I don't have a lot of free time in my life, with which I'm perfectly fine. I'm happy to cook each night and enjoy bath time with Colin. I run hard on the weekends and spend time with my family. But when Dana was out of town and Colin was spending the night at his cousin's house, I set my sights on an adventure of moderate proportions. The plan was to get out of work promptly at 5:00 on Wednesday June 13th, head up to the Hessie trailhead outside of Eldora (outside of Nederland {outside of Boulder}) and complete the ~15 mile "High Lonesome Loop" a.k.a. the "Hessie Loop".
Conditions were perfect: we're one week before the Summer Solstice so I had until 9:00ish for daylight; Dana and Colin were taken care of; I was fit; I was looking for some variation in my running; the weather was good. Below is a map of the route I would take, with the planned route as a dotted red line. Leaving from Hessie, I would travel west to the intersection of King Lake / Devil's Thumb Trail, and head northwest on the Devil's Thumb Bypass trail. I'd take that up to Jasper Lake, then Devil's Thumb Lake, then up Devil's Thumb Pass (elevation 12,014'). Once over the headwall and onto the other side of the Continental Divide, I would head south on the Continental Divide / High Lonesome Trail to the intersection at King Lake. From there I'd drop down off the Divide and head east on the King Lake Trail, back to the original intersection, and back to my car. It's roughly 16 miles with 3,800' of elevation gain.
Everything that day went pretty well. I took a 17min nap in my car during lunch, got out at 4:30pm and was getting dressed by 5:30 at the trailhead. I was really really unsure of how to dress and debated it the whole drive up. Bringing a vest meant I could bring my good map and additional food, but it was 75deg at the trailhead (93 at work) and I knew I'd super overheat early on. I landed on no vest. Just trail shoes, socks, shorts, running hat, t-shirt, heart rate monitor strap, and Garmin 610 GPS watch. 2 gels, 2 8oz. clip-on (this is important later) flasks of pineapple Skratch Labs, an 8.5x11" paper map I printed at work and my phone / camera / flashlight device.
I ate on the way up so I was nice and topped off. After watering the local flora, I did some leg swings and 1 set of a few PT exercises to wake up the muscles, and promptly got a bloody nose. WTH? To say it is dry here is an understatement (see: High Park fire), but it kind of rattled me. I got it to stop, walked 50' up the incline to the edge of the parking lot, hit the start button and got running. 5:48pm. All is well. Below is the edge of the parking lot.
The first junction. 6:00pm.
The first mistake I made was getting on the Fastest Known Times website at work. For those unfamiliar, it's a list of running records for trails and runs that aren't officially timed in an event. I've never been a speed hiker and don't really believe in it. I go to the mountains to enjoy nature, get away from it all, see new things, and challenge myself. This, however, was in fact a workout, just in a beautiful place. But I worked the math on my drive up and still thought I could make a run at the FKT of 2:28:xx if things went well. I was traveling light, legs felt fine, weather was good, I was motivated, and there was no reason to think it wasn't a possibility. But there were a few problems. 1) I started my watch not actually at the trailhead, but about 5min before it when I left the parking lot, since the "true" trailhead is unaccessible to all but burly 4WD vehicles, so I had to keep that in mind. 2) I didn't actually know how long the loop was. 14? 15? 15.5? All I knew for sure was the time, but failed to note the true distance, so I couldn't figure out what pace I needed to run. And considering the first 7miles were 99% uphill, sometimes with my hands on my knees pushing up the Pass, trying to figure out how far off I was from an unknown pace was very frustrating. It took away from the experience a bit, being caught up in uncertain numbers, but I was flying and thought I shouldn't forget about it until I had reason to. I'd hate to have messed around only to miss it by 2 minutes or something.
So I was humping it out of the gate - 10 and 11 minute miles up stairs, over snowfields, across rivers, around downed trees. The latter were the most annoying. You definitely had to walk / bushwhack to get around em, and on the way up there were probably 8. Looks like a wind storm of hurricane proportions blew through there recently and laid to waste a ton of trees. I was conscious of the trail forking and made all the correct turns, never checking my map and made it to the gorgeous Jasper Lake in exactly an hour.
Entering the Wilderness area.
Viewing the terrain ahead. I would eventually be beyond and behind those mountains.
The approach to Jasper Lake was almost as gorgeous as the lake itself.
Stunning Jasper Lake, complete with islands.
I made a mental note to return to this lake as it really was gorgeous. Those are islands out there - really cool looking. I kept going to find more snowfields that I had to traverse and the elevation started to tick up over 11k' (trailhead was 8,900') and I was feeling it. My calves were smoked from basically being on my toes for 50 of the last 60 minutes. My quads were also hurting from the work. An hour had gone by, and I thought if I eat 1 gel at 1 hour and the 2nd gel at 2 hours, that leaves somewhere between 30 and 60 minutes until I'm back to the car. So that's fine. 1 hour. 1 gel. Tasted good. Rationed my Skratch, alternating flask bottles to 1 sip / mile, which was leaving me pretty thirsty. I didn't have a lot of options though, so rationing would have to suffice.
