White Clouds Wilderness Marathon Run
After missing out on my husband's adventurous Wilderness Marathon runs for the first half of the year, I was finally able to join him this weekend to explore the White Clouds Wilderness in central Idaho.
Bryan's planned route circumnavigated Castle Peak, an ominous 11,800' peak just east of Hwy 75 and north of Sun Valley by about 50 miles. Starting at Fourth of July Creek and running a well worn trail east and south, alongside the namesake lake and Washington Lake before turning north to the Chamberlain Lakes basin, the run began with relative ease. Though the elevation challenged all (~8,500 ft at the start and climbing to nearly 10,000ft several times), the group of seven motley runners ran and regrouped frequently for photos and identifying the surrounding peaks.
At Chamberlain Lakes, two of our runners continued up the basin to climb over and back down to the 4th of July creek for a half marathon distance. One had already turned back earlier, so that left four runners to complete the marathon run: Paddy, Sam, Bryan and me. The trail from the lakes climbed steadily and quickly up to the Chamberlain Divide and descended nearly as quickly to the Baker Lake trail junction. This was easily my favorite part of the run! I was settled into a strong pace and had that good fatigue in the legs- enough to feel like this was going to be a good and challenging, but runnable, day. I enjoyed working the uphills and flying down the pass. But the day got more difficult after we passed Baker Lake.
Inadvertently we began to climb the trail to Crystal Lake, a lake nestled well into a sheer rock bowl high up on Castle Peak. If we had made it there, we would have had no choice but to turn and come back. As it happened, Paddy noticed the directional flaw and we turned just 800-1200m up the trail. Despite our efforts to stay on track, the Crystal Lake basin seemed to keep pulling us south and away from the faint (invisible) trail to Quiet and Noisy Lakes. We ended up high on a ridge and traversing talus fields with large rocks, from bowling ball to refrigerator size. Though beautiful, I couldn't help but think that this was not common tramping grounds for humans (or really any beings) so these rocks were unstable and could slide at any time. A few loose rocks sent my heart racing. We worked our way over to a stand of trees and then down to the creek below. Finally we were back on trail and working our way up the trail. Not surprisingly, the lakes were beautiful. Green grasses, snow on the scree surrounding the lakes, high alpine trees and unusual flora to distract the tired mind. But I began to struggle. We were no longer running, and with each scree crossing I felt greater unease. We were moving too slow to make it home for dinner and I had no way of telling the babysitter so.
With a bit of route finding and at least three maps, we found our way to the Four Lake Basin. It felt like a pinnacle of the day- tall mountain features on all sides of the basin with lakes, snow and mossy marsh below. That same beauty brought on my greatest anxiety: there was no way out. Looking around it felt like there was absolutely no way to ascend the walls of scree and who knew what was on the other side? I was acutely aware of the SPOT satellite rescue device in my pack and sincerely thought I would need to test it's abilities. I was running low on food, our miles had slowed to a crawl and we had at least 6 miles ahead. At this pace that was 2-3 hours at best. But those were just minor anxieties compounding the fact there there appeared to be NO WAY OUT.
Sam and Paddy moved in the direction of the only granite features in the basin and began to climb. They yelled down that it was actually fine and we followed shortly behind. Tears stung my eyes as I approached the Class 4 climbing, but quickly dried when I realized it was, indeed, not that bad. As long as I didn't let go or slip (which would likely mean death), I could totally do this. At the top I felt amazing! It was such a boost to do something that only moments before seemed impossible. I was thrilled to test myself in this long forgotten manner and succeed.
