Early Winter in the Highlands: Part 2 of 4

Early Winter in the Highlands Part 2 of 4: Short-Tailed Grouse Preserve

By Kathy Vaughan

     Ras and I moved to the Okanogan Highlands about 12 years ago. We moved from Bellingham so that we could buy a piece of land, build our own small home and raise our daughter, homeschooling her ourselves. We wanted to live simply. We found our 5 acre spot along Mary Ann Creek in the Chesaw area. Directly across from our property is a Short-Tail Grouse Preserve. This land extends as far as the eye can see and beyond. It nears the Canadian border. The area has a rich history and many old homestead buildings remain. There are old root cellars and stone buildings, barns of silvered wood still standing, pieces of old farming equipment, abandoned claims from the gold mining era and lots of old road beds to follow.

     Although I enjoy seeing the remains of the area's history, my main interest is these old road beds. They make awesome running paths as well as cross-country ski trails for winter. Ras and I have since moved from our little cabin we built on our 5 acres and our daughter, Angela, has gone off to college. We now live in a big home that we caretake. But my friend Lisa still lives near these trails and she explores this area often. She invited me to join her for an all day trek that would begin at the trail head near my cabin and end at her house on the other side of the town of Chesaw. We would hike across the grassy hills and down into draws, wooded with aspen. We would find our way across the hills, summitting the high point, Strawberry Mountain, before making our way back down to dirt road again. Lisa's house is along this dirt road. We didn't really know how long it would take us, exactly what route we would take to get there, or what our mileage would be. This turned out to be the beauty of the day.

     I drove to Lisa's house in the morning and picked her up. We left my car at the trail head that enters the preserve near my cabin and took off into the grassy landscape. There were some patches of snow, but mainly the ground was bare and the grasses were dead. There were lots of choices of road beds to follow, some mowed by Fish and Wildlife during the summer months. We decided to first climb to a lake near an area called Bootlegger's Pass we had both heard of before. Legend has it that the pass crosses into Canada and was used to transport liquor across the border back in the day. Before Ras and I were ultra runners, we used to wander around these hills with  Angela, but we hadn't made it as far as the lake. I was intrigued by what we might find.

     We reached the lake and it was frozen. We named it Horseshoe Lake. It had an island in the center we could walk out to. The surrounding draws were mysterious and dark. They were filled with thick fir trees. Rocky outcrops dotted the landscape. Mostly we just saw grassy hillsides, but the rocky areas and wooded draws were inviting. We chose to hike towards them and down into their reaches. As we climbed back out, we would choose the next one to hike to. We continued across the preserve in this way, sometimes hiking towards an old homestead, sometimes towards a stand of trees. It was freeing and relaxing. I imagined what it would be like to have been a Native American in these lands or a homesteader, trying to survive the harsh climate of winter and the dry desolate summers. 

     When Lisa asked me whether we should head for the lower ground or towards the distant summit of Strawberry Mountain, my answer came quickly. I definitely wanted to climb the mountain I could see. We still had about an hour and a half of wandering through the hills before we would reach its base. We hiked through several more of these old aspen groves; the white bark of the trees bare of leaves were visible from a distance away. The homesteaders liked these groves because it usually meant water nearby. Aspen require a source of water and in this area it is usually an underground spring. Sometimes small ponds or lakes are nearby. The trees rot at their bases over time and many of these groves have lots of downed trees. The center of the tree rots as well, and a round cut out of a log of aspen can be carved into a nice hand drum. 

     An abandoned home and a large, frozen lake were at the base of Strawberry Mountain. Another old road headed out past the lake and off into an area I would like to get back to on skis. But for now, it was time to climb to the summit. It was a steady climb but not technical at all and soon we were at the top. We had a 360 degree view. To the east, we could see the Kettle Crest Range. Up north, the snow capped peaks of Canadian mountains loomed. Just below the mountain, we could see the homes of local Chesaw folks situated on carefully chosen hillocks, along creeks, or near stands of fir trees. The sky was blue and the wind was still. At my feet, I was astonished to see a form of life, so tiny and yet protected from the cold temperatures in a way only nature can perfect. Piles of ladybugs were tucked under the rocks. There were hundreds of these little beetles. Lisa had seen them there in the past. This is a place they call home in the harsh conditions of winter, in a high mountain desert landscape at about 4,300 feet in elevation. 

