Washington’s Sawtooth range in October means bright golden larches reaching their peak, crisp autumn mornings turning into a warm sunny days, and endless routes to choose from, with of every option setting you up for a stellar day out in the mountains. The set-up for our Sawtooth Backcountry trip couldn’t be better. Oh yeah, and did we mention it’s for women only?
The Sawtooth Backcountry trip was a fitting close to the Aspire season with a spectacular group of women. The combination of delicious meals, connecting with new and old friends, and continually pinching ourselves on the runs due to the sheer marvel we all felt out on the trails was a perfect way to wrap up a summer of running.
Our Women’s only Sawtooth running adventure is set up in a different manner than our other more ‘objective’, point to point trips such as the Wonderland trail or the North Cascade Traverse. Instead, runners meet at base camp on Friday evening to introduce ourselves and connect while sharing a hearty meal together. This also serves as a perfect time to go over a map of the area and give everyone the chance to decide which routes they want to spend their day on. In years past, we’ve offered anywhere from a 15 to 30 miles but a majority of the women this year settled in the sweet spot for an idyllic 23 mile autumn run!
Running through the endless yellow larches, stopping alongside stunning lakes, feeling the burn in the legs and lungs climbing up to high mountain passes that gifted expansive mountain views, it’s no wonder the group was continually ‘hooting’ and ‘hollering’ as they basked in the joy felt moving through such a special place together.
Something special happens on an all women’s trip. We are all there to support one another and enjoy time together on the trails. Our group waited up for everyone at trail junctions, stopped to stand in admiration along the shores of the peaceful lakes and encouraged each other along route. That supportive atmosphere created a feeling of contentment, connection, and belonging while doing what we love most: running in the mountains!
So what brings all the ladies together for this weekend women’s trip? Many have chosen this trip specifically as a ‘weekend getaway’, as a quick escape from the day to day family tasks, a chance to meet like-minded trail running friends, or wishing to feel empowered as a women on the trails. Some want to squeeze in one last long run in the mountains before the weather turns or simply revel in the beauty of running in the mountains in autumn.
The joyful buzz of the trip continued as women returned to the trail head and made their way back to camp. Upon arrival, Aspire camp greeted runners with cold beers and seltzer’s, a spread of salty, fresh and satisfying appetizers, hot backcountry showers, and a fresh, nourishing dinner made with a whole lot of love. Followed up by a cozy night around the camp fire while sharing stories from the trail, the group went to bed feeling all kinds of happy exhaustion from a wonderful day spent running in the mountains.
Waking the final morning, bottomless coffee was prepared along with a big breakfast spread, prepping runners for their return trips home. Some women took down camp and grabbed a quick breakfast before hitting the road, while others took time and savored the slower pace of the morning, huddling up around the backcountry heaters, eating a wholesome breakfast and sipping on the second or even third cup of coffee before exchanging contacts with new friends and saying goodbye.
Kara Folkerts is a plant powered trail runner, sustainable travel advocate, yoga teacher, and passionate about all things travel, sustainability, health, and outdoor movement. Originally from Canada, Kara has spent the last few years living and travelling in various places across the globe, guiding trips and going on personal expeditions before joining the Aspire crew in 2020. She writes about her experiences and adventures on her blog at www.karafolkerts.com.
“Stehekin” is an indigenous word meaning “the way through”, for over 9,000 years the Stehekin River Valley has served as a travel corridor connecting the rain shadowed steps of the eastern Cascades with the lush forested coastal regions of the Salish Sea. Dividing these ecosystems lie the formidable North Cascades. Stehekin is a direct reference to the river whose headwaters are a network of alpine snowfields and waterfalls that drain into a rugged valley formed over centuries of glaciation. Woven into this mountain landscape is a ribbon of trail paralleling the river and terminating at the shores of Lake Chelan where crystal waters meet a shoreline lined with an endless crown of mountain peaks.
Day 1: Cascade Pass
We’ve built our Stehekin itinerary around the biggest views, best trails, and the cleanest line into the valley. After an early rendezvous and shuttle, the trip kicks off at Cascade Pass. It’s a 23 mile day and the 3,000’ of climbing is largely front loaded into the first 3.5 miles. The rewards come quickly as runners leave the forest canopy and step into a rocky alpine valley surrounded by high peaks, glaciers, and waterfalls. From the pass the views are long and they beacon to fresh legs practically pulling runners into a 20 mile descent along the Stehekin River. While there is no “cutoff” runners need to make it to High Bridge camp by 6pm to catch the last park shuttle to the Stehekin Valley Ranch. I’ve missed the ride more than once, which means an extra couple miles along the river to finish out the day.
Basecamp: The Stehekin Valley Ranch
Aspire basecamps are a source of pride and joy all summer long. But as the days shorten, temperatures drop, and the chance of inclement weather increases we turn our sights on more formidable lodges and cabins for our accommodations. Our stay at the Stehekin Valley Ranch is the pinnacle of “rustic opulence”. The ranch is family owned and operated by Cliff Courtney, his sons, and a great team of seasonal staff. Cliff was raised on the ranch and since 1983 has grown his vision of a full-service basecamp on a foundation of good food and hard work. Gardens, hay fields, horse corrals, and a full service lodge and cookhouse service hungry hikers and visitors from across the world. Full course breakfast, lunch, and dinner with homemade pies are staples of everyday life along with the perpetual hearth fire and coffee pot always ready for a “cowboy” pour.
Day 2: Climb Mt. McGreggor or Choose Your Own Adventure
Over the years the Aspire team have scouted a variety of trails and routes, always working towards an itinerary that optimizes the Stehekin experience. We think we’ve found it, but the beauty of this trip is that once runners have arrived, much of the Stehekin experience is based on a “choose your own adventure” ethic. Folks are welcome to lengthen or shorten their trail miles, from 0 to 30+. Opting out of running and scheduling a massage is always an option as well.