However, the worst was yet to come. We descended into Antz Basin through a coulior rarely traveled. It seemed sketchy to start but as we were forced into the narrowing chute and unable to avoid stacking up, the danger of our situation seemed to hit everyone (I would say it hit like a ton of bricks, but I think I would prefer bricks to the rocks above me at that time). A slip in the sand pitch would send a cascade of smaller rocks (up to gold ball sized) down to the guys ahead, and therefore below, me. Bryan followed me and dislodged a rock the size of a toaster oven just 2 feet from me- which I bunny hopped over to avoid loosing my own footing, and my ankle bones as well. I yelled down, "Rock, it's a big one!" as Paddy looked up. This was the only time I saw real fear in anyone else eyes, and he quickly jumped to the side, pressing his body against the granite wall. The rock tumbled on, but we took extra precautions after that to move one at a time to safe spots away from the fall line of rocks before the next person started. The final clutch move was across the chute, above a 5 foot cliff with incredibly loose rock piled above, to a wet and slimy slab, down climb the cliff and get back to safety before the next person goes. It wasn't too bad- not really- but I did feel the rocks below me shift uncomfortably so I threw myself toward the slick rock before catching a hand and stabilizing myself. It all could have been bad, really bad, but I think my danger sensors were fried at this point so I didn't even realize it was scary anymore.
When we began to run again (on trail!!) it felt too easy. Granted we had a 500' climb ahead that wore on my tired little leggies, but it was so doable after the last 3 hours; I refused to hike. I ran the entire grade out of Antz Basin and back into 4th of July drainage. Just cruising in and not taking in much of the increasingly treed surroundings, it felt good to know that my children would still have two parents. A mere 8.5 hours after we began our final runners emerged from the wilderness. A few war stories were shared with the two who opted for the half marathon run, though it sounds like their final push may have been similar to ours.
I enjoyed the run, despite all of the fear it produced. When asked if it compared to the joy of racing, I just don't feel I can compare the two. I enjoy competing, testing myself against others, the glow of racing and placing well or knowing I really tested myself on the course. This was a different kind of test which I enjoyed- one they call Type II fun- esp as I reflect on the places I saw, the remote and truly wild nature of the land, the many facets of the mountain. No longer will it be a two-dimentional peak in the distance but rather a jagged and massive castle looming large over dozens of lakes, streams and beautiful campsites relatively few have ever seen. I feel fortunate that my training allows me to take on this kind of adventure, and my husband has the grit and spirit to dream up this goal. But I am not sure if I will make it out for another Wilderness Marathon this year, and that is both a relief as well as a disappointment. With the danger in the review mirror, I kind of want to get back out there next month!
Bryan's planned route circumnavigated Castle Peak, an ominous 11,800' peak just east of Hwy 75 and north of Sun Valley by about 50 miles. Starting at Fourth of July Creek and running a well worn trail east and south, alongside the namesake lake and Washington Lake before turning north to the Chamberlain Lakes basin, the run began with relative ease. Though the elevation challenged all (~8,500 ft at the start and climbing to nearly 10,000ft several times), the group of seven motley runners ran and regrouped frequently for photos and identifying the surrounding peaks.
At Chamberlain Lakes, two of our runners continued up the basin to climb over and back down to the 4th of July creek for a half marathon distance. One had already turned back earlier, so that left four runners to complete the marathon run: Paddy, Sam, Bryan and me. The trail from the lakes climbed steadily and quickly up to the Chamberlain Divide and descended nearly as quickly to the Baker Lake trail junction. This was easily my favorite part of the run! I was settled into a strong pace and had that good fatigue in the legs- enough to feel like this was going to be a good and challenging, but runnable, day. I enjoyed working the uphills and flying down the pass. But the day got more difficult after we passed Baker Lake.
Inadvertently we began to climb the trail to Crystal Lake, a lake nestled well into a sheer rock bowl high up on Castle Peak. If we had made it there, we would have had no choice but to turn and come back. As it happened, Paddy noticed the directional flaw and we turned just 800-1200m up the trail. Despite our efforts to stay on track, the Crystal Lake basin seemed to keep pulling us south and away from the faint (invisible) trail to Quiet and Noisy Lakes. We ended up high on a ridge and traversing talus fields with large rocks, from bowling ball to refrigerator size. Though beautiful, I couldn't help but think that this was not common tramping grounds for humans (or really any beings) so these rocks were unstable and could slide at any time. A few loose rocks sent my heart racing. We worked our way over to a stand of trees and then down to the creek below. Finally we were back on trail and working our way up the trail. Not surprisingly, the lakes were beautiful. Green grasses, snow on the scree surrounding the lakes, high alpine trees and unusual flora to distract the tired mind. But I began to struggle. We were no longer running, and with each scree crossing I felt greater unease. We were moving too slow to make it home for dinner and I had no way of telling the babysitter so.
