Lake Mtn ~50K

Map and stats of Lake Mountain.

by Sam

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.

Beard Blizzard

South Willow Cirque

by Sam

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.

Front: The Wild Huffs (Mattie & Steve)
Back: Sam, Chuck, Jake, Jesse

Jake, Jesse, Matt, Chuck, Steve

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.)

Map and Stats of the South Willow Cirque

Frozen Trail Monkey

Chasing My Shadow

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.
  

Frozen Selfie, ya hoser.

Wild Wild Wedge

By Steve

A few years ago, Davy Crockett wrote a blog post about a run he did on the rim of Utah's Little Grand Canyon at the San Rafael Swell.   Nine months later, and after weeks and weeks of tricky, slick snow miles, a few Wasatch Mountain Wranglers re-read that post in a different light, essentially summing it up as saying, "DUDE!  This 50k Wedge trail has no snow, no ice, and dry trails!  Oh yeah, and I guess there is a stunningly magnificent canyon along the side of the trail too."  So another annual group run of the Wasatch Mountain Wranglers was born.  The outing has now grown each year, with about 18 people showing up to run this year.

Last year, Sam went with about 7 others, and forever cemented for himself the label of a gut wrenching puker.  And having seen him clear out a restaurant with the sounds of absolute misery resonating out of the crapper, I would say it's a well earned title.  When we arrived, they instantly started making bets on when he would toss it all.  It's always nice to be known for something.  Sam said his goal this year was to eat more food.  And it didn't take too long before that plan backfired.

Near the front of the pack in the first half mile

We started around 8:00am, and stopped at about the half mile point to take some photos of people jumping out onto a ledge.  Generally, I tend to get a little restless waiting around for other people and would rather just go run.  This would be my theme for the day, as every time the group stopped for a minute, I would just start running again as soon as my legs and stomach were feeling up for it, which left me to run by myself for most of the course. But at this first stop, Craig Lloyd made the photo opp overlook more than worth while when he did a front flip out onto the ledge.

Craig.  Period.

Trent, Craig and myself around mile 4.

Selfie around mile 12-13

After that it was mile after mile of practically perfect running.   Sam's overfilled stomach forced him to slow a little while around mile 5, but that ended up being to our advantage, as he got some great photos across the canyon with him on one side and us on the other.  I stayed with the front group and was able to watch Chris Pope biff it and nearly tumble over the edge of the rim more than his fair share.  Around mile nine, we had laid out an aid station, and I stopped here and refilled my water.  Food, stomach, and energy wise, I was doing great, so I just took off running.  Craig and Jennilyn passed me before the turn around point, and a few others were close behind me, but overall I have to say I was pretty surprised that I was still up at the front of the group at that point.


Again, at the turnaround point, I didn't wait around for any others and just kept going by myself.  I finally passed Sam and he seemed to be in good spirits and feeling much better now, but he was about 3 miles behind me at that point, so we chatted for a second and went our ways. Another stop at the aid station at mile 23 and I was still near the front of the pack.  All was going great, until around mile 27, I came across Jennilyn laying on the side of the trail.

"Are you dead?"  was the first thing out of my mouth..
".... .... no.  Just napping."  She said as she slowly sat up.

Apparently, she had recently had the flu, and was feeling a bad wave of after-affects and tiredness from it.  After a fair amount of prodding she insisted that she was fine and was going to just sleep for a minute.  I knew that Scott and Matt were coming up the trail quickly, and due to the fact that she is a far more experienced backcountry runner than I am that I had to assume that she knew what she was doing. So with a lot of hesitation, I started out again.  After the run Jennilyn laughed and said she hardly remembered our conversation at all.