I was feeling pretty discouraged as my times were slowing because of snow, trees, fatigue, and altitude, but when I hit Devil's Thumb Lake, I felt better. There was an old man in a field about 100' off the trail. Winter hat, coat, pants. He was dressed appropriately - I was legitimately chilly, though sweating, as I entered the shadow the Divide itself, where the sun didn't shine, and the snow was all around me. I verified with him it was Devil's Thumb Lake and he looked at me like I was a sheer lunatic. It couldn't've been 50deg out and there I was, 7:15pm, on my way up the Pass, in shorts and a t-shirt, my water bottles concealed by my shirt.
I was feeling pretty discouraged as my times were slowing because of snow, trees, fatigue, and altitude, but when I hit Devil's Thumb Lake, I felt better. There was an old man in a field about 100' off the trail. Winter hat, coat, pants. He was dressed appropriately - I was legitimately chilly, though sweating, as I entered the shadow the Divide itself, where the sun didn't shine, and the snow was all around me. I verified with him it was Devil's Thumb Lake and he looked at me like I was a sheer lunatic. It couldn't've been 50deg out and there I was, 7:15pm, on my way up the Pass, in shorts and a t-shirt, my water bottles concealed by my shirt.
Devil's Thumb Lake - I never got a real good look at it. Such is life when you're in a hurry.
Looking up at Devil's Thumb Pass - the trail is there, though barely visible.
Just a little farther now.
This was about 6miles in and I realized on a 15mile hike, I'm rapidly approaching the point of no return. That is, if I needed to bail, I needed to bail now. No sense in bailing at mile 7 with halfway so close, and at mile 8 I'm already closer to home. The thought entered my mind many times ascending the Pass, which was quite steep. Hands on knees, just trying to keep walking. A quick glance at the Garmin states it was 18% for .55 miles, and I'm sure there were spikes in there that were steeper. No way to run. Just walking the best I could. This was mentally tough - going so slow, already nervous about time and weather, with wet socks and shoes. And cold. And windy. And in the shade. I could see the top and was thrilled. I prepared myself for at least 1 false summit, and in the first time in hiking history, there weren't any. So that was a nice relief. Then came the hammer. A snow shelf, a good 300' wide and between 30' and 6' thick laid in front of me. Curse word. My options were to traverse north (the opposite way I wanted to ultimately go) across loose talus to avoid it, all while the penalty for slipping, tripping or falling was high. Or to follow 1 of 2 sets of tracks straight up it. The first set followed the trail and was probably 12 vertical feet of snow. Doesn't sound like much, but when you have bare hands and trail shoes (not to mention fried legs), it looked like a mile. The 2nd set of tracks veered away from the trail, but the swath of snow was only 5' high. Either turn around or go up that and finish, those were my only options.
If I could dig in with my toes, I'd go for it. But if it was icy and hard, I'm out. Thankfully it was very soft due to the high (for snow) temperatures. I was able to kick out the entire toe box of my shoe. I kicked a good foot hold, moved up, kicked another one, got back down and figured out my exact approach. Penalty for failure was again very high. I also blew in my hands and got them as warm as I could - ice axes would've been nice here. And some crampons or microspikes. With 2 footholds in, about half-way, I went for it. I had to make an awkward move at the end and both of my calves cramped, making me pull hard into the snow with my hands and more or less lunge forward onto the talus above the snow shelf. That scared me pretty good - not to mention hurt - but at least most of me was on rock and I was past it. It took probably 4 minutes to move 10'. So now I was super rattled. My hands were numb, my calves killed, and there I was, 12,000' in the air, fully exposed to the wind, 7:26pm, with more than halfway to go. How can I be so tired and be so far away? Shit. This isn't going well.
Looking back over the snow shelf, with Devil's Thumb Lake and Jasper Lake in the shadows to the left.
The good news came in the form of the sun, which I felt like I hadn't had on me in some time. It really did warm up, and once I dried off, the wind seemed more bearable. It was a flat stretch of just over 2 miles to the next Pass above King Lake, so I tried my best to cover that ground as well as I could. But life is different at 12k'. Jogging 10 minute miles is exhausting. So I half-walked / half-jogged and briefly debated running down the hill to Winter Park, which was clear as day, has an awesome bar called The Cheeky Monk, and looked so close. Once there I was screwed as I had no ID or money, only a phone, so other than convincing Steve or Brandon or Sean to come pick me up, it would do me no good. At some point in here I realized I dropped a water bottle, probably while scaling the Pass or snow shelf. So that really dampened my mood. I checked the one I had - 3-4oz. were left, tops. That's not much for 9 miles at 12k', when you were sweating hard for 2 hours already. I couldn't go back, even if I did find it, it would cost me more energy than could be gained from whatever was left in that bottle, probably again about 4oz.
