The names and stories may be unfamiliar to many, but during my formative years they were the stuff of dreams. The mystery of Mallory and Irving lost on Everest, and Norgay and Hillary on the summit. Pete Schoening’s amazing ‘miracle belay’ during an avalanche high on K2 saving five other climbers from being swept off the mountain. Willi Unsoeld famously cutting off his own frostbitten and dead toes (and keeping them in a jar to show visitors). Jim Wickwire spending the night 450 feet below the summit of K2 – and surviving – after becoming the 1st American to summit! Just the names of the mountains evoke images of mystical and magical places. Chomolungma. Dhaulagiri. Nanga Parbat. Ama Dablam. Nanda Devi. Shishapangma. The Himalaya always seemed irresistably beautiful and appealing, forbidding and unattainable all at the same time.
In 2011, longtime friend and climbing partner Dan threw out the idea of spending a month in Nepal…in the Himalaya! He didn’t really expect any response, and rightly so! A month away from work? No way! Airfare to fly half way around the world? Commercial guides? I don’t think so. The Himalaya was…unattainable. Regular folks like us don’t take trips like that. But then one by one, the perceived obstacles disappeared. Turns out regular folks really can take a trip like this. By the time we boarded our flight in San Francisco in November 2012, our merry little band numbered eight. Sharon and I, Andrew, Cailie, Rob – friends from Flagstaff, Joel and Allison, and Dan Boss – our fearless leader.
Thank you Singapore Airlines for making twenty total hours in the air, if not enjoyable, at least tolerable. When we finally stepped out of the relative calm of Tribhuvan airport terminal into the chaos of Kathmandu, culture shock reached out and smacked us in the face. When absolutely everything you consider ‘normal’ goes away and the ground is figuratively shifting beneath your feet, it is hard to get your bearings.
Dan had made arrangements through Mountain Monarch. Anyone interested in trekking in Nepal has plenty of options. Many western companies feature highly paid western guides who contract with local companies to do all the leg work. It is possible, through these same companies, to have a somewhat sanitized trip – staying in tents and having western food throughout the trip. We opted to go directly with a local company and have a slightly more ‘immersive’ experience staying at the local tea houses. I’ll say right up front, we couldn’t have been happier with Mountain Monarch.
Our agenda had us spending two days in Kathmandu, and then flying to Lukla on our third day to start our trek. We spent our time seeing the sites, enjoying the food (momos), touring both buddhist and hindu sites, and prepping for three weeks on the trail.
Having survived the trip from the airport, we relaxed in our little oasis from the chaos of Kathmandu.
Small 125cc cycles were the vehicle of choice for the masses. They of course share the road with buses, cars, trucks, tractors, wagons pulled by animals, and hordes of pedestrians.
The sights and sounds and smells of the tourist district – masses of people. vehicles, vendors convoluted streets – all combined to overwhelm the senses.
Creativity abounds
Near the Hindu temple, relatives were cremated on open fires to secure their place in paradise.
Alison making new friends
At Yangling we were introduced to the heavenly delights known as momos, meat or vegetable filled dumplings, deep fried or steamed and served with a curry dipping sauce. OH MY! We’re all smiling for a reason.
Outside the tourist district it quickly became apparent that Toto wasn’t in Kansas anymore
Kathmandu was overwhelming, and choatic, and fascinating. Often we just found ourselves laughing as we tried to process the different things we were seeing. After two days, we were ready for the butt clenching ride through town back to the airport to begin the ‘real’ trip.
The flight to Lukla was everything everyone says it is. We caught our first views of the Himalaya. We survived the flight, met up with our porters and began our trek, but more on that in the next post.
I will confess to being envious of my “manly” friends when they talk about their metal working, welding, car engine rebuilding exploits. “I sewed some stuff” doesn’t have quite the same cachet. In 1830 Barthelemy Thimonnier, a French tailor, invented a machine that used a hooked needle and one thread, creating a chain stitch. It wasn’t quite recognizable as a sewing machine, but it worked well enough that Thimonnier planned to use it in his factory to make uniforms for the French army. French tailors caught wind of this turn of events. Fearing they would lose their jobs, they rioted and burned down his factory – with Thimonnier inside. Given the full-contact, life and death consequences, clearly sewing is not an activity for sissies. In fact, given its history, might one might even consider it an “extreme sport?”
Back in the late 70’s I was beginning to explore outdoor activities that often required specialized gear. Since I had very little money, I decided to join with those brave men and women before me who risked life and limb to sew garments. My first effort was a pair of down booties from Altra Kits from Boulder, CO. Next, I moved on to some really basic nylon shell jackets and pants. You have to remember this was in the era of wool – when the 60/40 nylon/cotton ‘mountain’ parka was cutting edge. During a winter trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, I had the chance to show off some of my handiwork. It was probably Dan-Boss Backer who said, “Wow! That kicks ass!” Hmmm. Kicks ass…Kicks Butt…KB! Thus was born KB Gear, and now many years later, with tongue firmly in cheek – KB Extreme Gear!
My first project – still in use 39 years later.
The basic straight stitch I learned on those first projects is just about the only stitch I know – or really have needed. With that basic knowledge, I’ve managed to churn out a variety of gear – some of it actually useful and usable. Gaitors, windpants, windshells, waterproof overmitts, sleeping bags, ultralight tarps, backpacks, kilts and so on. Over the years, I’ve come up with some of my own designs, but for the most part I follow patterns. Some patterns were specifically designed for outdoor use. Others have been adapted or modified from patterns meant for other activities. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned over the years is the value of a well designed pattern. So, in an effort to encourage you to learn this most dangerous skill, I’d like to offer handful of my favorite patterns and provide some resources.
Green Pepper Hood. Overall I’m not a real fan of Green Pepper patterns. While they have a huge variety of outdoor related patterns, the ones I’ve used are overly complicated, and seem to focus a bit more on how something looks than in how it functions. The one exception is this hood. It is well designed, relatively easy to sew, and VERY functional. With a strip of velcro around the bottom, and on the collar of a jacket, you can add a great hood to any jacket.
I am a huge fan of Controlled Exposure. They only have a few offerings. Unlike some of the Green Pepper patterns, whoever came up with these clearly spent time outside. They understood the kinds of features that make gear not just “good” but “great!”
CE55 Mountain Pant
CE55 Mountain Pant.
CE65 Fleece or Stretch Pant
The CE55 Mountain Pant design is brilliant. The Bib straps wrap around and attach in the front of the pants, allowing one to easily drop trou when one must. Full zips allow easy on/off as well as good ventilation. The pattern is easy to customize to add features and to ensure a perfect fit. For years, these have been my go to shell pants for climbing and skiing. I actually prefer these bibs to a pair from Arteryx! The CE65 stretch pants are my 2nd favorite CE pattern. Super easy to make. Both Sharon and I have pairs made of heavy weight, Polarguard Powershield fabric. Super warm, windproof and highly water resistant.
Folks in Norway have a saying “There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes.” I doubt they are the first, or only people with that opinion. The weather is just as pleasant in nearby Finland, and Shelby offers a wonderful variety of products and patterns designed to help folks cope.
KB Gear Abisko #1
Its a safety issue. In case of trouble, this jacket could be seen by the International Space Station
I came across Shelby while surfing many years ago, and was intrigued by their designs – especially for their “Abisko” jacket. Getting this pattern shipped from Finland was more expensive than the pattern itself, but well worth it. This jacket pattern is by far my favorite. There are probably a few dozen of these floating around among family and friends. It is incredibly well designed, and without too much effort will produce an excellent jacket. One of my favorite features is the ease with which you can customize the pattern to fit any size or purpose. I have one made of lightweight material designed specifically for running. I have two jackets made from the brilliant “Eye Pollution Yellow” material for visibility when motorcycling. One is fitted for moderate temps, one is extra large to layer over bulky cold weather riding gear. I’m currently working on one with a fleece liner and Gore-tex outer shell to be used as an all around winter jacket. Some have integrated hoods, some make use of the Green Pepper hood.
I’m pretty sure Arcteryx is not worried about KB Extreme Gear eating into their market share. I’m never going to compete with the kind of gear they produce – but that’s really not the point. There is a tremendous amount of satisfaction spending time outside, using gear designed, made, repaired, or modified with your own hands…at a fraction of the cost. With the materials and knowledge available on the internet, it is amazing what you can do once you set your mind to it…and this extends beyond sewing/modifying/repairing your own gear. There is also something satisfying – and healthy – about tuning your own skis, making your own “freezer bag” backpacking meals, coming up with your own adventures and planning your own trips, etc. But I digress. I hope you enjoyed this little walk down the KB memory lane.
Resources
https://ripstopbytheroll.com (Although I just recently found this site, these guys are seriously good. They are now my favorite site for fabric and I refer them to anyone interested. They have lots of high tech, hard to find outdoor material at some seriously good prices. I definitely suggest checking them out.)
I’m lucky to be alive. Not because I survived some deadly disease or natural disaster. I’m lucky to be alive because I thought my friends were going to kill me and leave my carcass for bears to scavenge. I thought this because that’s exactly what I would have done.
Months before these morbid thoughts, I’d stumbled across a “map” of northern Wisconsin and da U.P. (the upper peninsula of Michigan). Whilst perusing the map, two things immediately struck me. #1 – there appeared to be a large road-less area along the shore of the vast inland sea known as Lake Superior that virtually demanded to be explored. #2 – there also was a thin blue line through the middle of that road-less area, marking a stream flowing north into Superior, ready to lead the way. The almost complete lack of detail on the map, somehow did not strike me as relevant to my dreams of exploration. This minor omission will became important later.
