Un-pause

Between the tone of my last two posts and the utter lack of activity since, I can imagine this blog has appeared left for dead. In truth, I've made little progress on my ITI Race report, though intent is still there and I'm hopeful of posting at least a first chapter soon. Since the race, I've been in the midst of one of those major life changing events. As way of explanation, I offer the image above. In a few short weeks this will be pretty much the view I get to enjoy about 1/2 mile into my evening runs from my new home in San Francisco.

That's right. Mountain Man Steve is moving to The City! While I grew up in "the country," I've pretty much spent the entirety of my adult life in the suburbs. It's time for a change. My current residence does put me close to the vast trail options of the SF Peninsula, but I still generally have to drive to the trailhead and at home, it's basically the 'burbs.

I've never lived in a major city and I'm really looking forward to it: exploring the urban landscape on foot, taking public transit to work and--oh yeah--the awesome Marin Headlands just the other side of the bridge as my new playground.

Oddly enough, it was during the final stretch of the ITI, someplace between Nikolai and McGrath, Alaska dragging my sled along the frozen Kuskokwim River, where the decision was made.

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I have managed to fit in some runs and races in-between the stresses of finding and purchasing a condo in a majorly heating real estate market. Granted, I've been completely under-trained and offered up pretty sub-par performances at both Quicksilver 50m and the Horseshoe Lake 50K, but neither of those are unfamiliar conditions for me. Good thing, too since these were essentially training runs for my next race which I'll enter with similar preparation and expecting similar results. The Bryce 100 Trail Run, starts at 8000ft and rarely drops much lower as it traverses 18,000ft of climb and descent. Since I'll be moving, quite literally, to live at sea level, sucking air at altitude seems like a good way to commemorate the event. It's also my good buddy Beat's birthday so I'll be joined by a group of friends to suffer struggle in camaraderie.

Oh, and there will apparently also be some pretty nice views there too.

Here's looking forward to all the new adventures to come!

Stalled

My motivation for running sits at an all-time low. Usually after a big event I take some down time after which the simple joys of running return to me, trotting along free from plans or expectations. In truth, I've had some good runs on the weekends enjoying familiar trails through the redwoods or along coastal bluffs. However, life has gotten busy for various reasons and squeezing in runs during the week has not just become logistically difficult, it has seemed almost distasteful. Running just to get in the miles or, even worse, the idea of "training" fail to provide the impetus to get me out the door even with the knowledge that I'll probably feel better after. There are a few events already on my docket in the coming months and I know they will be much more enjoyable the better shape I am in so I'll have to get off my butt just to avoid turning them into suffer-fests. Still, I am finding it difficult to contemplate any run that doesn't have something inspiring to offer me.

Perhaps what I need is just to go for a very long walk...

On that note, I have just sent out my application for the 2014 Iditarod Trail Invitational. At least I know, another "real" adventure is less than a year away!

Daylight

Daylight savings time coincided with my return from Alaska making my time adjustment just a wee bit more difficult. However, with the time shift comes later sunset making after-work trail running an option once again. It's been over a week since I finished the 350 miles on foot and my legs seemed to finally shake that "dead" feeling that had settled into them. I figured getting out on the trail for a little shake down would be good and it was about time to assess how my body was recovering. For most of us, long distance sled-dragging is not a running sport. In fact, other than on a few of the downhills and part of the final road, I hadn't run a step. I had images in my head of bounding easily over dirt, unfettered by harness and heavy gear. Still, I would take it easy.

I had planned just a short stint through Huddart Park to Phleger and back. In the first mile my legs felt tired, the bottom of my feet hurt, my left ankle winged, my right knee ached, my hip nagged and, despite being at my lowest weight since PTL, I felt like a lumbering oaf plodding down the trail. It was amazing how unnatural and gimpy I felt. Eventually, I eased into it. The aching dulled and I stopped feeling like I was going to roll my ankle. It was almost 70 degrees out. The trail was soft, the ferns lush and the creek bubbling beneath the tall redwoods. I reminded myself that my slow pace was still probably twice as fast as I ever moved during the race. However, it did mean that the daylight which had driven me out there was waning on my return. Combined with running beneath the canopy, this turned my final couple miles int a shuffle in the dark back to my car.

All in all, it was a good run.

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I have actually started on my ITI race report. In order to keep it from becoming the epic to end all epics and taking two years to complete, I have decided to distill it down to just the storied highlights (and a few lowlights). I am actually trying something new and I already have an outline in draft format. I just have to conjure up the prose to fill in the details and intersperse pictures here and there.

On that note, I have my pictures uploaded to Picasa and publicly view-able. If you want to look at the raw, and sometimes ugly, unfiltered photos the album is here:

ITI 2013

Also, I have uploaded my full GPX track from the race captured via the Garmin eTrex 30. I edited out some a few failures of backtracking and wandering on the trail (i.e. Nikolai in the morning). I also cleared up all the most gross cases of GPS bounce that occurred while I was stopped. Other than that, it is pretty much the course as I followed it even though I was off the main trail a few times. Given that the Iditarod trail exists only in winter and covers many rivers, lakes and swamps this is pretty much as accurate as anything you will find. You will notice that the full track is almost exactly 300 miles long (i.e. not 350). Take that for what it is. Again, the Iditarod is not a "real" trail, and races that "follow" it take the shortest route feasible to cover the particular distance.

The full thing is quite large with almost 20,000 track points. I also made a simplified version with 10% of the points in it. The waypoints I had for checkpoints and other significant trail locations are in a separate file also linked below. However, I haven't gone in and corrected some of those so some of the places are not quite correct such as the Shell Lake Lodge and the Skwentna Roadhouse. They are however, exactly what I had to work with while doing the race :-).

Enjoy!