Our standard go-to option for day two of the Stehekin trip is a run up Mt. McGregor. McGreggor is the highest point in the Stehekin Valley. It’s a 8 mile one-way climb that gains a solid 6,500’. The return for the effort are golden larches, expansive views, and a heart pumping summit scramble for those comfortable with a bit of craggy scrambling and exposure. The bench just short of the summit, is the perfect lunch spot and an ideal place for an afternoon nap if the weather cooperates. Turn around times are based on a budget of being back to the ranch in time for a shower, beverages, and dinner.
Day 3: Stehekin Exploration
No roads lead to Stehekin. All entry and exit is limited to a boat ferry up Lake Chelan, a chartered float plane, or via foot one of the many trails that criss cross the Cascades. Consequently, the character of the hundred or so permanent residents, is defined by this isolation, resilience, and creativity. The resulting community is an enclave of gardens, homesteads, and ranches. We encourage runners to take a day to run through “town”, rent a bike, or stroll through the historical sites along the valley floor. A few highlights are worth mentioning:
The Stehekin Valley Pastry Company, family owned and operated this bakery will leave a lifelong impression. Expresso, icecream, and a summer’s worth of handmade pastries, pies, and cinnamon rolls fill the counter.
The Buckner Orchard and homestead were acquired by the National Park Service when the North Cascades National Park was created in 1968. The working orchard has been maintained by the park service and the orchard gates are open to the public for wandering and tasting.
The Landing is the cosmopolitan center of Stehekin. Here the national park office, post office, and various cafe’s line the shores of Lake Chelan. A lakeside park and picnic tables dot the shore and the cool alpine waters are particularly refreshing on a hot afternoon.
All of these sites and more are an easy walk from the ranch and can be accessed via a national park shuttle that runs between the landing and the 11 miles of maintained road connecting the lake to the mountains. The shuttle is free for those staying at the ranch, and it will drop you back just in time to hear the dinner bell.
Day 4: Out Via the Pacific Crest Trail or Rainbow Pass
Time follows its own arc in Stehekin. By day 4 it isn’t really clear how long you’ve been there or if there is any other world outside of this contemporary Rivendale.
Multiple trails lead out of the valley, though we prefer one of 2 options. The standard route follows the Pacific Crest Trail. Given the season, it’s inevitable that we fall in line with at least a handful of through hikers who began their journey nearly 2,600 miles earlier at the Mexican border. This route to Highway 20 and the Aspire shuttle is 13 miles with a steady 3,500’ climb following creeks and rivers back to civilization.
Option two incorporates a longer day in the hills, covering 21 miles and 8,300’ of climbing over Rainbow Pass. The extra miles come with alpine lakes and big views but, finish at the same place, the Bridge Creek trailhead. Here the Aspire team has snacks, drop bags, and libations waiting.
To encapsulate the whole of the Stehekin experience into one word, it would have to be “magical”. The time of year, the juxtaposition of wilderness and opulence, the food, the ranch, the pie, the people. The whole of the journey seeps into the cells of the body and lodges permanently into the psyche. Forever after Stehekin becomes a place spoken of in awed, mystical, and somewhat reverential tones.
Jeff Mogavero is uniquely positioned to tell stories from the Lost Coast. As a wildlife biologist he spent 7 months trekking deep into remote coastal streams in search of spawning salmon and steelhead. As a runner he recently set the supported FKT on the Lost Coast Trail, a 10 hour and 10 minute sprint across the 57 miles of beach, trail, and views, from Mattole River to Usal Beach.
Two naked women came sprinting across the sand towards me. They were clad in nothing but American flag hats, dollar store sunglasses, mardi gras beads, and one, a giant fur coat flowing in the wind. Dana handed me a plastic pineapple filled with hydration mix. I sipped out of the frilly green bendy straw and stripped the pack off my sweaty back. Jordan tossed me a fresh handheld bottle as I looked up at a weathered plywood sign locals had posted where beach meets road: “DANGER -LIVES LOST HERE.” Arriving at the painted skull and crossbones meant that I had safely made it through the first 25 miles of this journey.
Jordan and Dana were total strangers less than a month ago, and now thanks to a series of serendipitous events unique to the ultra community, they were my crew and fully committed to my physical and psychological well being. We chatted briefly about their lack of clothes and how sore I was from running on sand for the rough equivalent of a marathon. Then as quickly as they appeared, the girls left me to run away into the ocean. I exited the beach and began a 2,000-foot road climb from sea to summit. I had to move quickly if I wanted to best ultrarunner Dylan Bowman’s fastest known time on northern California’s Lost Coast Trail.
Four and a half hours earlier, we had stood at Mattole Beach on the periphery of a vast coastal wilderness. Jordan snapped a photo of me and I gave her a nervous high-five. A shiver coursed through my body as I turned and started running into the pre-dawn darkness. Miles ticked off as I slipped silently past sleeping seals, sea lions, and unsuspecting slumbering campers. To my left, sea-spray coated cliffs vaulted out of the sand. Above them, the King Range rose thousands of feet into the star-studded night sky. To my right, the Pacific Ocean crashed onto the rocky shore, jostling pebbles, a musical pattering. I ran on a narrow strip of earth between sea and summit.
After an hour of running, I clicked off my headlamp to watch the pinkening sky bring the severity of the mountains before me into focus. I gazed down the peak-lined coast. I had traveled perhaps seven miles and was about to enter the first of two four-mile impassible zones, where the high tide consumes the Lost Coast Trail twice a day. Ahead of me lay 18 more miles of beach and rock running, followed by 32 miles (and over 10,000 feet of climbing) in the mountains. I settled in for 50 more unforgiving miles on Northern California’s fabled Lost Coast. As footstep after footstep sank into damp sand, I mused over how I had come to find myself in this situation.
For nearly seven months, I had been living an hour and a half south of Usal Beach, the southern end of the Lost Coast, in the small coastal town of Fort Bragg. From Usal, another four and a half hours of nausea-inducing driving would take a determined traveler to Mattole Beach, the northern terminus of the Lost Coast Trail. The 57-miles in between these two beaches proved to be too gnarled for the ambitious builders of California’s famous coastal highway. These miles were “lost,” and with the absence of a road, the Lost Coast was born.