     It was a blast barreling down the mountain. We got to the bottom and saw one more idyllic setting for homestead remains, several buildings this time. I stopped to take one last look, knowing dusk was approaching and we were getting closer to Lisa's house.  These scattered homes were so mysterious to me. I wondered out loud to Lisa if the children at this home might have gone over Strawberry Mountain to visit the children at the home alongside Strawberry Lake. I think they probably would have.

     We were able to easily follow a roadbed that descended all the way down to the dirt road that passes in front of Lisa's home. We walked up her driveway in the dark and stepped inside to the warmth of wood heat and the complex fragrance of a vegan curry dish, wafting from her kitchen. 
     

From Sunny Pass to Bonaparte Mountain: Running in the High Hills

      Atop the snowy pass, we braced ourselves against the wind and pushed along the trail. We were on our way to a lake high in the Pasayten Wilderness, beyond Sunny Pass. My running buddy, Shona Hilton and I were out on a late September 14 miler and we had hit the first snowstorm of the season in this area. We had seen the forecast, so we were somewhat prepared, but not enough to keep looking for this mountain lake. We had already come up 5 miles and still had the down run. We had passed a cacophony of ravens and turkey vultures as they feasted on a carcass left behind, by what we were hoping was a hunter rather than a cougar kill. I had been slow to recognize what the the eerie cries of the scavenger birds meant as they circled in the sky, having been distracted from their meal by Shona and I passing through the forest.  The wind was blowing wet snow in our faces and the trail at our feet was getting increasingly more muddy and puddled as we ran.

     We had left early that morning and driven for 2 hours to reach the Iron Gate Trailhead in the Loomis Forest. The trail goes through an old burn area. Shona, Ras and I had ran through here in the summer during the wildflower season. It was nice to be here now and feel the contrast of the autumn season. The bushes were turning red, the larch needles were turning golden yellow and beginning to fall to the ground. The air temperature was chilly. We began in a wet drizzle, but as we climbed higher, we entered the snowy zone. We could see the white dusting on distant Windy Peak. This was the first run for Shona and I in these conditions this new season. It was very invigorating, but we knew we had to turn back before finding the lake with this threatening weather whirling around.

    It was fun running back down towards the trail head. We crossed little streams and danced among the rocks strewn all over the trail. The path was wide though and it was easy to find good foot placements. When we got back to the trail head, we saw an older couple from New Mexico who had been traveling since May, hiking trails all over the Pacific Northwest. They asked us if we'd take the garbage from the parking area with us, as they had just cleaned up a messy campsite someone had left behind. They figured we could help with this environmental effort, by hauling the bag off. Sure. Whatever. Shona is kinder than me and gladly obliged. 

     When we got back into Oroville, I got espresso for Shona and I at our local small-town stand. The coffee is mediocre at best and the service is rarely with a smile. It is nice to share a hot drink after a long, cold run though.

     Shona and I decided to get in one more long run before Baker Lake 50k. We had wanted to run around the 4th of July Ridge Trail that encircles Bonaparte Mountain. While up high on the trail, you reach a 1/2 mile spur trail to the Bonaparte Lookout and summit, so this makes the total run 15.5 miles with 3,800 feet of climbing. We knew it would be a great run for spending at least 5 hours on our feet and having some technical single track practice. 

     We started on crunchy, frosty trail at 7:30 in the morning. The sun was mixed with clouds and the air was cold and crisp. Shona led the way along the nicely cleared trail.  It was a cold start, but we began to warm up quickly. I stopped to shed layers and reminded myself that this is the time of year to start out on the trail cold. I always warm up quickly and then have to break my rhythm by stopping shortly in to strip off layers I no longer need. These are the lessons to remember when the seasons are transitioning.

     It was nice to be out running on this trail. I had hiked it with my friend Lisa just 2 weeks prior, after having several bouts of pancreatitis through the later part of the summer. I didn't know when I'd be able to get out on runs again, or if I'd be able to run Baker Lake. I had originally signed up for the 100k distance at Baker Lake, but dropped to the 50k after these painful abdominal episodes forced me to cut back on training. I was grateful to be feeling normal now, running along behind Shona as if these pains had never come around.