• Full GPX track of my ITI 350 from Knick Lake to McGrath, Alaska (2.4MB) 
• Simplified GPX of the above route with 10% of the track points included (250KB)
• GPX of Waypoints I used during the race (30KB)

Enough

Despite the pithy tone of my last post, the true reasons for tackling something like the Iditarod Trail Invitational are a bit more elusive and much more personal. Without diving into some sort of psychological self-analysis, it's difficult to discuss the forces that drive me to take on such things. However, I can try to explain some of the feelings that come out of the undertaking, the lingering effects or "what I get out of it" -- so to speak.

When hearing of these types of races, I think that all most people see is the difficulty. Certainly, the raw physical and mental challenge is an important aspect, but it has to offer more to me than that. I tend to be turned off by events that are mainly just about a specific difficult challenge (i.e. timed events). Also, if a race feels like it has been made hard just for the sake of being hard, I find it detracts from the experience. For me, something intrinsic about the event itself has to capture my imagination in some way, to provide an experience that is both unique and compelling. It has to offer the possibility for a sense of fulfillment. 350 miles on the Iditarod trail seems to have done just that.

I will write more about the race itself. I've stories in my head to sort through and many photos to upload and organize. Right now, though, I am still engulfed in absorbing the experience. Going from running 100-mile trail races to 200-mile treks through The Alps to, now, a 350-mile "sludge" across frozen Alaska, may seem like the unending pursuit of ever longer and harder events, but that's not the perspective I have.  For me, the specific events themselves are self-contained experiences that leave a lasting impression on my psyche. Each one, a place to which I can return again and again as a source of inspiration.

I'm sure even some of my closest friends may find it hard to believe when I say I've always believed that, at some point, one of these experience will turn out to be "enough". That's not to say, I'd be done with trail running or give up long, multi-day treks. It just means that I won't be driven to find something bigger, harder or "more" than what I've already accomplished. It seem to me that the unbounded pursuit of ever more difficult challenges can only end in a breaking point and I'm not really interested in finding where that is. I respect, admire and even, to an extent, understand those who are compelled to such a path. But, personally, I like the feeling of satisfaction that comes at the completion of an event with nothing more on the horizon than rest, recovery and reflection. If I can make that sense of completeness last, I'll embrace it as long as possible.

So, to the inevitable question that's been asked as to whether I'll go on to Nome "next time", I have to say, right now, the answer is "not any time soon." Though I think it unlikely that I won't want to, at least, return and repeat this event some time in the future. For the time being, walking the 350 miles to McGrath, the time spent alone on the trail, the hospitality of the lodges, the sanctuary of the checkpoints and people opening up their homes in the Alaskan bush, have all provided so much fuel for thought and imagination that I don't find myself wanting more. The part of me that needs these things is presently fulfilled.

It is enough.

Why

As many people did along the trail to Glacier Point, a couple women cross-country skiing asked about the sled and what we were doing. After explaining the ITI and our training as best I could, one of them asked the inevitable question.

Woman: "Why are you doing it?"

Me: "It's hard to explain. Why do people climb mountains?"

Woman (with a little chuckle): "Oh, you mean 'because it's there'?"

Me: "No, not really. I mean, the mountain will still be there whether anyone climbs it or not. You climb it to see if you can."

Alaska talk

I was so late completing my PTL race report that I haven't had time to write anything about Alaska and now I am about to hope on a plane for "places north" tomorrow morning. I will try to write a few more things if I get a chance before Sunday, but the vitals for the race can be found below. This is a race across the Alaskan wilderness. While there are checkpoints including some at lodges, they are few and remote. Updates will be sporadic at best.

Iditarod Trail Invitational


As always seems to be the case with these winter events, I feel woefully under-prepared. I'm not quite sure how prepared any first timer could be for an attempt to drag 40+ pounds of gear on a sled across 350 miles of frozen tundra. However, I haven't done any long events beyond a few 50K races in the past couple months. My time on the snow has been limited to one trip to Tahoe and a couple visits to Yosemite high country. I only really got my sled and other gear dialed in last weekend. Yet, as always, I must somehow convince myself that I can finish this thing because belief is as important a component of these events as any other preparation.

My basic thought is that preparation for this event really constitutes more than just the last few weeks or  even couple months of training. I expect to be drawing on experiences covering the span of years including my two long winter races (Susitna 100 and Arrowhead 135), the multi-day, multi-hundred mile events I have done in the Alps (PTL and TDG) and, of course, the 20-some-odd 100 mile runs I've done. I've gravitated more and more towards these sort of self-sufficient events. They seem to me to be less about training and quickness, more about preparation and the will to endure.

For me, the mantra is always strength over speed, toughness over talent, mental perseverance over physical endurance.

OK, this post has officially turned into a a self-pep-talk that was probably best left as an internal conversation. So, here are some photos of our last training trip to Yosemite where we slept on top of Sentinal Dome (8000ft). This was actually our second trip up there. Jill has some even better photos from our first trip on her blog.

Photos with captions

Obligatory "all-geared-up" shot to start the day 

The first 9 miles are along the Glacier Point road which is a groomed XC-ski and snowshoe path in winter

Amazing views abound

Things didn't look good during the final approach to the dome

It was completely sopped in

Then it started to break...

Wow!

...and WOW!

Beat -- all smiles

It was relatively cold dipping into the teens as the day drew to a close

Morning brought a whole new scene

Looking across to Half Dome

Yosemite Falls just starting to thaw as the sun hits it

El Capitan and the central valley in the far distance

Heading off the dome

and into the woods.

See you in Alaska! (mountain man beard in full effect)

Failing into Success (end)

View outside Refugio Elisabetta (photo Harry W)

People will milling around the dormitory, but I was not one of them. I opened my bleary eyes and one of them explained in broken english that one party had tried to get over the pass earlier, but failed. They were trying to get a larger group together now that it was light to make another push. It was 6am. I was tired. While I knew we wouldn't be able to make it out with this group, I dragged myself from my bunk to go wake Harry. He looked about as bad as I felt. We did manage to get ourselves mostly together and make it to the crowded dining area for some breakfast.