Throughout the winter, I was working for the state as a seasonal fisheries technician, probing coastal streams and rivers to collect data on the endangered salmon returning to spawn. Twice, my coworkers and I had to abandon plans to backpack the northern part of the Lost Coast due to weather on the notoriously stormy coastline. But the Lost Coast remained just north, a wild adventure nagging in the back of my mind.
Out of the blue in early April, my supervisor texted me a video of Dylan Bowman running the complete Lost Coast Trail (both the southern and northern sections), setting a new fastest known time (FKT) on the route. I stared at my phone and wondered if I might be able to best Dylan’s time of 11 hours and 12 minutes. Waves of self-doubt and excuses came over me. Any hard effort would be physically draining and mentally brutal, not to mention logistically baffling. The reasons why I was destined to fail began to pile up. I quickly shook these insecurities before they could settle, and instead stoked a fire inside myself. I looked at my phone again and began typing without thinking. “Is this a challenge? Because I am SO down.” And that is how I ended up, a month and a half later, shivering in the dark at the Mattole Beach trailhead at 4:30 in the morning.
The next time I saw Jordan and Dana, they had their clothes on, and I had taken mine off. The sun had blasted me on the 2,000-foot road climb out of Shelter Cove. I quickly shed my shirt as the temperature rose in sync with the topography. I had left the bluff-lined beach below and just finished the first major climb of the 32 rugged King Range miles to come. Jordan and Dana, now sporting butterfly wings and other dollar store accessories, helped me as I prepared to enter the labyrinthine trail that stretched south to Usal. This was my final pit stop before entering the southern wilderness. It was also a chance to once again drink water from a plastic pineapple.
A scouting run I had done a few weeks earlier revealed that much of the next marathon would be heinously overgrown with stinging nettle, thistle, poison oak, and blackberries, commingled into thickets of doom intent on ripping anyone who dared pass to shreds. As a Hail Mary precaution, I covered my legs in strips of KT Tape, praying they would form some kind of barrier against the angry vegetation.
A few miles later, hands on my knees, sweat dripping into my eyes, I grunted up yet another steep climb. In the absence of my exuberant crew, my tired mind settled on appreciation. I circled back to the fact that my crew had been nude a few hours before and insisted on giving me water only through a now-beloved plastic pineapple. Not to mention, they had driven over a dozen hours to help me spend a day throwing myself against one of the gnarliest chunks of coastline in the country.
Forty miles in, 17 miles to go, on this sinuous redwood coast. I crested the top of a ridge and gleefully let my legs spin as I descended a rooty trail winding through a grove of towering conifers. Running out of the woods, I navigated a steep, grassy hillside that plummeted into the ocean hundreds of feet below. The hip high grass was punctuated with tunnels of bushes and trees. I ducked, dodged, and fell to the ground for the fifth time in minutes. So much had gone into this attempt, and here I was falling on the ground and crawling on my knees. The trail was in such rough shape that I had no control over my pace, which had slowed to a literal crawl as I neared mile 57.
I was beaten, I was exhausted, and I was ready to be done. Even so, there I was moving my blistered feet and shredded legs. My mind floated to all of the things I had seen that day. I had run through the middle of a herd of 30 elk (in hindsight, not recommended) and listened to elephant seals barking in the dark. As the trail conditions eroded, my love for this place grew. Despite the adversity, I was enraptured by the most beautiful and diverse route I had ever traversed.
Rolling into the Usal trailhead exhausted and thrilled, I glanced at my watch. I had managed to travel the 57-mile Lost Coast Trail in a new fastest known time of 10 hours and 10 minutes, over an hour under the old record.
Traveling the Lost Coast Trail in a day gave me a brief yet powerful glimpse at a truly remote and wild land tucked within the most populated state in the nation. For an FKT attempt like this, there was no fanfare or hoopla. Instead, there was just a text message from a supervisor and three people that did not know what they were getting themselves into. As Jordan and Dana handed me a comical “certificate of achievement” complete with sequins and glitter, I realized what the ultrarunning community can do when it comes together to support one another. Armed with nothing but a plastic pineapple, and perhaps clad in nothing, strangers can help new friends chase dreams.
Jeff Mogavero is a runner, writer, wildlife biologist who’s running and ramblings bring levity, insight, and passion to our community. Read his full FKT report and other writings at https://www.jeffmogavero.com/
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
Last year Aspire gave away 3 Women’s Adventure Scholarships, a place on each of our 3 women’s trips. Each winner agreed to write and reflect on their experience and personal journey. Bobbi was selected as the winner for our Sawtooth Backcountry trip. Read her winning essay here.
Running is a nearly universal experience. Whether it was playing tag in elementary school, knocking out 5km for a charity or chasing after the bus this morning, most of us have run at least a few steps in our lives.
This universality is also why running makes a good metaphor: many people have some familiarity with what it feels like to run, whether or not they like it. I completed the Sawtooth Backcountry Women’s Retreat with Aspire as the culmination of a year of pushing through mental and medical barriers. Fittingly, Sawtooth was rife with metaphorical opportunities. Here are my top three musings from a long, challenging and totally gratifying journey:
We’re all in this together. I consider running a solitary endeavor and it indulges my introverted insecurities. Alone, I cannot compare my perceived weaknesses to others. Although I signed up for a group running trip with Aspire, I did so to feel comfort in a new landscape, without the obligation of running with others.
However, a few days prior to the trip Abram sent us a message: the trail would be snow covered and to stay safe, we would need to stay together. Alarm bells screamed through my head. I would frantically try to keep up, then I’d bonk, and everyone would be annoyed with me.
Instead, our guide gave us the lead and together, we settled into a pace to manage the challenging terrain. We commiserated together through miles of frozen post-hole footsteps from a previous hiker, and skidded down an icy luge a dirt bike had left on the trail. Many times I swore as I caught myself from falling on my butt. Yet in hearing others’ near misses, I realized this was as difficult for them as it was for me. And somehow, that made it better. Had I been alone, I would have thrown down my poles in a tantrum and walked out of there. Instead, after a comical eternity, we were back on dirt and elated, laughing at what a disaster we’d just ran through.
