Backpacking, Part 2

After all the excitement of our attempts to leave for the trip, we did actually make it to the trailhead sometime around 2PM. In actuality, that was much earlier than we had gotten to the trailhead our last backpacking trip. I think we got there about 6PM that time, and I made it to the campsite just as dusk was falling.

When Kris and I got to the trailhead, the rest of the group had already taken off, leaving one behind to let us know to catch up. That we did in about a mile or two. Then, as a group, we took off for Bob and Betty Lakes, where we'd be spending the night. It was about a 6 1/2 mile hike or so, with around 3000 feet of elevation gain. Not so simple with all your gear on your back.

After stopping a couple times to let squalls pass, we actually did make it to the campsite. Predictably, that close to the divide, it was cold and windy. We set up camp quickly, and tried to settle in. And, after some difficulty with making numb fingers tie knots in monofilament, I braved the wind and threw a few casts into the water.

Quite to my surprise, my second cast landed me a little brook trout, which I promptly released.

It would prove to be the only fish caught that trip.

The wind proved a bit much, and I ended after that minor feat with an impressive line snarl for my trouble. I opted to call it quits, make dinner (mmm ramen . . .) and head for bed with the sun.

Sleep was hard to come by. Throughout that night, the wind was gusting at, I'm guessing, between 40 and 60 mph. My little Halfdome tent handled it well, but I did not get much (read any) sleep. And me being me, I woke up earlier than everybody else.

It was a gray, cold day.

Our plan was to scout up the Continental Divide (or High Lonesome) trail, which we were hoping to follow the next day to hop over to Devil's Thumb Lake. But after looking at the divide, or at least in the general direction as seen above, we opted out of that plan, and decided to head down valley instead, following the view below.

Much more inviting. There were, however, a number of rather pretty, if small, wildflowers near our first campsite.



Actually, there were quite a few more than this, but I liked these.

This little guy was our camp mascot. Fortunately, he never found his way into our food supplies. That would have made it all the more annoying up there. This was something like my 8th attempt to take a picture of him. Every other time, just as I was focusing in on him, he disappeared. I think he was just waiting till he could pose properly . . .

A pic of the rest of the gang. Left to right: Kris, Luke, Lelah, Rachel, Phil. (Click the picture to enlarge).

Shortly after that pic, and another mile or so onwards and downwards, I realized I had left my little tackle box up at the first campsite. So, naturally, I told the rest to go on, and ran back up the mile and a half and 800 feet of elevation to go get it. And, right in the middle, I got nailed by a hailstorm, fully vindicating our decision to leave and head down.

Not much more to report after that. We made it down to our campsite for night two, off the trail and by a creek under some large evergreens. It proved much more comfortable, if much buggier, than the previous site. And, following a failed fishing expedition to Lost Lake, we opted to sleep (for 11 hours) and head out in the morning.


It's a cheesy shot, I know, but they all lined up on the bridge so nicely, that I couldn't resist taking a shot. This is the last 20 feet or so of hiking, right by the trailhead. Left to Right: Lelah (rather hidden behind Rachel), Rachel, Kris, Phil, and Luke.

Not the most successful of backpacking trips ever. But as Calvin says, in an impersonation of his dad, "being miserable builds character." It wasn't all miserable, but we certainly had some character building on this trip . . .

The Start of an interesting trip.

Last Thursday, I headed up to Indian Peaks with five friends, and high hopes, to do what was planned as a four day backpacking trip. The trip did not start well.

Before we even got out of Boulder, my friend Luke's dad called, saying his bike broke and he needed a couple tools. So we promptly delivered those, and were on our way only a half hour late.

And we opted to stop for lunch at Chipotle for burritos, a bit of a tradition on these trips. As Kris and I were walking back to my car after lunch, we heard the unmistakable "screeeeeech THUNK!!!" of a car crash. And, sure enough, two seconds later, we got a call saying "we've been in an accident." Fortunately, nobody was hurt, which is even more fortunate given that the woman who hit Luke was pregnant (8 months or so?).

Any way, we headed off up the canyon, but right as we turned onto Canyon, we got passed by three emergency vehicles, which we proceeded to follow up the canyon to Nederland.

But we didn't reach Ned right away. One of the emergency vehicles was a dive team, which stopped at the reservoir at the top of the canyon. The number of police, fire, and rescue cars at the reservoir was astounding. We ended up stopped for about half an hour as what we hoped would be a rescue was under way.