     We reached the summit and enjoyed the views from this 7,257 foot perch. We could see the Canadian mountains, the Okanogan Highlands and its dry pasture lands, small surrounding hills and the distant Kettle Crest Range. After a snack and a few photos, it was time to descend back down to the main trail. We had about 5 1/2 miles to go to get around the rest of Bonaparte. This side of the mountain was damper with several creek crossings. The forest flora was different. This change in terrain kept us moving forward at a good pace. The wild raspberries were gone and the fall colors drew my eye off of the trail. Sometimes its amazing to see the vivid colors of nature, especially in this season where life is preparing for the cold of winter to come on. 

     I kept up a good amount of energy on this run by snacking on tempeh strips I had prepared at home ahead of time. I also had a soy cheese quasadilla on a whole wheat tortilla, Justin's almond butter pouch, Gu Chomps, Hammer Cafe Latte Perpetuem and a newer product called Fuel 100 Electro-Bites in Salty Vanilla. They tasted good as I shared them with Shona on one of the sweet mossy bridges. Electro-Bites' slogan is "Fuel the Miles" and they are made with coconut oil. They are also gluten and soy free.  I didn't know much about them when I pulled the extremely light weight package from my pack and offered some to Shona. She loved them immediately and she sometimes is particular about what she can stomach on a long run. She liked their salty and non- offensive aftertaste. We both liked how easy them were to eat because they simply dissolve in your mouth. Shona messaged the company with praises of the energizing little snack and they sent her their newest flavor to try before anyone else, Pumpkin Spice, a packet for each of us. I am looking forward to pulling them out at just the right moment on my next long run.

      Shona and I both stayed strong to the end of our loop run. We finished in just under 6 hours. We both felt confident that we could run Baker Lake the following weekend. We knew it would have its challenges, its high points and low points. That is what running an ultra marathon is all about. We always go into them with big question marks about what obstacles might appear for us to conquer. If we knew ahead of time, it just wouldn't have the same appeal. Sometimes the challenges are mental and sometimes they are physical. Defeating either during hours spent moving through nature along a trail, has healing benefits a runner will experience well beyond the finish line.   
            

The AltraPedestrian Project, Installment zero1

The AltraPedestrian Project, Installment zero1
   

by Ras

     Long ago in my backpacking career I came to the realization that big, heavy boots which incapacitate your feet are unnatural, uncomfortable, and unhealthy. I began wearing minimalist trail running shoes (Inov-8 Roclites) to backpack in long before I began running ultra distances. It was simply logical to me that at most a shoe should be a tool for your foot to use, not a device to alter or inhibit the natural foot and lower leg functions of flexing, splaying, gripping, and (dare I say it?) pronating.

     But I like shoes and am very interested in them as an ancient human technology. Ötzi, the 5300 year old paleolithic man discovered frozen on a glacier in the Alps in 1991, wore rudimentary (i.e. minimalist) shoes. And the modern equivalents are fascinating, if cumbersome. I often walk around the start of races scoping out people's shoes, occasionally meeting a look that seems to say, "My eyes are up here."

     Last year, preparing for the Pigtails Challenge 200 Mile Endurance Run (see my Race Report Here and Nutrition & Fueling Report Here) I knew that I needed a shoe with some midsole. Again, a tool for my feet to use. When retrieving a piping hot casserole from the oven one uses an oven mitt; there's no possibility of going 'minimal', one needs a tool to do something with one's hand that would otherwise cause harm or damage.

     I began the race with only 18 training miles on my new Altra Lone Peaks, and finished with no blisters and no hotspots, and that was just the beginning. I went on to wear the same pair of Altras for the Echo Valley 50 Miler, 3 days of a four day recon run of the Wonderland (68 miles), the White River 50 Miler, the Angel's Staircase 60k, the Cascade Crest 100 miler, the Double Wonderland (186 miles), the Baker Lake 50k, the Deception Pass 50k, and the 2013 Fort Ebbey Kettles Trail Marathon, as well as a running of the Looit Trail around the base of Mt St Helens and all of my training mileage. 

     I lost track of the cumulative mileage on that pair of shoes at 1600 miles, and that is a conservative accounting. Altra Zero Drop Footwear has blessed me with an Ambadassadorship for 2013 and sent me a brand new pair of Lone Peaks. So in a spirit of research and exploration I am going to publish a precise running total each month on this blog of the miles run in my new pair of Altra Lone Peaks, as well as photos showing wear and tear. Hence the title, The AltraPedestrian Project.