Beat and Daniel were here too as well as a number of other teams all working hard to get up the gumption and head out into the cold. There were also a number of tourists here amazed and somewhat bewildered by the people who had showed up overnight. The proprietress was doing her best to accommodate, but was understandably a bit short of patience having not been prepared to host a bunch of racers. We did our best to settle up and make preparations to head over the pass, but we ended up about 1/2 hour behind the second group to head out.

The initial trail was fine, but finding the route all the way up and over Cold e la Seigne and back into France required many course corrections and staring at our GPSes. While this wasn't our original route, the col was one of our waypoints. At the top visibility was almost gone so a large group of us just followed each other down into the valley on the other side. We were all glad to not be heading up further from there as the original plan had dictated.

Heading down from Col de la Seigne (photo Harry)

We headed down below snow level into a little farming village. Some people stopped at a refuge at the bottom to grab some food, but since our route had us climbing the other side, Harry and I decided to make haste and continue. His leg was not improving in condition and the sooner we could get out of the snow for good, the better.

Heading back up from La Ville des Gaciers (photo Harry)

We had the illusion of better weather on reaching the bottom and we felt like we were making good time as we travelled up a muddy farming road that had been decimated by cattle. There were a couple groups behind us, but we didn't take much notice as we focused on continuing to climb at a good pace. After a while, I realized that the parties were no longer behind us. Harry checked his GPS and realized we had completely missed the turn off about a 1/2 mile down the road. After a short argument about how to get back to the trail and some cursing we hustled down. With Harry's leg issues I was in front along with my frustration-induced bad decision making. I followed some tracks through the snow trying to shorten the way back to the path. All it really accomplished was slower travel and making matters worse for Harry's leg.

Back on track we were pretty much pulling up the rear of this group with a very steep climb over the Col des Fours. The sun had come up and was making the climb quite warm despite being knee deep in snow at times.

Heading up, I am actually quite warm (photo Harry)

Even with the sun at our backs, we could see that another storm system was moving in behind us. With our lost time on the road we were racing to beat it to the pass as being up at 9000ft in a storm was the last thing we needed. Luckily, this section was on our original route and we also had tracks from the team just in front of us. It was no surprise that making the pass took longer than expected. From there we still had to traverse over before we could descend. We were headed into near complete whiteout conditions.

Things getting ugly (photo Harry)

We did our best to keep panic at bay as we knew we were in the sort of situation were a bad choice could be quite dire. It wasn't until we could see the Refuge du Col de la Croix du Bonhomme, that we finally breathed a little bit easier. Of course, the descent was not going to be any piece of cake. My feet were cold and wet, but Harry's leg was going to be a much bigger issue as we headed down the slushy trail. To make things worse, there were a number of hikers coming up the trail to the refuge making the trail and coordination much worse.

Top of the descent (photo Harry)

It was extremely slow going on the way down. The path was slippery and every slip sent Harry into shouts of pain. I think for the first time, I began having some doubts about our ability to finish this thing. The only saving grace was that we were under the mistaken assumption that this would be the last difficult section of our journey.

When we finally made it out of the snow, we were quite happy, but it had taken it's toll. Harry was in quite a bit of pain and my foot was giving me a bit of trouble as well. After around 3000 feet of descent we arrived at a low point that looked like a public park with some scattered structures. One seemed to be a restaurant that wasn't open, but that didn't matter as we were quite low on funds. We stopped and filled our bladders at the public restrooms and had a bite to eat from what was left in our packs. We were quite low on fuel as well.

Another team caught up to us just as the trail tuned off the UTMB path. The three of them seemed to be in quite good spirits. I guess that's the advantage of getting some extra rest at the refuges. The went ahead as we began to climb to the next checkpoint. In this event of never ending challenges, the climb, while relatively short, was insanely steep. Scrambling up steep, wet boulders was not what the doctor ordered for either of us. There were multiple stops on this climb tending to pains and injuries. I found a way to manage my foot issue, but Harry's situation was clearly not going to let up.

I don't have much to say about Refuge Tré-la-Tête except that sometimes people live up to cultural stereotypes. The Swiss had taken all our money, the Italians were friendly and fed us well, the French--at least in this particular instance--were, well, less than friendly. After 160 miles and nearly 5 days, the last thing we were in the mood for was to feel unwelcome on the final stretch. We were told they couldn't spare any bread for sandwiches and when asked what we could get for our remaining 20 euros, we were served a plate of plain spaghetti with some butter and a tiny bit of cheese. Lovely. Needless to say we didn't stay here long.

Even if we could have afforded it, we would not have taken the option to sleep. Most teams, at this point, were probably going to get some rest and then finish the final stretch in the morning under good light and welcoming spectators. However, we had made some logistical errors with our planning and had a shuttle to Geneva scheduled for 4pm the next afternoon. Sleeping now meant we would be finishing with little time to spare. We would have to push on through this final night despite our near complete exhaustion and Harry's injury making any sort of good pace impossible.

There was a brief descent and then gradual climb before we passed the Chalets de Truc, the last opportunity to stop and rest and where most of the smarter folks were taking their final rest. From there we descended and then began the final climb up over a very muddy trail. We were now on the section of trail over which the UTMB race had been re-routed. The trail was a mess. I think the only saving grace was that the mud was a bit sticky so it kept us from sliding back down the steep slopes. We continued up over the Col de Tricot and then towards Bellevue which was the top of the cable-car from Les Houches. We were exausted and it was cold. We stupidly tried to take a little nap here on the deck of the closed chalet. All it really accomplished was making us more cold as the fog began to move in. We needed to head down.

The trail heading down really defies any attempt at explanation. Even in the best of conditions it is an extremely steep descent dropping 2500 feet in 3 miles. However, this trail had been traversed by some 2000 runners in both the UTMB and TDS races during the middle of a major rainstorm. There is really no delicate way to put it except to say it looked like a giant had defecated down the side of the mountain.There were two deep channels down the sides of the trail and a big slippery hump in the middle. It was incredibly slow going and even then we slipped and slid. cursing our way down the mountain. Poor Harry had to me in so much pain, but just like my situation at the end of TDG, there was nothing that could be done about it excpet to continue moving along as best we could.