We finally did get to the trailhead, despite the delays, but Kris and I were wondering if the trip should even continue, or whether there would even be a trailhead, given the array of mishaps that had already happened.

Turns out, the trip went ok. The tableau at the reservoir was a search and rescue operation for a fisherman at Barker who had jumped in after his pole. His friend had jumped in after him, but had to let him go after the fisherman started pulling his would-be rescuer under. Regrettably, the search and rescue did not involve a rescue in time: the fisherman had succumbed to the cold and drowned soon after jumping in.

Moral of the story: if your rod falls into water that cold, don't go in after it. It's not worth your life. Hypothermia can strike within minutes in water of that temperature, and the muscles will seize up long before then.

More on the rest of the trip in the next post.

Diamond Lake Trail

In a fit of nostalgia, I revisited the first real trail I hiked when I moved to Colorado yesterday: Diamond Lake. Last time I went up there, the second day I was in CO, I hiked up to the lake in early July with my dad. This time, I ran the trail, and it seemed remarkably easy for most of its length.

I was glad to have my little Subaru on the way up. Most of thee Fourth of July Road is easily passable by most passenger cars, but there are a few tricky bits where I was glad for the extra clearance. I'm not sure how my dad ever managed it with a fully-loaded minivans (my worldly possessions were still in the van last time). And I had completely forgotten how long the road seems in a car. But, with only mild abuse (and no bottoming out) I made it to the trailhead.


Diamond Lake is somewhere over this direction. The trail heads off to the northwest, and then crosses the North Fork Middle Boulder Creek, and heads back southeast to the lake. Much of the trail is basically a traverse.


Right where the trail crosses the creek, there's a rather pretty cascade. This is the best pic I got.


Despite it being almost July, there was still a lot of snow on the trail. So much snow, in fact, that I kept losing the trail. There were a wide variety of footprints heading off different directions, and I kept taking wrong turns and having to backtrack. It was so snowy, in fact, that I never actually found the lake. I wandered around the alpine meadows for a while (on the snowfields, really) and then decided to take a waterfall pic and head back.


I'm assuming this is a cascade that feeds into Diamond Lake . . .


The Diamond Lake trail is known for the streams that cross the trail along the traverse leading up the valley. Most, I could run across, but this one was a little precarious for that. It's always a little nerve wracking. I'm just glad my new trail shoes grip so well on even wet rocks.


And looking up at the same creek crossing.

This was a rare run for me, in that it took longer to drive to and from the trailhead than to actually run the trail. But, the driving is fun too, so it works out.

Right, it's kickoff time for the final of the Confederations Cup. Gotta go . . .

14ers done the right way

Last Saturday, I roused a few of my friends out of bed at an ungodly hour of the morning, and we took off in my little Subaru to Fairplay, there to tackle Mt Sherman. Granted, it's a relatively easy 14er as they go, but it was fun nonetheless.

There was a 12 mile dirt road on the approach to the mountain. The only bit that was at all tricky was in the last mile. But my little car handled it like a pro, without a dint. Gotta love her.



The first stretch of the trail was really a road up to the old mine. Not so tough. And the altitude (around 11,800' or so) wasn't affecting me at all. But I figured that couldn't last.



Looking up at the mine.



A little after that pic, the trail split up two different ways. My friend Jonathan and I opted to take the route that went straight up the gully. It was a little steep.



It was very steep. We ended up having to go on all fours much of the way up, and even then, we slid back half a step for every step we went forward. And it was more than a little muddy.



And the summit was a little bit snowy. The amazing part was, the altitude didn't seem to affect me at all. I was running along the summit ridge, singing, and not getting out of breath. It was fantastic, and it bodes well for the possibility of running the Leadville Heavy Half in July.

And then came the fun part: going down, via the snowfields. This time, we got video:



And yes, that odd sound is me trying not to laugh.

Like I said, 14ers done the right way: straight up the side, and straight down the snowfields. 2 hrs up, 30 minutes down.

A New Perspective on the Flatirons

Last Thursday, before I got my new trail shoes but after I got my new orthotics, I had to take a day off running. I had intended to take the day off entirely, but it was a misty, rainy day. Those are my favorite for trail running: everything just seems fresher, somehow. That, and it's never as horribly warm.

So, rather than trail running, I went for one of my favorite hikes: Saddle Rock in Chautauqua here in Boulder. It's a rather steep, fairly short hike, and the views from the top are generally spectacular. You get a view across at Flagstaff, and down into Boulder as well.

And since I wasn't running, it was easy to take my camera along and get a few good pics.


