A Delightful Loop Along the Colorado Trail (San Juan Solstice 50)

Big smiles at the San Juan Solstice 50

It's been a very long while since I posted what I would consider a "traditional" race/run report, but I had an experience this past weekend up in the lovely San Juan Mountains of Colorado that I felt merited a genuine recap on this antiquated journal site.

Let's rewind a little first....

Back in the summer of 2008 I had my first true alpine thru-hiking experience. I had to spend about 3 weeks doing some labwork in Denver, and decided to use that opportunity to immediately jump on the Colorado Trail for a "mini thru-hike". The previous summer of 2007 I had completed the most difficult and demanding adventure of my life along the Appalachian Trail. Over the subsequent 10 months my mind was never truly able to leave the trails and I longed for another multi-day adventure out in the wilderness. I figured the Colorado Trail was a perfect way to scratch the itch as it presented a much shorter endeavor (just a mere 500 miles!). What I didn't appreciate at the time, was that hiking at altitude during a  high-snow year in the mountains of Colorado would be NOTHING like hiking along the spine of the long green Appalachian tunnel.

I had never hiked along deep snow fields, I had never experienced sleeping over 12,000 feet altitude, I had never dodged afternoon pop-up lightning storms, and I had never spent multiple days in a row going up and over high mountain passes. The closest I had come to this type of hiking (and it's a stretch) was maybe my 200-300 miles in New Hampshire and along the rugged trails of Maine.

During my thru-hike along the CT, I discovered quite a few new things, first of which was that I was absolutely hooked on hiking at high elevations in BIG mountains. I simply couldn't get enough of it. There was a stretch along the CT where the trail followed the literal continental divide for over 100 miles and it was unquestionably my favorite stretch of hiking I had ever done. At one point along this segment, I crested a snowy hill near the trail's high point of Coney Peak. As I crested, a massive and jagged shark-fin shaped peak emerged in the distance. This peak was the most magnificent mountain peak I had ever seen in person. It was towering, fierce, and inspiring,....yet somehow also welcoming. I still vividly remember the feeling I had at that moment as that mountain peak came into view. I snapped a photo of it, and after a few minutes of digging through my maps....learned that the peak was the well-known "14er" mountain known as Uncompahgre Peak. To this day, it is still my favorite of all 58 of the Colorado 14ers.

Uncompahgre Peak as seen during my 2008 CT thru-hike

Near Coney Peak (CT High Point)

Along the vast and wondrous Continental Divide

It was during this hike that I truly fell in love with the San Juan Mountains. It was also during this hike that I passed through Silverton and learned of the Hardrock Hundred run (which I talked about many times in other posts). Needless to say, my CT thru-hike served as an introduction into an entirely new world of high mountain adventures. Incidentally, I went back to Colorado with C in the summer of 2011. We rented a 4x4 jeep and summited Uncompahgre Peak together. 

2011 - Just below the final summit of Uncompahgre

The final summit block

On the summit of Uncompahgre Peak (2011)

Here we are now 17 years later, and I can still vividly picture the views from that thru-hike and feel the emotions as they came to me then on that adventure. It's because of this deep connection that I find myself so often returning to these mountains and why I often say that the San Juans are quite possibly my favorite mountains in the US (it's a toss-up with the North Cascades in Washington).

I've since been back many times over the years to play in the San Juans, and now that I live in Northern Arizona, I can be in Silverton in less than 6 hours by car. I feel incredibly fortunate to live where I do and have such easy access to one of my favorite places.

So with that brief walk down memory lane now fresh...I suppose it's time to bring up the San Juan Solstice 50. I can recall while reading through Andrew Skurka's hiking site back in 2009 as I was preparing for my first run at the Leadville 100, that he had carried out a race in the San Juan's known as the San Juan Solstice 50. He noted in his report that the run was quite tough...with a lot of climb...but that it followed along a large section of the Colorado Trail near Coney Peak. As I read his report, I remember thinking that given how much I enjoyed that section of my CT thru-hike, that I would love to do that race one day. At this point though, I had only completed two 50-mile races and both were in Vermont. So, I shelved the idea for another time, and when my mind finally did come back to racing in the San Juan's, there was another race that had become my top priority: The Hardrock Hundred. Consequently, the SJS50 slowly faded and became another one of those races that I would sign up for "someday". 

Fifteen years then passed, and while I had now run Hardrock twice, I still had never run the SJS50. Finally, in 2024, I pulled the trigger and tossed my name into the run lottery.