Just when the trail seemed to mellow a bit in terms of steepness, the overgrowth at the sides added another challenge. At one point Harry's trekking pole got stuck and then snapped. Then he snapped. I don't know how to describe the scene of Harry enraged, whacking his broken pole against the bushes over and over with all his might. I think all his pain and frustration must have come out in that instant. When he finally stopped and stood there out of breath, I came over and put my hand on his shoulder. We looked at each other and I think I said a few words, but it was all pretty meaningless. We didn't have any choice but to continue down, Harry leaning hard on his one remaining pole.

I'm sure this trail would have been amazingly beautiful under other situations. It passed under a glacier and wound in and out of the woods with the peak of Mont Blanc looking down upon it. However, we were happy to be off it and onto the road leading down into the valley. Arriving at Les Houches was a double-edged sword. We were essentially done, but still had more 6 miles to Chamonix. That was still likely to take us a couple more hours. We had nothing left. We were tired, we were hungry and we were getting quite cold.

As we stumbled along the path to the finish, it was almost impossible to stay awake. If I closed my eyes, I would drift off regardless of whether I was moving or standing still. At one point, we got this idea in hour head that could only sound like a good idea to people in hour dilapidated state. One of us would close his eyes while being led by the other. This would allow one of us to essentially "sleep on his feet" while still both making progress. Of course, this plan would only work if the leader could actual stay awake as well. In the end, it turned out to be no more effective than individually shuffling along constantly drifting in and out of half-slumber.

By sun-up we'd made it to the near-empty streets of Chamonix. The few people we passed had no idea what we'd been through or that we were even part of an organized event. One or two recognized our bibs and gave a cheer or encouragement, but we were so numb at this point we really couldn't offer any response. Turning the corner to the finish line the street was completely empty. In one last effort at levity Harry raised his hands and waved to the imaginary crowd. We both laughed as we crossed the finish line. There was literally nobody there. We sat down at the edge of stage and waited for someone to realize we'd finished.

Of course, someone eventually came along and then Martina showed up. We were happy to be finished, but had none of the elation of previous races. Mostly, we just wanted something to eat and then to sleep. They led us to a room where we were given our finisher's vests and much needed food.

Croissants and wine...breakfast of champions! (photo Harry)

I've given this race a lot of comparison to TDG as that is the only race of similar magnitude in terms of both length and difficulty. PTL was definitely the more difficult of the two both physically and mentally. I think that Harry and I both agreed that the event is just basically less "nice". Not only does TDG have much more support, but it also seems more friendly in terms of how it treats participants. Both are incredibly tough events, but where TDG seemed to invite you to take on its challenges while enjoying a grand tour of the area and the spirit of competition, PTL which claims no competition between participants, seemed to just beat you down with difficulty after difficulty.

Don't get me wrong. La Petite Trotte à Léon was an incredibly rewarding experience. However, we were so completely spent in every way that even the emotion of relief at having it over seemed too much to muster.

But, we had done it!

Done, done, done, done, done....

Failing into Success (part six of seven)

Sleeping upon mats along the floor of a gymnasium in the middle of the afternoon made for a short nap. However, both Harry and I were ready to get going after only a couple hours rest. We got the low down on the course changes then went to the dining area to grab down some coffee before heading out. This would be another small bit of familiar territory from our TDG experience heading through Pré Saint Didier then to the edge of Courmayeur before heading up and around the base of Mont Blanc proper.

The new route would be easy enough to follow as the changes simply had us going along the standard UTMB trails. Basically, the passes off of which they had routed the shorter race--deeming them too dangerous due to the snow--were the one's over which we were to travel. The higher passes of our original route, were completely inaccessible. Aside from the weather, the other concern was that Harry and I were both feeling the miles we'd already travelled. I had a fairly minor issue with my foot, but Harry was nursing a much more disconcerting issue with his shin. From what he described it was almost exactly the same issue I dealt with at the end of TDG.  We were heading into terrain and conditions that would be tough even at full strength. Doing so with an injury of unknown severity hinted at tempting fate.

Initially things seemed to be going fine. It an was easy path all the way to Courmayeur. We felt relatively rested and in good spirits. Since the original trail was supposed to go up from Saint Didier we needed a short bit of assistance finding the trail out of town. After that we were up and onto the muddy, steep climb. The weather wasn't horrible to begin with, but it seemed to get worse the higher we climbed. By the time we arrived at the top of the climb, it was dumping snow. Luckily, we had also arrived at a Refugio.

Maison Vieille was empty except for us, but the proprietor and his adolescent son welcomed us with hot soup and cup after cup of coffee. They were so inviting and friendly that we were extremely tempted to just stay here for the night and hope for better weather in the morning. The refused to let us pay for anything explaining that with the cancellation of UTMB, they had plenty. They offered us beds, but we wanted to make more progress before we slept. Besides, with all the coffee we'd just downed, it would have been fruitless. Most parties had passed through here and while the official route was to go further up and over the pass, he explained that most people had opted for an alternate route utilizing the road to Rifugio Elisabetta. He definitely recommended this given the storm that was continuing.

We weighed the option in our mind for quite a time before finally deciding on the road. Harry's leg was not in great shape and taking on another pass in the middle of the night in the middle of a storm seemed less than wise. We headed down the path to the road. It seemed to be going in the opposite direction a bit and then it descended quite steeply. The mud was terrible and I ended up taking a pretty solid fall and slide down the trail. Suddenly it didn't seem all that much safer than the original route. Eventually we made it to more level trail and then onto the road. We passed through a little village and then it was a long, slow, gradual grade going up.

