Winter Adventuring: Embracing Seasonal Challenges

Winter Adventuring: Embracing Seasonal Challenges 

By Kathy Vaughan

     I like living in the north central area of Washington where all of the seasons are distinct from one another.  Winter here brings with it lots of snow, although this year it was slow in coming. The past two weeks, lots of the fluffy white stuff has piled up everywhere and it is making for a whole plethora of possibilities for adventuring in the Okanogan Highlands. Aside from a brief stint to the rainy, green side of the Cascades to run Ft. Ebey Kettles Trail Marathon mid February, all of my trail runs have been in the snow. Its been a fun winter and this will be a blog that shares trail experiences I've had throughout late January and the month of February. These months have been extra inspiring for me. As an ambassador for Altra Running, I've wanted to push myself even harder, "Zero Limits" being one of the slogans the company promotes.

     Ras' mother lives in Coupeville on Whidbey Island on the west side of the Cascades in Washington. Ft. Ebey Kettles State Park and Kettles County Park are just a couple of miles away from her home that overlooks the Puget Sound, and so Ras and I decided this would be a great trail race to run. We ran it for the first time in 2013, fell in love with it, and this year we were excited about returning. Ras was also running the Woolley Trail Runs 50k the day before, just about 30 miles from the Ft. Ebey run. He wanted to try to set a PR on the Woolley course, having learned that it was flat and fast. He also likes to try hard stuff and the back-to-back races would offer him that. I stuck with running Ft. Ebey on Sunday. This is a marathon course with 5,500 feet of elevation gain as the trails dip down into kettle formations and out again over a 13.6 mile loop, run twice. 

     I was happy to have gotten my first pair of shoes provided to me by Altra for the season, Lone Peaks 1.5 in black and teal. I would be wearing them straight out of the box and it felt good to know my shoes would have great traction in the wet conditions. The weather was very stormy with strong wind gusts blowing branches over the trails and creating white caps out in the water. The race started directly on the water front, before funneling runners onto the smooth single track. Once in the forest, the wind did not feel as powerful. At the end of the first loop, the trail wound its way back out to a steep bluff and the ferocity of the wind was invigorating.  I could hear the howling before I reached the opening to the bluff and I pulled my wool buff up around my face, covering my ears. I focused on running the small lollipop loop along the water as fast as I could, and then climbing the bluff trail that dropped off steeply to the water below. I tucked my head down and climbed up to meet the main trail that would take me back to the start/finish and the mid-way point for the marathon.

     I ran through the mid-way point quickly, filling my water and getting a new bottle of Perpetuem. I wanted to get back into the forest and back into the loneliness of running in solitude along winding trail, the wind howling in the trees high above. I needed to get lost in my mind again, so that I could power through the second half of the race. I was hoping to finish with a faster time than last year, and being only the second marathon race distance I'd ever run, it would be a PR for me.  Ras was trying to catch me all day, sometimes getting behind me for a while, but then falling back as his tired legs from the 50k he'd run the day before were hollering at him.  I felt good all day, despite the storm. The rain came on at the tail end of the second loop.

     The end of this loop became a highlight in my trail running weather endurance trials.  As I left the forest, I again pulled my buff up over my head and ears. The wind now howled much louder than before and rain pelted against my face, stinging my skin. The finish area looked empty of activity now, runners having already finished their race fleeing to their cars for warmth as soon as they were done running. The light was fading in the sky and the dark clouds overhead were threatening a heavier downpour. I put everything I had into those last few miles. It was crazy to be in that moment, alone and feeling the power of the elements. I pushed up the final grassy slope and over the finish line in 6:38, finishing 12 minutes faster than the year before.  This was my 18th trail race finish since I began trail running in 2011, with 14 of my finishes being ultra distances. 

     Back on the east side of the Cascades, the cold, dry weather was such a contrast. The thick moss and large ferns, the wild rhododendrons and madrona trees, the mud and rich smell of damp earth always seem so foreign to me when I hit the trails on the coastal side of Washington. I love it. When I return home, it strikes me how different the climate is over here. I knew right away I needed to get an adventure in the snow planned, so that I would remember why winter at my home of 3,500 feet was so much fun.

     I messaged my adventure buddy Lisa with some options and she fired back a better one at me-a 26 mile back country ski on snowmobile routes in the Bonaparte Mountain area, just about 15 minutes drive from each of our homes. We had done some long skis like this together last year, but so far the lack of good snow coverage had prevented us from being able to get out on a trip like this yet. Ras would join us. 

