Ultra Slogging

Running the Loowit Trail

I’ve been feeling a bit stir-crazy lately. After my Wonderland DNF last month, I knew I wanted to do at least one more epic loop before snowfall. I considered the Wonderland North Loop (a 30-mile endeavor with around 10,000 feet of elevation gain), but I ultimately decided to try my luck running around another volcano, Mount St. Helens.

The Loowit Trail is an approximately 30-mile trail with 6,000 feet of elevation gain that circumvents the mountain (accessible by several off-shooting trails but without direct road access. Loowit, I learned in my run preparation, likely comes from the indigenous names for the mountain, “Lady of Fire” or “Smoking Mountain.” I found the name “Lady of Fire” strangely compelling and thought I’d like to get to know this Lady.

The forecast has been unseasonably warm for early October, so I brought a light jacket and thin gloves along with the usual trail running getup (trekking poles, bladder, water filter, snacks, and electrolytes). I thought I would start the run near Windy Ridge from the offshoot trail Windy, as this one is only .8 miles and is rated on the Trail Run Project app as “easy.” This starting point would also make a shorter drive for me, coming from the eastern side of the Cascades. Somehow I failed to realize that the two-mile Forest Service road to the Windy trailhead is closed from the Windy Ridge Viewpoint. Google Maps lied to me again! I just about despaired when I drove up to the gate at about 11pm on Saturday night. I’m not sure why, but an additional two miles made the run seem 1000% harder. Nevertheless, I accepted my fate, got a few hours’ shuteye in the back of my Subaru, and started the run at 3:10am. I figured I needed as early a start as possible to make it back home in time to pick up my son and rest enough for work the next morning. When I was nearing the Windy trail, I saw several glowing lights reflected in my headlamp. I stopped in my tracks, my heart pounding. “Hello?”

They were two hikers (or possibly researchers), and thankfully not wildlife. I laughed nervously, saying “I’m terrified of cougars,” and was on my way. I started the loop clockwise, with several instances where I had to routefind and search for cairns in the dark but nothing too technical at first. The combination of my headlamp and the moonlight provided decent illumination, as that section of trail is fairly open. I listened to an audiobook on speaker, trying to limit the noise pollution but also attempting to avoid any animal encounters. I started to get the feeling that I was being watched, but I told myself I was just being paranoid. After awhile, on a flat section, I saw two bears cross my path and amble down the slope, away from the trail. I stopped and walked for a few minutes and then continued on. Atop a nearby ridge, I spotted another pair of bears. This time, they were almost directly in my path, as the trail forked left and descended into the ravine. I estimate I was about twenty or thirty feet away from them, but it was difficult to tell in the dark.

“Hey, bears,” I called out to them. I took out the bear spray from my pack as a precaution, finger on the safety, and turned up the volume on my audiobook, which, strangely enough, was called The Bear. They looked up at me occasionally, but they seemed more interested in whatever they happened to be foraging down below. I took a seat on a rock, watching them until they moved away a safe distance and I felt brave enough to continue.

I walked for a long time after that encounter, knowing that running can trigger a bear’s predatory instincts. After I’d gone up and down a few more ridges, I felt I’d put enough distance between myself and the bears and broke out into a slow trot. Soon after that, I was treated to a sunrise view of Mount Rainier and ran through some gorgeous forested area near the June Lake trailhead. Here, I could hear the Chocolate Falls in the distance and saw a neat view where river water has gouged a winding crevice through the rock.

The first boulder field is a few miles from June Lake, and it is every bit as challenging as you might imagine. The rock is sharp and jagged igneous, and some of the rocks are loose and shift underweight. There are posts and cairns through these zones, but it is still easy to get lost. There were several instances where I came to the edge of a gully without a clear path down but then realized I was a little off-course.

By the time I reached the South Fork Toutle river, which is accessible via a steep downhill with a rope assist (terrifying for the non-climber, by the way! I had to grab the rope and lean out over the edge of maybe 80 or 90% grade, trusting the rope would support my weight), I had drained my two-liter bladder and .6L water-filtering soft flask. I had drank much less than I’d needed throughout the day in attempt to conserve the water I had, but I got too hot and began to suffer the effects of dehydration. I felt weak and nauseous, and even though I downed over a liter of filtered water from the river, it wasn’t enough.