In February during the lottery draw, I was not selected, but did get a very high spot on the wait list making my entrance all but guaranteed. So I did what I was supposed to do over the next few months: I trained. I upped my weekly mileages, increased my elevation gain, and prepared myself for a difficult 50-miler in the high country of Colorado.

All was going well, and about 3 weeks before the race I headed to Spain and Morocco for a 10-day vacation. I had a brilliant time galavanting around southern Spain and northern Morocco before heading home just about a week before I was set to drive up to Lake City for the SJS50.

At some point during my journey home from Spain, I picked up some sort of nasty stomach bug and it wreaked absolute havoc on my gut. For days I couldn't keep food down, and no amount of medication seemed to help. I was having terrible cramps and multiple visits to the doctor and gastroenterologist revealed no real answers. My only hope was that my "condition" would sort itself out before race day.

Spoiler: It didn't

When I arrived at the start line for the 2024 San Juan Solstice 50, I was still a miserable and gut-troubled wreck. In retrospect, I should not have started, but I just so badly wanted to see the course that I decided to toe the line.

After about a mile of feeble jogging I was reduced to a quick-paced hike...and then not long after a much slower walk. For the entire day, I was hunched over in gut pain, making several "bathroom stops" along the course. I chased the time cutoff for hours and at one point arrived at an aid station with just 30 seconds to get out before being cut. I thought for sure this was going to be the first race that I'd be time-cut at a race and was resigned to just accept my fate. Over the next 6-mile downhill section, I managed to muscle out a feeble jog and somehow arrived at the 40-mile aid station about 10 minutes ahead of the cut-off (I had surprisingly made up 9 minutes). I decided to push on and see if I could finish and after another miserable few hours, I hobbled into town, a broken and pain-riddled mess, crossing the finish line in 15 hours 49 minutes (just 11 minutes ahead of the final cutoff).

So...I had finished, but I did not once stop to look around on the course, I felt no joy, I experienced no bliss, and the entire run was misery. I found no solace in the fact that I had a finish...since the entire point of me running this race was supposed to be so that I could revisit the magic of my 2008 CT thru-hike.

I stewed on this for weeks and it ate away at me. So....in January of this year I decided I would put my name in the lottery again. I wanted to experience the SJS50...not just survive it. I was pleasantly surprised to be drawn immediately as a starter and a small smile crept back in. I would be heading back to Lake City for another go. 

And this is where we finally get to the present.

C and I made the drive up to Lake City last week (she decided to come with me this year), and we also brought our dog along for the adventure. On the drive up all I could think about was how one year earlier I was hunched over at my steering wheel trying to will away my gut pains. This year, I felt fit and healthy.

The doggo enjoying the San Juans...

We arrived on time, checked in, got my in-reach tracker all set up, and then went to bed early. I wanted to be fully rested and ready. In the morning I still felt good, and was cautiously optimistic that it was going to be a good day.

At exactly 5:00 AM, the race director yelled out a "Go!" and we all headed off down the dirt road towards the Alpine Gulch trail. I remembered the exact spot in 2024 where I started walking. This time, I was comfortably trotting along at sub-9 min/mile pace. I found a good position within the conga line of runners and worked my way up the Alpine Gulch trail that started at around mile 3. There were nine very cold creek crossings--a few quite deep--but they were all notably less difficult than in 2024.

At the start line

At the turn up the East Fork, I felt fantastic. It was a cool morning and we were all still shaded. After a series of switchbacks we made the first aid station right at the 2 hour mark (already 30 minutes faster than in 2024). Over the next 2 miles I happily trotted along the exposed ridge over to the first highpoint (just under 13,000 feet) and kept tripping over my own feet (as I couldn't stop looking around that the amazing scenery). As the first major descent started I caught myself picking up my pace to more of a true "race pace." But then came a moment. The race pace felt ok, and it felt like I was racing....but it also felt like while moving at that pace, my focus was no longer on the mountains, but instead on the race. I realized I had a decision to make. Would I genuinely race...and keep the more assertive pace going...and likely forfeit a fair amount of enjoyment, OR, would I dial it back a few clicks, keep the heart rate lower, and suck the marrow out of the experience. I decided that I wanted to have a day full of smiles and beautiful miles, so I went with option two. I let several fast runners push past me and I eased back on the descent down to the first major aid station at mile 15....and it felt great.

When I arrived at the aid, I made a quick porta-potty stop, refilled my electrolytes and waters, wolfed down some calories and was back on the course within two minutes. C met me here and we walked together for a few minutes before I started running down the 3-mile road stretch to the base of the second (and biggest) climb of the day. It was good seeing her and I was glad to share my decision with her to take it a bit easier. I knew I wouldn't be chasing cutoffs, but I also knew that I wouldn't be hurting due to any sort of hard "race pace".