One step at a time. There’s no greater truth while running long distances. You can stand still and stay where you are, or you can take one more step and get a little closer to where you’re going. Because of the snow we rerouted to another trail and had planned on a shuttle to get back to camp. Later during the day, we opted to cancel the shuttle and just run back to camp. We weren’t sure how far from camp we were, but it seemed close
The road descended out of the subalpine for not two or three, but seven unexpected miles. This was the furthest several of us had ever run, and without the comfort of camp in sight, we’d have to keep running. My legs were rubber and the naysayers in my head yelled at me to stop. But as the sun disappeared behind the mountain, cool shadow drifted over my shoulders, and we kept moving. The world suddenly felt very simple. I could keep running, or I could stay right where I was. I could push through this challenge, or give up and have someone come save me. Without a word, we chose to keep moving. And eventually, inevitably, we returned to camp. Cheers from the crew, copious salty snacks and a warm fire greeted us. I was exhausted, but with an unexpected confidence in what my body was capable of doing. I’d run the furthest of my life simply by taking another step.
Where there’s pain, there’s growth. The first time I ever went running, I managed to go about 200 metres. It was the longest I had ever run at once. And it hurt like hell. I was crying and sweating and full of agony. I had wanted to run beyond the horizon, so I vowed to keep running those 200 until I could run 400. Then it was a mile. When I ran my first marathon, I almost didn’t toe the line because that would be the furthest ever. Four kilometres from the finish line, when I could barely muster the next step, a woman near me kept repeating, “Anyone can run 4km.” I knew I could do that, so I did. Running my first ultra, I thought I would die after a bad reaction to caffeine and poor nutrition. But I somehow made it and now I was running in the Backcountry of the Sawtooth mountains. In every pain cave is an opportunity to get stronger.
My weekend at the Sawtooth Women’s Retreatwas the furthest I’d ever run, with people I’d never met and beyond any comfort level I’d encountered. I’m more comfortable and confident with discomfort… And the journey is just getting started.
I saw a unicorn in Humboldt County, CA. It was grazing in a field right next to a pair of zebras. I wasn’t high, nor am I superstitious, but this was clearly an omen of the magic awaiting us.
The Lost Coast Trail is a 60 mile point-to-point trail along California’s remotest stretch of coastline. This trail wouldn’t exist except for the steep mountains and geotechnical issues that prevented State Route 1, the Pacific Coast Highway, from paving this pristine seaboard. Instead, the road goes around these coastal mountains and in its place the world has a sanctuary of beaches, headlands, redwood forests, and one remarkable trail.
The trail isn’t obscure. Its reputation among backpackers places it as one of the most iconic footpaths in North America. Viewing the trail as a running objective means all the scenery without any of the pack weight. Doing it in this style also requires support. With Aspire as crew and moving gear between camps and cooking up gourmet meals, you’re guaranteed a good time.
Day 1: Meet in Fortuna and drive to the Mattole River
Three hundred miles north of San Francisco lies the quaint, but relatively unremarkable, town of Fortuna. It’s the launching point for the trip. As the crow flies it’s only about four miles to the coast, but its a two-hour drive along winding roads to the trailhead. It’s along this road that we saw the unicorn.
Rolling into camp after the long day of travel, runners head out across the beach in search of a good view of the surf and a place to pitch a tent for the night. As the sun dips towards the horizon, the Aspire crew shows up on the beach with plates of appetizers and cold drinks, a precursor of the nights meal and a pattern to be repeated for the remainder of the trip.
Day 2: Mattole River to Shelter Cove (24 miles, elevation gain: 1,000’)
The day begins with heaping plates of french toast, yogurt, various nut butters and fresh berries, drizzled or doused in maple syrup. It’s an early start and a carefully timed departure to catch the appropriate tide.
For many miles the Lost Coast is literally a beach trek. In some sections the beach is swallowed by the incoming tide, making safe passage impossible. Knowing the particular times and heights of the local tidal rhythms is essential. Aspire has all of this info dialed, right down to the date of the trip to catch the best possible window to make 3 tide-dependent crossings possible in a single 24 mile day.
The terrain is a mixture of sandy beach, basketball sized cobbles, single-track trail, creek crossings, and rocky tidal flats. It’s not race pace, but the effort is real. Eight to ten hours on the beach takes its toll, but the rewards are incredible. Along the way runners encounter abandoned lighthouses, intertidal creatures, herds of sea lions, and spot whales on the horizon.
The day finishes at Shelter Cove and Aspire shuttles runners to a nearby campsite with a waiting dinner of homemade spaghetti (meatball or vegetarian), topped with fresh basil and parmesan. No one goes hungry.
Day 3: Shelter Cover to Needle Rock (10-20 miles, elevation gain:1,500’ to 3,500’)
On day two, runners have a choice: a 10-mile direct route into the next camp, or a 20-mile route. These ten bonus miles are along runnable single-track, connecting the red dirt trail and oak forests of the King Range’s crest with the Lost Coast Trail. There is no pressure to go either way, it’s up to each runner to choose the adventure that best suits their goals and ambitions.
Both options converge after runners drop out of the mountains and land on a rolling plateau of single-track. Here the forested trails open up to the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The trail winds through Eucalyptus groves, pocket beaches, and rolling terrain that would be perfect for running if the views weren’t so spectacular that slowing to take it all in seems inevitable.
Right in the middle of this pristine landscape is the Needle Rock Camp. Home to only a handful of campsites, perched on a sweeping ocean overlook at the end of a steep windy road, it’s arguably one of the best campsites on the planet. The site is cared for by a cadre of hosts who take turns staffing the small visitor center. Full to the brim with whale bones, sea shells, historical photos, and knick-knacks, the center is an epicenter of local information. A few moments on the weathered redwood porch can easily turn to hours as the history of the place is unfolded by loving caretakers.