The last ten miles were slow going, especially after losing the trail a few times through another washed out river. I saw some mountain goats on the foothills near the Windy Trail, but I was too tired to stop and admire or even snap a picture. I pressed on, my legs finding new speed on the rolling singletrack of the Windy Trail. It was another short two miles back to my car, but it felt like an eternity.

My watch counted 34 total miles in 13 hours and 43 minutes elapsed time. I’m sure without the bear incident, trouble route finding, and dehydration I would have done it quicker, but when do adventure runs ever go exactly according to plan?

All in all, it was an incredible trail to run and I would highly recommend the trail (but cannot overstate its difficulty). I saw a total of 14 hikers and several tents along my trip, which, considering I was out there all day, did not feel crowded at all. It was an indescribable experience running around the Lady of Fire, and when I crossed the washed out river near the culmination of the loop, I started to get emotional. I imagined the Lady, who had sheltered animals and provided shade and recreation, swell under pressure and finally burst, unable to keep the debris inside. I thought of all the animals perishing in the eruption, the obliteration of the forest and destruction. I imagined the Lady of Fire weeping, aghast at the destruction that she must admit was of her own doing.

However, although it’s been only forty years since the blast, there are signs of life. There are bears and goats on the trail. Trees and shrubs are growing again, right up against the edge of steep ravines and washouts. There is death, but there is also life.

The landscape is forever changed, but it is not gone. It’s just different.

Strava link: https://www.strava.com/activities/4152709739

Buck Creek to Spider Gap

In late August 2020, I completed the Buck Creek to Spider Gap loop near Lake Wenatchee, WA. This was my first solo adventure that involved traveling over an hour to my destination, and I pored over travel blogs, Trail Run Project app and AllTrails in preparation. I decided to attempt the loop in the clockwise direction, which seems to be less popular but according to one mountaineer was the “superior direction” to do the loop, as views continually get more and more stunning.

I set my alarm for 1:50 a.m., was out the door by 2:10, and arrived at the trailhead just before 4:30. The total distance driving was relatively short, but I spent nearly an hour on an incredibly rough, rutted-out dirt road that kept getting worse and worse before I reached the trailhead.

I reached the Buck Creek Trailhead and then drove up the dirt road 2.5 more miles to reach Phelps Creek Trailhead, which is where I was to end up if all went according to plan. I parked my car and set off on an easy jogging pace down the dusty dirt road. I signed the logbook at Buck Creek, laughing at the craziness of the details I jotted down (Party size: 1, Destination: Loop). The first few miles of the trail were overgrown and brushy, and I stopped to indulge in the occasional thimbleberry. I also had to cross a downed bridge and spotted several tents on the climb.

I didn’t see my first human until three hours later. I just about jumped out of my skin when two backpackers emerged from behind a tree in a meadow. We all laughed a bit, said good morning, and I traveled on.

I saw a few more backpackers on the ascent, was chased by a growling “friendly puppy,” and at one time saw a bear-shaped figure up ahead.

“Is that a bear?” I said aloud. “No, it’s a mushroom.” (It was a large fungus growing from a tree.) To my embarrassment, I realized that there was a man behind the tree, who stepped out and did not say a word as I went up the hill. I’m not sure who was more embarrassed — me or him — as he was likely relieving himself behind the tree and assumed I must have seen him.

Where Buck Creek trail meets Buck Creek Pass trail, I was greeted with astonishing views of Glacier Peak and the Enchantments in the distance. The trail dipped down and I welcomed the break from the uphill grind. The downhill was short-lived, though, as the trail began another steep ascent and then another downhill. The connection between Buck Creek trail and Lyman Lakes is more confusing than it seems, and I would highly recommend writing out the trail junctions or downloading an interactive map to your phone, as there were several times where I had to heavily consult my Trail Run Project app.

Buck Creek Pass trail eventually merges with the Pacific Crest Trail, and there I found some forest service workers clearing some blowdowns. I thanked them for their work, leapfrogged over some logs, and was on my way.

The official backpacking loop includes a short out-and-back trail to Image Lake along the Miner’s Creek trail. I was planning on making it to Image Lake, but I realized I was running out of time and had not reached the most challenging part of the trail, which was the talus field and snowfield traverse to crest Spider Gap. A mile or two from the lake, I turned around and headed back towards Suiattle Pass and Cloudy Pass, which had more breathtaking views of Glacier Peak. I startled a cinnamon-colored black bear near Miner’s Ridge and nearly missed it barreling downhill through the brush.

