Category: Territory Run Camp Rendezvous

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The Magic of Lodge Season

Fall comes early in the mountains. The fog hangs heavier over the valleys, the skies begin to welcome the familiar shifting clouds. The days are getting shorter, but there are still berry harvests to be had and some of the trail running’s most wondrous days awaiting. Aspire moves basecamp indoors to mountain lodges, turning up the cozy for a series of charmed autumn trips.

Last fall, I had the privilege of sharing in the magic of Territory Run Camp as a member of the Aspire staff. The luxury of having a lodge, as opposed to our usual outdoor glamping scene, was not to be understated in the midst of the many different types of weather we encountered. It’s quite difficult to imagine it was only a long weekend, the moments of run camp truly felt timeless. 

Settling into the lodge on the first night, we feasted on garlic toast and a hearty carrot-lentil soup, spiced to aromatic perfection. As night fell, runners retired to their bunks, only to be greeted with hot coffee and dutch pancakes at first light. 

These rendezvous trips offer runners many options for what kind of mileage or length of day they would like to have. As a member of the Aspire crew, we coordinate to ensure that each mile of trail a participant chooses to run is swept so that we can make sure everyone makes it home for dinner. 

On this first running day, I was lucky to get to run the traverse from Excelsior Ridge along the High Divide to Yellow Aster Butte. After a few steep miles, the trail breaks through treeline and leads you through miles and miles of blueberry bushes atop scenic rocky ridgelines with sweeping views of the valleys below. Throughout this particular day, the sky was with me. We moved together. Sweeping around turns in the trail and through small stands of cedars. The swirling mist rising from the valleys caught my gaze as a hawk took off from a nearby perch and swooped over a misty horizon. The colors of vibrant green moss, auburn red undergrowth, and pink bells of heather seemed to catch my eye more on this overcast and moody day. How awesome it is to move for hours and miles through these hills, feasting on plump huckleberries, knowing there is a smiling face, a bag of chips, and a cooler of beer awaiting my arrival at the trailhead.

The next day, NOAA forecasted an eighty percent chance of rain, offering us the clear decision to spend the day exploring the trails nearby to the lodge. Of these trails, there are mileage options anywhere from a few miles, to 20+ miles through beautiful mountainous terrain with alpine lakes, broad ridgelines, glacier views, and more. Some folks opted to run out towards Lake Ann and the west face of Mount Shuksan. Others ventured out towards Kulshan along the Ptarmigan Ridge. I decided to run an eight mile loop from the lodge, circumnavigating Table Mountain. The loop is one I have more often completed on skis, while there is a hefty blanket of snow covering the slopes. On this foggy day, with little spouts of rain here and there, I found so much enjoyment discovering the magic that this route holds in the summer months -–shimmering clear alpine lakes, waterfalls and meandering creeks, rock buttresses adorned in moss and lichen, boulder and scree fields with stones of swirly metamorphosed granite. 

The afternoon offered many a moment to connect with others at Run Camp as we all gathered to share stories, read books, and play cards or chess, while our gear dried downstairs. After dinner, we listened to a talk given by a veteran through-hiker named Bacchus. He offered his words of wisdom acknowledging the power of giving in to an “unfiltered” experience. He spoke of the magic that happens when you pay attention, and leave the distractions behind. He called into question the meaning behind why we run? –why we do the things we do? In his words, “It’s not about the miles or the gear, but how you have been changed by the experience.” He encouraged everyone to take a moment and consider our relationship to the external world –to see ourselves in context; in this moment, in this place, as this person. His stories and his message felt potent, and the questions he raised stayed with me through the night.

On the third day of running, we had the opportunity to choose between a climb up Goat Mountain, a trail up the riverbed to the Nooksack Cirque, a climbers trail to a lake at the toe of a glacier, or any combination of the three options. As a skier and lover of glaciers, I decided to explore the Nooksack Cirque and glacier fed lake. Emerging from the forest onto the large smooth cobbles of the Nooksack valley, I took note of my slowed pace. As I walked, the river wound, interrupting my route –- ushering me across and through its icy waters. Knee deep in glacial runoff, feet soaked with the ancient melt of glaciers… I felt a reverence come over me. The cirque remained out of sight –around a bend in the river– and so I walked on to get a view. Eager to witness the headwaters where the mighty Nooksack river originates. As the blue ice began to show, and the river curved towards the cirque, I felt a heaviness happen upon my chest. The thought crossed my mind, “Is this ALL there is?” …and soon after, “This is ALL there is!” How magnificent and how frail. How ancient and powerful! How withered and vanishing. 

In the moments that followed, I could feel the messages of Bacchus’s talk taking root in my mind. I could feel myself being overwhelmed with gratitude for an opportunity such as this, to feel human, to feel uncertain of the future, to fully feel any and all emotions that colored the next hours of my experience.