     We met at Beaver Lake Campground, at the base of a forest service road that gets groomed for snowmobile traffic a couple of times each winter. Even if it doesn't get groomed, snowmobilers frequent the area and we figured we would be able to ski on the pack that one of these machines would have left behind. We set off in the early morning, in the shade of the trees and snow with an icy glaze on top. The route started with a steep 3 mile climb, and we all settled in quietly, knowing we had a long, tough day ahead of us. At the top of the climb, we reached Bonaparte road which gets plowed by the county. It was in great shape and for 2.5 miles we were able to make good time, skiing along effortlessly.

     Our turn up towards the Virginia Lilly trail brought with it mixed conditions, feelings and a good reality check. We would now begin a steep, relentless climb of about 9 miles before we reached our turn around point at the base of Cumberland Mountain. As we began up the road, we lost the snowmobile pack we'd been following earlier.  We were now pushing snow which added to the level of difficulty. Lisa led the way, cutting the tracks into the deep snow. We were in single file, climbing steadily. About 2 miles up, we crossed a cattle guard and snowmobile traffic that had come towards us from the other direction, had now left a good pack to follow. We were surprised to find this and it was a welcome turn for us. The snow was also softening and the climbing became easier. A light snow had been falling on us all day; not enough for us to get wet, just a dry, steady snow. The temperature was cold enough for us to not want to stop long and there were no sunny patches to create a bit of warmth even for a short pause. We kept on moving.

     Finally, we reached a down hill stretch that was narrow and winding. It was also icy and had been shaded from any warmth the hidden sun was allowing. I tried to lead the way on the descent, but fell as soon as I tried the conditions and instead let Lisa go first. She disappeared bravely, as I then cautiously followed along for the approximately 2 mile drop to Vaughan Creek and our turn around point. Ras followed behind me and we all took a short break before turning to climb the icy stretch we had just come down. At the top of this, we would have some down hill and we were all looking forward to it. 

     We were surprised to find that the downhill took more work and poling than we had thought it would. It was slower going and the long day of skiing was taking its toll on us. We moved along as well as we could. My heavy Fisher back country boots were squishing my toes and not allowing the kind of room I'm used to in the toe box of my Altra Lone Peaks. My toes were shouting at me and my ankle bones were feeling pressure from the boots as well. I kept on pushing and gliding and reminding myself that I wanted to be out here in the wilderness, in the snow. The downhill fun would come. In skiing, one is always rewarded with some awesome downhill. Sometimes, we just don't know when it will come though. Patience. 

     We reached the section of road where we had pushed snow and made our own tracks earlier on the climb up. This was one of the rewards from our hard work. I settled my Fisher back country skis into the wide tracks and pushed off with my poles. The grade was perfect, the snow was just fast enough and the turns were just smooth enough for me to essentially take a 2 mile rest. I rode it out, while moving my feet within my boots, releasing tension in my shoulders and relaxing my body. I was getting the free ride I so love in cross country skiing. It was a blast. 

     At the bottom of the hill, I changed into a thinner pair of socks to allow for more room in the toe box of my boots for the final stretch of the ski. It was time to pull out my headlamp also and attach my sternum light to my pack. I didn't need to turn them on quite yet; the moon was casting a nice glow and this was the plowed road section where skating along gently and effortlessly would need little light. The end of the road came and we all turned on our lights. 

     It was time for 3 miles of downhill in the dark, on slightly icy snowmobile track. This was thrilling. My headlamp was dim as I'd not replaced my batteries after my last long night run. I regretted this almost immediately, but my sternum light was super bright. I just had to keep adjusting it to get it to cast the light in front of me rather than in my face. It was all good though and I can't put into words the awesome feeling of flying downhill on skies in the dark wilderness, with two of my favorite people. The descent seemed endless and coming to a halt at our cars felt so strange. 

     We all changed into dry and warm boots. Lisa and I got our thermoses of hot coffee and tea out and made a picnic spot right there on the snow. She brought huge banana muffins to share, packed with pecans and dark chocolate. The ski had taken us 10 hours and we had not seen a soul, not even any wildlife on this day in the back country of Bonaparte.

     I took a rest day and then had to get back out onto my favorite loop trail, the Black Diamond Lake Lollipop. This loop has 3,100 feet in elevation in 9.7 miles and travels through canyon walls, pine forest, creek beds, rocky outcroppings and sage brush country. Big Horn Mountain Sheep wander through here and a resident cougar's tracks are always fresh whenever new snow falls.