By the time I reached the top of Cloudy Pass, I was feeling incredibly tired and still had the snowfield traverse to look forward to. I could see the snowy peaks in the distance beyond Lyman Lakes, but I could not tell which one would be my fate to ascend. As the trail approaches Upper Lyman Lake, it becomes a little more difficult to follow and then disappears completely under a snowfield. In late August, a great deal of the snow has melted but crossing it can be challenging especially in late afternoon, as the melting snow is slippery. I brought hiking poles but no microspikes. In retrospect, I wish I would have brought along the spikes for the ascent but did not find them necessary. Once over the top of the snowfield, I tried to slide down on my butt, but the grade was not quite right. It was steep enough to slip and fall but not quite steep enough to slide down.

I must have fallen at least half a dozen times before reaching the trail. Once I finally reached it, I hopped down the steep and rocky decline, grumbling just a bit until the trail flattened out at Spider Meadows. Although I only spent a short time here, this area was so magical that I returned with my three-year-old for our first backing trip.

From Spider Meadows, it was somewhere between 5 and 9 miles back to Phelps Creek trailhead. The maps seem to differ a bit on this point, but it felt like a long slog back to the car.

I clocked the whole trip at 40 miles in just over thirteen hours total. I imagine without the Image Lake detour, it would have been about 33-35 miles, which is just about the perfect distance for an all-day trail adventure. I plan to attempt this route again in the counter-clockwise direction soon, maybe before the winter if I can manage it.

Wonderland DNF

Summer 2020 has been a time for crazy FKT (Fastest Known Time) attempts, new records, and virtual races. I participated in the Great Virtual Race Across Tennessee, logging just over 2000 kilometers over four months, and just a week after its completion I embarked on my most ambitious goal yet: circumnavigating the 93-mile Wonderland Trail at Mount Rainier National Park in one single push.

After reading other trip reports, I assumed it would take me within 35-50 hours to complete the trail at a non-aggressive pace, considering there is somewhere around 22,000 feet of elevation gain and some moderately technical sections. I had the day off for Labor Day, so after work on Friday I packed up my running vest, permit, and trekking poles into my Subaru and set off towards Packwood, WA. I had decided to do the trail clockwise from Longmire. Almost immediately, things started to go wrong. I saw signs for Mount Rainier National Park but followed my GPS instead, which took my on a back road that was blocked off by a locked gate. A ranger approached me and I explained my predicament. He told me that this was not an entrance to the park, but perhaps because it was nighttime and I already had a permit, he let me through the gate and gave me directions to the Wilderness Information Center (which is closed due to COVID-19). I found a place to park, got my gear situated, and set off on the trail at 9:30 pm. For some reason, I had brought a new supplement to try out on the trail and started off drinking it. I’d heard the adage “nothing new on race day,” but think it should be corrected to “nothing new on an ambitious run day,” as the foul liquid immediately gave me gas and nausea. I broke out in a cold sweat and sat down on the trail, soon to be approached by a headlamp-wearing speed demon tearing down the trail.

“I’m having a crisis,” I whined.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be all right.”

I got up shortly thereafter and reached a short downhill section, where the trail seemed to completely disappear into a creek. Puzzled, I backtracked a bit but did not see any missed turns. I headed down again, trying to find my way with the Trail Run Project app. According to the app, I was off-trail. I made a few circles, wandering up and down the creekbed as I was unable to tell which direction I was supposed to be going in the dark. After awhile, I happened to see a cairn. Relieved, I followed it to find more, crossing the creek and meeting up with the trail again. The GPS was still inaccurate at that point, showing that I was not on an established trail, so I believe the trail may have been rerouted recently due to a downed bridge (this I saw again in the daylight but more on that later).

The trail from then-on, was an uphill and downhill grind, every punishing ascent followed by a quick plunge back below the treeline. I crossed several ridges, seeing the faint snowy glow of the peak in the distance and feeling the alpine air kiss my exposed arms and legs.

I had seen two trail runners near the beginning of my trek, but for hours I was alone, seeing only several tents but no humans.

At 3am, just as I reached the top of the ridge and was feeling recovered from the supplement fiasco, a large animal crossed the trail about fifteen feet ahead, a flash of white in my headlamp.

