Lake Mountain was unknown to me before this year, at least by that name. I'd been there before with loud boom boom sticks but never on a run. It is the small mountain range just west of Utah Lake. I was able to hit most of its summits during Christmas break this winter season with a handful of Wranglers. It actually has a very flat top with several different peaks to access right from the top. This time I only summitted the "main" peak or at least the most popular one and then it was straight down the other side.
Sunrise on the South Oquirrhs.
Zach Case, a WMW, organized this fun run. 19 people started together and most of us finished at the same time but with varying routes in the middle and end. I kind of got lost coming out of the west side of the mountain. When I crested a hill and saw Utah Lake I realized I was headed in the wrong direction. Then I kind of got lost when we wrapped back around to the north side of the mountain. Then I didn't feel like running all the way down to Redwood Road so I cut straight across the fields jumping a few gates and barbed wire fences. It was actually quite humorous arriving at the finish around the same time as everyone else. We all asked each other which route each of us had taken to finish the last 5-10 miles and there were about four different routes. It was funny to hear about each different way taken.
Trail Running is Adventure Running!
Davy Crockett following the rest up to the summit.
Cy & Jason near Lake Mtn. summit, Utah Lake below.
Reunited with the group on the west side.
Gabe.
Nothing going on here! DJ and Jeremy are not hopping any fence. And those are definitely not Altra's Olympus and Lone Peaks.
It was a dark cold night and the wind was unrelenting. Desperately we tried to sleep through the sound of the howling death, but to no avail. The walls were closing in on our solitary confinement and the dark enveloped the sight of our minds. All was lost. No more could we hear the sound of our companions. Were they yet alive? Dare we venture out of our crude shelter into the night? No, better to wait out the tempest and hope for the dawn to burn off the clouds of despair. Worry overcame us like a wisp of smoke wafting through the air. First imperceptible as it drifted in the unknown, then gradually choking our hope for a new day. Could it be any worse? A drip, a drop, all was wet. The brisk wind blew against the unfamiliar warm embrace within. Will the cruel night ever end? Suddenly a thought, a glimmer of what once was. Hope returns slowly.
Six brave souls set out on this adventure. More than hoped for but less than expected. They left the comforts of home and family with high hopes of a wonderful winter excursion. This was not the first night they had spent surviving the elements and hopefully it would not be their last. They had planned for the worst and mother nature did not disappoint. The weather was actually quite nice for the first hour or two, but as they gained elevation it got darker and colder. The snow got deeper and in defiance the wind blew. The final ascent to the South Willow Cirque was steep and tiresome. It was here that the wind first made its intentions clear. Young Jake was blown over, rolling and taking out his father, Chuck, in the process. However, this did not deter the group. They were so close to their destination, maybe a half mile or so. Onward, upward. They trudged the final climb to finally find a flat spot to rest their weary bones.
The weight of the arduous climb removed from their shoulders the travelers now sought fuel for the belly. Only a moment's respite and another work began. Shelter and fuel for the fire were needed as well to survive the cold night. Holes to be dug and branches to be cut. They used what they could to dig the holes. A shovel here a snowshoe there, anything to find the ground. It couldn't be more than two feet, they thought. But no, three feet, four and at last five. The snow was deeper than they had ever experienced before. Hopefully, the snowy holes would prove beneficial as a shelter from the wind and storm. Holes dug, tents assembled.
Steve, about 5' down trying to start the fire.
Matt, surrounded by the snow packed walls.
With the wind worsening each moment, they struggled to collect fuel for the fire. A chainsaw attached to two long pieces of rope seemed a strange tool but proved useful. Soon enough branches were assembled to keep the flames alight. However, try as they might the fire would not start. The wind laughed at their lot extinguishing hopes of a warm meal and a cozy spot. Wet matches and a lighter without spark forced them to use paper as kindling. It lit. The sweet smell of smoke and the sound of crackling wood blew through the air and unfortunately circulated withing the deep hole. It was near impossible to remain in the same hole as the fire without asphyxiating. There was nothing for it. What little patience was left did not suffice. Cold beans for dinner. They retired to bed early to escape their plight and drifted in and out of sleep though it seemed not a wink.
Steve in the background, Jesse in the foreground, Jake, Matt, Chuck in the middleground on the right
Jesse and Steve in the winds of death.
After the dreaded night the travelers dug themselves out of their windblown graves. No words can adequately describe the blundering blizzard that they beheld. A winter wasteland. They abandoned the morning meal and braved the descent away from the wind and snow. With each passing step their minds shook off the restless night and with renewed hope they saw the trees. The sacred aspens. What's that? The sun dared to show his face at the same moment they entered the grove. Glorious light and warmth washed over them rejuvenating their bodies with the needed strength to return home once again. Their troubles were soon forgotten and all that was left was a memory of friendship, fun, and wind.
(Yes, I know there's a watermark on the video. I'm too cheap to buy the program, ok.)
A recent trip had me traveling to the Great White North, my first visit to Canada! I made the mistake of running while there, or so I was told it was a mistake to run by my Canadian friends. They said your lungs will freeze at -30 C, but it wasn't that cold. Still, being so far North (Edmonton) combined with the recent Polar Vortex made for a very cold, cold run. At night it got as low as -28 C, which for us Southerners translates to -20 F. I managed to get out on the icy roads at about 5:00 PM, which meant it had warmed up to a balmy -11 C, or 12 F. Just about right for a short sprint down the frozen tundra.
A couple of observations while running in Canada:
This was the first run I've had in Daylight hours in which I didn't see anyone else outside. Everyone else was indoors or in their cars. I may have seen someone standing by a bus stop at some point, but my frozen eyelashes made it a little blurry.
Canadian drivers do not edge away from you while you run on the side of the road, even if no one else is around. They stay in their lanes, it's your job to get out of their way.
Temperatures drop significantly going from sunlight to shadows. I know you feel this in the summertime, where the radiant heat from the sun warms you and you step in the shade and it is much cooler. But when it is extremely cold, going from sunlight to shadow, the temperature drop seems more severe.
My stomach and chest were red for hours, cutting into cold even leaves your core chilled.
Hot chocolate tastes phenomenal after a cold run.
I missed out on the beard campout last week, but made up for that miserable trek by running in the coldest conditions I've ever experienced as a runner. Beard and all.
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