We walked in silence for quite some time. I think we were both exhausted. It was Friday night and we had less than 2 days. It continued to rain and then snow as we climbed higher. The road ended and we continued on a wide trail that narrowed and then continued straight on alongside a lake. It was very dark and when the path continued along a levee with water on both sides of us it became very eerie. I kept having the feeling that the path was just going stop and we'd be standing there in the middle of the lake. We could see the light of the refugio, but it seemed far above us and not getting any closer. 

The final climb up to the refugio was a pain, but we were both happy to be there though we said nothing. By the time we arrived, it was around 3am and the place was silent. We got out of our wet clothes and then wandered around a bit figuring we'd just find some place to sleep. Eventually someone found us and showed us to two empty beds in a dormitory filled with racers. As I crawled into my bunk the Italian guy next to me looked over and gave me a thumbs up.

Failing into Success (part five and still alive)

Refugio Champillon in the daylight (photo from refugio website)

A couple of cappuccinos after our brief nap and we felt even better than when we'd arrived at the refugio. We headed up the short trail to the pass following the Tour de la Vallée d'Aoste. It was the middle of the night, but we were in fine moods sharing recollections of this same trail a year ago during the Tor de Geants race. We had to remind ourselves not to get too caught up in our reminiscing on the way down as we wouldn't be following the same path, but cutting off to the left and heading down towards a different town.

The instructions carry the following warning which turned out to be one massive understatement:

   Path goes down steeply, and it is not easy to follow at the start. 

What it should have said is something more along the lines of the following:

   Path is nearly impossible to find at first and when you do finally discover it, it will immediately disappear shortly after you begin following it. Just follow your GPS along the side of the hill, grabbing onto whatever small thin line of dirt may expose itself. The track will send you straight down the side of a steep slope on slippery, overgrown grass. Just when you swear you are about to slide down the mountain, it will cut off to the left giving you only slightly more purchase as you traverse along a steeply cambered path.

Eventually, the path saw its way to becoming a more or less real trail. It headed into the woods and then wound down a steep, switch-backing descent that I believe is standard fare for all trails in Valle d'Aoste. This one headed down into the Etroubles. It is supposed to be quite the beautiful little village, but we arrived in the early hours of the morning. Sneaking our way through town trying to find our way on back streets felt a bit like a couple of cat burglars  The GPS tracks through towns were often not so accurate and the descriptions not always so helpful. Of course, our state of minds were probably the least help of all.

We did manage to find our way arriving at the wide dirt road on the edge of town heading into the woods. There was a little shop that appeared to be a coffee shop or bakery nearby, but unfortunately didn't open for another hour. We contemplated waiting around, but opted to head on stopping on a bench a little ways in to enjoy breakfast from our packs. As the road headed up and the sunrise followed, a new wave of sleepiness settled on me.

My tiredness continued to grow and I was having difficulty staying awake. The ground was a bit damp and devoid of even a descent sized rock to sit on offering little opportunity for even the briefest nap. Then we came upon what appeared to be some sort of small shrine with a cement structure next to it. It was some sort of pumping station with a loud motor churning within. It contained a few steps leading down a narrow hallway. Harry and I looked at each other and sort of snickered at the idea of sleeping in a cement bunker next to a loud motor. We walked a little further then stopped and asked on another "ya wanna?"

Settled in next to the deafening drone of the motor we didn't even bother to put in earplugs, but fell asleep right there leaning against the cold cement. It was probably the best 1/2 hour of sleep we had on trail the entire race.

Invigorated from our strange little nap, we headed up towards Col Vertosan at good pace. The clouds had moved back in and it was beginning to rain. As we reached the near-9000ft pass, the scattered rain was turning to flakes of snow. We tried to make haste, but the trail leading down here was almost non-existent. Had we foresight, we would have just given up trying to follow any path or even the GPS track and just gone straight down, cross-country to the obvious trail at the bottom. Instead we wasted significant time, but managed to get down before the storm as we looked back to see the pass engulfed in clouds.

We followed a path through a rather bucolic little valley before heading up the other side. After the climb the path became rather easy, but not so easy to follow to the Col du Bard. It's seemed quite extended and the Col didn't seem to be much of a col at all. I think by this point we were starting to be a bit anxious about getting close to Morgex, the second supported checkpoint on our route.

Our impatience would be tried further as we headed down and into the first of many small villages dotting the hillside above the city. We could see the population center below, but getting there was another thing. The instructions here clearly told us to keep an attentive eye on the GPS track. It quickly became clear why. There was a winding paved road down to the valley, but we were led from trail to path to road to trail again, crisscrossing the road as we went. With time we were lead to follow a paved road into Morgex and then to a gymnasium with a sign welcoming the PTL racers.

We were welcomed and checked in by race officials. At 204 kilometers into the race, things felt like they were looking up and we might actually be able to visualize the finish less than 80 kilometers to go.  However, it was here that we learned of the major storms that had and were continuing to batter the higher passes. The UTMB race had been shortened and re-routed. We were to be re-routed as well.

We didn't fret too much about it as our drop bags were here along with a free meal and a free place to sleep.  We could worry about the change in course later. We'd been through plenty challenges. What more could this race throw at us?

Little did we know.

Failing into Success (part four of more)

Switzerland. A country that, to many, immediately evokes images of The Alps. They do love their mountains. It also often evokes images of money. They certainly do also love their money. I know this because during this event they took most of ours!

Tired and hungry, we didn't think too much of the 130 euros La Cabane Panossière charged for two plates of pasta and the use of two beds for 3 hours. The next morning we were a more conservative paying just a few more euros for a bit of hot water to mix our own coffee. It wasn't a long sleep, but it was deep and the coffee never felt so good as it went to work. We'd need it to help warm us up as well since we'd be heading out into the dark pre-dawn and our clothes hadn't much opportunity for drying. This being a very "properly" run Swiss refuge, there was no drying them inside by the hearth.

