs.  Judgment is impaired and one wrong step could end in disaster.  I advised the group that if anyone felt that they were too tired to continue to speak up.  The mountain will always be there, and no summit is worth dying trying to reach.  Making our way out of the saddle, the views were remarkable.  A field of pine trees rested below us to the side of the trail with the tram station visible in the distance below.  As we reached the last quarter mile to the summit, Janet and Felipe began falling behind from the group.  As Janet sat on a rock, she calmly announced that she was feeling the effects of altitude sickness, specifically dizziness.  We advised her to take deep breaths and drink some water, and eventually she was able to stand and move forward.  We moved together as a group as the trail gave way to a pile of boulders.  We proceeded very slowly, scrambling over the boulders for about a hundred feet, until the summit came into view.  The whole group was together and after sixteen miles and 10,300 feet of elevation gain, we had finally made it.  We were overcome with joy and accomplishment and Janet immediately came back to life once we reached the summit.  We sat at 10,834 feet of elevation on the highest peak in the surrounding area, admiring the panoramic view.

The trek down from the summit back to Long Valley was about as close to a celebration hike as we could have gotten at that time.  We were exhausted and hurting, but that was all irrelevant.  We had displayed mental and physical strength along the way, helped each other as a team, and accomplished what we set out to do; another successful Cactus to Clouds summit was in the books.  By the time we arrived at the tram station the challenging terrain had gotten the better of me and my legs were on fire.  As we approached the station I took off my backpack and flopped onto a bench, stretching my legs.  Relief was instantaneous.  After riding the tram down to Palm Springs and arriving at our cars we rendezvoused at a Mexican restaurant in town for a hot meal.  The restaurant was crowded, and it took forever for our meals to arrive, but when the waitress finally set our plates down on the table we were in comfort food paradise.  Dinner was full of laughs and stories, and shortly after, I was on the 10 freeway back to Los Angeles.  The hike was fun, but the company was better.  The whole group was connected by a common goal of reaching the summit.  We had broken through mental walls, fought sleep deprivation, given each other support, and accomplished our goal, all while having fun along the way.  These are the factors that create deep bonds and friendships within the hiking community.  You could leave us stranded in the middle of the frozen tundra and we would still make the best of it.  As long-distance hikers and ultrarunners, that’s how we’re wired to think.