Somehow I was able to convince two of my friends that this was an adventure worth pursuing. I also, somehow, managed to convince my parents to entrust me with the family car. Even more amazing, I managed to convince three sets of parents that I knew what I was doing and that nothing bad could possibly happen to three sixteen year old boys wandering around a northern forest. I mean, really, what could possibly go wrong? Well, gentle reader, I am about to tell you. When we plunged into the forest along the creek that was to serve as our guide, several things became immediately apparent.
Our rather vague two dimensional map did not accurately depict the severely three dimensional landscape. Countless gullies, valleys, nay…canyons flowed into our little creek at right angles. We spent as much time climbing up and down the steeply sloping landscape as we did moving north.
The green on the map meant to signify vegetation did not come close to conveying the impenetrable nature of the jungle. (Think pith helmeted explorers wielding machetes). We actually had a machete – and used it.
“Beyond here be dragons.” This was really not the fault of the map. But one might have thought that a map maker with a single shred of human decency would have made mention of the massive clouds of miniature dragons (aka mosquitos, no-see-ums, deer flies, horse flies, etc) inhabiting that jungle. My knowledge of Dante might be a bit rusty, but I seem to recall the seventh level of hell closely resembling our bug infested little patch of forest.
Where my “map” really failed to provide accurate information was in the matter of distance. To be fair, it didn’t claim to offer distances, or any kind of legend at all. Still, somehow I imagined this sporty little jaunt in the woods would cover oh…eight (ish) miles…sort of more or less.
Typical northern forest…
After enduring 9-10 hours of slogging through heat, hills, humidity, jungle, and hellacious flying tormentors, we figured we must be close the Superior shoreline and sweet, sweet, blessed relief. Suddenly we saw a break in the forest canopy! “This must be it!” we thought and took off running. Instead of the Lake – we broke into a clearing under a power line! “Well, this is not right! There should be a lake here!” But no – it was just a big, ugly, buzzing power line. Having completely failed to show any other land feature that we had passed all day, our map actually did show the power line – about 1/3rd of the way to the lake! Had my friends truly been pith helmeted explorers, they might have said with impeccable British accents. “Bit of bad luck that! Not to worry. Let’s have a spot of tea and carry on!” In fact, it was at this point that I began to fear for my life. The steaming piles of bear crap scattered everywhere would have given my former friends a legitimate alibi if I had turned up missing at the end of our trip.
The power line did appear to cross roads at some indeterminate distance in either direction. At random, we chose to go right. “At least,” I said cheerfully, “under the power line it will be easier walking than fighting through the jungle.” A reasonable assumption – but wrong! The clever people who built the power line decided not to ruin good forest land, but instead routed the power line through a swamp…a bear infested swamp. So we slogged through the muck and over and around piles and piles of berry filled bear scat. We took some small comfort in the knowledge (OK – irrational hope) that thus fortified, the bears wouldn’t be ravenous. As evening began to fall, and as we began thinking about finding a dry place to camp….we saw it! We stood there – the three of us – jaws hanging agape – dumbfounded. There before us – was a road!
I would have thought my companions would be happy to have found an easy means of egress. Instead (whiners) they fixated on the fact that we had spent the ENTIRE DAY, hiking through the most brutal, unforgiving terrain the U.P. had to offer – all within one half mile of a perfectly serviceable road. For the 2nd time that day, my death seemed imminent. Well EXCUSE ME! Seems to me that even a map clearly not meant to provide any useful information would show some random features – like – oh, I don’t know – a ROAD!! I’d love to have heard the discussion that led to leaving it off. “So boss, ya figure we should put dis here ROAD on da map?” “Nah! No sense cluttering up a map with all kindsa useless stuff. That’ll just confuse folks. Besides, this here green is such a pretty color – let’s just leave it, eh?”
In the end, we walked in the dark the eight miles back to our car, and then took that same road all the way to Lake Superior. We camped at a lovely little park near the shore – in a torrential thunderstorm – and woke to find that raccoons had eaten all our food. Also, the rain unleashed a plague of flies of truly biblical proportions. ( You did ask, “What could go wrong?) We did spend one more day on the shore of Lake Superior – camped next to all the cottages that also failed to appear on our map. Eventually, my friends decided they’d had enough fun.
The Lake Superior shoreline …that existed only in our imagination
The learning curve is cruel. There were some obvious lessons learned on this little misadventure. No – the lesson was not that I needed a better class of friends, less willing to quit at the first little hardship. Seriously, this trip taught me the value of good quality maps. You might even say (as Sharon does) that I have something of a map fetish. And let’s not even get started on my bromance with Google Earth. Sharon and our boys have heard this cautionary tale – ad nauseum. Within reason, I want to know where I am and where I’m going. Call me crazy, but something about staring death (in the form of two muddy, tired sixteen year olds) in the face…well, let’s call it a safety issue. Happy hiking (BTW: I have a map you can borrow).
Washington has long exerted a kind of magnetic pull on us. Whether it was from our previous home in Wisconsin, or since we moved to Arizona – we’ve both been to the state a number of times to sample the hiking/climbing smorgasbord. So when good friends Cailie and Rob moved to Enumclaw for work, it was a no-brainer that the Diapers/Depends gang would descend on their new hometown. All the usual suspects arrived in July 2014 and set out for our first objective – Mt Baker. That climb will be the subject of it’s own post at some later date.
Following that successful climb, Sharon and I had made plans to head farther north, into Canada, to spend a week sea kayak/camping. While we were both pretty comfortable in boats, neither of us had taken our kayaks beyond sheltered inland waters, so we were eager to expand our horizons a bit. Having said that, I was a bit nervous about the prospect of colder northern waters, the possibility of significant tidal currents, ocean swells – all things that would be new to us. After doing a fair amount of research, we decided that the Seychelt Inlet would be a good intro to ocean travel. So a few days after saying farewell to our climbing partners, we traded our ice axes for paddles.
Packing at the launch site, just outside Seychelt, BC
Super calm paddling up the inlet. Beautiful.
The wind picked up ever so slightly as the day wore on.
Nice sheltered campsite, just off the beach.
Getting an early start back to the car on day two.
Seychelt Inlet was lovely. The weather was perfect. We found a beautiful spot to camp and shared the beach with a few other travelers. It was all very nice…and ultimately…sort of boring. While Seychelt was technically “the ocean”, it was a very sheltered inlet, almost like a large lake. As we relaxed during the afternoon and evening we talked about our plans to spend several more days exploring the inlet. We both came to the conclusion no matter where we went, it would all be pretty much the same. Time for plan “B”. We decided to head back to the car in the morning, and make our way across Vancouver Island to the very remote village of Bamfield. All that was required was a ferry ride, a drive all the way across Vancouver Island, which included an 80 kilometer, four hour drive over unmarked, unpaved logging roads to get to our starting point.
Somewhat surprisingly, we reached out destination without any problem. Next morning we made our way to the visitor center, and came away with a parking pass and tons of excellent local info. The woman at the visitor center was a seasoned kayaker and freely shared her knowledge. Our plan was to head across a three mile wide channel to the Deer Group of islands. Diana Island was to be our first stop. After that, we would let our comfort level and weather determine the rest of our agenda.
The harbor at Bamfield.
Getting ready to launch.
Our first big open water crossing – three miles to Diana Island.
East coast of Vancouver Island
A great view
Clearly we weren’t the first people to camp on Diana Island – although at this time – we were the only ones.
As was often the case, our departure time didn’t coincide with a helpful tide
After the sheltered waters of the Seychelt inlet, the more open waters out of Bamfield were a bit more intimidating. Fortunately, the line of islands that make up the Deer group offered protection from the open Pacific, so we only had to deal with minor swell and some wind chop in our trip to Diane Island. Thanks to the information we’d received, we found a fantastic camp site and made ourselves at home. Then came the “adventure” (cue foreboding music)! It was still early in the day and Sharon decided she wanted to paddle completely around the island. Normally I would up for that kind of adventure. However, since the west side of the island was exposed to Pacific swells that may not have seen land since passing Japan, a “spirited” discussion ensued on the wisdom of such a trip. Eventually we did set out and very quickly met the aforementioned burly Pacific swells. As we went farther, the swells were topped with some sporty wind chop as well. With her slightly more stable kayak, Sharon had not a care in the world. My empty kayak was larger and was sitting a bit higher in the water. We hadn’t had enough time to get properly acquainted so it felt quite unstable to me. Additionally, I was pondering the fatal consequences of a swim in the 50 degree water off a rugged, rocky shore getting hammered by those burly waves. I can’t recall ever being quite so intensely focused – or as terrified. It was what I like to call a real “sphincter tightener” moment. It came as a huge relief (to me) when we finally rounded the corner back into the lee of the island and I was able to unclench my butt. As we completed the loop, we had an excellent – and timely – conversation about not scaring the crap out of Dave, and about different perceptions and tolerance of risk.
After our night on Diane Island, we headed north and spent two more nights and three days exploring the islands and islets in this little corner of Barkley Sound. Nothing quite as dramatic as the trip around Diane, but absolutely fascinating. We wove around small rock outcroppings, paddled through a sea arch, observed masses of starfish clustered in the intertidal zone on rock faces, passed into and out of impenetrable walls of fog and paddled under blue bird skies. Generally we just had a great adventure exploring the area.
We both very much enjoyed paddling around the rugged islands in this group.
The amount of sea life visible in the intertidal zone on the rocks was amazing. We heard some years later, something caused a massive die off of marine life in this area. Very sad.
Camp #2
Our little bay – filled with water!
As always, our bay disappeared just about the time we needed to leave.
We passed this arch on the way north. Later on our way back south, with the tide coming in we were able to surf through the opening.
A view of camp at the Ross Islets. Notice the wall of fog in the background.
Another view from our camp on Ross Islet.
Low tide. At the far left, Andrew and Katya’s kayaks are visible.
McGyver would have been proud!
Back to Bamfield – another adventure winding to a close.