     Lisa, Ras and I would be the team again for this adventure. We bundled up against the wind in the Okanogan River Valley and started the climb up into the canyon about mid morning. We did not see the sheep as Ras and I have so often this winter. So much snow had fallen that maybe they had to find just the right spot to feel protected from the weather. We started post holing almost right away, knowing the snow was bound to get deeper as we climbed higher. We knew we had a challenge ahead, but the bluebird day was not going to allow us to abandon our idea. We were all warm enough and all of us had Altra Lone Peaks on our feet. The traction was ideal for the conditions and with gaiters keeping some of the snow out and wool socks on our feet, the set-up was better than a stiff pair of hiking boots, or even snow boots. No traction devices are needed in snowy conditions with the good lug soles of the Lone Peaks and the flexibility they allow for good, secure foot placement. The wide toe box gives lots of room for a thicker wool sock in the cold. I have worn my Lone Peaks for all of my winter adventures with great success.

     We took turns post holing and making tracks for the others to follow. The camaraderie and team work was nice. Lisa is a tough lady and she led the way first. Ras made great tracks for us as we made our way around the frozen lakes, following tracks from two different cougars and looking around us on the high rocks to see if one of the beauties might be observing us from up there. I led the way along the canyon rim as we traversed along it for the final climb of the loop. Then we reached the main trail again and began the 3 mile descent to our parked car, where a thermos of hot coffee and vegan chocolate chip cookies were waiting. 

    The post holing continued up higher, but gradually, as we got lower the snow depth lessened to a point where we could begin a run. It felt floaty and freeing as we picked up the pace and ran through the snow. The technical ground underfoot was completely covered in snow and we were able to fly down. Lisa disappeared around the corner and I marveled at what an awesome trail runner she has become in such a short time. Having healed up in the autumn from some knee issues, she switched to zerodrop shoes, changed to a natural running form, and is now doing really well on the trails. She can't seem to get enough and is running 20 milers regularly on the snowy country roads around her home.

     I love that in the sport of adventuring we can help inspire and push each other. Now that Lisa is running, I find myself trying to come up with new ideas for what we can do together and she is always game. I helped inspire her to get to the point where she could run again and in turn, her running has helped me to amp it up to the next level. We do this with skiing and finding local peaks to climb too. Tomorrow, we will ski all of the trails in our local nordic ski park, which will total about 35 miles.  The challenges are endless, and with the support and companionship of a friend, they are all possible. "Zero Limits" can mean to each of us what we want it to mean, within our own realm of possibilities. It can change and expand over time. We can push ourselves to reach what we think are our limits and then go beyond. The kind of growth that results, has far reaching affects. 

Early Winter in the Highlands Part 3 of 4: Summitting Haley Mountain

Early Winter in the Highlands Part 3 of 4: Summitting Haley Mountain

By Kathy Vaughan

     The first of the cold temperatures each winter feel so extreme. When the single digit days came in late November, my friend Lisa and I decided it was time to attempt a climb on my back yard peak, Haley Mountain.  At just over 5,000 feet in elevation, this mountain presides over the Forest Service road and it's surrounding playground where I spend a lot of time year round. In the spring, summer and fall, I love to run and bike on this road and its connectors. In the winter, I put on my Fisher Back Country skis and make tracks. I feel so blessed to have this public land available for my use. It is even more fun when I have opportunities to share it with others, like during the Highlands Halloween Hundred Trail Un-run (H3) Ras and I host in October each year.  

     I felt stoked to have this adventure planned that I could share with Lisa. Our Chesaw Short-Tail Grouse Preserve hike had been so great that I wanted to have a day of at least equal excitement.

     The afternoon served up a good dose of excitement for us that equaled many of our other adventures. To start with, the day's high temperatures only reached about 9 degrees. It was chilly. It was the kind of cold that makes it so that you can't stop moving, you can't take off your gloves for more than a second and your water freezes shortly after you've left the warm comfort of your home or car.

     Lisa and I left my house and traveled along the snowy single track trail for about 1/4 of a mile before we reached the Forest Service road. We decided to hike to Haley Divide, roughly 4 1/2 miles away along a gentle uphill grade, gaining about 900 feet in elevation. We kept up a good pace to keep warm and chatted all along the way. Before we knew it, we had reached the divide. We decided to turn toward Haley and start climbing. 

      Earlier as we had climbed along the road, we could see a ridge line that would have taken us to the top. We could have approached this line by taking a number of different connector roads off of the main service road. We decided against this plan for two reasons. The first reason was that Ras and I had seen a huge hunter's camp being set up just a few days prior, in the area of these connector roads. The season was open for bow hunting. A camp that took several pickup loads of gear to set up was intimidating for Lisa and I to be too near. We did not want to cross paths with these guys. We are both courageous in the back country, but this seemed like asking for trouble.

     The second reason for just taking the main road straight to the base of Haley and climbing up from there, was that 8 degrees is bitterly, and even dangerously, cold. We were bundled up well, but we didn't want to waste any time exploring unnecessarily. It would be worth tackling any terrain we came across to take a straightforward approach to the summit.

