Singletrack Minds #3 - 'Running'

Annals of Summer: Photos of the Week - "The Twins" & "Water Over Rock"

Coming off of Snowyside Pass looking through the ages at Twin Lakes in the Sawtooth National Forest; Idaho.

Nearing Snowyside Pass from Toxaway Lake; Sawtooth National Forrest; Idaho.

Annals of Summer: Photo of the Week - "The Pass"

So, how does trail running differ from road running?  A picture's worth a thousand words.  Closing out 19 backcountry miles with a grunt up from Box Canyon to Johnstone Pass (elev 10,000 ft); Pioneer Mountains, Idaho.

A Comic Outing: Running in the Pioneers (Volume 1; Issue 1)

If yesterday's challenging 19 mile (6,000 ft vert) run on the PK Pass to Johnstone Pass loop in the Pioneer Mountains was anything, it was comic.  So what better way to do it justice than with...a comic?  Below is Volume 1; Issue 1 of Running in the Pioneers.

(Click image to enlarge)

Devils Bedstead and Beyond: Summer Finally Arrives in the High Country

As was general across the mountain west this year, summer took a long time to arrive here in Sun Valley.  The dreary spring gave new energy to the snow gods who were able to hold on to the high country well beyond their usual reign. And while we runners have not necessarily been patient, we've endured a long long wait to visit those trails we've been longing for since last October.

The last ten days or so, it seems we've finally been released - into the wild.

Trail-level view, Fourth of July Lake

And it's been amazing.  Though there are still a few lonesome ridges and shadowed basins above 11,000 ft holding on to some deep snow, the vast majority of routes have opened up, bringing with it that great sense of urgency to run as much, to climb as much as one possibly can before things turn again in early fall. 

Last weekend, I started things off with some fantastic running in the White Cloud Mountains around Fourth of July Lake.  Though I've been in Sun Valley for a while now, I'd never run in this range, and it was nothing short of spectacular - challenging terrain, amazing landscapes, and a lot of sustained high elevation routes.

Looking down on Fourth of July Lake from Ants Basin overlook.

Gang of Four in front of Devils Bedstead West

This past weekend my wife and I made the trek up to Devils Bedstead West (DBW) in the Pioneer Mountains.  The Pioneers dominate the landscape in the Sun Valley area, and are the source of much pointing and yearning: "I want to go to the top of that!"  And that is just what I've felt about DBW since last fall, when AJW, Mike Stevens, Brad Mitchell, and I had our photo taken in front of it at the tail end of their epic "Pioneer High Line" run.

At 11,051 feet, DBW isn't monstrous, but it's pretty tall for Idaho, and the trip to the top has a great mix of soft, wooded singletrack, talus, unparalleled views, and just enough hairball scrambling to remind you how much you love life.

Maxing out my meager scrambling skills on the knife-edge crux

Looking down on Kane Lake from the top.

Family fun.

Finishing off this opening session of summer, I hit the Bald Mountain Trail last night around 7:45pm.  The trail is five miles of runnable singletrack that climbs about 3,200 feet to the top of the Sun Valley ski hill (Baldy).  This time of year it can be overrun with locals and tourists alike and can make for some frustrating running, but the sustained, measured climbing makes it a go-to training and fitness test.

Beginning at the tail end of Sunday night after the down-mountain lifts had closed, I had the hill all to myself, and it became a very special outing.  The 90 degree day cooled quickly in the north slope shadow; I felt really strong, and as the sun began to set the mountain came alive with colors and with animals like I'd never seen before on Baldy.  I thought of a recent Verlyn Klinkenborg piece in the New York Times ("One Fine Day") that perfectly described what things felt like.  He writes about a beautiful summer day on his farm where: "Either everything was sentient along with me, or we were all sharing a vital insentience."

Even for life on the trail it was a rare moment - one of those times that reminds us why we run, why we venture into the wild, and particularly why we do them both together.  

A rare moment in a short season.   Time to stop writing and uncover the next one. 