Our last night was spent on a lovely little beach on Ross Islet. At low tide, a bit of dry ground emerged that allowed us to walk across to another islet to meet our neighbors. We spent some pleasant time visiting with Katya and Andrew from Seattle. From our conversation it was clear they were experienced paddlers. We exchanged contact information and only later did we find out that among his many, many talents Andrew has built a number of strip built and skin on frame kayaks. Katya is a professional photographer and videographer. Many of her images and videos are amazing. As so often happens on our trips, we enjoy and seek solitude, yet many of the memorable moments involve the fascinating people we meet.
We passed a pleasant evening on our tiny island. Somehow we managed to leave our poles on shore after a lunch stop earlier in the day, so we had to seriously McGyver our tent in order to have some shelter. After that small chore and dinner were taken care of, I recall spending a fair amount of time just staring out across the water – at the small mountains on the mainland – at the other islands – at the clouds and fog that appeared, then disappeared – at the animal life that made an appearance from time to time. The entire experience was just so – pleasant and satisfying. As always happens, we talked of plans and ideas for other similar trips – here and elsewhere. Although as Frost noted, “Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.” As wonderful as this area was, the western coast of Canada is so rich with opportunities for kayak trips, in reality I doubt if we would ever come back. After an uneventful crossing the following morning, this trip joined so many others – going from adventure to memory. But what a fine memory to have.
2001 marked an exciting new chapter in our lives when a job change brought us to Flagstaff. Not only did a move to the southwest open up more opportunities for adventure, it introduced us to a whole new circle of active friends. Since this and the previous post are all about some of the people who have been part of our adventures, here’s a little background on just a few of our old and new companions.
“We are not relations, sir.” -Forrest Gump.
“Dan Boss” and I went to high school together. Since our college days we’ve been roaming the world together on countless adventures. Phil “Yard Sale” is also a regular companion, from our earliest frozen Boundary Water trips to the present.
Joel and Alison. Joel and I also attended high school together. These two are a real “power” couple. Alison has high pointed every state …yes, that also means Denali. 0% body fat Joel gets asked if has calf implants. Huh? We’ve combined forces for some amazing adventures…Wind River range, Nepal, Rainier, Grand Canyon, etc.
Dan Boss somehow managed to pull together a trekking trip to Nepal in 2012. That was a perfect opprtunity to blend old friends, and create new friendships with Cailie “The Gnome Princess“, husband “Handsome Rob“, Andrew and Allison (who remained behind with the young ‘uns.)
Work brought us together with Karen “I never met an adventure I didn’t like“(left) and Jeannette (our newly ‘adopted’ daughter). In the middle is Heather, good friend of Cailie (and now ours as well) .
Heather, Sander and Jeannette. Sander (from the Netherlands) was six weeks into a southwest bike tour when we gave him a ride from Kayenta to Flagstaff. He joined us for a trip into the Canyon. Given the company, he thought he had died and gone to heaven
“FloJo” and “White Stallion” on the JMT. We met Michelle shortly after moving to Flag. We were thrilled several years later when these two wonderful people tied the knot.
Co-workers K-Bart and Allison. Yes, Allison really is that cheerful. If she wasn’t so nice it probably would be annoying.
Co-worker Glenn moved here from Maine less than a year ago. In that short time she apparently knows everybody and seems to have explored everywhere. Strong work!
Going through photos for this post, it is amazing to us how many different trips we’ve taken, and how many different people have combined to make those trips so enjoyable. It has also been interesting and fun to see how often we’ve reshuffled the friends deck and come up with different combinations of friends on different trips. Sharon and I love spending time together, and we are incredibly compatible when it comes to likes/dislikes/capability/etc. Adding another person/people to the mix always has the potential to the change the dynamic in uncomfortable ways. Looking back at the trips through the years, these folks have always added to our enjoyment.
Wind River Range with Joel and Alison
Yes…it was as cold as it looks.
Not their first rodeo. Snow shoe banquet in Bryce
Joel, Alison, Sharon, Phil, Ethan and Dan Boss in the Chicago Basin, Colorado.
Bagging one of the 14’ers in the basin.
Our first get acquainted trip with the some of the future Nepal trekkers. Aaron, Sharon, Kevin, Andrew, Rob, Cailie
South Canyon panorama.
Our little oasis in the organized chaos that is Kathmandu
Our little group…calm in the midst of the storm
Typical trail day…and the reason we all went vegetarian for three weeks.
Tea house common room. People from all over the world gather for meals and some warmth by the yak dung stove before heading off to the rustic, dormitory style rooms.
Another normal day the trail. Cholatse on the right.
The Diapers and Depends gang closer to home in the Superstition Mountains.
Sharon, Karen B and friend on New Year’s morning – undisclosed location in Sedona.
Sweet, sweet escape from the Orb of Death along the Escalante Route. Dan, Rob, Andrew, Sharon, Karen and Cailie
Diapers and Depends expedition on the Tanner Trail.
Dinner at 10,000′ feet on Rainier. Five star dining with a view
“Sea Level Sucks” – Life is good at 14,410
We love freeze dried gruel, but make an exception once in a while.
Base camp on Mt Baker
Baker summit. Steve, Dan, Sharon and Cailie
Baker in the background. Dan and Steve on their way to an attempt on Mt. Shuksan
Family and Friends at our annual pilgrimage to the Imogene Pass Run.
Karen, Heather and Jeannette ready for some Canyon fun.
Real Canyon fun on Phantom Creek.
Butt dams are always fun.
Jeannette and Andrew at Hance Rapid.
Jeannette enjoying some Jack’s Canyon limestone during a great day with Kevin and Karen
Andrew paddling upstream from Lee’s Ferry towards Waterhole’s Canyon.
Flojo, Stallion, Razor, Kilt Lifter and Yard Sale heading out on the John Muir Trail.
Oh what a day….
These pictures by no means an exhaustive list of either friends or the good times we’ve had with them. Sharon and count ourselves incredibly blessed to have not just “acqaintances” but so many true friends. Here’s a big shout out and thank you to all the folks who enrich our lives. Every mutual fund advert comes with the warning that past performance does not guarantee future returns. When it comes to friends I’m going to disagree. I would say past performance is a pretty good indicator of what will happen. I am looking forward to more good times with old and hopefully, lots of new friends.
I went x-c skiing yesterday…and it sucked! I realize a lot of folks are thinking, “Well – duh! Of course it sucked!” For many, their entire experience of x-c skiing is as a bad idea they somehow got talked into that involved lots of flailing and falling and going nowhere rather slowly. The thing is, I grew up x-c skiing and for many, many years it was my “thing” – it was my passion. In my hometown in northern Wisconsin, x-c skiing was the equivalent of trail running here in Flagstaff. And just like the annual migration of Flagstaff runners to the Imogene Pass Run, thousands of people from up nort’ traveled to test themselves in the American Birkebeiner and various other ski races. I looked forward to the long, long Wisconsin winters and loved skiing.
Since moving to Flagstaff in 2001, x-c skiing has become less of a “thing”. For many years we lived east of town and I didn’t feel like driving all the way out to the Nordic Center. Over the years we’ve had some sporadic snow years. Too often my free time didn’t coincide with good snow, etc., etc., etc. Bottom line is that in Flagstaff, there are more opportunities for outdoor activity than time in which to do them all. I think I skied once or twice in our first winter here. Since then, my faithful gear has been in storage, waiting for me to notice it.
So in a recent fit of nostalgia for the “good old days” I bought some new boots, and some slightly newer, used skate skis and headed out to the Nordic center. Apparently x-c skiing is NOT just like riding a bike. As I clipped into the skis I imagined myself gliding effortlessly along the trails, muscles rippling under colorful lycra. The reality was not quite what I imagined. The skis didn’t stay underneath my body the way they were supposed to. (note to self – probably just need better gear). Almost immediately my shin muscles started cramping from my awkward skiing motions. Any muscles present were not rippling. Quivering would be more accurate. And not under colorful lycra, but under an insulating layer of flesh. In spite of being in pretty good running shape, my heart was attempting to jack hammer an escape path through my chest. My arms felt like Bobby Hill “The kids at school all call me T-Rex cuz’ my arms won’t support my body weight.“
I hadn’t bothered to wax the newer skis. “It will be fine” I thought. Rookie mistake. It wasn’t. I ended up having to skate down some of the hills. This was NOT the Jesse Diggans, Olympic finish I had envisioned. As I struggled along, I had lots of time for negative thoughts. How did I ever think this was fun? How sad is this? I thought I was in shape. I used to ski the 55k Birkie, now I’m gassed after a couple of miles! Why did I waste money on new gear? This is embarrassing! I’m glad no one is around to see me and offer to help me find my walker, or my way back to the nursing home. I spent $10 on this stupid pass – how long do I have to do this to justify that expense?
Then it happened. It wasn’t quite a ray of sunshine from heaven or angels singing a chorus, but it happened. I hit a stretch of better snow. My legs stopped cramping. The jack hammer in my chest slowed down ever so slightly. And I felt it. Arms and legs started working in a slightly more coordinated fashion. Skate, pole, glide. There it is! Downhill, tuck, step around a sharp turn – nailed it! And then came a slight uphill and the moment was gone! But I had felt it. Somewhere inside that softer, older body there still lurked a skier. And in that moment, I fell in love with skiing again.
So today, I’ll dig out my old ski wax and give the newer skis some love. Maye I’ll check with Google to see if wax technology has changed in the last 20 years. Next time I go to the gym, maybe I’ll pay just a little attention to my T-Rex arms. Who knows, maybe there’s still another Birkie in this body. But first, baby steps…let’s see about skiing for a whole hour, then we can talk – and dream.
I love the lyrics to the song “Glorious” by Mamuse. So even though I’ve used them before at the beginning of a different post, I’m going to share them again.