     Lisa opened a package of Hand Warmers as we climbed over blowdowns and worked our way from the divide to the flank of Haley. We started our climb, carefully and confidently. I followed Lisa's lead. The snow was scant, and it didn't cause any problems for us. It was so cold that the snow was bone dry and had no icy or slippery quality to it at all. After about 10 minutes of climbing, we came to a band of large, stable rocks. Off to the right, we could clearly see cliffs. This was not the way to go. To the left, the grade was much steeper and the rocks were the same as they were directly in front of us. We had already been climbing over some rocks and were finding good, stable footing. We decided to continue straight through. 

     I was wearing my Altra Lone Peak 1.5 trail running shoes. I had thick Smart Wool socks on and my feet were staying warm. The wide toe box in the Altras allows for thicker socks in winter without causing the shoes to become too tight. I was finding good footing and I was impressed with the way my Altras were flexible enough to squeeze into tight spots between rocks. The grippy soles clung onto the rocks as I scrambled over the top of them, now on all fours. The lug soles grabbed into the frozen earth, topped with a skiff of snow, each time I stepped on solid ground rather than rock. I checked each foot placement a couple of times before committing; a mistake would mean big trouble up here in this type of cold. I never felt shaky. I moved slowly and surely. I watched Lisa up ahead of me. 

     The views from this vantage point, high on the side of Haley Mountain, amongst the huge rocks that made up this hunk of geography, were outstanding. I could see far below to the Okanogan River valley. I was surprised that I could see it from here. There were many other surrounding hills. The most dramatic of the views were those right in front of me though. The trees on this mountain were huge. Remains of silvered snags still stood; massive, withered and covered in bright green lichen. Old giant pine and fir trees towered around Lisa and I as we climbed towards the summit. 

     Finally, we came out of the rocks and the grade became easier. I was able to stand up and hike again. I felt powerful and brave. I was climbing up this peak I had only looked towards the top of for about 4 years now. I had always wanted to climb it but had never committed to it as I had on this day, with this adventure partner. We were doing it, despite the frigid air, the snow, the at first seemingly threatening rock band. We were now just hiking up through dried grasses and some of the most mystical giants amongst whom I had ever walked. We both slowed down and looked around in awe. We were quiet, almost rendered speechless. When we did speak, the only thing either of us could come up with with was, "There sure are some big trees up here." 

     Several of the bigger trees, mainly pine, had been struck by lightening. The character of these trees was interesting and added to the mysticism of our surroundings. There was very little undergrowth, as is common to these North Central Washington forests. We could easily hike under and through this forest of ancient trees, both living and scarred from either lightening, mistle toe disease, or wind damage. No logging had ever occurred here. I saw what seemed to be cattle trails. This interested me as I really thought we should find a different way down. I had a hard time imagining myself making my way down the steep rock band. Coming up it had been challenging enough. I pointed out these trails to Lisa and she agreed that we could check them out on the way back down.

     We kept climbing towards the true summit of Haley. There were many little basins to drop down into and hills to climb back up as we worked our way to the high point, and no clear views now that we were off of it's steep, lower flanks. The snow was getting deeper and the afternoon was drawing on. The sun was getting lower in the sky and the temperatures were dropping. We decided that we would turn around at 3:00 p.m., whether or not we had reached the top, so that we would have plenty of time to climb down before dark. We had headlamps we could pull out for the service road where navigating in the dark would be much easier.

     About 15 minutes after we made this decision, Lisa and I topped out.  We took a selfie and immediately turned in the wrong direction to start our descent. We realized right away that we needed to follow our earlier footsteps in the snow. I led the way. It was fun to scamper down the slopes. We were soon at the cattle/game trails. Cattle are allowed to free range in here , so it would not have been out of the question that they wander around up here in the warmer summer months. This is also an area where moose, elk, and deer travel and they could have created these paths.

     Lisa pointed out to me that the game trails might lead to watering holes rather than a direct way down the mountain. She suggested that it might be best to stick to the rocks, the same way that we had come up. I told her that I knew I could do it, but that it might feel a little bit intimidating to me once we got there. We also said to each other that it probably wasn't even that long of a stretch of the climb that we were actually in the steep, rocky area. It would seem like less of a big deal on the way down. And it was. I again followed Lisa's lead through this area. I liked the technical challenge to foot placement, the careful focus it took to work through this area and the overall sense of adventure I was experiencing. Before I knew it, we were out of the rocks and working our way back towards the divide. I felt giddy and joked with Lisa at how much easier it seemed to me than I initially thought. Then I slipped as I was getting ready to climb over a large downed tree. My knee came down hard on a frozen rock and because of the cold, the pain was riveting. I knew I wasn't injured and there was no time to mess around anyway, so I just took some deep breaths while Lisa made sure I was okay. I was just happy that it had happened where it did, after the technical rock scrambling, where a fall could have meant something serious. 