I also realized for the first time that I was completely exposed with no back-up plan. I'd been caught in an outhouse in a lightning storm, I'd hiked up to 12k' at 10:00pm by myself in the dead of winter, and been utterly lost trying to find a hut. But every time I had a backpack full of food and clothes which would keep me alive through the night. This time I had nada. Overnight lows were still in the 30s, and being dehydrated and calorie-deficient, I'm pretty sure an unwelcome fate awaited me if I bedded down on that hillside. Must. Keep. Running.
On the High Lonesome Trail, connecting to King Lake Trail.
I finally saw Rollins Pass Road in the distance, and shortly after, my trail. It was beautiful, snow-shelf-free, well-defined, and all downhill. At 8:01pm I said goodbye to Winter Park (and the sunshine), and got my groove on. I was starving, being out for 2:15 now and only having 1 gel thus far. I wanted to eat the 2nd and final gel as early as 1:30 into the run, but realized that regardless of how hungry I was at that moment, I will be 2-3 times hungrier if this goes poorly, and I need to wait as long as I can to eat my last gel. But I was overall feeling better, being on the downhill and knowing that familiar trails (everything I had done to this point was new territory for me) were awaiting me. I looked over at King Lake, saw more ice, and contemplated filling up my bottle with water from the lake. Contamination was unlikely given how high it was, but I already felt like I would end up with a fever at the end of this run based on how it was going so far, so I decided to bail on taking a chance on giardia to boot. I decided to really put my pedal down, but found that my feet hurt. Sticks, stones, sand and water / snow had all found their way into my shoes, and that needed to be fixed. So at 11,800' I took off my right shoe, emptied it out and put it back on. Only I couldn't tie my shoes. I couldn't focus my eyes, I couldn't use my fingers. HAPE and HACE entered my thoughtstream and I realized I wasn't all there. So after f o u r tries I was able to make a loose loop with my shoelaces. The left shoe would have to remain on and full of debris for the foreseeable future.
King Lake, with my trail headed down and to the right. Not much sun down there.
Again rattled, I decided 2:30 was long enough and ate my 2nd gel, hoping the calories would help my mental clarity. It was all downhill and I was past halfway, so I really didn't foresee myself being out for more than another hour. It was good, real good, and I savored it and sucked every last bit out of the packet. A marmot greeted me on the trail and though I paused to make sure he was cool with me, I kept going. More downed trees, more snow fields, more soggy trails, more tiny and not-so-tiny stream crossings. I wanted to be doing 8 and 9 minute miles - I was doing 11s and 13s. My fastest ended up being 9:40 at mile 13. I needed to get down to 8,900' and I was still 2,000' shy of that. It was a long way to go, definitely getting darker and colder, and I had to move.
I got through the snow fields and aside from a dozen more downed trees, was moving reasonably well. The calories were helping - really or perceived it didn't matter -, it was getting warmer as I went lower, and I was navigating pretty well.
And just as my spirits rose, they came to a screeching halt. In the form of the biggest moose in the entire world, a good 20' away from me. Big bull, broadside in the trail. I obviously took no pictures, the thought of spooking it with a flash would be a nice footnote in the newspaper article. "Handsome dead hiker found to have taken photo at 8:20pm, moments before suffering blunt trauma to the head." Instead I scanned for trees I could climb. I knew the rocks around me were useless, and I knew that bulls would charge, so I was extremely extremely scared. I had about 4 miles to go and knew turning around was not an option. I could've bushwhacked, but moose are much, much faster in the thick woods than me. I thought treeing myself if he charged was the only option. I spooked him when I turned the corner and he moved 5' down the trail, then changed his mind when he realized he outweighed me by a thousand pounds or so. He turned back, looked at me, all the while I haven't moved, and we did one of those really long stares at each other. I could feel the sun going down behind me and just wanted resolution. He ambled a few steps off the trail, stopped and looked at me again. My heart rate was 652. He moved a little farther to where I couldn't see him behind some thick brush and trees. I tip-toed a few steps towards him to see him again. Something about fearing the unknown more than the known I guess. He moved a few more steps away from the trail, snapping small trees and downed logs with each step, reminding me how strong he was. Still 652. Without taking my eyes off him and the 15' from his hind legs and the trail, I moved very slowly parallel to him and eventually a little bit past. I wanted to sprint more than anything in the world, but didn't want to provoke him, so I kept my eyes on him as I past, watched him turn his head away from me and move deeper into the woods. I took off like I was shot out of a cannon. Cue fastest mile here. I'm sure he's as fast as a horse and could catch me if he wanted to, but I was going to put some distance in between us as fast as freaking possible.