I’ve got good friends to the left of me And good friends to my right Got the open sky above me And the earth beneath my feet Got a feeling in my heart That’s singin’ All in life is sweet – Oh what a day!
If you’ve read the ‘welcome’ page, you know that the genesis for this blog was a moving experience I had as a young man in the mountains. More precisely, it was the realization that the experience was somewhat diminished by not having anyone with whom to share it. To say that has changed would perhaps rank as the most colossal understatement of the ages. The quantity and quality of friends who have shared adventures since then almost defies description. In fact, as I gathered photos for this post, I realized there are so many friends, and so many adventures – they realistically won’t fit in one post. This, then, will be just the first in a series of photo essays to celebrate those whom I am privileged to call friend – and just a few of the adventures we’ve shared.
Boundary Waters (early 80’s)…I met the Backer boys in high school. We forged bonds of friendship doing what any self-respecting mountaineer wannabe living in the Midwest would do – we camped in the middle of winter – in northern Minnesota – in weather cold enough to freeze solid a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps. Thus was born the concept of “stupid fun.”
Neatly organized pack…Check! Broken ski pole splint…Check! Wool knickers…Check! Practically ready for a trip to Everest.
Aftermath of a Warren face plant. BTW…skis were my idea. Everyone else wanted snow shoes. Thanks guys!
Mike, Dave, Dan, Phil, Warren…successful south to north crossing of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area!
1985 Mt Robson… By the time we set our sights on Robson, Dan and Warren had already climbed Rainier as teenagers (what were their parents thinking?). I had lived close to lots of mountains in Alaska. We had several BWCA trips under our belts. Yep – we were ready for the big time.
It’s all fun and games until one of those beasts jumps on your back!
Warren, Dave, Tim and Dan sporting the latest in climbing gear and clothing.
Mt Robson from our climb to the top of Mt. Resplendant. Unsuccessful summit attempt on Robson, but super successful climbing adventure.
Studly Noob climbers. We didn’t even know what we didn’t know – and we still had fun.
The journey – and the views along the way – are just as important as the destination.
A New Life (1985)…Two weeks after Robson I said “I do” to an amazing new chapter in life with my best friend and adventure partner. One of our first (and still favorite) adventures was a seven week long, 2,500 mile bike ride up the east coast and into the maritime provinces of Canada.
The bike trip was a microcosm of marriage…lots of figuring things out.
For those who know me now, there was a time when MY hair was longer than Sharon’s.
Lots of miles and smiles that summer.
One of our less successful dinner experiments – a true gastronomic nightmare!
Somehow this captures what life would be like living in the inner city of Milwaukee, working, raising three boys, you know…life!
Boundary Waters…Again (2002)…Life in Milwaukee was fun, challenging and filled with lots of good times with many, many dear friends. We watched our children grow from infants to teens and were fully immersed in that world. A new century seemed like a good time for a fresh start though. In 2001 we moved to a mountain town in northern AZ and were suddenly confronted with a whole new world – a world filled with new friends and opportunities for new adventures. Interesting that I kicked off this new chapter in early 2002 with an old adventure with old friends.
Can’t remember exactly, but I think that was a brochure for a beach front time share.
Seems like Dan keeps popping up in all these posts involving snow and puffy jackets.
Yep…still snows in the Boundary Waters.
The gear had improved considerably in 20 years. Much more comfortable than I remember.
Warren, Tim, Phil, Dave and Dan Boss after another successful trip.
Collectively, the four trips presented here amount to less than three months out of the 57 years I’ve spent on the planet so far. Only seven people are pictured in these photos. Seven people out of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people I’ve met in the course of my life. A tiny fraction. And yet, when I look at these pictures, the flood gates open, the memories come pouring out and fill my heart. They make me smile and laugh. They make me grateful. And they inspire me. They inspire me to call, or text, or email a friend – to talk, to reminisce – and to plan another adventure!
I’ve debated writing this post for some time. My reasons for climbing are very personal. I find most mountains to be awe-inspiring. I love spending time in such beautiful spaces. I never tire of looking out at the world from high on a mountain, and I enjoy the mental and physical challenges involved in getting to those high places. Conversely, I’ve met plenty of folks whose only interest in climbing peaks seems to be so they can say they’ve done it. There seems to be little joy in the doing of the thing, only in having it be done in order to boast or humble brag. So my goal in sharing thoughts and photos from our 2015 climbing trip is not as a way of saying, “Look what I’ve done.” My hope is to share a little bit of what makes Denali “The Great One” and to hopefully inspire some awe along the way.
I’ve found that in talking about Denali, it helps to share some of the basics. The most commonly climbed route on Denali is known as the “West Buttress” named for a narrow ridge that is part of the route between a camp at 14,000′ and the high camp at 17,000′. The summit of Denali is 13,000 feet higher, and some 18 miles distant from the normal starting point on the Kahiltna glacier. (By comparison, Everest climbers ascend 12,000 vertical feet from base camp to summit). Because of the copious amounts of bad weather, distance and elevation, most teams plan for 3+ weeks on the mountain. For us, gear, food, fuel, etc. for that amount of time amounted to 110-130 lbs each. Most teams “double carry” on the mountain. That means climbers carry a load of gear and supplies a few miles up the mountain, drop the load and return back down to their camp. Next morning they break camp and climb back up to where they dropped gear the previous day and establish a new camp. This process is repeated all the way to high camp at 17,000′. This helps climbers acclimate to the altitude and allows for lighter loads. It is a tried and true method used on big mountains all over the world. It also seems rather insane! Rather than climb the mountain twice, we chose to “single” carry. This meant that as we moved from camp to camp up the mountain we carried all our gear, split approximately 60%-40% between our sleds (affectionately known as “dead pigs”) and backpacks. Obviously the additional weight made the climb more difficult, especially on the steep bits. The HUGE trade off was that we only climbed the mountain once.
My mountaineering career moved from the stuff of dreams to reality when I started spending summers in Alaska at age 17. The two great attributes of youth – stupidity and a sense of invincibility – fueled my early climbing adventures and dreams. I have a long history of dreaming about Denali. Even 130 miles away, on a clear day the mountain was visible from Anchorage. It loomed impossibly large on the horizon, and in a young man’s fancy. Shortly before his death on Everest, I actually wrote to Denali giant – Ray Genet – asking for advice on climbing Denali “alpine” style. Considering my “vast” experience at age 19, he politely told me I was an idiot for even considering such a thing. He was right of course, but still…
Thirty-ish years later, in 2009, events in my life and my climbing career coincided to present an opportunity to make a dream come true and attempt a climb on the Great One. Everything went according to plan and we moved up to high camp without any problems. In spite of possibly the best weather window in the entire history of mountaineering, personnel problems prevented a summit attempt. While it was a disappointment having to turn back with the summit within reach, I was content with the knowledge that I could have reached the top. I was content having been able to spend several weeks in one of the most stunning alpine environments on earth.
Dan and Steve would not be denied. May 2015 back at Kahiltna International Airport loading the dead pigs for another adventure on Denali.
I may have been content, but Dan wasn’t. Almost immediately, I suspect, he began plotting our return. When Dan suggested another attempt in 2015, I initially wasn’t interested. I knew I could have reached the summit on the previous trip and didn’t feel the need to prove anything to myself. The weather this time around was almost certain to be horrible. There were issues of time and money. Dan being Dan, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and enlisted the aid of our mutual friend Steve to help wear me down. Peer pressure can be brutal and I finally said yes. Spring of 2015 became a frenzy of training, choosing and sorting both gear and food, and attending to countless other details. Eventually we found ourselves, once again, in Talkeetna.
Unfortunately packing requirements for the flight to Anchorage are different than the packing requirements for our climb. Talkeetna Air Taxi provides large tent shelters for climbers to sort and repack gear.
All climbers are required to check in with climbing rangers in Talkeetna. They spell out all the do’s and don’ts for climbers. This is necessary because of dangers, and because of the large number of climbers who attempt Denali every year. The stats were not encouraging!
The first view of the Great One is very intimidating.
The 55 mile flight covers some very rugged terrain.
Arrival at base camp on the Kahiltna Glacier means more time organizing gear. The weather worsened during our flight in, and flights were suspended. We were the last ones in that day.
Heading into the gloom towards our first camp 5 1/2 miles up the Kahiltna Glacier.
Low clouds sometimes cause “whiteout” conditions. White clouds and white snow make it almost impossible to spot landmarks. Fortunately we had a good trail to our first camp.
Camp 1.
The weather worsened, with whiteout conditions. Already on day 2 we were forced to burn a ‘weather day’.
in 2009, this was the view from camp 1. Quite a contrast. Stunning weather and scenery.
Dan is the champion of waiting out weather days.
Patience is a big part of climbing a big peak. Nice to be tent bound with nice people. Lots of interesting conversation.
On day 3 weather was good enough for us to move farther up the glacier to Camp 2. It was not good enough for pictures however.
This picture is from the morning of day 4. Blue bird skies at last.
The views while climbing on Denali never cease to amaze.
Route finding (in good weather) is simple. Hike to the end of the Kahiltna Glacier and turn right.
After the right turn, continue hauling the dead pigs uphill towards camp 3
Climbers making their way up to camp at 11,000 feet.
Camp 3 – 11,000. It is always a bonus not having to build your own storm shelter.
This home away from home came with a ready made kitchen.
We took turns melting snow for our drinking and cooking water. This little chore usually took 2-3 hours a day. We carried 3 gallons of white gas to power our stove.
Another nice day means another day of climbing. A few years ago, the large overhanging ice blocks on the right broke off and avalanched, killing climbers on the path leading out of camp.
Camp at 14,000′
Dan once again taking over kitchen duty. Not a bad view though.
