Lessons

Main Tiger Mountain Road 

On January 20th, 2014 I embarked on my first trail run ever.  A ten mile trot down the old Carbon River Road to Isput Campground and back.  In fact, I am not sure I would even classify it as a trail run as most of it was gravel road but nevertheless I was hooked. A few days later I would embark on my first trail run on Tiger Mountain and marvel at the beauty that was so close to home.  In that first full year of trail running I would take on two runs that were 50 kilometers long (more on that later).

Fast forward exactly three years to the date of that first trail run and you would find me out on Tiger Mountain again completing the 12 Summits Route and knocking out my first ultra distance adventure of 2017.  There are two things I will always remember about this day.  The first being the now comical interaction between myself and a surly owl.  At the time it wasn't funny as she dive bombed me twice at close range.  After alighting upon a branch after the first swoop, our discussion was civil, polite even.  But after the second dive bomb I let loose with a tirade full of obscenities to which she replied with what has to be the most effective form of resting bitch face I have ever seen.  The second and more important part of that run was the fact that it was the first outing in months that I felt no pain in my pelvis.

Summit of East Tiger

In September of 2015 I hurt myself late on day one of my Wonderland Loop.  After the injury, a descent of any kind caused  pain in my pelvis which then spread up my back and down to my left leg.  Running was pretty much out of the question yet walking was doable.  It hurt, but I could live with it.  My insurance at the time was lame and so I spent the rest of the year hiking and easing up on the steep stuff.  To make a long story short, it allowed me to work on my mental conditioning , to slow down and appreciate the trail in a different way.  Most of all it helped me to understand that I could still cover large distances of terrain as I managed to cover over 260 miles in the month of December.

Perhaps it was a lesson the Universe wanted me to learn and it felt the timing was right for it to be taught. I know not to question these things much anymore and just go with the flow of them.  I had settled into a different rhythm on the trail, my understanding that for me the most important value I held was being out and immersed in Nature, not the method I was using to travel though her.  Then just as suddenly as the pain had appeared, it disappeared.  One day it was there, the next it was gone.  With over 18k of elevation change, the 12 Summit Route is no slouch and yet, nothing.  It's as if a switch that had turned the pain on had been flicked to the "off" position.

I hit the trail the next day, a shorter Tiger Mountain offering that was a sublime route in spring like conditions.  I soaked in the suns rays, and found new artifacts along the old railroad lines that cut their way across the mountain flanks.  Felt a curious and powerful energy on a trail I rarely visited and in the spirit of exploration on a mountain I am so familiar with, still managed to find an unmarked trail that cut through the second growth and deposited me on a trail I knew so well.  Dozens of times I have gone by this spot and failed to notice it.  A surprise gift from the mountain.  And again, no pain.

Grand Ridge Trail

I decided the time had come to try running.  I turned to the most gentle of trails I know in the area, Grand Ridge and did a 13 mile out-and-back, running where I felt comfortable but never kicking it up more than a trot.  I finished the run in 2:34 which isn't some blazing speed, but after months of walking, it sure felt like it.  I was forced to acknowledge that I truly had missed running as much as I denied it.  It was a tool in my outdoor arsenal that I was so happy to have at my disposal again.

I told myself I would "take it easy" and slowly work my way back into it but I could quickly see it just wasn't going to work out that way.  What followed has been a stretch of trail time unlike any other that I have had.  In the last 22 days I have completed six routes of over 50k. A far cry from that two that I completed in a full year. Three of those have been over 44 miles.  In the darkest, wettest months where trail time can be so difficult to be had, I have taken full advantage of the mostly snow free paths at lower elevations.  Knowing that the mountains I love to roam are buried under snow where risk of avalanche has been so high for so long, I have been content below the treeline, admiring a world so close to the city.

Instead of focusing on each run, I thought I would share just some highlights from these past three weeks.  Certain moments that stand out to me.

The smooth trail and my feet a blur to me as I looked down while picking up speed on the Tiger Mountain Trail.  The feeling of just how fast I was moving as the trunks of the trees lining the trail flashed by quicker and quicker.  The bursts of warm sun on my face from between those trunks.  I was taken by the moment, the surging power I felt and let loose a yell of pure joy.  While it can be argued that you see more when you are going slower, there is no doubt in my mind that you feel more when you are running.

Walking through the forest slowly, utter silence around me as I paused to feel each tree trunk that I passed.  The sunlight through the forest canopy highlighting specks of dust floating in the air.  I sit down for a few moments taking it all in. I realize I have no idea what time it is or how long I have been out there.  Timelessness.