Basecamp for the night is staged out of the “barn camp”. The shower tent is set up looking westward towards the horizon and a resident herd of Elk are the backdrop to the evening’s dinner, libations, bonfire, and dutch oven apple crisp.
Day 4: Needle Rock to Usal Beach (20 miles, elevation gain: 6,300’)
Waking up to the sound of waves rhythmically crashing into the shore is consoleing as sore legs prepare for the third day of running. Day three is 20 miles and has the most climbing of them all. The southern part of the Lost Coast receives less maintenance, making it brushy and remote feeling. The trail is all single-track as it climbs headlands and winds in and out of creek drainages. Pockets of Redwood trees, the Jurassic quality of the coastal underbrush, and the mystery of what lies ahead all add to the adventure quality of the day.
The last miles of trail drop from a final coastal overlook and wind down to the Usal River. Like clockwork, the Aspire crew has a basecamp waiting and all the fixings for dinner and celebration ready. Runners inevitably report fighting the intrusion of thoughts about what’s waiting at home and embrace living in the moment for the last night. This is easier to do when a pair of elk wander through camp, and spend the night grazing in the grassy delta, just a hundred yards away.
Day 5: Usal Beach Breakfast and drive back to Fortuna
It’s a trek back to civilization. Miles of steep and winding dirt road easily take an hour of careful driving to reach pavement. From there it’s still hours back to Fortuna. The van is filled with laughter and stories of the trail. The strangers of a few days ago are now friends born of sweat, dirt, and trail. Eventually conversations circle back around to the unicorn. Even though it was actually a white horse with a manufactured horn protruding from its bridle, it, like all the miles and moments in-between, were absolutely magical.
Christy Mahon is a mountaineer and environmental activist who joined Aspire for our Wonderland Circumnavigation in 2019. This blog was original posted on Stio.com. Words by Christy Mahon. Photos by Ted Mahon.
As we were organizing our running packs for the day, Abram unfolded a map and laid it out on the table. “It’s about 28 miles and 9,000 feet of climbing,” he said. “It’s actually the short day of the loop.”
That got a chuckle out of us. We were about to start our second day of a three-day trail running adventure circumnavigating Mount Rainier on the 93-mile Wonderland Trail.
Considering it would take us about nine hours to complete this section, we thought it seemed anything but short. But if your goal is to tackle this trail in three days, even the shortest leg of the trip is going to be pretty long.
There are certain adventures in life that grab your attention and don’t let go. For me, running the Wonderland Trail was one of those adventures.
After years spent toeing the line at dozens of trail running ultra races, including five 100 milers, I’ve recently found myself yearning for something a little different. Something without the structure of a race, but one that would still push my body and mind, and still include the long distances that I love. Something that offered the restorative and healing effects of being in the wild and the mountains, and help me escape from the everyday stresses of work and life.
Mount Rainier has always been a special mountain for me. I’ve been fortunate to have climbed and skied it several times through the years. When I first heard of trail running the Wonderland Trail, it was one of those adventures that I just had to add to my list.
Built in 1913, the Wonderland Trail offers 22,000 vertical feet of cruisy trail running around one of our country’s prominent national park treasures. The nearly 100-mile trail lives up to its name with majestic landmarks colorfully identified as Devil’s Dream, Emerald Ridge, Golden Lakes and Summerland. The vast alpine terrain is filled with bears and blueberries and high alpine lakes just off the trail that beg for a quick dip as you go.
The idea of breaking up a beautiful long course over multiple days seemed so appealing. But running for several consecutive days around a mountain as big as Mount Rainier presented some logistical challenges.
Which is where Abram came in. With the mission of helping runners “reach their own personal aspirations,” Abram Dickerson and Aspire Adventure Running organize trail running adventures through the Northwest, from the Cascades to Northern California. From single-day adventures to multiday efforts such as the Wonderland and Lost Coast trails, Abram and his team assist with meals, camping, transportation and other logistics.
So with Aspire’s support we set out on this new adventure. For three days we spent nearly every daylight hour running up and down through countless glacial drainages. We ran through lush green tunnels in the lower “forest-bathing” zones, across huge glacial creek beds, and over high ridge crests and moraines with expansive views of one of the largest mountains in the country.
Heading into the adventure, I wasn’t sure how my body would react to repeated days of 28-34 miles or how this new way of traveling would go, but like in life, with a little preparation anything becomes possible.
As I closed the loop around Mount Rainier on day three, I felt as if I had opened a new door to a different type of adventure. I had realized a new goal: to experience and challenge myself on the world’s most legendary trails and traverses, not against others in a race setting, but rather just for myself.
It was a good reminder that when you don’t know what comes next, just keep moving forward and often the adventure will find you. Taking that first step can be a leap of faith, but once you do and you start down that new path you might be surprised where it takes you.
Sarah and Paula happy to be getting started on day 1. Photo: Janel Lanphere
Janel Lanphere was one of three recipients of our 2019 Women’s Adventure Scholarship. We were inspired by her essay about the power of adventure to accept her internal wild and remote spaces. We caught up with her this fall, after she ran the Wonderland Trail with us.
What do you do when something scares you? Avoid it or confront it? What about those events that look amazing, but you don’t have the confidence? Do you make a training plan and stick to it, like you know you should? Or do you put it off for when you have more time, or the kids are older, or when you have the money saved? Well, none of these excuses worked for me. I won the 2019 Women’s Scholarship Award for the Wonderland Circumnavigation around Mt. Rainier in Washington State. I had to get on board, fast.
A rare flat section on the trail. Photo: Janel Lanphere
I learned that I won the Wonderland trip with only a few months before the mid-August trip, giving me mere weeks of preparation time. It was a bit too close for comfort. The short story is that my training did prepare me well for the trip, but this discussion is about the mind. The preparation I really needed was to start to believe in myself.
Piecing a big goal into smaller steps has always worked for me in the past, so I decided to try it here. Working on my training plan, I added two extreme days that were similar time commitments to the expected days on the Wonderland trip.