On the final day of Territory Run Camp, everyone awoke before first light and made our way up to the summit of Table Mountain to watch as the sun rose over the shoulder of the neighboring Mount Shuksan. Winding our way up the rocky switchbacks, we could see Kulshan in the distance, radiant in the blue hue of dawn. As the light began to change, a few solitary wisps of clouds became illuminated with orange and pink. The energy amongst the group was one of contentment and awe, underlain by a heightened sense of connection to this place; to these mountains. We were so fortunate to get to experience them in so many different temperaments: the moody days that turned to rain; the rain that turned to hazy sunshine; then to a final burst of sunshine on the clearest morning of all. Gratitude to this degree felt humbling.

To be offered such an opportunity as Territory Run Camp and a progression of experience is such a gift. I am so grateful for the running stoke, the exceptional food, and all the uplifting vibes from Aspire and Territory Running Co. And I also deeply appreciate the sense of adventure; of growing as a human; of discovering what it means to be in connection with wild places. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you! I’m already looking forward to lodge season next year!

Explore Territory Run Camp and the following lodge trips on the calendar this fall:

Stehekin Rendezvous

North Cascades Climate Summit

Territory Run Camp

Out Trails LGBTQ+ Running Retreat – North Cascades

Julie Ann leads Aspire’s mountain based skills courses and fastpacking missions, while also working as a mountain guide in the North Cascades, and teaching wilderness medicine courses.

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Re-Wilding: A Report from the Territory Run Camp

Every fall Aspire hosts the Territory Run Camp. Runners from across the country occupy the rustic Mount Baker Lodge for 5 days. By day we have our choice of trails on the glaciated and berry filled shoulders of Mount Baker. By night we gather around dining tables and fire places for meals and in-depth talks on the flora, fauna, ecology, and history of the North Cascades. This past year we were joined by Ian Ramsey, a Territory Ambassador, educator, and writer who shared his experience of camp, in this compelling trip report. All of the photos come from the lens and studio of Nick Danielson. 

Descending through Ruth Canyon with big views of Mt. Sefrit

Jakob, JD, Danielle, Nick and I bomb down the trail.  Muddy, grinning, and whooping we feel utterly alive. In the previous hours we had marched through drifts of knee-deep snow, navigated across jaw-dropping ridges in North Cascades National Park and glimpsed views of Mount Baker through passing clouds.  We’d huddled behind a fire lookout tower to eat snacks out of the wind, shared clothing to stay warm, and spent several suspended minutes in awestruck silence in the falling snow watching a black bear grazing in an alpine meadow.  

Black Bear

I thought of Alaskan writer Kim Heacox’s quote:

“Bear or no bear, it’s not the bear itself but the possibility of seeing one that makes us see everything else in greater detail.”

Kim Heacox

And the bear, the intensity of the weather, the steep mountains, and the commitment of traveling together by foot in a big wild place had all conspired to help us see and feel in greater detail, greater intensity.  What a joy, to feel so alive and to share it with others. 

We were at Territory Run Camp, a five-day running gathering for adults in Washington’s North Cascades, co-sponsored by Territory Run Co and Aspire Adventure Running.  With a small tribe of twenty people of all ages and experience levels gathered from around the United States, we spent our days running in big wild places, but also sharing food, sitting around the fireplace, laughing, looking out at light shifting on the glaciers of Mt. Shuksan, assembling puzzles, foam rolling and telling stories.  

Upward to Hannegan Peak

We were staying at the Baker Lodge, a historic bunkhouse high in the mountains.  Big windows looked out across an alpine lake at a horizon of mountains.  Wooden skis and old photographs hinted at the PNW’s rich history of mountain culture.  Each night a different speaker presented on a different mountain-running-related topic: the history of fire lookout poets in the surrounding North Cascades, glaciology in the Pacific Northwest, and the challenges of overcoming negative self-talk.  

After each day’s adventuring we were greeted with delicious food that accommodated a wide variety of dietary needs and preferences. Local beer and kombucha on tap.  Lots of coffee and tea. After ample breakfasts to prepare us for big days on the trails, we would make our lunches from a big spread that not only included sandwich and other makings, but gels, trail butter packets and electrolyte drink mixes. We ate well, which allowed us to run well.   

Dinner Crew with Veg, Vegan, Chicken Enchiladas, Hicima Salad, and Guacamole

And then each day we’d head out, organically self-selecting group routes that allowed each person to push their limits in whatever way felt authentic: steep, snowy twenty-mile mountain routes to equally beautiful 5 mile runs just out the door of the bunkhouse.  Each group had a local running guide with GPS communication to lead the route, and a van allowed more ambitious groups to head up bumpy fire roads to more remote trailheads. Deep in the North Cascades, surrounded by glaciated peaks, it was impossible to make a bad choice.  Here in “America’s Alps,”, you could take a different route every day for a month, and you’d always be surrounded by dramatic horizons, mountain goats, stunning alpine meadows, rocky spires, and distant glaciers. 