Lenticulars on Tahoma

Climbing my way up the forested
flanks of Tiger Mountain in the twilight of pre-dawn, I lift my eyes upward, my sight filled with a dozen shades of pink and purple through the black silhouettes of the tree branches.  The sun is approaching and a brilliant light show is promised.  I intensify my efforts on the climb, burst down the road between West Tiger II and I and make  the viewpoint on Tiger I just as the sun emerges.  I watch this sunrise in awe, having it all to myself in this spot.  Around Tahoma lenticular clouds play.

On a cold but windless night jogging across a bridge over Lake Washington in the distance the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle indicate my finishing point.  Those same structures I had spotted earlier in the day from West Tiger I and marveled that my own two feet would take me to them.  The water on the lake is as smooth as glass and I realize that there is beauty to be found in urban adventuring for those who are ready to see it.

Message to the traveler before entering the I90 Tunnel

The next morning, jogging down the sidewalk on Broadway the only other people I see are a couple of drunken holdovers from the night prior stumbling down the street and the clerk in a convenience store looking out.  He holds his hand up and I wave to him in return.  A huge smile flashes across his face and I can't help but do the same.  In that moment, I know my day will be memorable.

And very wet.

Hours later, ascending Poo Poo Point Trail I climb into a thick mist and the forest surrounding me takes on an eerie tone.  The lush greens that I am use to become muted and everything turns to different shades of gray.  I have traveled 75 miles in the last 28 hours through some of the most challenging weather.  It's been raining most of the time with the temps never rising above 40 degrees.  My feet have been soaked from the start, my cold hands crammed as far into my pockets as I can get them as my gloves are saturated with water, yet my spirits remain high.  Two years ago I wouldn't have even ventured out in this weather.  Now I look at it as just another side of Nature to be appreciated.  A few hours later I am back at my car, an out-and-back from the Summit Trailhead of Tiger Mountain to my front door complete.  An incredibly diverse mix of forest and urban environments.  Ideas for future routes swirling through my mind. 

Playing on Cougar Mountain

Days later a huge snowstorm hits, blanketing the entire area in snow.  I want to get a quick run in before work and head to Cougar Mountain.  Everything is covered in white and not long into my run, a light snow begins to fall.  I lose myself in the moment, and turn to playing and laughing in the snow.  I am sure to the outside observer I look like a complete lunatic but I am overcome by this sudden euphoria.  This winter wonderland speaks to me in a way I didn't expect and I find myself so thankful to get another chance to see these local trails covered in snow.



Finally as darkness settles over me after a long day on the trails, a big light surprises me through the trees.  Perhaps the effort of nearly 50 miles on the day has my senses a bit jumbled.  The light is coming from an area where the trail doesn't go.  I keep moving and it grows larger, the color of it a dull yellow.  I stop and then realize it is the moon breaking the horizon and glimpsed momentarily through breaks in the trees.  I turn my headlamp off, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. It feels as though every creature in the forest is silent and paying homage to this celestial object.  I switch my headlamp back on and continue to a clearing where I know I will get a better view. By the time I reach my destination, the moon has risen to above the trees.  Light wisps of cloud encircle her, but not so opaque as to block out the slightly darker tones of the craters on her surface.  It dawns on me that this object that I am looking at is 239,000 miles from me.  I let that sink in for a moment before heading back out for the final mile of my route.

Climbing the sun dappled trail on Squak Mountain

A handful of moments from a short period of time that I thought worth sharing.  A reminder that each step is the journey and is unique.  With an open mind and senses, paths you have traveled so many times before can reward you with a completely new experience on any given day. 

On a different note, I must apologize for the recent lack of material.  I have wanted to write more in-depth about some of my recent routes but found myself struggling to do so.  As easy as outdooring (I'm pretty sure that's not a word but I'm going with it) comes to me, writing does not.  I am not going to give up on it but realize that I probably won't be as proficient as some would hope. Again, if there is anything specific you as a reader would like to read more about, please let me know.

The Numbers Game - A Recap of 2016

If you aren't into numbers or stats than this quick piece is probably not going to be your cup of tea.  I have two rough drafts of 2016 recaps sitting in my Google Docs folder.  In them I had hoped to concentrate not on the numbers of the year, but what I had done to achieve those numbers.  I found that I was struggling to get my message across, spending large amounts of time just staring at the screen realizing I wasn't even close to conveying what I felt.  I am not sure why it took nearly two weeks but suddenly yesterday I understood I needed to put those pieces aside, all I was doing was fighting against the flow.  So instead, I have given into the inner numbers geek in me and will let that person come out for a few short moments. 