The Wonderland Trail doesn’t disappoint. Photo: Janel Lanphere
On my first extreme day I paced my friend Helen Galerakis in her first 100-mile race- The Bighorn 100. Pacing her for around 20 miles wasn’t going to be enough of a time commitment, so I added a warm up/research run and a run to and from the last aid station. The cumulative running over the two days was eleven hours, which qualified as the most running I had ever done over that short time period. My mindset was expanded on this run. Not only were the muddy conditions something to be endured, but pacing throughout the night and into the dawn was challenging, as well as beautiful. I was inspired by my friend’s grit and strength, and my body and mind handled it fine. I was feeling lighter and not as concerned about the Wonderland Trail.
For my second extreme day I registered for a 12 hr lap style race. The Parhelic Circle Trail Race is hosted by local company Sundog Running. I was a little concerned that this event was just two weeks before the Wonderland Trail trip, and would be my longest amount of time running. It scared the crap out of me! In past long runs the pain started to set in around the 20-mile mark. The thought of continuing on for hours and hours after that seemed unfathomable. In the end, I made it to 36 miles- which not only was the farthest I had run in a single day, but it also matched the longest distance (day 1) on the Wonderland Trip.
In my essay submission to the Women’s Scholarship I wrote about conquering my inner demons from childhood abuse. In last year’s Trail Marathon Championship race, I had no reason to be confident as I hadn’t been able to eat/drink due to nausea and in spite of that I was able to quiet those demons for the first time. Accepting the situation and taking the Championship race one mile at a time allowed me to solve the nausea problem and get back in the race to finish as Master’s Women’s Champion. In the 12-hour Parhelic I dissected the race one lap at a time. This allowed me to put energy into the task at hand, instead of succumbing to anxiety and fear. I could feel a shift. I was starting to believe in myself and I wanted to do more.
Sarah and Paula sharing the last piece of pie. Photo: Janel Lanphere
The night before the start of the Women’s Wonderland Trip we shared some of our stories and experiences that led us here. The apprehensive tension was in the air but instead of hierarchical competitive energy focusing on things like who was the best among us, who had the most experience or fastest time, a sense of community was developing. In the company of women I didn’t hear these intimidating questions. Each of us entering an unspoken pact to take care of one another and make our way together, each at their own pace. Looking back on it now, it makes me think of the lyrics:
I see you over there, on the internet. Comparing all the girls who are killing it.
Taylor Swift, “You Need to Calm Down”
While training for this trip I spoke with several people. Some men who had taken on big goals and found their way to making it happen. Those conversations focused on developing strength, finding my edge and taking chances. When I spoke to my female ultra-running friends the conversation was again, different. The conversations focused around what was I going to find out about myself during the event and how this experience was going to change me. All of these points of view were helping me change the inner dialogue from one of fear from this unknown territory to preparing a space for something else.
Sarah and Paula happy to be getting started on day 1. Photo: Janel Lanphere
Ready or not, it was time to put one foot in front of the other. Starting out with nervous energy, I had the good fortune of having a similar overall pace to Sarah and Paula-two inspiring women I got to know well over the trip. We leap frogged many times over the miles, each having our strengths and accepting each other’s decisions to push or hold back the pace based on the terrain at hand. Day one ended with a mind melting climb up to Mowich Lake Campground. I struggled hard. Having only taken one pole with me (with the inaccurate idea that one pole is really all you need) I was losing the battle. Paula kindly lent me one of her poles as I was ascending at a much slower pace than she was. It was my turn to accept the community Paula, Sarah and I had developed over the miles on the trail.
A beautiful creek on the Wonderland Trail. Photo: Janel Lanphere
Day two went off without a hitch. Paula, Sarah and I again ran together. It was a beautiful run in such amazing country with great company. For day three Paula, Sarah and I discussed our plans: Paula planned to push to do the entire distance. I planned to stop early at Box Canyon and Sarah was going to see how she felt. Even though we had differing plans, we decided to start the day together. Within the first few miles I caught my last glimpse of Paula and Sarah and never met up with them again. This made for a day alone on the trail, and although my familiar mental demons stayed away, new anxiety came in its place.
Day three on the Wonderland Trail. Photo: Janel Lanphere
One of the challenges for me on this trip was the point to point nature of circumnavigating a mountain. While Aspire provided maps and route information, and the Wonderland Trail was marked at junctions, I struggled more than I expected with the lack of trail markings and flags. As my mental control was declining on day three after hours of being alone in unfamiliar country, I had a long low point. Fear of bears and cougars set in and took hold. As I neared the end of the day my mind starting playing tricks on me, but then I saw a pencil on the ground and my heart leaped at the idea that someone else was up ahead! Seconds later I discovered it wasn’t a pencil after all, just a stick. It happened again with a rock- it looked like a pack. But it wasn’t, I was hallucinating objects of civilization just to calm my anxiety of being alone.
Even though there was a trail sweeper behind me (likely hours back), I had completely forgotten about them. I sure was happy to find myself in Box Canyon at my chosen end to day three and to see the Aspire Adventure Running crew waiting. I sat down, started to eat and immediately felt myself falling asleep. I was more fatigued than I realized. I was so happy with what I had accomplished and at peace with my decision to stop a few miles early.
Above the clouds. Photo: Janel Lanphere
Grit, intelligence and community are just a few of the qualities of the women I met on this amazing trip. The qualities of people who work their way up, take on big challenges and find a way to make them happen. They speak up or provide care for the greater good. These are my people. It was an honor and a privilege to share in the collective shift in consciousness as each of us moved into a space unknown, redefining how we think about running and really how we think about ourselves.
Join Aspire Adventure Running in 2020 for a circumnavigation of Mt. Rainier. Dates, pricing and more information can be found on the course page.
June in Washington has us trail runners feeling (and acting) like caged animals. We know the high country is there. We’re called by miles of accelerated alpine bliss so close, yet so much of it is still under a solid layer of snow.
