Mountain Running

This summer, one of my main objectives was to do a couple long trail runs in the Sierra Nevada mountains. I figured the runs would be challenging but beyond that I didn’t give it much thought. After all, I’ve been trail running for nearly 10 years. Turns out, that was a rookie mistake…

Attempt #1. July 15. I had found an area on our map of the Mokelumne Wilderness that had a plethora of enticing trail options: I could hop on the Pacific Crest Trail, or run out to a backcountry lake, or do both! I decided to finalize my route once Owen and I found a dispersed campsite. As we turned off the highway onto the side road, the first red flag was the signpost that said all campgrounds along the road were closed. I thought, that’s weird. It must not be updated for the summer. The next red flag was the road closed sign and gigantic gate across the road. While we pondered our options, we let Denali cool off in the creek just past the gate. She loves swimming but she doesn’t like jumping into deep water. This particular creek had several very deep pools, and we laughed our heads off watching her leap insanely far distances to avoid the deep water. 

We decided to see if we could drive around the road closure via some side roads. We were thwarted on our first attempt by a sketchy, off-camber section of road still covered in snow (which should have raised another red flag). Eventually, we found our way through and were rewarded with a beautiful lake-side campground that was nearly deserted because it was technically still closed. Which was because there were still several feet of snow on the sides of the roads and covering the trails. That’s when it dawned on me: my beloved plethora of trail options would all be covered in snow. 

Owen helped me concoct a new plan. Above the lake, we could see the summit of a mountain, aptly named the Nipple, which was clear of snow. All I needed to do was bushwhack through the snowy forest for a bit before I would clear the tree line and beeline it up to the summit. The route would also cross the Pacific Crest Trail, so I could run that too. I was nervous to do a solo run off-trail but I didn’t see any other options, so I agreed to it. 

The next morning, Owen decided to accompany me with Denali until I got above treeline to make sure I didn’t get lost. We slowly picked our way through the snowy, buggy forest. Above treeline, the going did not get much easier- there was loose rock and thick ground cover. When I saw hikers a couple hundred feet above us, I was elated- it was the PCT! Once I made it to the trail, I could finally run. There were still some sketchy snow patches that I had to reroute around, but at least I got a couple miles of running in. Owen even decided to summit the Nipple with Denali, and I met up with them afterwards and took Denali on a bonus run. Lesson learned: it was a historic snow year, and I need to check areas in advance to see if they’re open! Also, running and bushwhacking don’t mix.  

Attempt #2: July 28. Another weekend, another spot on the map to explore. This time, I googled the trail I had in mind in advance. The Forest Service website said that the trail was open and was “very steep with many slopes and switchbacks.” Perfect. I also found a backup trail option, which was listed as open on the Forest Service website too. I had a solid plan this time, what could go wrong?

The “4x4 high clearance vehicle only, very rough road” to the trailhead was in such bad shape that I had to close my eyes in some sections while Owen drove. Needless to say, we never made it to the trailhead. After we turned around, we found out the road was still technically closed. Time to activate plan B. This one was a point to point run, so we made plans for Owen to pick me up at a trailhead a couple miles east of where he dropped me off. I told him that if I didn’t show up there in about four hours, he should come back to my original drop off location, because it meant I couldn’t get through for some reason. But again, what could go wrong? 

I felt confident as I power-hiked up the mountain through wildflower-dotted meadows. I even got some intel for a great little side jaunt above a nearby lake from a couple I passed who had been here before. But just two miles in, the trail disappeared in the snow. I wasn’t sure what to do. As I contemplated my options, the couple from earlier caught up. They explained which direction the trail went, and I decided to try to keep going. I figured this might be the only snow patch. Wrong again.

For the next hour, I was laser focused on not losing the trail as it wound in and out of the snow, again and again. I felt like a hunter stalking its prey. Mentally exhausted, I finally made it to the backcountry lake, only about 3 miles into what was supposed to be a 10 mile run. The trail completely petered out past the lake and to be brutally honest with myself, I had no desire to continue even farther into the unknown. I admitted defeat and turned around. I only hoped Owen would know to come back to the original trailhead to pick me up. 

Luckily he did, and I was very, very happy to be out of the backcountry and reunited with him. The sandwich, chips, and seltzer I had that afternoon never tasted so good. More lessons learned this time: check trail reviews in advance to see what the conditions of the trail are like! There could be snow even in late July. After the fact, when I read reviews on AllTrails written around the time I was there, the majority of people never even made it to the lake. Also: I need to have a way to navigate if I lose the trail. I promptly downloaded the National Forest Service mapping app. 

Attempt #3: August 12. I was exhausted from the past two run’s escapades. I wanted to just run. On a trail. That was not covered in snow. We were camping with friends pretty close to the last place I ran, and I decided to do repeats on that same trail up to the ridge line, right before the snow started. It wasn’t as adventurous as the other runs, but there were wildflowers, beautiful views from the top (which I got to enjoy multiple times), and I still felt like I’d worked hard to earn the chicken fingers I devoured afterwards at a nearby cafe. 

That afternoon, the skies opened up and it downpoured. We all huddled under our friend’s awning and watched the storm. Let me clarify, all the humans huddled under the awning. Denali was content to sit out in the rain, getting drenched. As day turned to night we watched lightning crack across the sky as the clouds rolled in and out across the setting sun. Mother Nature put on quite the spectacle. 

The next day, Denali and I went on a “recovery” hike that was a little more than I bargained for. No more than a half mile in she got stung by a bee, then we navigated across endless ankle breaking rocks, and I hung onto the leash for dear life as she went splashing through the water. To celebrate surviving the weekend, we all got ice cream, even Denali, on the long drive home. 

Attempt #4: August 18. This time, I was prepared. I snagged a last minute campsite in Yosemite National Park. I researched the latest trail conditions on AllTrails. I checked and rechecked the weather forecast. And finally, dare I say, everything went smoothly. When I arrived at the campground I went for an easy shake out hike that meandered along a stream and into a wildflower meadow. The pile of bear scat I found didn’t materialize into any real threat. This was a solo trip, so for dinner I got to eat the entire box of macaroni and cheese by myself.

The trailhead was crowded the next morning even though I arrived early, the price I had to pay for doing a popular route in Yosemite on a summer weekend. But after the remote runs and route finding I’d experienced earlier this summer, I was OK with some company. The trail was challenging; think dozens of switchbacks, more of those ankle breaking rocks, and lots of climbing. To be honest, I did more hiking than running. But it was all worth it for the view at the top. I don’t come to Yosemite very often anymore, and this run reminded me how special a place it is. 

The last few miles back to the trailhead were a slog, and the five hour drive home was even more of a slog, but I was buoyed by the experience I’d had, not just on this run but on every mountain run this summer, through the good and the bad and everything I’d learned. There is a method to my madness, a reason I’ve been doing all these mountain runs… a reason I’m too superstitious to write, but that should become apparent in a future blog post. As always, stay tuned!