Pioneer Cabin: A Portrait Project

For whatever reason, my long runs this summer have all been lackluster at best and real chores at worst, a frustrating thing in what should be the high season of mountain life. But, in a rare moment of successfully channeling negative energy in a positive direction, I decided that on Sunday's outing up to Pioneer Cabin in Sun Valley (up the North Fork of Hyndman Crk and down Johnstone Crk, for those who might care), I'd take time along the way for a mini-project I'd been wanting to tackle for a while: chronicling a backcountry run in self-portraits.  

It sounds a bit corny, I admit, but I've long been fascinated with photo self-portraits and their honest attempt to capture a moment or express a sentiment even if they're by definition premeditated.  So I took my miniature tripod and took my time and snapped a few images that I think did decent justice to the day.  

Running Solo?

Running Green

Steep and Wide

Pioneer Cabin (In)

Pioneer Cabin (Out)

Rock and Snow

Trail's End

Classic Sun Valley: Wildflowers & Singletrack (Photo)

I've been posting a lot of photos lately on Run Junkie, so much so that even this camera-crazed trail runner decided to go light on images for a little bit. And then there was yesterday's run with a handful of Sun Valley locals and Boise's Ben Blessing, who was in town for some July 4 gigs. Despite inexplicably bonking on the last 5 miles, I maintained enough strength to snap some photos of what can only be described as classic Sun Valley singletrack.

Here's one of my favorites of the day, which captures for me so much of what I love about our sport:

Descending the Adams Gulch trail towards Harpers turnoff; Sun Valley, Idaho

Dawn on Angels Landing (Zion NP)

Angels Landing - Lower switchbacks leading up to Refrigerator Canyon

As great a run as it was and as fabulous a setting as it was, I had second thoughts about posting anything about my Saturday morning trip up to Angels Landing in Zion National Park.  Though I'd never heard of the trail before the trip to Zion, it quickly became clear that Angels Landing was "the" destination in the Park proper, similar to Old Faithful in Yellowstone, if not nearly as accessible or safe.  Yet, the compelling nature of the short route (5 miles roundtrip, 1,400 feet vert) had me rethinking things yesterday, and when I saw that Patagonia's new header photo featured the lower climb's switchbacks, I thought, overplayed or not, I'd put something up.

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Parachute at Tanner

After a late Friday night watching my nephew's band, Parachute, play Tanner Amphitheater in Springdale, I got up at first light Saturday morning to run the 5 or so miles to the Angels Landing trailhead, both to nab a few extra miles and to beat the shuttle-sequestered summer crowds amped to test their mettle on the storied, trecherous route.  Given how crowded the park had been the previous afternoon and evening, it was a serene run up-canyon to The Grotto, where the trail starts: canyon walls silhouetted against a dark cobalt sky.  Really beautiful.

After hitting The Grotto, things pretty quickly turn to climbing with two steep sets of switchbacks, which end at Scout Lookout, where the trail runs out onto a narrow knife-edge rocky ridge with - no exaggeration - thousand foot drops on either side and an on-and-off sturdy chain to use as a handhold.  I thought I might be nervous on this section, but with the chain and very few other people to contend with at that hour, it went smoothly, if cautiously.  Once on the Landing, the views of the canyon are amazing: high enough for a bird's eye view but low enough to appreciate the varied relief of Zion.

It's not the highest run; it's not the longest run; it may be the most crowded run; but it's still one to put on the Zion hit list.

Some photos below, which, unfortunately, reflect my desire to beat the crowds up and down.  I also put together a video slideshow. If you like funky Mos Def, check it out, too.

First light, running from park entrance to the Angels Landing trailhead at The Grotto

Along the river toward the first climb (photo: KJB)

Leaving safe harbor of Scout Lookout for the knife-edge ridge to the Landing

"Step of Faith" leading the narrowest section of trail with 1,000 ft drop-off on either side. Landing in first sun

Ridge leading to Angels Landing

On top, looking down canyon at the Virgin River

Looking up canyon, toward Weeping Rock, Observation Point and Temple of Sinawava 

Zion, Baby! Observation Point Trail

Amidst the chaos of a family trip to Zion National Park this week, I was able to find a little sanctuary of my own yesterday with a blazing hot, noontime trip up to Observation Point, a 4 mile trail up to - you guessed it - a fantastic lookout over Zion Canyon. The trail climbs about 2,200 feet over 4 miles, with basically two steep climbs punctuated in between by a fairly flat section through Echo Canyon - a slot canyon with some really striking features. Took the camera, as usual.