Enter Ross Lake and Aspire Adventure Running’s Ross Lake Rally trip. This weekend adventure into the heart of the North Cascades is the antidote to those restless legs, and the high point of the course grants breathtaking views that rival any late-August jawdropper.
Basecamp for the weekend is the Colonial Creek campground, on the shores of Lake Diablo. The Aspire Crew and I set up the camp kitchen and cozy spaces as runners began to arrive. I’m always drawn to water and unobstructed views, so I set up my tent on the beach, before jumping into the kitchen to get the spaghetti and meatballs rolling. After dinner, a fire and some excited conversation, everyone turned in early. I took a little time to soak in the stars over Sourdough Mountain before crawling into my own tent for lights out.
French Toast is an Aspire breakfast classic. Topped with almond butter, strawberries, whipped cream, and maple syrup, it’s great fuel for a day on the trail.
The day’s adventure began with a quick shuttle to the trailhead and about a mile of running down to Ross Lake. At the lake, I rang the bubble gum pink phone on the old wood post by the dock to reach the Ross Lake Resort and let them know we had a group of 6 runners ready for transport. Within minutes we were loading onto the boat.
The ride up the lake was a gorgeous and refreshing experience. The morning wind whipped at our faces and I could feel the shared excitement for a gorgeous mountain day.
The boat taxi dropped us off at the Desolation Peak trailhead and the group of us scrambled up the lake shore boulders to the packed dirt. We stopped for a moment at the trail sign for Desolation Peak before everyone broke and headed uphill at their own clip. My role from here would be to act as a “sweep” for those running the marathon distance, following the group and ensuring no runner was left behind.
In 1956 Jack Kerouac spent the summer on Desolation Peak, manning the fire lookout. He wrote his novel “Desolation Time” in part about his time on the remote summit. This novel, and more specifically this peak, was the beacon that drew me to the Pacific Northwest. Kerouac was an inspiration and guide to a younger version of myself, providing cultural context and encouragement to be bold and make the life I wanted to see. In some way this was a bit of a pilgrimage, and the views that were beginning to show themselves as we climbed out of the forest were equally inspiring.
Perhaps two-thirds of the way up, I heard a crunch and cracking off to our right. I signalled for the other runners to be quiet, looked downhill, and there was black bear digging for grubs in a decomposing log. We were all thrilled to watch from our respectful distance above until the bear lumbered away downhill.
We passed through vibrant lupine and Indian paintbrush as we climbed, and by the time we made the final push to the summit we had crossed only a few minor patches of snow at around 6000 ft.
After several hours of ascent, our group pushed up the last climb and arrived at the summit of Desolation Peak. We met up with the runners that had pushed ahead and we all took it in together. From the summit, we were graced with 360 degrees of North Cascades bliss. Familiar peaks stuck out and Jack Mountain dominated the view to the south. Skies overhead were bright blue and we took our time eating lunch and stretching at the old fire lookout. My mind turned over some haikus that I didn’t write down as I took a moment to reflect on time, the energy of the beat poets, and all the alpine adventures I’d had thanks to Kerouac’s unique perspective.
We made one stop to fill water on the way down, and before we knew it we were cruising along the East Bank Trail south toward Highway 20. The trail rolls along the lake, providing stellar views and well-maintained single track for the 17 miles to the road. We crossed creeks flowing out of the Pasayten Wilderness over large suspension bridges. All to soon, we crossed the bridge over Ruby Arm and climbed up to the road.
For the 40-mile route, runners had the option of continuing up the Panther Creek Trail, over 4th of July Pass, descending into the Thunder Creek drainage, and then running along the shores of Diablo Lake directly into camp. However, my day as the trail sweep ended with the marathoners.
We were greeted at camp by the base crew cooking up burgers and everyone cracking beers and ciders. Tired legs gave way to the buzz of a great mountain day and good company, and everyone stayed up recalling stories and cracking jokes into the night. I believe everyone slept well and I enjoyed another night on the water with the stars.
The Ross Lake Rally is a great opportunity to check out the Aspire experience and get in early season miles. Aspire provides easy access to some difficult to reach places and it pays off! See you next June!
Trent Banks is a mountain rambler, a disc jockey, and father of two daughters, based out of Seattle, WA. He joined the Aspire Adventure Running crew in 2018. You can find him guiding trips, leading sponsored runs at running stores in the Seattle area, and working aid stations at races across the Pacific Northwest with the rest of the Aspire team.
The four day Yosemite Backcountry trip is an incredible addition to the Aspire calendar. It’s hard to put into words the immediacy and immensity of this place. I really wanted to give anyone interested in the trip a better sense of the flow and what to expect, so I’ve written this post with my inherent biases, interspersing my own experience and presumed the perspective of someone showing up for the trip. Enjoy!
Day 1: Intros
Pleasantries were lubricated by drinks pulled from the ever-present, ever-cold cooler and the plates of appetizers really hit the spot after the long drive to the park. It’s simultaneously impressive and obvious why a dozen runners from Ohio, California, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Washington states all converged on this campground with the same purpose: 100 miles of backcountry trails in one of the most iconic landscapes on the planet.
Tamarack Flats is one of the quietest campgrounds in all of Yosemite. 52 sites, no RV’s, no local store, and it’s well away from the hoards of people crammed into the valley floor. This little piece of the park would be home for the next five days. Rolling into camp, a few things were immediately obvious. There was a ton of firewood. There’s a lot of food packed into those beefy bear-proof coolers. That big tent would keep us us dry and cozy if the weather turns. And everyone here was speaking the same running language.
The Aspire crew facilitated introductions, gave some valuable background on the park, and then dove deep on the details of the routes, safety plan, logistics, and flow of the trip. In essence, each day we would get shuttled to a different trail. Everyone would run at their own pace, and our guides/crew would consist of a “Sweep” who would always run behind the group at whatever pace and a “Super” who started their run at the “finish.” It was expected that runners would spread out and there was no expectation that we traveled together.
Dinner: Grilled Chicken or Tempeh, Rice Pilaf, Green Salad and Cheesecake.