     Witness, in these two photos, the passing of the baton, the changing of the guard, the handing on of the mantle. My new pair of Lone Peaks is all shiny and clean and new on the top, with my preferred alternate lacing pattern already in place. They have 10 miles on them as of this photo, and I am just heading off to the Badger Mountain Challenge to put the first 100 on them.  

      By comparison, my original pair of Lone Peaks, at bottom in both photos, looks broken in and worn out, but nowhere near as destroyed as one would expect with nearly 2000 miles on them. I made no repairs on them and in the photos at top you can see a few holes in the upper and the metatarsal flex point. It will be fun (and hopefully both challenging and exhausting) to watch the miles add up over this season and document the life of the new pair.

     I mean, realistically, what's more fun for an ultra runner than beating up a pair of shoes?

2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon Race Report: The Perils Of Crosstraining

2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon Race Report:

   

The Perils Of Crosstraining

or

Blood On The Living Room Floor

by Ras

     My wife is the coolest in the world. In the winter she lets me ride my trials bike in the house. A lot of trials riding is done at very low speeds or from a stand still, so I can practice basic moves in a small area and get in some good cross training that works my core as well as all of my stabilizer muscles, improves balance, develops explosiveness, and heightens my reflexes. That's how I ended up bleeding on the floor of the living room.

     Two days before the Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon I built a small wooden box, about 18” high, 3' wide and 4' long to practice trials moves on. I made it decent looking so that it could be inside and could be covered with a cloth or quilt to serve as a seat or ottoman. I thought it would be pretty challenging and take a lot of practice to get up on, but was able to within my first few tries the very first time I set it up. Then I was able to get up on the box, get up on my rear tire and balance, then pedal kick off, landing smoothly and perfectly. I was stoked, so stoked I tried it again.

     Kathy had just sat down on the sofa a few feet away and was beginning to eat dinner. (Yes, I was still riding my bike after I'd been called for dinner. I realize this is a bit immature, and I have no defense of my behavior. The last time my daughter was home from college she said I was like a teenager, because I had been running, snowskating, and riding my bike all in the same day, so my immaturity may be more pervasive than I had hitherto realized.) I rode up to the box, got my front tire on, balanced, jumped up and forward to bring my rear tire on, stood the bike up on the rear wheel on the edge of the box, and went to pedal kick off. That's when things went sideways.

     I landed with my weight too far back, and my rear tire washed out. I fell backwards, hitting the back of my head on the edge of the box at the same time that the handlebars hit me in the forehead. (InB4 shoulda worn a helmet.) The next thing I knew I was laying on my side on the floor, blood was dripping from my head in three places, and Kathy was screaming. I just laid there for a moment trying to figure out what had just happened. I was hurt, although I didn't think I was injured, but Kathy's intermittent screams and panicky offers of help were overwhelming, and on top of it all I couldn't stop laughing. The ridiculousness of it was too much, and it kept setting me off laughing. I needed a moment to lay there and bleed and laugh and take mental stock, so I asked Kathy to get me a cold, wet cloth.

     I hoisted myself up to a seated position on the wooden box I'd been so happy with just a moment before. Kathy handed me the cloth and I pressed it to the back of my head. She asked what else she could do, and I said, “I just need a minute. Why don't you clean up the blood.” For some reason, hearing myself say that made me laugh even more.

     I was further amused by Kathy alternately grumbling to herself under her breath and hurling concerned interrogatives at me; “I don't even know what you were doing. Why weren't you wearing a helmet?! Now you're gonna hafta crew me at Fort Ebey. You have a contusion! You can't run like this. What are the symptoms of a concussion?” And the more this dear, sweet woman expressed her consternation, concern, and dismay, the more I laughed. I was especially entertained by the idea of asking the symptoms of a concussion from the very person you suspect of being concussed. Even now, replaying the incident in my mind it brings me to laughter. My favorite part was about an hour later after Kathy had inspected the cut on the back of my head and the two on my forehead. She lead me over to the couch, brought me a bowl of pasta and a beverage, then stood back, crossed her arms, glared at me with a unique blend of frustration and concern, and said, “Now you're kinda fucked up.”

     And I was. I didn't have a headache or nausea and my pupils were evenly dilated, but my neck and shoulder muscles on the right side were painful, tight, and locking up. I may not have had a concussion, but I probably did have a minor case of whiplash. Whiplash shmiplash, it was only twenty six miles. I'd be fine.