Getting to the camp at 14,000 is a major accomplishment. It means you’ve avoided the crevasses on the Kahiltna glacier, not been blown off the mountain at Windy Corner, and ascended 7,000 feet – just over half way to the summit. It is also where the climbing starts to get serious. It is 2,000 feet up a headwall to the West Buttress Ridge, which climbs another 1,000 feet to the high camp at 17,000′. In 2009 we watched as two climbers from Minnesota took a fatal fall down a couloir above camp. In 2015 we watched a helicopter airlift the body of another climber from the high camp. These are constant reminders that this is a serious mountain, and one can never take safety for granted.
Above 14,000 the lack of oxygen starts to become more noticeable, especially with a steep 2,000′ vertical climb.
At the top of the headwall there is 800′ of fixed rope. At this point we’ve cached the sleds and are carrying enough food and fuel for several days – enough for our summit attempt.
The rocky ridge is the West Butress. The little nub in the middle is known as Washburn’s Thumb.
Close up of Washburn’s Thumb with climbers visible for perspective.
CE55 Mountain Pant.
Dan making his way around Washburns Thumb.
Steve on the Butt – my favorite shot of the entire trip.
Home at 17,000′ feet. It literally feels like you are in outer space. In the background is Denali Pass (18,000′). The path up to the pass is called the Autobahn.
Looking 3,000′ down at 14k camp.
Yeah…
We spent a rest day at high camp eating, hydrating, prepping gear, chatting with other climbers and enjoying the atmosphere. The weather cooperated, so on day nine of our climb we set out for the summit.
Just above Denali Pass…our high point in 2009. From here on it was all new. The wind at the pass was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was like some malevolent being intent on killing us.
The secret to success – no exposed flesh.
Pig Hill leading up to the summit ridge. My opinion…this is a very poorly designed mountain. Pig Hill was pure evil at almost 20,000′
Pausing just before the summit ridge. The wind was brutal…we actually discussed whether or not we would continue.
Little known fact. As we cross the narrow trail on the ridge, Steve actually caught another climber who had unclipped from the rope and then tripped. Steve saved this climber from what would have been a fatal flaw.
Summit of Denali – 20,320′ Temperature was -30 F with a steady wind in excess of 40mph. Estimated windchill -71F. Not a good day to linger.
Heading back to Denali Pass. Round trip from high camp to the summit was 5 miles, 3,300′ vertical and 17 hours. It was a long, glorious day.
Summit day was amazing. Until we were actually traversing across to the summit ridge though, I didn’t allow myself to believe it was actually going to happen. There are so many things that have to go right, and so many things that can go wrong. The weather cooperated. We had a good plan and a strong team. Dan was the same upbeat, reliable climbing partner he has been for the past 30 years. Prior to Denali, Steve had only climbed Rainier and Mt Baker. He overcame his initial hesitance and developed into a strong, confident climber.
The result of exposed flesh meeting -71F windchill
Even with everything going right, it was still a challenge. Dan ended up getting frostbite on his face, and was a bit hypothermic coming off the summit. Then when we thought we were going to get a rest day at high camp, we got word of a storm blowing in. We didn’t have enough food or fuel to wait out a big Denali storm, so we had to pack up and head down only hours after returning to camp. Then back down at 11,000′ camp, the storm finally caught us and kept us tent bound for four days before we could descend. We all reminded ourselves that we were there by choice and it was all part of the experience.
It is hard to believe that all this took place 3 1/2 years ago. In the years since, there have been other adventures and other mountains. And God willing, there will be many more adventures in the years to come. I’m quite certain though, that nothing will come close to matching our time spent on “The Great One.”
If you’ve read any of my posts since we’ve returned from Norway, you know that both Sharon and I developed a serious crush on that country. The historically good weather and amazing scenery were big factors of course, but so was the culture. It was so appealing to see so many people doing the right thing, the decent thing, just because that’s what you do as part of a community. We actually felt a bit guilty for bagging on our home turf as much as we did. At the hotel on our last night, I recall Sharon saying, “We’re going to have to fall in love with Flagstaff again.”
It has now been almost 4 months since we returned home from across the pond. While my feelings for Norway haven’t changed, I think I’ve fallen in love with Flagstaff again. A few weeks ago, friends from work met up for an off trail hike in the Grand Canyon. We hit the trail early on a Saturday, missed the south rim crowds, and within a few hours were enjoying the views from a seldom visited location within the park.
Allison looking uncharacteristically glum. Kevin looking characteristically grateful to be sitting down.
Swanson “rocking” it
Allison, Dave, Josh, Glenn
Try to relax Allison
Yeah….
Afterwards, we sat on the rim and enjoyed a celebratory libation. As we looked out over the expanse, recounting our adventure – we all shared the same thought. The Grand Canyon is a “bucket list” item for many people. No doubt many of the people sharing our view at the overlook were on a “trip of a lifetime.” Yet, because we live in Flagstaff, we were able to cruise up to the Canyon for the day and have an amazing adventure. Hard not to love that about living in Flagstaff.
The next weekend we joined the throngs downtown Flagstaff during the “First Friday Artwalk.” After some tasty pizza at Il Rosso, we met with several friends at Mother Road Brewery. As usual, the place was full of happy people enjoying a pleasantly warm evening. Next morning I was staring at a list of home repair projects longer than my arm. We decided to do the responsible thing, seize the carp and head to Sedona for a hike instead. Forty-five minutes after pulling out of the driveway, after a lovely drive through world class scenery in Oak Creek Canyon, we arrived at our trail head. We spent a beautiful morning enjoying the incomparable views of the Sedona area.
Yes – there are certainly things about Flagstaff that irritate. Entitled dog owners who refuse to believe leash laws on the trails apply to them. NAU threatening to swallow Flagstaff whole. Traffic on Milton stupid busy all year ’round now, not just on busy summer and winter weekends. But you know what – I still love Flagstaff. I love that I can run and bike year round on trails right from our door step or within a short drive. I love that I can ski on Friday afternoon after work, whitewater kayak on Saturday and rock climb on Sunday…which we did in March a few years ago. I love that every time we walk around downtown, we meet friends from work, or church, or from Sharon’s running group, or old neighbors, or from shared adventures. I love that I can look out our living room window to see a 12,633′ mountain surrounded by our little corner of the largest ponderosa pine forest in the world. I love that within a half day’s drive we can be mountain biking in Moab, boogie boarding in San Diego, or lost in the San Juan mountains of Colorado.
Don’t worry Norway! What we had was more than just a summer fling…it was love. But we also love our mountain home. Now that I think about it, there are quite a few places that I love. Maybe we don’t have to be ‘monogamous’ when it comes to places we love. Maybe Crosby, Stills and Nash had it right when they sang, “If you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with.” Maybe one of the secrets to happiness is to be able to love wherever you find yourself. Right now – I love Flagstaff! So, if you happen to be in our neighborhood, we would love to share what we love. And I hope you love wherever you’re at as well. Next summer when we start traveling, it would be fun to visit, to see what you love about your home town.
I’ve heard it before. That tone of disbelief and wonder and mild horror when someone finds an unrecognizable “science project” in a forgotten corner of the refrigerator. “What is this?” I heard the same disbelief and wonder when people asked, “You went all the way to Norway just to compete in a trail race?” Don’t worry – I wasn’t offended! The short answer is “No!” No, we did not travel half-way around the world just to run around on some mountains. It just sounded like the perfect opportunity to have some”stupid fun.” (“Stupid Fun” See definition here.)
The real story is that when our decision to travel to Norway was finalized and the dates were set, Sharon and I began exploring all that Norway had to offer. The thought occurred that it might be fun join some locals for a trail run. The Hornindal Rundt was the only trail race that took place during our visit, and also happened to be in an area we wanted to visit. So it was that many months later Sharon and I passed through “The Gate of No Return“.
Race check-in
But I’m getting ahead of myself. The Hornindal Rundt (Round) bills itself as “Norway’s Toughest Mountain Race.” The pictures and videos of the event all featured lean, smiling Norwegians effortlessly trotting around the beautiful mountains and lakes of the Hornindal region. And, there was a trail. How hard could it really be? Not having done any other Norwegian mountain races, I’m not qualified to judge the veracity of the “toughest” claim, but it does boast some rather impressive statistics. The long course is 75 kilometers (46 miles) and involves 16,000′ feet of climbing and descending…10,000′ of that comes during the first 38k (23 miles) aka the “short” course.
I had decided to attempt the 75k distance. My rationale was that it was only slightly longer than a Canyon rim to rim to rim, with a bit more climbing. It seemed like it would be a stretch for me, but I was looking for a challenge. Sharon opted for the 38k fjelløp, also a challenge. While the race was not meant to be the main focus of our trip, we did spend a great deal of time preparing. We reckoned that any training would benefit us for all the other activities we had planned during our visit.
The race begins and ends in Grodås. Five minutes from the center of this pleasing little village, we found a convenient cabin where we planned to spend several days.
The view down valley toward Grodås and Hornindal Lake
The Knausen hytte.
We arrived on Friday with plenty of time to relax. We spent the day fueling up, sorting gear, hydrating properly, getting registered, taking in the english version of the pre-race briefing and just generally enjoying the ambiance of the event.
Sorting gear was tough. We had required gear and only one aid station at the 38k finish (1/2 way for long course)
Race briefing
Hornindal competitors
Two of the four Americans entered.
We were both going into the race with some uncertainty. We’d done a fair amount of hiking during our first week in country and generally felt great. Now on the day before before the race, after two rest days, Sharon’s legs felt heavy and tired. I felt rested and strong…yet completely unprepared. Even though I’d done something comparable before, and had trained hard, for some reason this race was getting into my head and I was filled with doubt. We both went to bed unsure of what the next day held in store.