Day 2: Porcupine Creek to Tamarack Flat 22 Miles, Elevation Gain: 3,500′ Loss: 5,200′
Breakfast: Heaping plates of French Toast, homemade jams, yogurt, fresh fruit, and nut butters.
Waking up in the woods to a day of running sure beats the alarm cry for the office. The energy among the group at breakfast was palpable. Between bites of french toast there are the last clarifying route, gear, and preparation questions and suddenly it’s 8:00 and we’re piling into the shuttle van.
After a short drive to the trailhead and the obligatory group photo, we’re off. No ready–set–go, no pistol firing, no race clocks, just running. It’s three miles of gritty single track to the first real views of the trip. The conifer forest of Lodgepole Pines and Red Firs fell away as the dirt trail turned to granite dome. Cresting a small rise, the valley appeared. Half Dome loomed large on the horizon with a deep chasm separating the south end of the valley where we stood, and layers upon layers of views. Granite cliffs, waterfalls, alpine peaks and winding rivers create a full frontal assault to the visual cortex.
This was just the beginning. Our trail turned west, following the north rim of the Valley. Before the day was over we’d visit Yosemite Point, filter water from Yosemite Creek before it plummeted 2,425 feet to the valley floor, and stand on the summit of El Capitan. If all of that wasn’t enough, we finished the run with a swim in Cascade Creek, just two miles short of our finish at Tamarack Flat Campground where dinner was waiting.
Dinner: Spaghetti with homemade meat or vegetarian sauce, Green Salad, Chocolate dipped Strawberries
Day 3: Ten Lakes Basin, 21 Miles, Elevation Gain: +6,000′ Loss: -5,200′
Waking up the second day the edge of newness was gone. The uncertainty of “What am I getting into” was replaced with confidence and eagerness for more views.
The shuttle ride from camp to the May Lake trailhead was great for digestion. Clear skies and smiles on our faces were the norm. Our trip through the Ten Lakes Basin was marked by a lingering snowpack that required attention to navigate, but provided a landscape devoid of any other travelers. We kept the group tighter, route finding together and chatting as the miles unfolded.
Our route took us around Tuolumne Peak and deep into the South Fork of Cathedral Creek Canyon. By mid-day we were scanning the long blue horizon with lines of receding peaks in the background and a foreground full of deep granite valleys.
It’s easy to feel small and vulnerable wearing only a vest in this wild remote place. The three big climbs of the day challenged our legs, but as we reached every high pass, dropped into a new river valley, or stumbled upon an alpine lake, the hard work was absorbed by the beauty of the scenery.
Dinner: Burger Night! Meat or Vegetarian. Corn on the Cob, home fries, and Dutch oven Apple Crisp.
Day 4: Pohono Trail, 18 Miles, Elevation Gain +2,000’ Loss: -4,500’
In 2019 the Sierra’s experienced a record snowpack. Heavy winter accumulation and late season/spring storms left the high country blanketed in snow well into July. This led to some variations in our original itinerary. Rather than a 30-mile day through the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, our route would take us along the South Rim of the Yosemite Valley. While there were no complaints, it didn’t reflect the backcountry feel we were shooting for. Note: We’ve adjusted this day’s itinerary for 2020, check out the details on the Yosemite Backcountry Course Page.
Breakfast: Pancakes, from regular or GF flours, Yogurt, Fruit, Maple Syrup, and all the fixins with sides of Bacon or Veg Sausage
In 1903 John Muir spent 3 days camping with President Theodore Roosevelt atop Glacier Point. It’s the trip in which Muir convinced Roosevelt to protect and preserve Yosemite as a national treasure. It’s a cool spot, and the start of our 18-mile run along the South Rim of Yosemite Valley. Here the exposure of the valley is BIG. Taft Point sits 3,500’ above the valley floor and juts out of the rock face like a diving board. Stepping up to the edge, or a close as is reasonable, the reality of life, death, and gravity are all mashed into one clear line.
From Taft, it was a net down runnable day on trail that felt fast and smooth after a day deep in the backcountry. Since this was the short day of the trip, we capped off the afternoon with lunch spread out under a large oak tree on the bank of the Merced River while we lazily swam, ate, and drank with El Cap Looming over us.
Dinner: Bratwursts (Meat or Vegetarian), baked beans, and coleslaw with Dutch Oven Brownies
Day 5: Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite Valley, 21 Miles, Elevation Gain: +2,500 Loss: -6,500′
Waking up on the last day of the trip, time was all skewed. The rhythm of existing to run and explore felt normal. The body was sore, but the soul was full. The other runners are friends, a gypsy trail family brought together under a tent for a week of trails, laughter, and good food. It didn’t really seem possible that the real world was looming somewhere outside of this magical park.
Breakfast: English Muffin and Egg, Ham, or Veggie patty, with greens, salsa, and heaps of Avocado washed down with Orange Juice.
This day was a classic. Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite Valley. Here we followed the same path by which ancient alpine ice fields spewed forth from the Sierras and formed the deep glacial chasm of Yosemite. It’s a special run. Following the creeks and drainages of the high country, runners find themselves along the shores of the Merced River and the steep granite steps alongside Nevada and Vernal Falls. Reaching the falls puts the valley floor into view and a long sightline of granite faces glowed in the setting sun.
Having reached the Valley, drinks, appetizers, and the abundant dinner fare that’s become a norm of the trip was waiting at a nearby picnic area. It was a celebratory scene as runners finished, then headed off to the nearby Curry Village for showers, gift shopping, and merged with the rest of the crowds who had been drawn into the Valley’s tight orbit.
Finishing hardly seemed real. The juxtaposition of so much beauty in larger world paved over with progress and a simplicity of purpose contrasted with the responsibilities of an outside world. It’s a hard reconciliation and it’s precisely this disorientation of re-entry that marks the certainty of having been away from it all. What a fantastic feeling to have at the end of four of the most incredible days of living.
Dinner: Tacos w/ Chorizo and Vegetarian fillings, Rice, Fresh Salsa, and bottomless Guacamole.