     We got back out to the service road and hiked fast towards the warmth of my house where I had red lentil soup waiting in the crock pot. I had also baked vegan pumpkin bars. Lisa had brought fresh spring rolls and this feast by the woodstove would warm us after our final 4 1/2 mile easy downhill hike. 

     Interestingly, our bodies felt warm enough in the cold dark as we hiked. The only place that got painfully cold on both Lisa and I was our hips and outer thighs. I guess the muscles in these areas of our legs were not having to work very hard during downhill hiking so they just couldn't stay warm enough. It was now about zero out. I decided next time I head out in these kind of temps, I will need another base layer for my lower body. I had on 2 wool hats, 1 fleece UltraPedestrian beanie, a Smart Wool neck warmer, the hood from my Smart Wool sweater, the hood from my Brooks' Thermal Hoodie and the hood from my down puffy. Head warmth is important and it is also easy to shed these layers as body warmth increases. I like to bring a dry pair of gloves with me as well. Even on really cold days, my hands will perspire from the work of uphill hiking, running or cross country skiing. It is important to have dry gloves for moving downhill, when your energy output is less and it will take more help from layers to keep warm. I like to bring my down puffy in my pack to put on for any pausing on the trail or for when my body temperature decreases on the downhill. Sometimes I might end up shedding it again after I'm warmed up. I try to keep in mind that in a situation where I'm injured, it will be well worth having this extra layer. If I am going to be out for more than an hour in the winter weather, I will bring along a pair of down puffy pants as well. I use my What An Adventure (WAA) pack which accommodates these extra layers easily. I like the front and side pouches for convenient access when I just don't have the ability to fiddle around in the cold. I had my Hand Warmers up front, just in case. It was easy to stow away my Black Diamond Ultra Distance Z poles in the back of the pack in outer mesh pockets when I no longer needed them on the technical down climbing.

    Five hours later, now sitting by the woodstove, Lisa and I enjoyed filling Ras in on the details of our climb and having a cup of hot tea. I felt exhilerated and was excited to tell him about the old forest and the rock scrambling. Our hips and outer thighs began to feel painful and burn as they warmed up again. We had the soup and spring rolls and began scheming on future winter adventures. 

     I like the idea of climbing some more local peaks in the winter. It creates a whole new level to approaching a local peak when the days are colder and shorter; the air is windier and carries with it a chilling bite; snow is underfoot; and the color of the sky imparts a sense of seriousness to the undertaking.     

Early Winter in the Highlands: Part 1 of 4

Early Winter in the Highlands Part 1 of 4: Whistler Canyon Tofu Trot

By Kathy Vaughan

     Once fall season comes to a close, the weather and landscape take on another change. Sometimes the days are gray, cold and uninviting. There have been skiffs of snow, but not enough to put on cross-country skis yet. The draw to go outside and do a long run or hike, can have a tendency to weaken. 

     This year, I have been blessed with one exhilerating adventure after another. I made sure to plan out fun and challenging trips, write them down on my calendar and my on-going lists of ultra running plans and then follow through with them, despite what Mother Nature decided to serve up weather-wise. This is the first in a series of blog posts I am writing on these trips.

     The Tofu Trot Twenty-nine and a half miler is a run Ras and l conceptualized to run on Thanksgiving. We were doing the run on the 28th of November, so we decided to make it a 28 mile distance. We decided to run the 100 trail, including the Black Diamond Lake loop in its entirety and part of the Wild Horse Springs Loop. We would run from the river valley up into the highlands as an out n' back, including ventures onto these other loops. In reality, we ended up with 29.5 miles, thus the name change to reflect the proper distance we had run.

     The 100 trail is a part of the Pacific Northwest Scenic Trail and also a part of the H3 course, where Ras and I hold a a trail ultra Halloween weekend each year.  We decided to start down in the Okanogan River valley at the Whistler Canyon trail head. We can also access the north end of the trail right out our door. We already had some snow on the ground around our house and we knew the trail would have snow on it up high as well. Down in the valley, the temperatures are warmer and the trail would be mostly clear of snow. So, we decided to start down lower.