Trailhead

First set of switchbacks.

Through Echo Canyon.

Getting nearer to the top. Beautiful, exposed, and hot.

Cactus with a view.

Observation Point.

(Re)Joyce: Ultrarunning and James Joyce, Bloomsday Edition

Today is June 16 -  Bloomsday - a red letter date for fans of James Joyce and his expansive novel, Ulysses, because it is the day all the events in the book take place: where the lives of two souls - Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom (hence, Bloomsday) - are laid bare as they make their distracted, angst-ridden, and entertaining way around 1904 Dublin, Ireland.

It is an amazing work that is both inspiring and infuriating.  It is also one that I came to see bore a number of parallels with ultrarunning after my own full day at the Wasatch Front 100 in 2009.  I wrote a post about that that September called One Hundred Miles with James Joyce: My Foos Won't Moos.

So, in honor of Bloomsday, I'm reprinting that post below, which calls out Ulysses, Finnegans Wake, and Joyce's overall philosophy of life.

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September 30, 2009
One Hundred Miles with James Joyce: My Foos Won't Moos

A transcendent romp through the night that meshes the real and imaginary, capturing life's tragedy and triumphs in the sample of hours between dusk and dawn. 


A circuitous, all day journey from watering hole to watering hole, where the same clutch of people cross paths throughout the day until they all come together in a liquid and calorie-fueled finale.


Descriptions of the last 100 miler you did?

Most likely. But they're also the plot lines (as they are) of James Joyces' Finnegans Wake and Ulysses, respectively.

Though I've been a runner and a devotee of Joyce for most of my adult life, it was only in the last month that I saw any parallels between his writings and my running. During my usual mind games a couple weeks ahead of Wasatch, a phrase from the washerwomen chapter of Finnegans Wake kept coming into my mind, a phrase that would presage my first mile heading out of Brighton on race day.

In the close of Book 1, two washerwomen are doing laundry in the river, sharing rumors of the novel's two main characters. As night falls, they begin to transform - one into a tree; another into a stone (you just have to go with it). As the one woman changes into a tree, she tells the other: "Myfoos won't moos." Written in Joyce's at-times-maddening "night language," the line translates to, among other things: "My feet won't move."

So I had a great time playing this line with my wife in the lead up to the race, thinking of the 26,000 feet of climbing to conquer and the ever-increasing temps called for on race day. And the night ofWasatch, I actually did my best-ever washerwoman impression heading out of Brighton at mile 75. If I wasn't the personification of someone slowly turning into a tree, I don't know what I was (see previous post). Just ask my pacer - and the four people who passed us.

But, even beyond such a direct connection, Joyce's general philosophy meshes wonderfully with that of ultra-running. He reveled in the extraordinary within the ordinary. Whether it was a lowly advertising canvasser (Leopold Bloom in Ulysses) or a hod carrying father of three (Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker in Finnegans Wake), he saw within each person's life a complex web of history, philosophy, mythology, observation and desire forged in the trials and triumphs of every day. Who of us who has been lucky enough to race, run, or walk through a 100 miles hasn't felt such a broad transcendent experience in that enriched time between the gun and finish line?

Moreover, Joyce's characters are nothing if not peripatetic. In Ulysses, the main characters journey in and around Dublin in an exhausting and event-filled day that begins at dawn and finishes with a final collapse into bed in the wee hours. In Finnegans Wake - perhaps the most ultra-esque novel - the characters traverse time, space, and reality as dreams and hallucinations play out over the course of a single, wild night.

Yes, I know. Such simple parallels between Joyce and ultra-running are not the thing that dissertations are made of, but I've always treasured the connections in my life - the small things that cross-over from one passion to the other, magnifying both. So, it was a real gift to finally see a connection between my favorite sport and my favorite author, so much so it was almost OK that heading out of Brighton my foos wouldn't moos.