In spite of our misgivings, we both slept well. We were somewhat less pleased with the sound of steady rain on the roof. We shouldn’t have been surprised. This was Norway and we’d been warned. Still, we’d had such good weather to this point, and there hadn’t been rain in the forecast! One could hope! We had the appropriate gear, but rain and cold had the potential to make a long day really long!
Our Norwegian warm up leader…highly entertaining
And we’re off!
Sharon and I started out together jogging slowly along the shore of Hornindalvatnet (Hornindal Lake) before heading up into the woods to begin our first climb. Fairly early on it became apparent that Sharon was not having a good day. Heavy legs and lungs made climbing a chore. This was tough mentally. It is hard not to 2nd guess and get down on yourself for the amount of hiking and resting we’d done. This was tough physically. Feeling good it was going to be a challenge to complete this course. On a bad day it had the potential to be misery. So like any loving husband, I abandoned Sharon and left her to suffer alone. Actually…she threatened unspeakable harm if I didn’t leave. That is a credible threat. Also, we’ve done a number of endurance things together, and we had talked ahead of time. Regardless of how we were doing, we had agreed we would each run our own race. Still, it was hard leaving, knowing that she was going to have a hard go of it.
For me, the Hornindal Rundt was everything I’d hoped for – and more. The scenery was stunning. The weather cleared and was perfect…even a bit warm. My favorite memories from the race, however, came from my interactions and conversations with the other participants.
“Bill Murray” look alike
“Bill Murray” and Evalina
The Amazing Adventure Moms. Carolina, Marit and Jeanette
Siv.
Michael dealing with stomach issues
Because the trail at one point didn’t cross the actual summit, “Bill Murray” added 1/2 mile to the run so he could tag a high point. After talking to Evalina for a bit and sharing that I wasn’t fast, but generally had pretty good endurance, she offered a memorable quote. “Yes – we are like diesel engine – slow but we run forever!” I met the three Amazing Swedish Adventure Moms. We recognized each other as neighbors at the Knausen Hytte. Every year Carolina, Jeanette and Marit participate together in one or two endurance events and were having way too much fun every time we passed each other. Siv and I ended up running/hiking together for several hours. Siv is a local and apparently either knew or was related to every person gathered along the course to cheer us on. I believe her family owned one of the farms we ran through as we came off one mountain and made our way up another. She was kind enough to fill me in on some of the history and life in this region. We ran together until she dropped me on an insanely steep climb, where I met Michael from Gothenburg, Sweden. We both stopped at a convenient stream to refill our water and regroup before finishing the death climb. We both helped each during some tough times coming in the 38k aid station.
Nice warm up mile along the lake.
Sharon on our first climb
A view back toward Grodas and the Hornindal valley stretch away behind.
Still smiling! Hornindal Lake in the background.
Typical “primitive” trail. Much of the course looked like this. Rough and vertical.
On the way to Gulkoppen, the high point of the course.
South from Gulkoppen overlooking the Innvikfjord
Local hikers enjoying a day on Gulkoppen.
Siv setting the pace
The last high point before 38K aid
Hornindalrokke “Hornindal Rock”
Returning to the valley. The cows were unimpressed.
As I said earlier, I’m not qualified to comment on the “toughest” label – but it certainly was tough. I was doing quite well until the last, steep, hot climb up Muldsvorhornet at around 20 miles. I rallied on the run down, but by the time I arrived at the 38K mark, I had decided to call it a day. The entire run had been a magical, amazing experience. It had also taken just under nine hours and had been very, very hard. The thought of heading out and doing it all over again on the 2nd half of the course was rather soul crushing. Physically I probably could have done it – but I felt like it would have just been a suffer-fest. Michael and the race director both did their best to encourage me to continue – and I did some serious soul searching. Ultimately I decided to stop while my memories of the race were positive. Fortunately, the race allows competitors to switch from the long course and get credit as a finisher in the short course. I’ll take it! Sharon arrived a bit later, gassed, a bit frustrated, but also happy to have stuck it out. In spite of stomach problems, Michael continued on and finished in just under 22 hours. Siv added another finish to her resume with a time of 19:40. Remarkable achievements!
At Hornindalbru, trying to decide whether or not to continue, one of the big considerations was, “Will I regret this decision later?” Now, almost three months later, I have no regrets. It was a great day, with great people, in a great place, that left me with great memories. Congrats to all competitors and all finishers. And thanks to the organizers for putting on a wonderful event. Of course, one does wonder, what if in 2019…???
Our plan was to have no plan…and everything was going exactly according to plan.
The only fixed date in our whole Norway adventure was “Norway’s Toughest Mountain Race” – the Hornindal Rundt – on Saturday, July 7th. With that event and a rest day road trip to the coast in the rear view mirror, the question was “Now what?” We went to bed having decided to drive to Ålesund in the morning, to see the city and spend time camping and hiking along the coast. As often happens though, morning came a bit early for me. I spent a few quiet hours pondering the possibilities contained in some tourist brochures and guidebooks. One guidebook offered an intriguing description of Mt Saksa in the nearby town of Urke. No need to rush off to Ålesund. Perhaps a detour was in order? On our way out of a town we stopped to congratulate Siv (we ran together for several hours during the race) on her Hornindal finish. Being a wonderful person, and a native to these parts, she suggested some hikes for us to consider…one of which just happened to be in the area near Urke…Mt. Saksa! That settled it. A visit to Urke was our new, no plan plan!!
The 30+ mile drive from Grodas to Urke was impossibly beautiful (of course). After a bit of a climb we entered a long narrow valley of steep walls, waterfalls, rivers, lakes, lovely farms, and eventually Hjørundfjord and Urke. Even if there wasn’t a dramatic mountain to climb, the drive alone would have been worth the trip.
The trailhead to Saksa was well marked and easy to find. We paid to park and after a quick check on gear and food, we set off up the trail. Almost immediately we met Sarah and Idun who had already stopped to adjust their gear and shed some layers. “Technical stop” they said with a laugh. We chatted with them for a bit, then continued on, leapfrogging with Idun and Sarah several times during the steep ascent. And when I say steep – I mean to say a casual stroll by Norwegian standards. In the realm of mere mortals, very steep. Something like the vertical gain of Flagstaff’s very own Mt. Humphreys – in half the distance. 3,500’ vertical in 2 ½ miles vs. Humphrey’s 3,300 in 5 miles.
With very little warning, we were suddenly on top with a rather agreeable group of hikers. A 9 month old girl was celebrating her first summit, accompanied by helpful parents and grandparents. Very soon after we arrived, Sara and Idun joined us on top, along with several others, all enjoying the grand view from the summit of Saksa. And what a view! Directly below us the impossibly blue Hjørundfjord split into two arms, ringed on all sides by rugged peaks jutting up from the water. A moderate breeze pushed some clouds around, but without any real suggestion of rain. This was what we had come to Norway to see.
A wee girl’s first summit
Idun and Sarah
Summit Victory pose
What we didn’t realize until a few days later, was that this was – literally – what we had come to see. Before we left for Norway, we watched an excellent Salomon TV video (Salomon Dream Trip Video). This video features a young woman who won her dream trip to spend a week in Norway, hanging out and running with Emilie Forsberg and Ida Nilsson. After watching that video, we both said, “I don’t know where in Norway that is…but that’s where we want to go!” Turns out we did!! No wonder we loved it!
We probably spent close to an hour at the summit, soaking in the views and just enjoying the moment. Sarah and Idun were kind enough to snap a few pics for us. They also introduced us to the brilliant Norwegian practice of bringing (and sharing) their amazing “Kvikk Lunsj” chocolate bars. There is something of a national obsession with these massive melkesjokolade taste treats – and rightly so. For the rest of our trip, we made sure to bring one along on every hike. (We still have a couple in the freezer!) It was a safety issue! After all, no one wants a repeat of the Donner Party!! We also watched with interest as folks buttered slices of excellent Norwegian bread and layered on a thick piece of cheese for a tasty and filling snack. Others brought out hard boiled eggs from their clever plastic egg carriers. Norwegians certainly know how to enjoy life in the out of doors.
By the time we decided to head down, we’d made two important discoveries. First – we spied a likely looking place to camp in the valley below Mt Saksa. The second was that Sarah and Idun were going to have dinner and a beer a bit later at a small restaurant/bar right on the edge of the fjord…and more importantly…wouldn’t mind our company. The prospective camp site materialized as hoped so we set up camp in a lovely spot and enjoyed a quick dinner. A short bit later we met up with Idun and Sarah.
Home for the evening
The Urke Kaihus
Idun and Sarah with their American students.
One beer led to another and the evening stretched on for several hours as these wonderful young ladies schooled us on the proper pronunciation of unpronounceable Norwegian words and place names. We also talked of love, life, aspirations, hard realities, hopes, dreams, differences between Norway and the US, travels we’ve all taken and places we’d like to visit. We talked on well past the time the bar had closed. Eventually we exchanged contact information, reluctantly said our good-byes, and went our separate ways.
Later as we lay in the comfort of our sleeping bags, we both agreed this had been the day that perfectly captured what we had hoped to experience in Norway. Siv, Urke, Hjørundfjord, Saksa, the Urke Kaihus, Sarah and Idun all combined to give us a memorable – no – a perfect day. Thank you Norway. Vi elsker deg.
Following our inquiry, the helpful young lady in the visitor center said “Turn right when you leave here, walk three blocks and then turn right at the (relevant landmark reference). Then walk four blocks and you’ll be there.” As we left, Sharon asked, “Did you notice what she said? She said ‘walk’.” Well of course! She assumed that since it was only 7 blocks, we would walk. Why would one drive such a short distance?? Clearly not a sentiment shared in all corners of the globe
Scene one is NOT likely to see in Norway
When asked, that same helpful young lady offered several suggestions for good hikes – hikes that she liked to do “for fun” in the area around Jotunheimen national park. And so it was that later that day, we found ourselves at a trailhead near the Krossbu lodge. Our plan was to hike to the top of, then along a ridge. Our local contact said she had gone for several miles along this ridge, and then bushwhacked back to the trailhead.