     We arrived at the trail head at about 8:30 in the morning and after a few preparations at the car, we made our way to the trail. Some movement caught my eye and when I looked in that direction, I saw the rump of a Big Horn Mountain Sheep running through the dry grass lands at the base of the canyon walls. I pointed it out to Ras and then we both noticed there were a lot more that this one was running towards. Ras wanted to take some pictures up close, so he ran off towards where the herd was gathering and climbing the steep cliffs. It was very cool to see how they moved in such an agile way up the rocks, stopping on a high ledge to look back down towards Ras. He lost count at some point, but the herd was about 40 strong.

     Putting the camera away, we started the steep climb on single track, through rocks, dry grasses, fragrant sage brush, small juniper trees and withered fir. The view down to the river valley became more visible at first as we climbed and then more distant as we wound our way into the canyon walls. 

     After a little over 2 miles, we reached the southern trail head to the Black Diamond Lake loop. I had been up this trail before with Ras and also with my friend and running partner Shona. We had not yet been able to make it all the way around the loop without missing a turn, so Ras and I were determined to take the time to figure it out today.

     We followed the trail easily as it climbed steadily for a couple of miles. Soon we reached a series of several frozen lakes. Ras saw a blob of bright white off to his right near one of these lakes, in amongst mostly brown and dry leaves. As he looked at the white that had caught his attention, he realized it was a snow shoe hare, sitting perfectly still. The hare had already turned completely white, its winter camoflauge. It seemed to be sitting frozen, thinking that its camo was working. It is so unusual to see one of these critters up close, that we paused to watch it for several minutes. I see their tracks and a flash of white in the snow quite often while out cross country skiing in the winter. I felt honored to have this moment of stillness with the normally elusive snow shoe hare.

Someone's camouflage isn't working.

     Just beyond these lakes, the trail takes a sharp hairpin turn. This is where I have gotten turned around in the past, but this time Ras and I were able to easily find our way through this section and continue  around the loop. After about 5 miles, we were back on the 100 trail again. It was great to make our way around the loop. Now, it is one of my favorite local runs. I love the way the single track twists and turns through the trees, topping out in a section mixed with huge rocks and grassy overlooks. Then, after the hairpin turn, the trail goes along the rim of a small, yet deep canyon. This section ends at another grassy bluff and then winding through the trees again, until the loop closes at the intersection with the 100 trail again. Starting from Whistler Canyon trail head and doing the loop as a lollipop, the distance is 9.5 miles.

     Back on the 100 trail, Ras and I now had some more climbing to do. We were now simply doing an out n' back and we would turn around at the    mile point. The climb was gradual yet persistent. We enjoyed settling into a steady pace, chatting as we moved and keeping warm by not making any stops. There were patches of snow, but for the most part, the trail was just frozen hard. We reached a nice section of easily runnable trail after miles of climbing and fell into a good pace, running now on soft pine needles, in an old road bed. We had been in trees before, but now the view opened up to the river below us and the orchards that surround it, irrigated by its waters in the hot summer months. The river looked like a silver ribbon, winding its way down the valley. The clouds were dark and heavy in the sky.

     The trail has a nice picnic table in this area, but the winds were strong and cold. The sun was shining and its warmth felt good. We climbed through the large rocks to find a place sheltered from the wind. We wanted to sit for a lunch break. I had made us some good sandwiches-seitan roast, pickles, onions, herbs, romaine lettuce and soy mayo on sourdough bread. We were both ready for some solid food, after having so far snacked mostly on wasabi almonds, peanut butter crackers, Justin's nut butter pouches and Gu Chomps.

     We pulled out our down puffy jackets and bundled up for lunch. It felt good to sit and hang out for a little while, enjoying the view and the landscape of large rocks we were sitting amongst. "Sitting is a big part of my running", Ras has been know to say. Purely existing in these moments, not moving, not thinking about moving; these are the times when I realize that being on the trail is a way of life for me. Sitting on the earth and eating, keeping myself warm in the wind, just quietly being next to the one I love are all a part of why I like to go out on the trails for hours at a time, as many days out of the week as I can.  

     Shedding our down jackets and stuffing them back into our packs, Ras and I got back up and continued our way into the higher country. We veered right off the 100 trail to continue on the Wild Horse Springs trail until we reached our turn around point. We still had several hours of daylight left. The wind felt calmer as we reached the shelter of the forest again. We passed by a couple of more frozen lakes along this loop trail. We startled an owl who silently flew off to perch in a tree over looking one of the lakes. It took a moment to register with me that I hadn't heard its wings as it took flight, like the more common birds that I see on the trails- ravens, hawks and grouse. It seems like I startle a grouse, which in turn makes my heart skip a beat, almost every time I am out on a run.