“What was that,” I said aloud. Not a question, but a statement, as I was already dreading the answer. I froze in my tracks, glancing to the left and right.

I heard a curious noise coming from the hill on the left. I can’t describe it exactly, only to say that it was catlike. I looked again ahead and saw the animal coming towards me from the right. White in the night light, it crept forward, a mere ten feet away. It was a cougar.

“HEY,” I said loudly, coming to my senses. I deepened my voice, speaking in a manufactured baritone and trying to sound tougher than I was feeling. I grabbed my bear spray, finger on the trigger and held out my trekking pole like a lance. The cougar retreated but the others were suddenly visible on the hill. I made out four distinct forms. And then I saw them run down the hill, towards me but out of the range of my headlamp. I took out my phone and found the first downloaded podcast available, which happened to be “Welcome to NightVale,” and played it on full blast. The animal calls stopped, and I lost sight of the closest cat.

I stood atop a rock near the trail for a long time. I still am not sure how long I stood there–ten minutes? Two hours? I was hoping that I would see another night runner come from either direction. Whichever way they came from, I would ask to accompany them for extra safety. However, no one came by. I began to get cold from lack of motion and weighed my options. One, I could put on my jacket and wait for someone to pass by, but there were no guarantees that anyone would. Two, I could return by the way I had come. Three, I could continue on the trail. Unfortunately, I was hours away from daylight and staying in the same place for an indeterminate amount of time was less than ideal. Staying stationary did not make me any safer than moving, and if the cougars wanted to attack then my staying still or moving would not make much of a difference.

I turned on my rational brain and tried to understand the situation. I assumed I must have startled them, possibly separating a mother from her babies or a juvenile from its family. As cougars are usually solitary animals, it was indeed surprising to encounter five at once. I think they may have been part of a family unit, and in the daytime I found that there was a shallow body of water in the same area.

I decided to continue on the trail. Walking slowly, and constantly throwing a glance behind me and to the sides, I followed the trail descend and then rise onto another ridge. By the time I was climbing again, it was beginning to get lighter and I clicked off my headlamp and flashlight. I stopped for a snack and plugged my phone into my backup charger, as the podcasts had drained my battery.

In the near-dawn, I surprised a few deer and saw a juvenile black bear scamper off the trail. After the cougar experience, the bear did not even raise my heart rate, though and seemed more like a friendly trail companion than a threat like the cougars had.

I continued on the trail, passing by a pristine mountain lake and another ridgeline, the thought of the cougar encounter still in the forefront of my mind. “Can you have same-day PTSD?” I wondered aloud. “Would that just be TSD?” If I continued on my journey, I would spend (at least) another night on the trail, with no guarantees that I wouldn’t run into more apex predators. The adrenaline rush of the near-attack had left me feeling weak and breathless, and I calculated my ETA to be 7pm on Sunday evening, best-case scenario. I certainly had enough food and water (I’d brought a portable filter that screws onto a soft-flask water bottle), but was I willing to risk my life just to complete a loop? I am notoriously fond of loops, but not quite that fond of them.

I also had my three-year-old son to think about. I imagined him asking about me and wondering why I wasn’t coming back home. I wondered how long he would ask about me before he eventually forgot.

Dejected, I sat down on a large rock and put my head in my hands. I had to turn around. Continuing on alone at night was just too dangerous. I climbed back up the hill I had just descended, moving slowly and resentfully as I tried to make peace with my DNF (Did Not Finish).

Once I reached the sections I had crossed in the dark, I was glad to be able to see them in the daytime as they were truly impressive. However, I couldn’t shake the sense of failure (even though, I’m near positive I would have been physically able to finish the run).

The slog back to Longmire was long and brutal, and I once again got lost at the same creek crossing. Even at daytime, the cairns were confusing and I wandered around for about twenty minutes, sloshing through the creek as I no longer cared about getting my feet wet at that point.

I made it back to my car just after 7:00 p.m. I had spent nearly twenty-two hours on the trail, ran through the night for the first time, and doubled my summer animal sightings count (the bear was my sixth of the summer, and thankfully I had not seen any cougars until yesterday).

I emerged from the trail unscathed, alive and exhausted. “I’m never running Wonderland again, or even trail running again,” I said in my car, but true to form I’m already contemplating a future fastpacking attempt or a single push with buddies the next time.

Wonderland, I’ll be back for you some day. Until next time,