     Two days later, before the start of the Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon, I was feeling well. The bruising on my forehead was so slight that my mother didn't even notice it when we visited her the night before. My neck had loosened up and everything was comfortable, and I was ready to run some trail.

     I had a baggy of almond butter, a baggie of chocolate hazelnut butter, a baggy of coconut butter, a baggie of wasabi almonds, a bottle of water, and a small flask tucked into the back of my shorts for mixing up Hornet Juice (which at some point was not riding correctly, and ended up giving me a tramp stamp abrasion that was both painful and funny). I wasn't using a drop bag and just carried all of my calories from the beginning, although about half of what I had brought would make two full circumambulations of the course and end up right back in my ultra bin. When all was said and done, I ran the race on very few calories, a thousand at most, felt great doing it, and recovered quickly and well. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

     I left my big Phat Pharm gangsta puffy in the car and went to find Kathy, who had headed to the start area a few minutes earlier. As the start of the race drew near Kathy looked me up and down, then asked if I was going to wear my sweat pants during the race. I looked down and realized I had forgotten to remove the cheap cotton sweatpants I had been wearing while readying my gear at the car.

     These are my very favorite pants to hang out in at home and for apres run, but they are not appropriate running gear. I had bought them a number of years ago on the way to a grappling tournament in Seattle. I purchased them along with a hoodie at a Big 5, and wore them both in the car with the heater on full blast in order cut my last few pounds before the weigh ins. The very first time I washed them they shrank severely, and have since been known as my man-pris. Much as I like them, I had no intention of running a trail marathon in them. I darted back to the car, pulled the sweatpants off over my shoes (which is a wonderful challenge to one's sense of athleticism and maturity), tossed them into the car, and made it back to the race start in order to talk with friends before the race.

     Kathy and I were running separately, each pursuing our own race goals. When the start was sounded I circled around the back of the mass of runners and up the left side of the marked course, settling into the lemming line just as the wide starting lane turned into single track.

     Fort Ebey Kettles is a great course. The trail is constantly winding, climbing, turning, descending, wending, and weaving it's way through the woods and along the bluffs of Fort Ebey State Park. With over 5000 feet of climbing it is not a particularly fast course, but the trail is non-technical and very runnable and just plain fun. Aide stations are there to refresh and revive you every 4 ½ miles, so a single Amphipod bottle was more than adequate. And the course was amazingly well marked, especially considering that there were over 100 trail junctions along its length.

     A number of times throughout the race I had runners behind me comment on the footprint design I was sporting on the soles of my Altra Lone Peaks. I took this as a good sign regarding my form, since I was lifting my feet high enough for the bottoms of my shoes to be seen. I also soon realized that most of the runners around me where running the half marathon, a single lap of the loop course. This didn't bode well for my pacing, and I began to wonder if my joke to Eric Barnes about “going out too fast and then blowing up” might perhaps be more prescient than mere merriment.

     I finished the first lap in 2:20, refilled my water bottle at the aide station, and headed out for my second lap. I slowed a bit on the second lap. I hiked a lot more of the hills. But only two runners passed me during that second loop, so while I had slowed I was still moving fairly well. No one was running near me, so I turned on an audiobook on my mp3 player and let my mind chew on a good murder mystery as I wound my way through the woods of Whidbey Island.

     I try to keep things as positive as I can, and my splits reflected that; extremely positive. I finished the race in 5:29:53, making my 5:30:00 goal by a fat 7 seconds (coincidentally, the name of one of my favorite 80's hardcore punk bands). I finished twelfth overall, 10^th men's, and only 1:05:43 off of the men's course record. And as usual, I came in First Rasta with the Rastafarian Course Record. Give Thanks for Life.

Read Kathy's 2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Race Report HERE

Changing Perspectives - From Mountains to Sea: 2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon

Changing Perspectives - From Mountains to Sea: 2013 Fort Ebey Kettles Marathon

By Kathy Vaughan

     After having completed 7 ultras, I decided to run an actual trail marathon. I was persuaded by the Ft. Ebey Kettles Marathon put on by Northwest Trail Runs and held on February 17^th. My mother-in-law lives only a couple of miles from this beautiful state park on Whidbey Island near Coupeville. Post race meal & accommodations could be provided by my folks in the nearby town of Anacortes. I could have lunch in Seattle the next day with my daughter Angela, who is a sophomore at the University of Washington. It would be a perfect opportunity to visit with family and have a great snow-free day of running on the west side of the mountains in winter.