     We were almost to our turn around point when up ahead we saw a horse. It is not unusual to see cows on the trails in our area because they are allowed to free range on Forest Service land. It is unusual to see a horse though, especially this time of year. The horse looked healthy and had lots of dry grass where it was grazing. There was a grove of fir and pine trees where the horse had been going for shelter as we could see lots of hoof prints hardened into the frozen mud. The horse just looked at us and kept on nibbling on grass. No one was around. I was concerned about the horse because of the cold weather, frozen water sources and lack of good shelter. Shona had seen a horse earlier in the fall and I wondered if it was the same horse, still out wandering on its own.

     We continued on until we reached our turn around. We put on a couple of extra layers for the down running and colder temperatures coming on, now that it was later in the day. It would be dark in about an hour and a half. I put my headlamp on my head so I would be all ready. It was getting cold enough out that we wouldn't be making any more stops; we had to keep moving to stay warm. Our underneath layers were wet from perspiration and stopping for even a minute made it very uncomfortable. 

     An unfriendly dog chased us for a stretch, letting us know it didn't want us near its property. I was unhappy to have this happen on Forest Service land where wild animals should have been my biggest concern.  My encounters with bears have always been less nerve wracking than this one with the unattended aggressive dog on public lands. The dog backed off when Ras hollered loudly at it, but continued to follow us for a short distance. There is a home in this area that sits way back off of the trail. We had heard a chainsaw running as we got close to this home on our way up the trail. The owner didn't seem to hear Ras hollering loudly at the dog, but luckily it ended up backing off. Next time we run that trail, we will have to bring our large brown bear spray canister with us, just in case.

     The downhill grade was perfect for miles. When it got dark, I turned on my headlamp and watched the frozen ground sparkle in its light. The night running felt good and I was able to stay plenty warm enough.  After several miles of forested downhill trail running, I began to feel strange. The scenery never changed and I couldn't see anything beyond the immediate light of my headlamp. I felt like I was in a tunnel and I verged on feeling something similar to vertigo. Soon the trail began working its way back through the canyon walls. The change in scenery and terrain helped me to feel normal again. I picked my way over the rocky trail and soon began seeing the lights from homes along the Okanogan River come into closer view. We were just about done with the descent, done with our run for the day.

      We got back to our car and climbed inside. It was nice to feel the heat and put on some warm, dry clothes. We only had about 1/2 hour drive to get home, where we had a big pot of Tofu Roots Stew, waiting in the crock pot. Ras stoked up the wood stove and I served us up big bowls of steaming hot soup. Sitting down on the couch together, we both felt satisfied at a Thanksgiving perfectly celebrated. 

Blood On The Snow: Fall-Winter Running

Blood On The Snow: Fall/Winter Running

by Ras

     You don't need a GoPro to get slo-mo, or even hi-def for that matter. My memory has all that and more, including both instant reply and continuous looping. So even now I am internally reviewing footage of a dear friend crashing to the ground, initially a victim of my ineptitude, secondarily a victim of gravity.

     If you've watched enough fail videos, you recognize the shot: a sideways view of the world from a helmet cam that has just swung suddenly downward to the right, then abruptly shuddered to a halt as it came into contact with the planet. That's when I heard and recognized the horrible interrupted cadence of a runner being tripped. Like a deep breath drawn in and held, when a runner's stride is stifled, there is a sudden and unexpected silence that portends impending impact. Foot foot foot foot foot - and then the eerie absence of the rhythm one expected. In a microsecond my mind warned me that a scheduled footfall had been missed, that someone was tumbling to Earth. 

     Tight zoom, focus, and there's my right leg perfectly, as if intentionally, wedged between Shona's planted foot, on which her weight is resting and her body slowly pivoting forward, and the foot she had been swinging forward to take her weight in the next stride. Thanks to me and my goofy right leg, her swing foot will never make it in to place to take her weight, and her body will continue to rotate forward on her planted foot until she suffers consequences only Sir Isaac Newton would delight in describing, and then only if she were a planet or an apple or a marble on a ramp.

     Shona fell well, not splaying flat onto her stomach, but turning onto her hip. She didn't try to arrest her falling body with the sort of rigid, locked arms that send bone-snapping force up the chain to the weakest link: the clavicle. She cushioned her fall and protected her head and face by allowing her arms to curl into place between her skull and the frozen roadbed. But her hand bottle wedged against the ground as her head was still being whipped forward by inertia and her nose and mouth bore the brunt of the impact. As if in a clear viscous fluid, this played out interminably slowly, her collapsed form at my level now as I saw her head snapped back up by the collision, pain contorting her features, her hand flyings to her face defensively, and a crimson droplet mimicking her fall to splash just as pitifully on the snow.