The Rock for which the trail is named. I didn't get a great pic of the actual "saddle" part, but you can see, it's up there a bit.

From the top, as I mentioned, you get some great views. Being spring, the Chautauqua Meadow is actually green, instead of the dead brown it turns later in the summer. It was somehow prettier when I took the picture.

At this point, I looked up farther, at the back of one of the Flatirons, and opted to hike to it. After a significant climb, I scrambled around on the rocks for a while, and found a niche that provided a bit of a different perspective on the Flatirons.

I thought it was pretty cool how close the angle of the Flatiron I was on was to the next one over.

The best part of the hike? I got a call in the middle of it saying that my new shoes had come in. When I got to Fleet Feet to pick them up, the person who sold them to me turned out to be a fellow Colby grad.

Small world.

Today, I'm going for a short Dakota Ridge/Sanitas Valley Run. Tomorrow, hopefully Betasso Preserve with Jessica.

Nemesis: Spring

Two days ago I picked up a book I'd been intending to read for some time: "No Shortcuts to the Top," by Ed Viesturs. For those who may not know, Viesturs is one of the world's pre-eminent Himalayan climbers, having summited all 14 of the world's 8000 meter peaks without the use of suplemental oxygen. He is also known for his rather conservative approach to climbing, emphasized by his motto "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory." In my, completely uneducated, relatively uninformed opinion, that shows far more integrity and daring than the gung ho style adopted by many mountaineers.

All that aside, one of the chapters in the book is entitled "Nemesis: Annapurna." Annapurna is the deadliest of the 8000 meter peaks by some measures, and the last one Viesturs knocked off his list, and became, quite literally, a nemesis for him.

I've decided that my nemesis, at least as far as running goes, is spring. I don't know what it is about this season, but I have trouble running through it. I generally manage pretty well through January and February, which by all rights should be the most difficult months, being the coldest on the whole. Once March comes around, however, things start to go wrong. I start to accrue little injuries that, while not seeming significant in and of themselves, add up and lead to something larger.

Last year, it was a quad/hamstring issue that kept me from training. This year, it was an IT band problem, which stemmed, I believe, from the breakdown of my orthotics. Whatever it happens to be, I end up not training much in April, and rarely in May. And then, seemingly magically, though probably due to the rest I'm forced to take, sometime in May I get back into it in time for the summer/fall/winter seasons.

My nemesis is spring.

Just last Friday, I got a new pair of orthotics. This is just in time for me to be very tempted to run the Bolder Boulder on Memorial day. But, as I well know, that would be a poor choice at this point. So once again, I will be watching from Folsom Stadium.

Part of me is very disappointed about this, but part of me accepts it as almost inevitable. And, the fact of the matter is that this blog is very appropriately titled "Racing Through the Wilderness." At heart, I am a trail runner. While I would not say I despise running on roads, I definitely do not love it as I do trail running. Road running almost bores me, while, even when running the same trails day after day, trail running nevertheless offers variety. I also believe that it is primarily because I tend to run on the roads so much more in the winter months that, by the spring, my legs are so beat up that they give in.

Simply put: every trail is different. Beyond relatively superficial differences, roads are generally similar to each other.

I, for one, am glad that summer is coming.

The scary thing is it just might happen

But it won't be for a while yet. Last year, towards the end of the summer, my friend Sonya and her boy rode their mountain bikes from Boulder over Rollins Pass to Winter Park. It's a long way, but they seemed to manage ok.

Well, that got me to thinking, I want to run longer races this summer (the Leadville Heavy Half, Pikes Peak, and the Golden Leaf among them), so why not throw an epic run in there somewhere?

That's right, I want to run from Boulder to Winter Park. This would start at my house in Boulder, at an elevation of approximately 5400 feet above sea level. On the way, I would head up through Nederland (8500 feet) and up into Indian Peaks Wilderness over the continental divide (12,250 feet, more or less). And down the other side to end up in Winter Park (9500 feet).

I'm not sure of the exact route yet. I would prefer not to take the same route the bikers did, as there was a lot of road involved. I'd prefer to stay on the trails whenever possible, which might make the route even longer than the 45 miles I'm estimating right now. We shall see.

I have friends who are willing to, in their words, "sit at the brewery and wait for" me to get there, and drive me back (after what I'm certain would be a large dinner). I also have a friend who, since she's planning to run an Ultra later in the month, would run this with me.

The scary part is it might just happen, and it's up to me to 1) train enough so that it's possible and 2) organized so we don't die . . .