The best way to stay warm is to keep moving so we headed out quickly along with another group. I think we were all anxious to get over the pass and out of this glacier-chilled valley no matter how beautiful it would probably look at sunrise. We had some difficulty finding the route, but eventually we marched our way up and over and onto the ridges above Lac de Mauvoisin as the sun came up. The rain stopped and things were looking up as we descended amongst the rocks.

The valley with Lac de Mauvoisin (photo Harry Walther)

Heading out along the hills above the valley, a tiredness crept over me. I think I mentioned before how Harry and I have different sleeping patterns. For me, the time right around dawn is the toughest. I began having trouble keeping up and found myself becoming annoyed that Harry hadn't noticed I was fading. I was getting cranky. I sat down on a rock, lay back and let myself drift off for 5-10 minutes or so. It was just enough.

I eventually caught back up with Harry who thought I had been on a bio-break. We continued up and down the hills, just going and gazing about and wondering. When and where were we to cross the river? The next checkpoint was on the other side. The rain returned and our path wound back on itself and headed down. It seemed the trail-makers had overshot the direction to the bridge. On the other side we welcomed by the next bit of PTL misery. A trail heading directly up the side of the hill with mud streaming down as the rain continued to increase.

We arrived at Cabane de Chanrion soaked once again, tired and hungry. I dispensed with what Swiss Francs I had for some food and we laid on the benches and took naps. We couldn't stay here too long as we were set to pass up over the Fenêtre de Durand and into Italy. There was really no point trying to stay dry anyways as the weather called for showers off and on all day. We descended back down to the river, over the bridge and then headed up again.

The climb to just over 9000ft was relatively gradual by Alpine standards and quite uneventful. At the top there was a plaque marking the spot and explaining something about this border between Switzerland and Italy. I took a picture, but it would be the last one I would take as my camera is likely still sitting some place along the trail leading down. There were a couple groups who'd caught up to us and we all made good time running down into Italy. It was somewhere along this somewhat exuberant descent where I lost my camera and all the photos I'd taken.

Near the bottom, Harry and I stopped off trail to have a bite of lunch. Ahead of us was some pretty easy terrain above the town of Ollomont, a place remembered fondly as the last major checkpoint before the final 50K of TDG the year before. In fact, the next refugio on our current path was the one place shared between the two races. I was looking forward to a little familiarity. However, here in PTL we were just barely past half way done.

We traveled for some time along a wide dirt road where farmers were herding their cattle. My recollection of this section is a bit sparse. I know we were both getting a bit loopy. I remember there were nonsensical conversations, some frustrations, a bit more rain and just a lot of tired walking. It is often this "less difficult" sections that where the mind starts to fade or break down lacking the physical challenge to keep oneself focused.

Eventually we came to the familiar trail heading up from the road. I recalled taking this in the heat of the day during TDG, now it was right around dusk. It was steep, but relatively short. Somehow I still managed to get off track even while staring at my GPS which sent me into a small fit. Night was setting in and I was tired and hungry. Arriving at Refugio Champillon lifted my mood a little and then it did a full 360 once we entered the main cabin.

The place was packed, bustling with activity and energy. It felt like the entire race was here and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. We found Beat and Daniel sitting at a table near the stove finishing off a meal after a little rest. They highly recommended the risotto with sausage and raved about the eggs. After Switzerland we were a little worried about our funds, but were excited to learn how cheap the meals were here. After finishing off two plates we ordered a third to share. We also bought sandwiches for just 5 euros each to put in our packs. The staff here was so wonderful and welcoming, I cannot say enough.

It was loud. Everyone was friendly. We were stuffed with food. We were in Italy. Life was good.

We went to sleep, happy.

Failing into Success (part three of many)

Sometimes dawn comes before it's darkest

Sleep.

The question of sleep generally follows right after "do you stop?" when people first learn that you participate in 100-milers. For most races, the answer is "no". However, for an event like PTL sleep is not only essential, it is a key piece of the strategy for finishing. Not only do you need to figure out your own sleep requirements, you need to reconcile this with your teammate's needs. For some teams, taking longer breaks allows them to move more quickly between stops. For Harry and I, our experience at Tor des Géants taught us that sleep breaks would at best be around 2-3 hours supplemented by short trail naps as needed.

The first night's sleep was a mixed bag. Dozing off into oblivion certainly felt oh so sweet, but waking up to the reality of where we were and what we were doing was harsh. It was doubly so knowing that the feelings of tiredness and fatigue that were settling in would stay with us and only continue to deepen over the 120-plus miles still to go. I wandered around the checkpoint in a fog trying to get myself together and take in as much caffeine as I could. Our friends had apparently been sleeping here when we arrived because I found that Beat had left me a replacement bladder from his drop bag. This picked my spirits up a bit, but I still felt  in a half-daze as we hit the trail.

It didn't take more than a couple miles before a slow, but comfortable rhythm set in. The one good thing about moving under the cloud of exhaustion is that you are freed from certain logistics. The details of timing and effort are pretty much put out of mind as the pace is set by whatever level of energy your body is willing to meter out over the given terrain. Your only responsibility is to continue to keep it moving as long as it is able to do so.

Our spirits were generally up as we munched the sandwiches that we'd put in our drop bags from Chamonix. While we were less than 1/3 of the way done with the race, the (presumed) most difficult sections were behind us. We traveled the morning along a gradually climbing dirt road bathed in warm sunlight. It seemed easy going and the next checkpoint, at the quaint Hôtel du Crêt at the edge of the village of Bourg St-Pierre, arrived quickly. After enjoying a bit more of the hospitality of civilization we headed up for a significant climb over the 10,000ft Col de Lâne and into more remote territory.

The afternoon was warm and we took a food and nap break near a sort of farmhouse part way up the hill taking a short nap in the shade of some bushes alongside the trail. As we headed up towards the col, it was quite warm. We'd actually had near perfect weather thus far, but even the pre-race forecast showed that it was not to last. We didn't know exactly what was to come, but a text message from Martina about possible delays and re-routing for the UTMB were a hint. As I was struggling a bit with the heat I could see across the valley to the Mont Blanc massif. I thought to myself that we were lucky to be away from those mountains as I could see the dark clouds that engulfed them. I was blissfully ignorant of how quickly storms could move in The Alps. I was about to learn.