     It turned out to be a near perfect day. The weather was windy and cool in the morning when my husband Ras and I arrived at Ft. Ebey State Park to check in and get our bib numbers. We knew parking would be limited and decided to arrive plenty early. We would finish getting ready from our car and likely visit with other runners we knew. There is always someone new to meet also, as trail runners are a friendly bunch. This is part of the fun of race day.

     I have usually run my ultras with Ras, but today I would be running on my own. I had mixed feelings about this, but overall was totally excited about the new challenge. I had been spending some long solo days cross-country skiing in our nearby groomed sno-park and felt prepared to go for it.

The course is 26.25 miles long on rolling terrain with a total elevation gain in the 2 half- marathon distance loops of 5,200 feet. I thought this would feel like a lot of climbing. In my training, I had put in about 12 snow shoe climbs on the Sitzmark Ski Hill where I had spent the early part of my winter working as a lift operator. During my half- hour lunch break, I would strap on my snow shoes and climb the nearly 700 feet to the top of the small ski slope. It was great training and a fun way to spend a lunch break at work. The 360 degree view from the top of all of the surrounding mountains –Bonaparte, Mt. Baldy and Big White, off in the distance in Canada, and all of the Okanogan Highlands with its plowed, winding country roads, made the climb worth it each time.

     Cross-country skiing had also been a big part of my training for this race. I had tallied up 183 ski miles since running Rainshadow Running's Deception Pass 50k on Whidbey Island 9 weeks prior. I had enjoyed some amazing days skiing through the Bonaparte Mountain area near my home and the Rendezvous Mountain area in Mazama, the foothills of the North Cascades. On one solo outing, I skied past a bloody carcass, being feasted upon by a mixed group of hungry birds—bald eagles, turkey vultures, ravens and magpies. I didn't pause to see what larger critter might be lurking about. I did know that nothing this intense would happen as I ran a supported race solo in a state park on Whidbey Island!

     One of my best winter adventures leading up to Ft. Ebey was the Highlands Challenge I did with my friend Lisa. She had the great idea of skiing all of the trails in the Highlands Sno-Park, only 8 miles from where Ras and I live. I know the park really well and was completely game for the challenge.

     We started at 9 am and had a wonderful day skiing 28 miles of trail in 8 hours. We skied through meadows, climbing up high, then flying downhill, exploring every trail through the park. The trails were groomed and the snow conditions perfect. Although the wind blew all day, we hardly noticed because we were able to keep moving so well along the nicely prepared trails. We used our cars as aid stations sometime around 4 that afternoon and finished by headlamp, skiing downhill the last 1.5 miles in an intense snow-plow, in icy conditions that had come after dark. We didn't have enough light in these conditions for the last 1k, but we still reached our number one goal of an epic day.

     I was feeling strong on race day and ready to meet my goals. Always, my first goal is to finish. Next, I wanted to finish in 7 hours, finishing the first loop in 3.5 hours or less. If that didn't happen, 7.5 hours was my next goal time. And as usual, I did not want to finish last (commonly known as DFL in the ultra running scene). In addition to these goals, I wanted to remain peaceful and calm in my mind, being kind to others and to run strong, feeling positive throughout the race.

     The race started right on the beach. All 4 race distances started together, so it was a big group of runners that climbed up the short slope to reach the single track that would take us into the forest. It was a pleasant start. I felt so relaxed and ready for the run. I had positioned myself towards the back of the runners and thus ended up at a dead stop as we funneled onto the single track. I kept patient and soon was running at a perfect pace, feeling no pressure from behind and grateful for the smooth trail. The pack I was in was quiet and focused. I appreciated this sense of calm over the raucous girls and loud trail talk that had put me on edge during the start of my last 50k in December.

     Ft. Ebey State Park is situated in the narrowest part of Whidbey Island. This area is pocketed with forested depressions in the earth called kettles. This made for great curvy dips into these kettles and then short climbs back out again. In between kettles, the narrow, twisty trail was lined with thickets of small douglas fir, cedar, wild rhododendrons, blue spruce, hemlock and other evergreen bushes that don't grow in North Central Washington where I call home.