I happily trotted along the 3+ miles of easy road and allowed my body to recover a bit before starting up the 4000+ foot climb to the course's (and CT's) high point at Coney Peak. I actually really enjoy this climb on the course as the majority of it is on a jeep road, which to me, makes it go by so much quicker. I maintained a consistent 3.2 mph power hiking pace up this climb and in less than an hour I was arriving at the Carson aid station at mile 20. There, I had a drop bag waiting where I restocked all of my gels and nutrition, while also gobbling up some high-calorie aid station food. I was in and out in less than 3 minutes and was eagerly anticipating the above-treeline alpine section just ahead. 

I worked up the remainder of the jeep road to the Continental Divide, dodging snow drifts, and then started the final single-track trail climb section up to Coney Peak. What struck me about this entire stretch this year was just how much quicker it all went by. I can recall last year looking back down the course while I was climbing up to Coney and seeing absolutely no one behind me on the trail; I was at the absolute back of the pack. This year, when I looked down as I neared the summit, there was a long line of brightly colored runners extending for miles down the road. This is how I knew I was right where I was supposed to be pace-wise.

I crested the final climb to Coney Peak and walked over to the summit cairn to tag the benchmark. This was something I failed to do last year, and I wanted to be certain to "tag" the summit this year. Once rolling over the summit, the next 8+ miles present runners with a stunning ridgeline run along the divide. Last year, my head was down for the entire stretch and I was doubled over with gut pain. This year, I couldn't keep my eyes off of the scenery. The views were spectacular. 

I was in a nice pocket of runners along this stretch and I was able to run at an easy pace as the trail slightly undulated up and down on the exposed ridgeline. I definitely ran a lot more than last year. Eventually, I descended off of the ridge and headed down to the "Divide" aid station (mile 31). This was the station that I arrived at last year with less than a minute to get out before the cutoff. When I arrived this year, they told me I had "over an hour" till the cutoff. Just hearing that wiped away any possible anxiety I had. I knew at this point, that I could basically just enjoy the last 19 miles at whatever pace I wanted and would finish.

I was out of the aid station in about 4 minutes after refilling my bottles, and enjoyed a nice hiking pace up the next short climb. After a few rollers, I came upon what I would consider to be my absolute favorite part of the course: Right around mile ~36 on the course, runners must climb about 300 feet uphill on an old jeep road. Right as you crest this final hill before the long descent into the 40-mile Slumgullion aid station, the crest of Uncompahgre Peak rises up over the horizon. This is nearly the exact view I had in 2008 when I first discovered this perfect mountain. When I saw this view during my run, I stopped dead in my tracks. THIS was the moment I was waiting for. There she was...my favorite mountain...greeting me just as she had done 17 years go. I tipped my hat, smiled, and then began the long and fast downhill down to Slumgullion with a massive grin on my fast.

Uncompaghre Peak (this year)

Trotting happily into Slumgullion at mile 40

I ran the entire four miles down to the aid station and as I arrived C was waiting for me with all sorts of goodies. I put down whatever calories I could, refilled all of my bottles and gels, and after about 5 minutes was back out on the trail. I thanked C for driving up to crew me at this final large aid station and then mentally prepared myself for the final climb of the day: Vickers.

Many people seem to really despise this final 1700' climb, but I must say, I quite enjoy it. It goes by fairly quickly, and the entire section is nestled nicely within the forest. Yes, there are mosquitos in this stretch, but the ferns and aspens are delightful. I happily made my way long this section of trail, cranking some tunes on my ipod shuffle, and in no time I found myself popping out of the woods on the final meadow near the summit. I crossed the meadow and upon entering the woods on the other side, I knew I only had about 150 feet of climb left.

As soon as I felt the trail leveling off, I decided it was finally time to shift in to the next gear. So as the final 5-mile descent started, I picked up my pace notably. I blew through the final aid station, only stopping for a few seconds to fill one water bottle, before pushing on to the final 4 mile stretch. During this descent I gradually increased my pace each mile as I progressed. By the time I was working down the final switchbacks towards the roads of Lake City, I was back to running sub-9 min/mile pace. 

I popped out onto the local roads of town and finally began to run out of steam a bit. I slowed my pace just as I was crossing the foot bridge over the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River. I made the final turn onto Silver Street and with a big smile on my face, crossed the finish line in 14 hours, 37 minutes (over 70 minutes faster than last year).