(Notes: bull moose can run 35mph and trot for long periods of time at 20mph.)
I had worried about food, hydration, navigation, feet condition, weather, and daylight to this point. Now I had to worry about animals too. Was a mountain lion hunting that moose? Do mountain lions hunt as dusk / evening time? Every dark spot, which there were many and increasing regularly, required extra scrutiny to determine what it was. Every small bird, squirrel, or chipmunk in the woods spooked me when I spooked it into movement.
My mental side had been tested heavily to this point - my resolve to keep running when I wanted to walk, my ability to rationalize the situation and not panic, calling upon memories of arduous adventures that I somehow survived. And now I just needed to summon the will and the brain to set my mind right, focus on the task at hand, remember to pick my feet up and not trip, don't miss any signs or markers, and make some time. NUOSU, mind.
I again was astounded at how slow I was running. Miles I thought would register in the 8s and 9s were still in the 10s and 11s. I didn't know what was happening, I felt like I was going fast, but that's trail running for you I guess. I couldn't change the slow miles behind me, I could only try and go as fast as possible at all times. FKT? Forget that.
I didn't want to run by mile 14 or so. I was tired. My legs ached. Every log hop or stream crossing induced calf cramps. My feet hurt. But I knew I had one thing I wouldn't have very very soon: light. I could see and thus I could run, therefore I had to. Every step I took walking was a step I'd be taking later in the pitch black. Must. Keep. Running.
Junction of Devil's Thumb and King Lake trails.
I knew this junction well, having gone either way on it more than once each. I had a good feeling of how far it was from my car, and it was just nice to see something familiar. Having it in a field with no trees and some daylight (flash was on, though) was comforting as well. Comfort, like dry socks, was much-needed at this point.
It was nice to see. But it was also 8:54pm when I took that photo. At least a mile to go, probably close to 2.
Must. Keep. Running. I saw the turnoff for Lost Lake - yet another familiar sign that made me feel better. And then just as I got some confidence and peace of mind back, one more good fright, just for good measure. A family from North Carolina had set up camp trail side, and I heard them before I saw them, and that gave me a good startle. Relieved, I stopped and bummed some water off them. I was over 3 hours now and completely shelled. They were totally confused as to what the hell I was doing. I was too. I sat on a rock for about 2 minutes and chatted before moving on. I negotiated the very steep descent and moved down the old road bed that made the lower part of the trail. One more pic at 9:00 on the dot at the junction I was at 3 hours prior.
The first, and last, junction. No alpenglow down here.
Seemed like 3 days prior. I moved past the 'real' trailhead, once fixated on the time at which I would pass it again - I now cared less.
One more test just to keep me honest. The road out is flooded, like, 200' of water of varying depths, maybe 4" and maybe 2', I'd never be able to tell what the next step would be. So they graciously built a narrow trail in the thick thick woods next to it. Only I couldn't find the trail. I pulled out the flashlight on my phone and after 3 tries I found the wooden boards that allow safe passage over the very wet and marshy area. I walked out using that light and scaled the final, tiny rise that leads to the parking lot. I recalled the failed attempt to reach King Lake by Sean and I a few winters back on skis, and thought how familiar the pain in my legs was. My car key was sitting on top of the back left tire, just where I had left it 3 hours and 36 minutes prior.
I stopped and gave thanks to God for giving me the capability to arrive back safely, and for encourgaging that moose to get out of my way. Changed my socks and shoes, crushed 16oz. of Skratch without taking a breath, and set out down the road.
My heart rate average was 142 for 3:36. That's a higher HRavg than all but the first stage of TransRockies Run. Max was 168. I wasn't messin' around out there. Made some calls and texts to let peeps know I was alive and drove an hour+ home. Food wasn't necessary as I ate plenty in the car, but a shower was. And then my mind raced as I tried to go to sleep; I don't think I fell off much before midnight. What a night. I wanted an adventure and I got one.
I'm not sure what I'd do differently, probably carry a light jacket and some more food and some iodine pills. But mostly I don't think I'll try that neither solo nor post-work with the intention of finishing in the daylight again. That was a big gamble and I think I settled for a draw. I didn't get hurt and nobody had to disrupt their lives to come find me, but it wasn't all perfect either. Although I didn't like doing it solo, in many ways I'm glad I was. I think I was a bit fortunate to not get injured or sick, and if someone else had been with me and they got hurt or sick because of my planned route, well, I'd feel quite terrible I think. Quite a memory, though, and good mental training for Missoula. The marathon will test you mentally more than physically, which is just what this run / hike did. It tested a lot of me, and I hope I'm stronger as a result of having experienced it.