     The contrast in environments from where I had traveled 7 hours just the day before made this trail welcome and interesting. I had been in snowy surroundings since the end of November. My running had all been on snow plowed roads in the 3500 foot elevation range. The temperatures had been as cold as 5 below, but were normally in the mid 20's. I had made some excursions onto the neighboring forest service road also, running on snowmobile pack. This soft, wooded trail felt awesome. The green all around and the damp, ocean air was so invigorating. Singing birds and chattering chipmunks sounded new to my ears. Mountain chickadees had only just returned to my yard back home. The closest I'd come to seeing any wildlife, was finding tracks of snowshoe hares, white tail deer, coyotes and voles on the snowy trails where I cross country ski.

     So everything fell into place for me on race day. I hit the first aid station just minutes before I thought I would and that pattern continued on throughout the run. I felt awesome. Its funny how different ones' perspectives can be though. The guy working the last aid station looked down at his watch, jotted my number on his clipboard and said “You're doing another loop, huh? So you're the one we'll be watching for. How many of these have you done?” It was fun to respond to him that it was my first marathon; I'd only run ultra- marathons before, six 50k's and one 50 miler (not to mention many unsupported running adventures, some of them with back-to-back days featuring more than 26 miles).   And besides, there was at least one other runner behind me from the marathon distance.  I knew I'd also passed a decent number of half-marathoners. I wasn't the final runner coming through on this first loop. The marathon was the longest distance being run at this race. There was also a 10k, a 20 miler, and a ½ marathon.

     My favorite section of trail was right on the water front. The course had us twisting through trees and kettles and then suddenly coming out along a bluff trail. This section had ancient, sturdy, yet withered trees along it. After passing these, the trail took us onto a grassy bluff where we could see the start/ finish and ½ way aid station point, but kept us looping down to the water instead. On my first time through, paragliders were hanging out here, part of a -scene that happens here regularly, it seemed. One paraglider was taking off alongside the steep bluff trail I was climbing. He kept having to climb higher to try to catch air and his sail was right over my head. It was crazy! Finally he took off and I watched us he floated out over the cold Puget Sound far below.

     I couldn't wait to run through this area again and it kept me motivated to keep moving well. I don't know what it feels like to be fast in these races or to even be in the middle of the pack. On this day, though, I did finally feel what its like to just keep on running well for the full race distance. I was steady all day,4 minutes off an even split. When I hit the final aid station the second time through, a younger, more encouraging guy was there so I had to let go of my plan to flip the other guy some attitude that I was not in the DFL position after all! Only a couple more miles and I would be along the water again. I ran beside those mystical old trees a second time and came out to the opening to see Ras snuggled under blankets in his big puffy jacket at a picnic table, a cold Red Bull right there, my warm puffy jacket in sight also.

     Something happened then. I smiled so big I thought I would burst. I almost cried with joy. I took off towards the water, looping down along the ocean shore and up the steep bluff trail, the paragliders long gone now. I'd passed the last one hiking up the trail with his gear loaded into a humongous backpack. The sun was lower in the sky. My breathing became audible. I began to pump my arms, in what could have looked ridiculous, for more power along this smooth, well-worn trail. I was alone and working hard, adrenaline was surging through me as I felt the finish and the renewed energy from seeing Ras. Living in a high mountain desert area, I'm not often around the energy of the vast Pacific and I could definitely feel it now.

     I knew I was reaching my goals. I was coming in under 7 hours; the time was 6:38 when I saw Ras. I had been in great spirits, never bonking mentally. I had climbed well all day and I was not going to come in last. I only had one brief moment of panic when after this magical moment along the water, the trail passed through another kettle before coming back around to that start/finish zone. I couldn't remember doing this on the first loop for some reason. I thought I'd missed a course marker. But I soon saw some familiar sights and knew I was still on the right track. I pushed it through to the finish with a time of 6:50:09, less than a minute behind the two runners in front of me and 20 minutes in front of the final two.

     This course was marked perfectly and there were lots of good munchies at the aid stations. I have it on my list of runs for next year already and I do recommend it. Those of us who run trails in Washington state are blessed. From the steep, dry climbs in the Yakima River Canyon; the rugged alpine zones and wildflower meadows of The Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier; the lush old growth forests along Baker Lake; exciting rocky gullies, boulder fields and the volcanic blast zone on The Loowit Trail around Mt. St. Helens; to the solitude and distinctive seasons of the Okanogan Highlands, I love exploring and running trail. Whether running a supported race or going on an unsupported adventure run, there is always a moment where I am blown away by where I am and what I'm doing. Ft. Ebey Kettles was no exception.