Shona Hilton, in better times

     Seasonally, we are deep into the darker realms of fall in the Okanogan Highlands. Days are barely nine hours long. Nights stretch on into Seasonal Affective Disorder. Old snow on Forest Service roads without southern exposure has been compacted by vehicle traffic into two-tracks of twin luge runs. Sighting along them into the distance, these parallel perils seem to eventually meet. It is so dry during the day and cold during the night that puddles freeze and evaporate from the inside out, leaving an empty depression covered by a rotting skin of ice. Bare spots are so desiccated that footsteps send up puffs of moon dust, and foot prints of it are left on the next patch of snow reached.

     It's not accurate to say that Shona 'took a fall.' That implies volition or responsibility on her part, but she was blameless in this bloody affair. Shona was innocently, and wisely, running up the untracked snow between the icy wheel ruts. She had intentionally chosen to run where there was a crunchy layer of undisturbed snow, which provided both a small amount of cushion and a great amount of traction. Where she was placing her feet, it was excellent snow running conditions. So it would be no more accurate to say that Shona 'fell.' Even though that implies a passive role in her, forgive me, downfall, she had proactively chosen a good route on excellent footing, investing energy and attention into minimizing her chances of being dashed to the ground. Shona deserved to remain upright.

     It would be most accurate to say that I felled her. As though I were in sawyer mode with my trusty Stihl, I brutally cut her free of her connection to the earth's crust. I hadn't been paying attention. I hadn't been looking ahead for a safe route. I hadn't been noticing the changing conditions as three Forest Service roads converged and funneled us onto a narrow, rutted, and ice encrusted earthen bridge. I was zoned out and zenned out and blithely blithering on about what great training it is running in snow and ice, and how those wonderful challenges help hone one's form and technique.

     Suddenly I found myself dancing in mincing strides across a thin, crusty snow ridge between the cupped, icy tire rut and the drop into the creek. My next left foot placement just missed the snow and came down on the sloped ice, instantly washing out from beneath me. As I crumpled to the frozen path on my left side, my right leg was flung straight out athwart the trail, threading itself perfectly between Shona's shins in the middle of her stride. Cue haunting memory recorder; and we're rolling ... and ... ACTION!

     I may have a reputation for being a little bit intense, or occasionally confrontational, but I did not leave the house this morning with the goal of taking one of my wife's closest friends and slamming her to the frozen earth. If you saw Shona's fat lip, bloodied nose, and tear stained face, you might not believe that. I would not be surprised to find a large social worker pounding on my door tomorrow. "Mr. Vaughan, Mrs. Hilton refused to file a complaint, and she maintains that the entire thing was an accident, but we know what really happened. And we'll be keeping an eye on you. Watch yourself." 

     Part of what I love about winter running is the possibility of breaking traction. I use a technique which is variously described as 'natural running,' a 'midfoot strike,' or a few other trademarked names that I am unsure of the potential legal liabilities of mentioning. What it comes down to is focusing on form and technique with the goal of eliminating all braking from your stride. By increasing foot turnover (the tempo, or rapidity of one's strides), leaning forward at the ankles instead of the waist, and landing with the foot below one's center pushing behind instead of reaching forward with the heel, both impact and effort required are greatly reduced. It can be visualized as your torso floating along above the ground while your feet rapidly make just enough contact to keep up.

     In snow and ice this becomes easily apparent. Braking is a big no no. It results in your feet sliding out in front of you and dumping you unceremoniously on your derriere. Skaters can think of it as a wilson. But with natural running technique, when you break traction your foot doesn't slide out in front. Instead, it suddenly kicks up behind you. Walking and running on snow and ice is similar to skiing. If you lean forward slightly at the ankles you have improved control and a better connection to the snow. If you weight your heels, you end up on your butt. And no matter how many times you lose focus or forget to go over your mental from checklist, snow and ice are ever vigilant, and will remind you as many times as you need.

     I am not on a quest for the fastest pace possible. My goal is the perfect foot placement, repeated to infinity. If I were to blend Navaho spirituality with bio-mechanics, I could say my goal is to "walk in perfection." And I'm blessed to find health and peace in the practice and the striving, even if I never achieve my goal for more than a fleeting moment. Will I ever take an infinite series of perfect steps? Most likely not while in this gangly earthly vessel. And if I do, I'll be too busy from that point on to write about it, should I ascend to that endurance nirvana.

     Until then, let this stand as a warning if you are directly behind or in front of me in a lemming line during a race, or if you are pacing me through the night, or if you are considering inviting me on a run. I suffer from Baby Huey Syndrome, blithely going about my business not intending anyone any harm, while inadvertently and unwittingly raining hurt and wrecking havoc on any and all unfortunate enough to wander into my event horizon. If you are within the reach of my potentially flailing limbs, you are in the danger zone. And if you're close enough to high five, you may not make it out alive.