With a bit of route finding and at least three maps, we found our way to the Four Lake Basin. It felt like a pinnacle of the day- tall mountain features on all sides of the basin with lakes, snow and mossy marsh below. That same beauty brought on my greatest anxiety: there was no way out. Looking around it felt like there was absolutely no way to ascend the walls of scree and who knew what was on the other side? I was acutely aware of the SPOT satellite rescue device in my pack and sincerely thought I would need to test it's abilities. I was running low on food, our miles had slowed to a crawl and we had at least 6 miles ahead. At this pace that was 2-3 hours at best. But those were just minor anxieties compounding the fact there there appeared to be NO WAY OUT.
Sam and Paddy moved in the direction of the only granite features in the basin and began to climb. They yelled down that it was actually fine and we followed shortly behind. Tears stung my eyes as I approached the Class 4 climbing, but quickly dried when I realized it was, indeed, not that bad. As long as I didn't let go or slip (which would likely mean death), I could totally do this. At the top I felt amazing! It was such a boost to do something that only moments before seemed impossible. I was thrilled to test myself in this long forgotten manner and succeed.
However, the worst was yet to come. We descended into Antz Basin through a coulior rarely traveled. It seemed sketchy to start but as we were forced into the narrowing chute and unable to avoid stacking up, the danger of our situation seemed to hit everyone (I would say it hit like a ton of bricks, but I think I would prefer bricks to the rocks above me at that time). A slip in the sand pitch would send a cascade of smaller rocks (up to gold ball sized) down to the guys ahead, and therefore below, me. Bryan followed me and dislodged a rock the size of a toaster oven just 2 feet from me- which I bunny hopped over to avoid loosing my own footing, and my ankle bones as well. I yelled down, "Rock, it's a big one!" as Paddy looked up. This was the only time I saw real fear in anyone else eyes, and he quickly jumped to the side, pressing his body against the granite wall. The rock tumbled on, but we took extra precautions after that to move one at a time to safe spots away from the fall line of rocks before the next person started. The final clutch move was across the chute, above a 5 foot cliff with incredibly loose rock piled above, to a wet and slimy slab, down climb the cliff and get back to safety before the next person goes. It wasn't too bad- not really- but I did feel the rocks below me shift uncomfortably so I threw myself toward the slick rock before catching a hand and stabilizing myself. It all could have been bad, really bad, but I think my danger sensors were fried at this point so I didn't even realize it was scary anymore.
When we began to run again (on trail!!) it felt too easy. Granted we had a 500' climb ahead that wore on my tired little leggies, but it was so doable after the last 3 hours; I refused to hike. I ran the entire grade out of Antz Basin and back into 4th of July drainage. Just cruising in and not taking in much of the increasingly treed surroundings, it felt good to know that my children would still have two parents. A mere 8.5 hours after we began our final runners emerged from the wilderness. A few war stories were shared with the two who opted for the half marathon run, though it sounds like their final push may have been similar to ours.
I enjoyed the run, despite all of the fear it produced. When asked if it compared to the joy of racing, I just don't feel I can compare the two. I enjoy competing, testing myself against others, the glow of racing and placing well or knowing I really tested myself on the course. This was a different kind of test which I enjoyed- one they call Type II fun- esp as I reflect on the places I saw, the remote and truly wild nature of the land, the many facets of the mountain. No longer will it be a two-dimentional peak in the distance but rather a jagged and massive castle looming large over dozens of lakes, streams and beautiful campsites relatively few have ever seen. I feel fortunate that my training allows me to take on this kind of adventure, and my husband has the grit and spirit to dream up this goal. But I am not sure if I will make it out for another Wilderness Marathon this year, and that is both a relief as well as a disappointment. With the danger in the review mirror, I kind of want to get back out there next month!
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