About a half mile after stopping with her, my knees were starting to give me some trouble.  As awesome as this trail is, there sure is a lot of winding, and as best I can figure, I was putting more torque on my knees than they were used to, especially after the long cold winter.  I slowed to a "walk a quarter, run a half mile" pace in order to make sure I didn't do any lasting injury.  During one of my walks, I saw two guys across the canyon, which was about 5 miles back on the trail, and hollered to them.  All of a sudden Sam hollered back.  We had a short conversation, which made me laugh at the prospect of chatting with someone 5 miles behind you on the trail.  You seriously can't beat this run.  After that chat, I meandered my way back to the after-party at the finish line, singing Big Rock Candy Mountain as I came in, finishing the course in 6 hours 22 minutes.  Sam came in about a hour later, finishing out a near perfect day for us.

Oh, and for all those with bets, Sam didn't puke.... at least that I saw.

Sam and I chatting on opposite sides of the canyon

Sam and I after chatting on opposite sides of the canyon

Midnight Monkeys

By Steve

Sometimes when I sit at work, I think of possible big runs I would like to do.  Usually it involves me sending my thoughts to Sam in an email.  Then before I know it, he's discussed the idea with his wife and has responded with a resounding, "I'm in, let's meet at {such and such a time}"  So, before I've fully thought through the idea for myself, I'm already facing a start time.  While I'm still wondering if it is really a good idea,  Sam is already lacing up his shoes.  While I'm still analyzing how much time it will take, Sam is already packing his toilet paper... which never seems to make it back to the trail head anyway.  Such was the case this last Friday.

I had missed my big Friday morning run, so I just tossed out the idea to Sam of meeting at Farmington Canyon after the kids were in bed, which would be around 9:00pm.  He quickly abandoned his run planned for Saturday and was suddenly pushing me to make it happen.  The idea was to run up Farmington Canyon to the Francis Peak road gate, and if there was any possibility of getting to Francis Peak without snowshoes, we'd try to make it.  Before the work day was done, Sam was able to "Wrangle" up a little more interest through Facebook, getting Matt Van Horn, a Farmington native, to come along as well.

After a mile, the two guys who weren't me stopped to fertilize the sides of the road.  I kept a steady pace till I started getting pretty cold.  Around mile 7, the temperature had dropped into the teens, and I  was considering turning back.  I was under dressed for this excursion, and sadly, It was the same mistake I made on Ibapah in the Fall, which caused me back out before the summit.  It's amazing how much being cold can destroy your motivation.  This time however, I was carrying another layer Sam had given me at the trail head, and I threw it over without regard to stretching it, and quickly warmed up to the point where I was now excited to keep going.  

Sam and I reached the gate, (MVH turned back around mile 6 finishing up a 100 mile week) and were a little sad to see that Francis Peak road didn't even have a trace of footprints or tracks.  We went a little farther up the Bountiful peak road, but turned back after a few good post holes past our knees.

There are moments when running that just stand out from all the rest.   Running down the canyon that night was one of those moments..  1:00 in the morning, running mile after mile down a packed snowy road.  Our breath, lit up by the light from our headlamps,  gathering around us as we take deep breaths of the cold winter air.  Chatting away with a stinky ugly bearded guy, who makes surprisingly good company.

Millcreek Yurt

Winter has a beauty all its own that summer cannot match. I love the stillness of a snow covered mountain, summitting snow capped peaks and I love the fresh brisk air. However, winter also brings different challenges. Traction and cold are the two biggest factors but also the dark, a lack of enthusiasm, the occasional illness and the nasty inversion. In the summer I enjoyed early starts to a long solo run. I tried to continue this throughout the winter but running along in the dark on a mountain trail when you can see the fresh cougar tracks messes with the mind. Not that it stops me completely, but it has a handful of times.

Francesco, Mama Jennilyn, Mama Jen, Nate from Tron, Me, yet another Matt

I have found that one of the best ways to get over the winter blues is to get out on more group runs. Motivation comes much more quickly when other people are involved. The past two weeks I've ran up Millcreek Canyon a few nights with some Wranglers. We park at the winter gate and from there run up the well packed road to the yurt and turn around. It's about 4.5 miles up a mostly gradual incline and very runnable, even without traction. Francesco has been the main organizer of these runs and it's been a different group of people of varying speeds each time I've gone. As always, all the people I meet in my sport have been great to share a trail with.