So without further ado, an orgy of numbers in what I promise will be one of the few times I succumb to a little ego stroking. 

 

A nice pretty graph from Excel

First off, I went into 2016 without any yearly goals.  I just wanted to focus on getting out as much as possible, especially in the winter months in conditions that were not favorable.  I felt that it would be best to condition my mind and body during those months so I could hit the summer in full stride.  If I can pass on one piece of advice to you from this, take full advantage of the winter.  It will make your summer so much more enjoyable.  Trust me.

In 2015, I just missed hitting 2,000 miles but had achieved my goal of 500,000' of gain in November.  I ended up around 550,000' for that year.  As I started 2016 I didn't  really consider that I would pass my 2015 yearly numbers, much less crush them.  I ended the year at 2,512 miles.  It can be hard to grasp how far that is so I will try and make it easier.  That's the equivalent of walking out of my place in Seattle and traveling along I-90 all the way to Kingsville, Ohio about 60 miles east of Cleveland.  Only I did it all on non-paved surfaces.  It took me 867 trail hours to accomplish this (I didn't track moving hours).  This averages to a pretty unspectacular 2.9 mph. 

Maybe the 771,000' of vertical gain slowed me down.  This is the number that still leaves me shaking my head.  A human who was mostly sedentary just four years earlier can achieve the same amount of gain as climbing 26 Mount Everests from sea level.  An average of 889 feet of gain per hour over the year.  Now I feel better about the speed!  I wanted more consistency in 2016 with my gain and I definitely made that happen with 36 of the first 38 weeks having at least 10,000' of gain.  The first nine months of the year I had at least 50,000' of gain per month.  In September those numbers all dropped off as I nursed an injury from my Wonderland Trip.

Each time I stepped onto a trail, I averaged 17 miles and 5,285 feet of gain in six hours.  I truly appreciate these numbers as so many of those 146 days on the trail were quick runs before going into work.  My longest stretch of time off during the year was only a week and I spent a few of those free days getting a root canal.  My weekly averages,  48 miles and 15,000' of climbing.  Monthly averages 209 miles and 64,000' of gain.   June was incredible.  The month began with a car-to-car on Glacier and ended with a car-to-car on Mount Olympus.  That month I set new highs in mileage (294) and elevation gain (97,000').  My biggest week was 112 miles with 37,000' of gain. 

Some other tidbits.  27 outings that were of "ultra" distance (>26.2 miles).  15 days with at least 10,000' of climbing.  239 summits a good amount of those Tiger summits, but also 15 new Bulger summits.  A side note, turning my focus to the Bulger list was one of the best things to happen in the year.  It opened up so many "new" areas to me and also challenged my to really bring my "A" game, combining trail running, cross country traveling, navigation, scrambling, and mountaineering into one. 

Some of the moments that stick out to me:  Completing the Wonderland, Section J of the PCT in 36 hours, Glacier Peak (twice), Mount Olympus, my Enchantment "Super" Loop, my six-peat of Cable Line, my Tiger 13 Summit day with 16,000' of gain,  Mount Hood in under five hours, a 46 mile North Bend Loop, the North Bend Trifecta all on foot, bailing off the Carne Mountain High Traverse and deciding to do the Spider Gap loop just a week or two before the fires shut the area down, the Mailbox to Mount Defiance Traverse, the Entiat Grand Slam, six Bulger Peaks to celebrate my 42nd birthday.   It just goes on and on...

So what made this all possible? I will try and make it as simple as I can.  I continued to try and cultivate the mentality of being present in the moment.  To enjoy each and every step while out in the mountains, to find the beauty in both the grand and also small things that I came upon while out there.  To "go with the flow" and not get hung up on goals, or to give in to the moment and follow what felt right.  If I wanted to run, I ran.  If running didn't feel like right, I walked.  I lost track of how many times I changed my mind while driving to one mountain because another mountain suddenly called to me.  I learned to listen to my gut more and turned around on so many mountains just because it didn't feel right.  No regrets afterwards.  I challenged my paradigms.  At the end of the year, being forced to walk I took a break from the mountains thinking what good is it if I can't move fast?  But I missed them, and returned to the trail and found that walking was just as good as running if I was just dialed into the present.  I also learned just how far one can walk in a day.  It served as a reset for me and ironically helped me to understand that I could do even grander adventures.

If you love numbers like me, don't feel bad about embracing them.  But as someone said recently on a group I belong to, don't become a slave to them.  Use them to your benefit, but don't find yourself being driven by them.  Nature should serve as all the motivation you need to get out on the trail as much as possible.

Oh and one last number, 32 bean burritos consumed.