The trail immediately started climbing, and for the most part followed a boisterous creek. Before long we found that it was being fed by three attractive waterfalls. At the 2 mile mark we crested a rise and were confronted by a broad glacier sweeping down to its terminus in a lake. This was a real bargain hike with amazing views such a short distance from the trailhead. In spite of the fact that Jotunheimen is the busiest national park, there were only a few people scattered on the comfy rocks around the lake.
Leirbreen with Store Smorstabbstinden on the left
After resting for a bit we spied a likely route to the top of the ridge and began our climb. All the while a forbidding peak called Store Smorstabbstinden loomed high above us to our right. From the top of the ridge we were treated to amazing views of three separate glaciers nestled in amongst a jumble of peaks. I’d like to say I pulled up some brilliantly relevant John Muir quote to describe the beauty all around us. I’m afraid it mostly rendered us speechless. The best my overwhelmed brain cells could come up with was “wow!” Just “wow!” over and over again.
Leirbreen (Leir Glacier) from above
Store Smorstabbstinden and Storbreen (Stor Glacier
We sat atop of the ridge and drank in the view of glaciers and lakes and ridges and peaks and….wow! From our perch on the ridge we noticed that the ridge to the north would require some significant climbing over some slightly less “wow” worthy terrain. In the other direction, Store Smorstabbstinded still loomed, still looked like a bit of a challenge, but also began to call – whisper really “come on up!” It was faint, at first, but I definitely heard it. The longer we sat looking up at the summit, still 1,600′ above us…the whisper grew louder. Sharon heard it too.
The last few hundred feet to the summit of Store Smorstabbstinden
The middle third of the face presented some challenging route finding through some very steep rocks and cliff bands. The summit was spectacular! Even more so because of the challenge. We looked east into the heart of Jotunheimen national park. We were surrounded by the highest peaks in Norway, all with their own glaciers draped on their flanks. To the southwest we saw a high alpine wonderland and without speaking knew that we would camp there later that evening. Once again “Impossible Norway” came through. It didn’t seem possible that we could have found a better place, or way, to celebrate Sharon’s birthday!
The Queen on her Birthday surveying her realm
Even though it was already late, the sun was still high in the sky. You’ve got to love the northern latitudes in summer! And it had barely made a move toward the horizon by the time we made it back to the care at 8:30pm. It didn’t take long for us to find an impossibly beautiful campsite with impossibly beautiful views. While I set up camp, Sharon worked her one pot wonder magic. We capped off the evening with a visit to the lovely Krossbu Lodge for a birthday beer….an $18 apiece birthday beer. After a magical day, neither of us minded. A perfect end to a perfect day.
The view from our tent…it doesn’t suck
View in the other direction, including Store Smorstabbstinden
Krossbu Lodge
By the way, in case you were wondering…the phrase “Norge er ikke skapt for å sitte på ræva” means “Norway is not created to sit on the butt!” As this day proved, it most certainly is not!!
This may seem strange for me to say since we’ve only just met – but I’m in love. People told me that you could be dark and gloomy, but in the short time we had together I’ve only seen your bright, sunny disposition. The more we got to know you, the more you revealed of yourself, the more there was to love. The three weeks we spent together were magical…and not long enough. To quote the Bard, “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good-night til it be morrow.” I get it. I didn’t want to leave. I’m already counting the days when I can return.
Sharon(November 2017): “Hey Dave, do you think you can get – or are you willing to take – three weeks off next summer?
Dave: Hmmmm. For what?
Sharon: Not saying quite yet….
Who wouldn’t say yes to that kind of offer? Sharon is not entirely sure where the idea came from, but a few weeks later she revealed that she’d been exploring the possibility of visiting Norway. Normally, given my somewhat limited vacation time, I’m reluctant to put all my free time “eggs” in one basket. But just Google Norway images! I mean it! Stop reading right now, minimize this screen and Google Norway and look at some of the pictures that come up. After drooling over my keyboard for just five minutes I was trying to come up with a plan to spend three months there.
We celebrated Sharon’s birthday by climbing a rather techical peak “Store Smorstabbtinden”. One lexicon translated the name as “Big Lumpstick”. Hmmm. Stunning views. Perfect day!
Leirbreen (Leir glacier) on our way up the Big Lumpstick
One of many excellent free campsites we enjoyed during our stay.
Campsite along the Naeroyfjord, near the town of Gudvangen
Victory pose on top of Mt Saksa
Our new friends Idun and Sarah…and $50 worth of beer…gulp!
Jeg elsker Norge
The “We have to go!” decision was the easy part. The hard part was trying to figure out how to explore a lifetime’s worth of beautiful country in only three weeks. We started with a basic philosophical choice. Do we try to see a little bit of a lot, or a lot of a little? In other words, travel the length and breadth of the country and see as much (albeit superficially) as we possibly can? Or pick one region to explore in depth? That’s a tough choice to make. Every new Google search revealed a new, impossibly beautiful area that practically begged us to come and explore. Finally simple logistics helped us decide on a middle ground. Norway is simply too large. Imagine if California stretched from Mexico all the way to Canada…that’s basically the size of Norway. Neither of us wanted to spend multiple days simply traveling from point A to B to C, etc. In the end we based most of our travel in the northern part of the southern 1/3 of the country.
I’ll go into more detail in following posts, but anyone who has listened to us gush about Norway knows that we both absolutely fell in love with the country. Granted, we probably had the best three weeks of weather in Norway since the Vikings started collecting detailed climate information. And granted, we were just tourists traveling through, so our observations are, by necessity, somewhat superficial. But the bottom line is – we love Norway. We loved the people we met. We loved the culture. We both would love to go back. We both have said (not really in jest, or even half in jest) that if we didn’t have family here – we would seriously considering moving to Norway.
That’s all for now. Just wanted to throw a tease out there. I have several Norway installments planned. In part I’ve been waiting for my camera to join us back in the states. Near the end of our trip, I apparently put my camera on top of the car when we returned from a climb. I reached out to the kind folks at the Sota Saeter lodge near the trailhead, on the off chance that someone turned it in. I’m not sure what all took place, but a few days later Birgit emailed me to say that my camera had been found (slightly worse for wear and tear) ten miles down the road. Plans are currently underway for my memory stick to be sent. As soon as we get reunited, there will be stories and photos aplenty.
From time to time Sharon and I are faced with a philosophical dilemma. Say you’re interested in exploring a 30 mile chunk of the Grand Canyon. Does one a) carry just the basics of food and water and do it as a long day hike, or b) do you break the trip into less daunting distances by backpacking over 2 days? As you might have guessed, this is not a hypothetical exercise. For some time we’d talked about hiking the portion of the Tonto trail that lies between the Grandview and the south Kaibab trails…a distance of 29 miles from trailhead to trailhead. It would be possible to do it in one day, thus avoiding the hassle of backcountry permits and schlepping our camping gear. On the other hand, it would be a really long day. So…what to do?
The Tonto Trail from Grandview on the left to the s. Kaibab trail on the far right.
Eventually we hit on a solution. We got the necessary backcountry permit to spend a night along the trail and do the hike over two days…but we decided to make this an ultra-lightweight experiment. We’ve both had been moving in that direction for some time, but we decided to see how light could we go and still be comfortable.
Since this was just going to be an overnight trip, our first big decision involved food. We opted to leave behind the stove and cooking gear. Our plan was to eat a large breakfast before hitting the trail and bring our normal trail food during the day. For supper we would dine on several pieces of Fratelli’s pizza – purchased the night before and frozen. We’ve done this a number of times before. It is not ultra-lightweight, but it is ultra-tasty and much appreciated after a long day on the trail. Breakfast on day two would be bagels slathered with high calorie goodness. Bars and sufficient trail food would get us back to the trailhead.
With food taken care of, we had to make some gear decisions. Normally we sleep under the stars when traveling in the Canyon. This time around, the chance for rain was high enough to warrant some protection – but not high enough to lead us to bag the trip. Being close to the Canyon, we have the luxury of being fair weather hikers. Solution? We brought along the rain fly from my 1980’s era REI tent and a simple plastic ground sheet. The fly works beautifully with two hiking poles. Total weight – about 1.5 lbs. With food and shelter settled, it was just a matter of taking just enough temperature appropriate clothing – but no more than necessary. We also tried very hard to follow the lightweight maxim that all gear (if possible) should serve multiple functions. By the time we hit the trailhead, we had weighed, pondered extensively discussed each piece of gear that ended up in our packs. We were quite pleased with the results. With a full load of food and water (3 liters each = 6.6 lbs), we each ended up carrying 18 lbs. Nowhere near the minimal weights that some fanatics are able to achieve, but it was hardly noticeable. We also felt quite confident that we would be comfortable whatever conditions we encountered.
The Happy Hikers ready to start
Bit of a drop heading down the Grandview trail.
Lots of flowers in bloom along the trail.
Unable to walk and talk at the same time, Dave does his ‘turtle on its back’ imitation.Sharon “Are you OK?” Me “Yes, but I can’t get up.” Sharon “OK. Let me get some pictures first, then I’ll help.” Thanks Hon!
With the exception of a minor off-trail detour (see picture above), the trip down the Grandview to Horseshoe Mesa went quickly. We then dropped off the west side down to the Cottonwood campsite. Given that April is prime Canyon camping time, we weren’t surprised to see quite few folks there. As soon as we continued on the Tonto trail, however, we saw only one other group until we arrived at the Kaibab trail. As always, exactly the camper/hiker density we were hoping for.