Map and Stats of Millcreek winter gate to yurt.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

My brother Matt is working his way into the trail running game.  Back in high school, he was a better distance runner than me, but due to a whole lot of school and many new promotions over the last 12 years, he's a little late getting back into the running game.  I'm not entirely sure, but I think he finally caught the bug when we went on our summer backpacking trip up to North Willow last summer.  He recently moved to Mesa AZ, and one of the requirements of his house hunt was the proximity to the mountains.  The first peak that caught my attention when I was helping him identify good areas was the Four Peaks area of Mazatzal mountain range.  It is called Four Peaks because of the very distinct 4 peaks.  The only one that is named is the tallest and northern most one, Browns Peak, which has a summit height of 7,657 feet.  Considering Mesa down below is only at 1,243',  it was a significant elevation change for Mattie.

Looking East towards Four Peaks above a lot of cacti.
Browns is the leftmost peak.

The road to get up to the four peaks trail head was a very rough, very slow 20 miles of dirt road.  Not being a native to AZ, it was amazing to see the thousands and thousands of 25' tall cacti.  I half expected the road runner and Wyle-E-Coyote to dart across the road.  We decided that getting a commuter car up there would be a difficult task indeed, and were glad we were in my Durango.  But upon reaching the trail head, most of the cacti were now down below us, and the mountain felt like home to me.

Mattie, about a mile in.

The actual trail from there is a rather short 2.5 miles to the summit, and most of that is runnable.  I need to point out and gloat a little that it felt so good to be running on a dry dirt trail again.  Everything was going smooth until we got to the last 500' scramble up the scree shoot.  Right before attempting it, we chatted with a man who said that he was going to loop around to the north, where the ridge drops down lower, and then follow the ridge to the summit.  I'm still quite surprised that no trail takes that route.  But because of the lack of trail, we decided to go up the shoot.  After climbing the scree for a minute, Mattie became somewhat uncomfortable climbing up the loose rock that required hand and foot, and I didn't blame him.  So, we looped back down to attempt to go around to the lower ridge.

Proof of my failure to find a good route.

Climbing through shrubs through a few inches of snow around to the north, we tried to make our way over to the ridge.  Then I made the mistake of trying to cut up the mountain a little early before we reached it.  The cliffs forced us back towards the south, and before we knew it, we were right back at the scree shoot, about 50' higher than we were the first time.

At this point, we called it.  Our wives wanted to go out shopping later that day and we decided we didn't have enough time to try again.  The great thing about mountains is that they aren't going anywhere.  I'll be back to visit Mattie soon enough, and when I do, I'll get my revenge on Browns, and it will feel the full weight of a little plastic red monkey.

Browns Peak map and stats.

Lone Peak Snowshoeing Adventure

Me, Cy, Ashley's husband, Matt, Steve, Ashley, MVH, Milk Drinker

Me, 3 yrs. ago
just below Ennis Peak.

Exactly three years ago I started training for my first marathon. My biggest worry was mile times and my smallest worry was how to fuel. I hadn't ran seriously since I was in high school (if you want to consider that serious, I don't really). I had always loved hiking and being in the outdoors but didn't start trail running until after the marathon. I was inexperienced. Just look at the excellent photo on the left. I was sporting my wonderful heat trapping scout hat, a cotton shirt with some extremely flexible jeans :)  Oh, and don't forget the comfy backpack and hiking shoes. Yeah, I was almost hip. I look back and laugh at many things. The clothes, shoes, packs, food, blisters and fatigue.

Much has changed over the past three years. Summitting Lone Peak in the middle of winter is a direct result of these changes. The first time I hiked Lone Peak was before I considered myself a trail runner and a year before my first marathon. It is one of my favorite mountains to be on. Unfortunately, I was unable to get up there this last summer, so when I heard about a winter ascent by the Wasatch Mountain Wranglers I jumped at the opportunity. I've wanted to do a winter camp up at the cabin or in the cirque below the summit as well.