Old Flames

Climbing the upper Chute.  Lake Cushman in the distance.

In December of 2012 about five months after my re-introduction to the outdoors I was perusing the Washington Trails site looking for local trails that might be of interest.  I was mostly unfamiliar with the area still and relied heavily upon the page to find local hikes.  I stumbled upon the posting for Mount Ellinor and immediately set my sights on the peak. The pictures featured in the trail reports were incredible.  Winter had set in and I knew that I would run into snow.  So I figured, why not try two new things at once?  I went to the local REI in Olympia, rented a pair of snowshoes and early in the morning I headed out.  The road was clear, until the lower trailhead where I parked and embarked on my journey.  

I ascended through the old growth forest in a heavy mist.  At the time I really didn’t notice the beauty around me.  This early in my outdoor adventuring, my focus was primarily on some end goal.  Before long I reached the junction with the upper trail, the snow deeper now, I strapped on my snowshoes and began to ascend the steeper slopes.  Quite the place to cut your teeth on a new activity but in the end, it’s just walking with bigger shoes, right?  I followed the path of a previous individual until it stopped near the Summer Route sign.  At this point, I had no idea where to go, snow had started falling and I made the decision to turn around.  Promising myself I would be back.

Not long after, in February of 2013 I was back with a new pair of MSR snowshoes, Grivel Crampons, and an ice axe.  I had to park nearly three miles from the lower trailhead and snowshoed by way up to the upper trailhead, gained the winter chute and overcame my fear of exposure to successfully summit for the first time.  I remember little of the trip other than my tunnel focus on making that summit, ignoring potential avalanche conditions in the chute.  I vividly remember, looking between my legs at one of the steeper parts of the chute and being struck by vertigo, legs shaking, I was locked in place for a few minutes before digging down and continuing on.  Summit Fever was a very real thing for me back in the early days.  Downclimbing the chute was more of the same.  But obviously, I made it back safely.  The entire outing taking a full day, leaving me exhausted as I slogged my way back to my car.

Fast forward nearly four years and probably about 6,000 mountain miles later…

I sat in my girlfriends living room at 0500, sipping on some coffee and undecided on where to go for what promised to be a cold, clear day off.  So many options open to me in this wonderful backyard we have in Washington. I sat quietly “feeling” my thoughts out. What experience did I want?  During those previous Ellinor experiences, they had been meticulously planned, pre-packed, and I was sure to be on the road by a specific time.  Let’s just say things have changed a bit.   Still undecided, I casually threw together a kit that would be usable in a variety of situations.  A skill I had dialed in over the past two years.  I grabbed a spare bean burrito I had in the fridge, threw my duffel and snowshoe bag over my shoulders and walked out the door.

Halfway down the stairs, my mind changed.  I ran back up and quickly grabbed my girlfriends ice axe off the wall.  Ellinor it was.

A two hour drive from Seattle, I knew I was going to get a later start, but I wasn’t concerned about it.  I had my headlamp and if it came down to it, a descent in the dark would be a unique experience.  As I drove south on I5, my thoughts wandered a bit to how drastically different my philosophy in the mountains had changed over the years, really spurred on by my transition from hiking to more trail running.  While conditioning and cutting down on weight had been a focus early on in the transition, there had been a side effect I wasn’t expecting.  A more relaxed, “go with the flow” mentality towards my time in the mountains.   It might seem odd that philosophy would lead to grander adventures but in my case it has.  Pages could be written on it and maybe at a later time.  The point I make for this already too long blog is unlike four years ago, I had no goal for this trip.  I was merely going out to experience Nature.

Info from an earlier report (thanks Stacia!) indicated I might be in for some sketchy road conditions and as I turned onto FS road 24, I could immediately see the Lancer and I were in for some “fun”.  A quick shout out to my Lancer, she has probably put on about 100,000 miles since our first adventure up Ellinor!  We made easy work of the ice and snow covered road for the first mile.   At that point, I came upon a gentlemen who had cleared a recent blowdown. I got out and chatted with him for a while, thanking him for making it possible for me to continue.  Then the Lancer and I entered pothole hell.  It was like driving over a frozen WWI battlefield, apologizing profusely to the Lancer as I navigated the “road”.  

At the junction with road 2419, I decided it was time to give the Lancer a break.  I carefully swung her around, well to the side of the road so others had plenty of room.  Within a few minutes, snowshoes and kit where in my UD Fastpack and I was on my way.  I found myself excited that I was starting at the base of the mountain, the longer approach would mean a more intimate experience with the mountain.  The miles went smooth and largely unnoticed.  A smile broke out on my face when I passed the spot I had pulled over those four years ago recalling how at that time how large the task at hand seemed.  I was passed by a Jeep, the driver offering me a ride but I think he knew right away that I was enjoying my walk.  A half hour later I passed them as they were backing down the road, there progress stalled by an abandoned truck blocking the way.