I’ve always believed that there is a direct correlation between the weight of one’s pack vs enjoyment. As pack weight increases enjoyment decreases exponentially. On the other end of the scale, we were both enjoying our light loads and were able to move quickly. We were able to top off with water at the back of Grapevine Canyon, and expected that would be enough until we reached camp at Lone Tree Canyon. Everything was going according to plan…or so we thought. If you look at the map above, you may notice a small, unnamed watershed in between Grapevine Canyon and Boulder Creek. Since the Tonto trail is so pronounced, we didn’t bother bringing a map. As we made our way around that unnamed watershed, we made the mistaken assumption that it was Boulder Creek and we marveled at what good time were making. Thus, when we (in reality) came to Boulder Creek, we made the mistaken assumption that it was Lone Tree Canyon. This was quite puzzling because all our research indicated that there was good camping and reliable water at Lone Tree…and we found neither. This also mattered because we were going to needed water.
We puzzled over this for a bit and eventually the realization hit…we were actually at Boulder Creek. Practically speaking, this really wasn’t a big deal. We had plenty of energy and daylight left to hike the additional miles to Lone Tree. Psychologically though, it was kind of crushing. We were excited about how good we felt, and we had mentally prepared ourselves to be done. Now we had to saddle up and hike several more miles. It didn’t help matters that some clouds had rolled in and a cold wind had built up. We briefly contemplated stopping short and camping at a spot overlooking the river. In the end, we pushed on and were rewarded with a lovely spot at Lone Tree.
Heading toward the back of Grapevine Canyon.
A welcome sight along this stretch of the Tonto.
The inner gorge and the River.
Our shelter at Lone Tree Canyon.
Moonrise looking up Lone Tree.
Lone Tree was a fantastic place to camp. We had water. We had pizza. We were serenaded by love struck frogs. Even though it rained a bit, the wind died and our shelter performed flawlessly. We had covered twenty relatively painless miles, and were rewarded with yet another awe-inspiring evening in the Canyon.
Bluebird skies and perfect temps on day two.
Having crossed through Cremation Canyon, we entered the day use area near the s. Kaibab trail.
Back on familiar turf…the south Kaibab near Sharon’s favorite portion – the switchbacks.
A large band of heavy rain followed us up the Kaibab. Fortunately we made it before the skies opened.
Day two was much like day one, just warmer, lighter and of course…more uphill. Fortunately the pay off for a long day one was a much shorter hike on day two. As the day wore one we noticed that a large thunderstorm seemed to be following us. With our light packs, what could have been a wet, tedious hike passed rather quickly and we beat the rain to the rim. Thanks to the vehicle shuttle we had done the day before, we were back at our car in no time.
Not that we needed much selling, but Sharon and I both came pleased with our experiment and completely sold on the idea of going as light as possible. We had been able to cover a large portion of the Canyon with not much more weight than we would have carried on a long day hike…and we got to spend another wonderful evening below the rim. We also affirmed our belief that you don’t need to spend outrageous sums of money buying ultralightweight gear made of unicorn blood and baby seal tears to reduce weight. It was more a matter of knowing what conditions to expect, taking only the appropriate gear for those conditions, and being willing to leave behind unnecessary “what if” gear. If you have any specific gear questions, feel free to reach out. And as always, however you do it, we encourage you to get below the rim and Seize the Carp!
To stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon is to be amazed. To gaze into the depths and realize you are seeing only a fraction of a percent of the entire Canyon, is to be made to feel very small. Stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon in the middle of a moonless night, gaze into a sky filled to overflowing with brilliant stars, and you see “awesome” defined. Stand there and look into the vast inky abyss where the Canyon should be, and the feeling of amazement, smallness and awe is overwhelming. Especially since I was there to run and hike back and forth across that great gulf. Gulp!
A year prior, a friend suggested doing a rim to rim to rim. I believe I let out a snort of derision. I’ve never finished a rim to rim and thought – “Hey, I’d like to do that all over again!” However, preparing for, and completing a long race in Moab earlier in the year had expanded my idea of what is possible (and enjoyable). So after a Canyon bridge was repaired, a separated collar bone had healed, training, schedules and weather all finally aligned so that I found myself in the middle of that aforementioned moonless night, at the s. Kaibab trailhead on a Saturday morning in November.
An amazing sunset seemed to bode well for my little adventure.
Alpenglow on Yaki Point and the top of the s. Kaibab
After sunset, the clouds did look a little ominous…
All ready to catch a few hours sleep before setting out.
Only 42 miles to go….
All you need is a good headlamp and a flashlight to run the south Kaibab trail in the middle of the night.
In spite of a slightly less than optimal forecast, and some rain earlier in the evening, things started out well. Five minutes down the trail I was already peeling off a layer. The familiar territory along the south Kaibab passed quickly. After a quick break at Phantom to fuel up and top off on water, I headed north. It was along this stretch that I hit my only real low point of the day. After a relatively balmy start, a cold wind from the north was blasting down Bright Angel Canyon. KB gear and Gore-tex came to the rescue, but still, it was none too warm. By the time I got close to Cottonwood campground I’d been alone in the dark for 4-5 hours, I was just barely staying ahead of my fuel needs, and I was starting to hear things. Several times I turned around, trying to see whatever animal was stalking the oldest and weakest member of the herd. Turns out it was something in my pack making noise.
The big downer though was the water situation. From Park Service sources online, I had expected to find water at Manzanita and at the north rim trailhead. When I asked the park rangers upon arrival, they assured me that no, the only water was at Cottonwood campground. I was a little surprised, but glad I asked and planned accordingly. To say I was disappointed at finding a dry faucet would be a mild understatement. I had just finished the last of my water. There would be no way to climb 7 miles to the rim, and then 14 miles back to water at Phantom. If I couldn’t get water I would have to cut short my run/hike. I briefly went to an uncharacteristically dark place. But then a quote I recently came across seemed appropriate.
If there is no solution to the problem then don’t waste time worrying about it. If there is a solution to the problem then don’t waste time worrying about it
So, no need to worry. I figured I’d go at least to Manzanita and check for water there. It was only two miles farther. If there was water – problem solved. If not, it wouldn’t be a problem running back to Phantom. So with some fuel on board and a plan in place I felt much better. And, as it turned out, there was water at Manzanita as I’d originally expected – so problem solved.
From that point the real climbing on the n. Kaibab begins…and it was beautiful. Before long the first hint of dawn appeared behind me. Eventually, ever so slowly I could begin to make out my surroundings and I had a geeky “Lord of the Rings” moment. The cliffs and rock features took on the form of “Helm’s Deep” and I could almost imagine an orc army in the valley below. OK…maybe too much alone time! About a mile from the top, I met the first southbound folks and the sun kissing the highest pine trees on the rim pulled me upwards.
A few minutes before 8am, 7 hours, 14 minutes from the south rim.
Still smiling!!
There are few things as glorious as the view from the north rim at sunrise, especially after hiking through the night to arrive there. And, unlike every other crossing – I actually did feel like retracing my steps. So I spent a few minutes doing the Verizon reception dance to let folks know I’d made it, and headed back down. I’m not even going to try to try to describe an early morning run down the n. Kaibab…other than to say it was glorious. And, that you really need to do it. Not run necessarily, but in some form or other, travel that trail in the early morning.
This trail just calls out for you to hike or run down. It is amazing.
Looking back up to the rim.
In contrast to the cold, dark and solitary journey north, the south bound journey was passed in relative warmth under blue bird skies enjoying the companionship of an ever changing cast of fellow travelers. The only hiccup heading south came a few miles north of Phantom. Some knee and hip pain, likely the result of a tight IT band caused me to stop running. This was not as problematic as it may sound, since the slow shuffle that passes for my running is only slightly faster than hiking.
Getting close to Cottonwood campground the 2nd time and approximately 14 miles left to go.
Lovely trail along Bright Angel Creek.
Boat beach from the Black Bridge.
Had a fun, pleasant conversation at Phantom with Emily from Flagstaff. Sharon caught a ride with her to the Canyon, so I was expecting to run into her. Like many in Flag, Emily was rocking the Canyon trails in preparation for her first ultramarathon in late January. As I climbed away from the river I entered what I like to call my “Sir do you need help finding your walker?” mode. During several food and water rest breaks on the slow slog upwards, I had the opportunity to meet and chat with several other pleasant folks. People who, like Emily, were out enjoying the Canyon as it is really meant to be enjoyed…on foot, relishing the challenge and marveling in the scenery.
The familiar landmarks gradually came and went. Tip off, the switchbacks, Skeleton point, Cedar ridge, Ooh Aah point – and finally – the rim! A quick pic, one last look out at the Canyon, and another grand adventure came to a close.
Aftermath.
There is a lot of time to think during any endeavor that takes the better part of a day. In the week and a half since (with Thanksgiving in between), I’ve had some time to think more about that day and relive the experience. A few thoughts…
I am always grateful and feel very blessed to live in Flagstaff with such easy access to such an amazing place.
I am always grateful for my health and the ability to enjoy the outdoors in unique ways.
I am especially grateful for my lovely and amazing bride – who by the way, whilst I was out mucking about across the River – just (her word) hiked the 17 miles down the Kaibab, across on the river trail and up the Bright Angel trail in an amazingly short time. Sharon supports, encourages these silly pursuits – and gets after it in her own right.
A big shout out to Katie Procter. Katie did her own rim to rim to rim two years prior and offered some good advice. And then three days after my run gave me the benefit of her professional massage therapy. aaaaaaaaah! Check her out at the Body Shop – seriously. Katie Procter Massage
Challenge yourself. Whether its hiking around the block, or across town, or up a mountain or into the Canyon, it feels good to push back the boundaries of what you think you can do. And when you push back boundaries like that, your world gets bigger. Just a warning though – that kind of thinking is dangerous. If I can do this, you think…maybe I can do that!And who knows where that will lead. -Seize the Carp!-