Lone Peaks on Lone Peak.

A fellow Wrangler, Matt Van Horn (MVH), organized this excursion. I've gotten to know him online over the past year but this was the first time I met him in person. There were nine of us, and I'd never met any of them before this run (MVH said he doesn't run with snowshoes on his back, but he's a liar). I marvel at how I can spend nine hours on a mountain of pain and joy with a bunch of people I've never met before. Every time I meet new people on a group run it always seems like we've been friends for a long time. This trip was no exception.

We started about 6:00 a.m. at the Orson Smith Trailhead. After about two miles we rested a moment and collected ourselves. One of the group was falling far behind already. When we saw his headlamp the group moved on. I hung back and decided to hike with him to give him a bit of encouragement. He'd never been on the trail before and mentioned that he'd only started running this past year. It's never fun to be on a new trail by yourself in the dark. I hiked with him about two more miles until it was light and I knew he would be able to follow our tracks on the trail.

The group summitting Ennis Peak, about 4.5 miles in, 3 more before Lone.

I ran through the part of the trail that is called the tunnel and started up the next steep part just catching the group as the trail leveled off for a time. Soon thereafter we stopped to strap on the snowshoes. For some reason my pack wouldn't surrender my snowshoes so it took me about 20 mins, no joke, just to get them unstrapped. I was getting cold and needed to start moving and I had fallen behind once again. Just as I finally started out I caught a glimpse of the slow dude. I was relieved that he wasn't lost. I shouted an encouraging word and set off to try and catch up to the group again.

First view of Lone Peak after going up and over Ennis Peak.

Scrambling

It took me about a mile and a half and a little more than an hour but I finally caught them. I enjoyed hiking with them the last mile or so to the saddle above the cirque. This part of the mountain is absolutely stunning, summer or winter. It is a long arduous hike to arrive at this point and well worth it. Upon arrival at the saddle we rested a moment and removed the snowshoes for the final ascent. This part of the trail often requires you to bend over on hand and knee in order to scramble up the steep slope to the top.

There are several spots that are actually quite treacherous to traverse in the summer that require boulder hopping on some crags. So you can imagine how much more dangerous walking across a knife edge of snow might be. Not to mention this snow was particularly loose and powdery. It was dangerous to say the least. I have little experience doing this and I don't own an ice axe. So I didn't go all the way to the summit, which is ok. I'm still alive. Maybe next time. Five out of the nine made it to the summit. The rest of us didn't have a slight death wish so we got as close as we could.

The brave 5 almost at the summit.

Almost summit monkey.

After getting back down to the saddle we ate lunch and prepared ourselves for the descent. I took my tights off, changed my socks and ate some jerky and a snickers bar. We couldn't have asked for a better day. It was a beautiful clear sky and actually quite warm. Ashley did the entire hike in short shorts and a tank top. At times I wished I had packed a bit lighter on the clothing, but better safe than sorry. We came across the last member of the group and he decided to make the final climb alone. We wished him well and I said a little prayer in my head for him, then we took off.

Going down was a lot of fun. It involved running in snowshoes, trying to ski in snowshoes, slipping and sliding now and then, and bunny rabbit hopping which usually ended with my face in the snow. When we got around Ennis Peak we took off the snowshoes and I said my goodbyes and started running. I told my wife I'd be home around 1:30 at the earliest. I was now almost an hour late and still had about four miles to go before reaching the trailhead.

I can't wait to do it again. Great views and great people. It was a spectacular day. I took tons of cool photos, here's a few more:

One of the knife-edge ridges. The Salt Lake Valley in the background.

Matt and Me.

MVH, the first to summit.

Lone Peak, The Majestic.

Map and Stats of Lone Peak, winter ascent.