Continuing on a well beaten path I was able to leave the snowshoes in my pack.  I was mesmerized by the sun flashing through the trees, and the brief glimpses of Ellinor and Washington towering over me.  My focus was on each step, mindful of what new sight it brought to me.  I had lost track of time and distance as I listened to my breathing and the crunch of my shoes in the snow.  At the lower trailhead, the boot path veered towards the trail but I chose to stay on the road, strapping on my Lightning Ascent (hell of a snowshoe!).  I planned to cut up from the road on the winter shortcut for the trip up.  The road moved into the shadows here, the old growth forest on the ridgeline blocking out the sun. I watched my breath condense in the cold air as I shuffled along up the road.  

Soon I was at the winter shortcut, marked by an orange diamond affixed to a tree on the left side of the road.  But instead of hitting that route to the upper trailhead, my feet seemed to want to explore the old growth forest so I cut towards the lower trail.  The snow made it easy going under the old trees as I meandered my way up the hillside.  The glow of the sun through the thick branches throwing golden filters on the landscape around me.  I briefly lamented my long absence from this area as I realized just  how incredible it is.  My senses seeing it in an entirely “new” way from before.

A winter wonderland

Eventually I spied a sign with the word “Summit” and an arrow pointing to the right.  I had come upon the lower trail.  I followed the well worn track as it switchbacked up the slope,  the trees above me creaked and groaned in the wind.  I quickly gained the upper trail, where the climb steepened.  I expected the real work to start here based on previous experience but it felt like just a few moments before I was seeing the “Summit Route” sign.   The wind had stopped and the air around me was warm as I broke fresh trail in the powdery snow.  Sharp edged shadows cut across the unbroken snow as I zig zagged through the smaller trees at this higher elevation.  Brief views of the winter chute showed me its slopes were smooth and I would enjoy kicking steps up it.

Breaking free of the treeline, the slope steepened and I started to put some work in.  As I neared the area where the chute narrows, the snow changed characteristics, the top layer became firm with soft powder underneath. I scanned my memory banks trying to remember what that meant in terms of avalanche risk.  Every year I review this info in November but by January, have lost track of it.  I made a mental note to download the info to my phone upon my return home.  I tested the snow out with the ice axe and a trekking pole and made a tentative push further up into the chute.  The snow was hard and I was unable to break through.  I strapped on my crampons and continued to ascend.  I looked down often, having made huge strides in taming my fear of exposure and steep slopes. 

My tracks after descending the chute

I passed a steeper portion of the chute, and took in the snow formations surrounding me.  I didn’t like what I saw, the slopes surrounding the chute showing lots of recent but small avalanche activity.  As I neared the final few hundred vertical feet of the chute, again I started to punch through a thick layer into a softer layer.  I stopped.  My “Spidey Sense” was telling me things were not right.  I have learned to listen very closely to this voice of mine.  I stomped out a little seat, sat down for a few minutes and took in the sweeping views of the land below me.  In the distance three volcanoes brooded over the land.  Giant sentinels dwarfing everything around them.  I checked in on my phone, telling of my plan to turn around.  No Summit Fever burning to continue on despite possible risk.  The day had already gone far beyond expectation (because I didn’t have any).

Snow, rock, trees, lakes.. what more could one ask for?

Descending the chute quickly, I snatched up my snowshoes I had left at the base and made my way back towards the trail.  I paused often to enjoy the sun on my face, soaking in the vitamin D.  I stopped to chat briefly with the two from the Jeep.  They were headed up to set up camp and dig a pit to check out snow conditions.  I hope they got some sweet turns in.  I opted to follow the entire lower trail down to switch things up a bit.  Again, in awe of the massive trees surrounding me.  I ran into another small group out enjoying the day.  At the lower trailhead, the snowshoes were removed, and I put on my headphones wanting a soundtrack on the trip down.  The five miles to my car were a blur of tunes, blue sky, white snow and yellow rays from the Sun.  I arrived at the car not sure of the exact time or just how far I traveled.  The curious feeling of being out in the mountains for a long time mixed with a feeling of being out there for barely any time at all washed over me. Timeless, as many writers have described that sensation.  When you are left with that at the end of your time in Nature, you know you had the full experience.

Unfortunately, the following two miles felt like eternity on that shitty road as I munched on my cold bean burrito and cursed every seemingly bottomless pothole I managed to drive into.