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Le Petit Trot de Leon challenges participants to navigate some extremely rugged terrain taxing them both physically and mentally. Part of the motive for making it a team event is that you are expected to keep each other in check as focus and energy levels wane over the course of days. This works well so long as one person remembers to keep his head and helps his partner when he makes a mistake rather than follow in his ill-conceived footsteps.

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As I was moving slow over this rocky ascent, Harry reached the top ahead of me. The wind was picking up as I caught up and it pass felt good, but the clouds were moving in. Harry had been waiting and wanted to get moving immediately so I stopped only to snap a few pictures before turning to look down the other side. 

CRACK!!

Just like that, the storm was upon us. Being on a high pass in a thunderstorm is an extraordinarily bad idea so we scrambled to try to figure the route down. We were looking directly down a steep scree field with no obvious path in sight. The GPS indicated to the right, but it was difficult to read and there were trail markers of a different color which indicated as going to the peak. Just when we were about to stop and check the course description it started to rain. Had we taken the time to look, we would have immediately seen the big red letters reading: ATTENTION do not try to go down directly to Bâgnes (ice slopes) but follow the blue marks to the R. Instead we rushed to put on our jackets which is when we noticed a marker on the far side of the slope. Harry headed out onto the scree to get a better view and I followed a little ways behind.

I was standing among some of the larger rocks when Harry descended onto some of the looser footing just below the pass. I think he realized what was about to happen before I did as he was on his back sliding down with rock, scree and mud following before I even knew what was going on. I stood helplessly watching him accelerate towards the larger rocks at the bottom before coming to a rest.

"Harry! You OK? You OK? YOU OK!?!"

It seemed a long time before he responded that he was fine and then stood up to show he was unscathed. It was at this point that I noticed the rocks upon which I was standing. I looked down and could see water rushing beneath them like a stream. I knew I could not stay put. As I started to move some of the rocks began to slide. It was at this point that I could have used someone to keep me in check rather than adding to my own failure to keep my partner in check. As the tenuous nature of my predicament set in, I probably should have headed back up to solid ground and looked up the proper route. Instead I rationalized that since Harry had survived a slide down the slope, it was safe enough for me to follow. The logic that one man's luck did not imply an argument for generalized serendipity was never allowed to enter my mind.

I headed to where Harry's slide had begun and tried to see if a controlled descent was possible, but since any small bit of stable ground had followed him down, I found myself immediately on my back in a rush of water, mud and stone. It seemed like I was going at break-neck speeds before I slowed to a stop in a mess of muck, my tights torn, my once water-proof mittens filled inside with wet mud. I was shaken, but didn't have time to sit still as the rain was picking up. I stopped only to pull on my rain pants before we pushed on both soaked and near-shivering. I tried to push out of my mind how unbelievably stupid and potentially disastrous our bad decision making had been.

The path from here involved following our GPS and hard-to-find trail markers across a moraine. Another team who had taken the correct--albeit also somewhat precarious cabled-descent--down from the pass caught up and we followed. It seemed a long, rather meandering route that went by an empty cabin where Harry and I were tempted to take refuge. We stood in the doorway for a bit and I changed my gloves letting the other team go on ahead before deciding to try and push for the next pass before sunset.

We were wet and cold and it was getting dark. We needed to cross to the other side of Col des Avouillons which led down to the Corbassière glacier around which we would have to travel before climbing back up to the check point at Cabane de Panossière. Somehow, we managed to make the pass just as the sun went down. The descent didn't look terrible, but we would be taking it in the dark. The distance to the cabane was less than 4 miles according to the charts, but we were tired and we could feel the glacier creating its own little freezing micro-climate in this valley.

The short, steep descent went without incident, but after that it seemed a long time before we reached the bottom of the glacier and looking up at the beacon where our destination lay seemed very far off indeed. As we began the slow and confusing climb up, that theme with which I began this post again became a relevant factor. Harry and I have somewhat differing patterns in terms of our sleepiness. I tend to do fairly well at night, but am want to nap sometime around or shortly after dawn regardless of the night's rest. However, the wee hours of dark, are not always kind to Harry.

To make things worse, we'd taken a slightly longer route up than was prescribed. Harry was moving at a pace that I'd only observed in him a few times before. I took to going ahead then shining my light back and urging him towards me, but he was moving in the full-on zombie mode that I personally knew too well. I wanted to do something, but I knew there was nothing I could do but keep shuffling along together as we inched towards our destination.

Eventually, we arrived at the cabin and sat down inside the entry room filled with wet coats, shoes and packs. Both of us moving slowly, exhausted and, perhaps, a little shell-shocked over the events that had transpired that day. In some ways it felt like it had passed in a flash. In others it seemed as though we'd traveled on epic journey and been transformed into battle-worn veterans from the cheery hikers who'd set out that morning.

Melodrama aside, we were sitting in a warm Swiss cabane in the Alps where hot food and warm beds await. It could have been worse.

Failing into Success (part two of a few)

A big climb lay ahead, but before arriving at its start there was a seemingly short section described in the official guidebook as follows:

Go to the end of the car‐park and take the path called "Voie Francigena" (old route running from Rome to the abbey at Canterbury) which leads to Bovernier and which follows the river Dranse

I think, in my mind, I had some sort of well-laid, ancient "Roman Road" running alongside a river side. What we had instead was a forest trail that seemed to be under construction, running through the hills above the river. It went up, and then went down. Then it went up, up and then down and then up, up, up...you get the point. It all seemed very pointless. I mean, there was the river down below us going about its business in a relatively direct manner and here we were wandering all over the hillside. This seemed the most ridiculous manner to "follow" it. The trail wasn't terribly difficult, just enough so to be annoying. In a way it reminded me of the trail at the beginning of the horrific "Section 4" at TDG that took 3 miles of crazy climbing up and down to end up about a mile or so from where we'd started. Unfortunately, the parallels with that section of that race would not end here. We were headed into a very long night.