Best of all, there was no ego and no sense of superiority, just a respectful honoring of everyone’s different places, desires and needs.  The whole experience offered a chance to slow down, to meet like-minded trail runners and to learn from each other. Trails don’t run straight, and neither did our conversations. Our shared passion, along with the amount of time together and intensity of the activities allowed us all to slow down, share and listen in a way that is impossible in day-to-day life.  We talked about things that mattered. I have no doubt that I made life-long friends in those few days, sharing lasagna, big climbs, van rides, bad jokes, jaw-dropping sunsets and intimate life stories. 

Ruth Mountain looming on the horizon

We celebrated one runner’s 60th birthday with a cake and celebrated another runner’s recent record-setting multi-day run on a prominent northwest trail.  We volunteered to help with dishes and gathered each night to gape and giggle like children at the alpenglow on Mt. Shuksan’s glaciers, reflected in an alpine lake and framed by autumn colors.  Within a day or so, we had become a tribe and it was like we had always been at the camp, sharing these experiences. 

On the last morning, we all woke early to climb Table Mountain and watch the sunrise together before heading out to our various drives, flights and responsibilities.  We climbed together in the dark, talking and joking and wishing for coffee, our headlamps a tiny string of light up the dark ridge. By the time we reached the top, the dawn was lighting up the surrounding mountains. We huddled together, shivering and joking, looking out at Mt. Baker’s giant flanks, surrounded on all sides by big wild mountains and new friends.  

Early morning crew heading up Table Mountain

As I stood there, utterly familiar with these people I had only met a few days before, it occurred to me that not only was I feeling joy, but also that anything seemed possible. That the immeasurable wilderness that we had spent the last few days adventuring inside had adventured inside us and we’d be carrying it back into our everyday lives, a little stronger, a little happier, a little wilder. 

Ian Ramsey is a musician, writer, educator, and Territory Run Co. ambassador. Check out more of his work at ianramsey.net

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The Mountain Cycle

I’ve just returned from the Territory Run Camp, hosted/presented by Aspire. This seasonal celebration showcasing my backyard trails is staged out of a mountain lodge on the edge of the Mt. Baker Wilderness. This event captures the community, ethos, and placed based connections that Aspire exists to support. Inspired by Ian Ramsey’s presentation on beat poets in the North Cascades, I took some time to play with my own trail lyricism and interspersed the words with a few photos from the year.

Mt. McGreggor, Stehekin, WA

It’s not a voice. It’s not audible. Unnamed, but not unknown. A frequency, emanating from an ancient psyche, juxtaposed against the static of modernity. Spoken by an orchestra of wind. Riding on echoes from the collision of continents. Originating from a wild place, far from the packaged, plasticized, polarized, politicized, punctual pretenses of comfort and security.  An invitation, an allure, a call to venture, to the mountains, to places further and deeper into the hills than I’ve traveled before. 

In hearkening to this siren song, suffering is my sacrifice. The terms are clear: only what I can carry. My choice, light, fast, and exposed. My physio-psycho capacity is my only currency. What will I receive in exchange? Miles of trail, relentless climbing, and access to the cathedral. 

Church Mountain, Mt. Baker Wilderness, WA

Initially, the miles are easy. I move swiftly, but reserserved, on wings of anticipation and fresh legs. The trail is familiar and well trodden by those holding close to the borderlands. However, as the day lengthens and the miles accumulate, I approach the junction, the furthest point, the beginning of the new, the point separating where I’ve been and where I’ve yet to trod. The edge of my experience.

Here every ridge crest, summit, and turn in the trail is a revelation. Running in a state of perpetual unfolding. Childlike, everything is captured in itself, and I remain in that eternal present so long as I can persist and resist the intrusion of anything that is not now. In this liminal space I can hear the universe. The sounds of creation unfolding. Here I receive the gifts and the questions the wild holds for me. Here my self is revealed to myself. Here I can make peace with my demons and my dreams, reconcile my ego, and clarify which concerns and commitments I most want to attend. 

Panhandle Gap, Mt. Rainier, WA

Alive, alert, and attuned, I negotiate the trail, submit to the unfolding landscape, and seek an impossible balance to continue while also face to face with the constraints of time and ability. My legs and lungs always falling short of the pace I envision, but persisting nonetheless. Continuing, I find my movement, my form, my gait, my imperfect but own perfect negotiation of pain and progress. 

The miles fall away and inevitably I turn towards home. I crave the finish and the permission I will give myself to stop. My mind jolts in and out of focus on my feet, the trail, the forest, my home, my family, my responsibilities, my feet, my form, the encroaching darkness. Any pretense of enlightenment muddled by a desire for the comforts I so recently forsook. 

Summerland, Mt. Rainier, WA

In a long anticipated instant, the trailhead is in sight signaling the end of my interancy. The satisfaction of stillness washes over the ache and fatigue. A celebration with waiting refreshment. Negotiating a jumble of gadgetry and amenities through the tunnel of my headlamp. The ritual donning of dry clothes. Satisfaction ringing with every ache and stumble. 

Sitting. Collapsing.  A long exhalation. It is a sweet but restless peace. Already the beckoning has been heard anew.  

Stehekin Valley Ranch, WA