Eventually the trail ended along some grape vines which led to the bridge across the river. We found the water spigot that Harry had so thoughtfully added as a waypoint to your GPX track then went about trying to find our way to the start of the trail. This was our first lesson in realizing that even with a GPS and detailed track, it was still possible to get lost. What it did do was to make sure we could eventually find our way back. When Harry and I first discussed this section we had talked about napping before this big climb. It had just gone dark and there was a really nice shelter at the trailhead that would have been an ideal spot. Indeed, we found Beat and Daniel just getting up from a nap. Why we didn't take their place before heading up I really can't say now. We hadn't slept yet, we were certainly tired and we had more than 6000 feet of climbing before us. The only thing I can think is that perhaps the lure of the first checkpoint on the other side was just too much to resist.

Unfortunately, what lay between us and that checkpoint was Le Catogna. It isn't a very pretty mountain. It's not especially dramatic and it doesn't seem to be connected to any other range if peaks. It's basically just this giant mass of dirt and granite plopped in the middle of the valley. Any reasonable person would surely just go around it to get to the other side. Anybody familiar with the path we were about to take would question whether anything on the other side was worth the trip. By the time we finished it, Harry would re-dedicate this mass as "Bitch Mountain". I'm not sure if that's meat as an adjective describing the mound or a verb explaining what we did while traversing it.

Le Catogne

Our approximate path over (right to left) after the steep ascent through the forest

The beginning of the path didn't seem so bad. It was a steep, but well marked path leading up through the woods. It didn't take us long to get sleepy and Beat and Daniel passed by then disappeared ahead as we took a 15 minute sit/snooze break. After the initial direct climb, the path began to meander. Every time I thought we'd be heading up to break through the trees, we would head back down a bit or meander in one direction or the other. I had the distinct impression that we weren't actually going anywhere. There were a couple false paths and a few places where we had to climb over downed trees or push through thick brush, but in general it just seemed endless. No doubt having been awake for 2 days straight coupled with the deep woods masked any sense of where we were or the direction we were heading.

Eventually, though, we did come out into the clear. We stood in what appeared to be a large grassy field. We knew that we had to traverse over to the "Col de Guides", but it really seemed like we were on one side of the mountain and the discernible ridge where we were headed was on the complete other side. It seemed this way because it was basically true. This traverse basically consisted of following any one of a dozen paths cambered along the hillside not much wider than my feet. These paths would occasionally end and we would have to find another or sometimes just stare at he GPS track zoomed in to the 30ft range and just follow it regardless of trail. I had (false) hopes that the traverse would go directly to the ridge and then just head down. Unfortunately, as we approached it we could see headlights going up the ridge far above, but could not tell where they went over. It didn't become any clearer the closer we went.

When we arrived at the rocky section along the ridge it was clear why. There wasn't really any trail to speak of. There were markers on the rocks above and there was the GPS track. There was lots of scrambling, bushwhacking and cursing as we headed up into the seemingly endless pile of boulders above us. Had we looked at our guidebooks we would have seen the following description: Attention, steep sections! You need to understand that this is the Alps and everything is steep. To give an idea of what this warning might indicate, nowhere did this caution appear in the 3.6 mile, 5000ft climb up Le Buet. It did not appear on the cabled descent from that summit either. But, for Le Catogne it was reiterated about the upcoming descent for which it would be a drastic understatement. For now, however, we climbed. We could see two lights moving up above us. As we picked and scratched our way up this beast, one of them pointed back toward us and from it came Beat's voice. "How do you like Le Catogne?" The response I gave, is really not suitable for print.

Of course, we did reach the "col" for what its worth. It didn't seem much of a pass, just the point at which the path decided to head over. We took a break before heading down. I'm not even sure I can do justice to the descent from the Col des Guides. We'd climbed up on mostly large boulders. The route down was mostly over gardens of rocks. Sharp rocks. I remember thinking that many of the descents were we had used chains or cables to assist us seemed far, far less dangerous than this mess. Sure, there was no sheer cliff from which to fall, but tumbling into a bed of large pointy rocks was no less perilous. Once we survived the rocky section, it went from insane to simply absurd. There was a trail. However, it appeared to have been constructed by rolling giant boulders down the steepest part of the mountain. I literally had to jump down on parts of it and use tree branches to support me on others. Harry was even less happy than me about this wreck of a trail. To keep our growing fowl moods from amplifying one another, I went ahead.

Despite the incredible steepness, I started to just go with it. Hopping, scrambling, almost tumbling my way down. That was a mistake. When I got far enough ahead to need to wait for Harry, he caught up only to let me know we had missed a turn. We both looked at our GPSes and while it appeared the direction we were headed would bring us more directly to town, it clearly wasn't the way we were supposed to go. Before either of us could get too much into the cursing that the situation rightly deserved, I immediately headed up. It was literally a climb to get back up the trail which made it seem even longer than it was. We were less than 1/2 mile off, but it was extra distance and difficulty that neither of us needed after all we had been through this night. (To give a sense of this descent, a look at my GPS track from the section reveals that we'd dropped over 2,200 feet in a about 1.1 miles.)

The only saving grace was that the proper trail, while significantly less direct, did become less technical. In fact, the final section of it was basically a dirt road. When that ended at a paved road we found ourselves at the edge of town. The town was silent and sound asleep. I believe it was approaching 5am by this point. Catogne had taken us all night. After wandering about the streets staring at our GPSes we eventually found came upon the big white tents of the checkpoint. After sorting through a few items in our drop bags and choking down a plate of the worst pasta I've ever tasted in my life, we were shown to our cots to enjoy a glorious couple hours of much needed sleep.