C was there waiting for me and we celebrated together. I immediately noted how good I felt, which was a testament to the more conservative pace I maintained all day. I hung around the finish for about twenty minutes cheering on other runners before finally head back to our small cabin in town for the night. The following day I had no soreness or pain in my legs and by Tuesday I was already running again. This is how I knew that I absolutely run at an easy and comfortable pace. There are definitely no regrets in the regard.

So...did I get what I had hoped for from the San Juan Solstice? The answer is undoubtedly, yes. It took me an extra year to get there, but in the end, I had the exact experience that I was hoping for. While running along the alpine ridge section I felt like I was right back in 2008 along my CT thru-hike. I had experienced the magic again.

Along the Divide on my 2008 thru-hike

A Canyon to Crest Adventure (aka "Hole to Hump")

Running across Northern Arizona

Back in November of 2023, I found myself in an email exchange with fellow Barkley Marathons alum and good friend, Ed Furtaw. In one of his emails replies he noted:

"While reading your book chapter about your hike/run from Vermont's highest to lowest point John, I had a thought about something I learned about many years ago, when Gail and I were still working and living in Las Vegas. We had an ultrarunner friend named Mike Ehlerman. He set an FKT record in 1992 for running the "Hole To Hump" in Arizona: from the bottom of the Grand Canyon to the top of Humphreys Peak in the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff. Have you ever heard of that trek?  It's virtually in your backyard!"

Needless to say, I had not heard of this route, nor had I even considered anything like it since living in Arizona. In my mind, the lowest point in the state was all the way down by Yuma, so to do a traditional run between geographic superlatives would be ridiculously far. And while the Grand Canyon is quite low in elevation compared to the surrounding Colorado Plateau, it is still over 2000 feet at the river. Despite this though, the idea of connecting the bottom of the Grand Canyon with the top of the highest peak in Arizona did pique my curiosity to some extent. I thought perhaps one day I'd investigate it further...but not long after this email exchange, the idea had become filed away within the deep recesses of my mind.

Over a year later, and several Grand Canyon Rim-2-Rim-2-Rim hikes later, the idea of doing some sort of adventure run from the bottom of the Canyon back "home" crept back in again. I found the route information over on the FKT pro-boards for the "Hole-to-Hump" and learned that while there was an official GPX route that could be downloaded and ostensibly followed, that the route itself was noted as "open." What this means is that in order to complete the "Hole-to-Hump," one simply needs to start at the Colorado River, and end on the summit of Humphreys Peak; any route is acceptable. In other words, it really is a case of "choose your own adventure." Knowing this, the idea of one day attempting a Hole-to-Hump became much more appealing. Having been down the Canyon over a dozen times by this point, I had become quite fond of the idea of hiking up and out from the Colorado River...and then simply continuing all the way "home."

The problem with attempting this route...is finding the right time to attempt it. Completing this journey means honing in on a very narrow window of time. An attempt needs to be made either late enough in spring so that the snow has sufficiently melted on Humphreys (but the Canyon is still not too hot), OR late enough in fall when it is sufficiently cool in the Canyon, but new snows haven't fallen on the mountain yet. This effectively means it can realistically either be done sometime in May or June, or in September or October. Late-September seemed optimal, but it is also right in the middle of the academic fall session. This means for me, it would likely have to be in May, immediately following spring semester. I just had to hope that any attempt would be late enough that the high peaks would be mostly snow-free.

As this spring 2025 semester was coming to a close and thoughts of adventures and various treks to nowhere began creeping in, I started thinking in earnest about a Hole-to-Hump attempt. I had just witnessed a friend of mine (we'll call her "D") complete the 250-mile Cocodona ultra course here in town and it gave me the last bit of motivation and inspiration I needed. After speaking with a different friend of mine (we'll call her "E") about possibly helping me out on an attempt, I tentatively set a date for Friday, May 30th. 

My plan would be simple. I would ask E to meet me at the Snowbowl parking lot around noon (at the base of the final climb and where I would ultimately end my hike). From there, we would take her car up to the Grand Canyon, laying out a handful of resupply caches along my planned running route. This way, I would have strategic locations to refill my water bottles, and my nutrition. These caches would be no farther than about 20 miles apart, ensuring I'd be able to carry enough between them to stay hydrated and fed. Once at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon (around 4 p.m.), E would drop me off at the trailhead for the New Hance Trail, where I would first make the 6.5-mile approach hike down to the Colorado River. Once at the river (probably around 6:30 p.m.), I would start my watch and begin my climb back up out of the Canyon where E would still be waiting for me several hours later for my first resupply. From there, I'd begin the long run back towards Flagstaff during the night hours, resupplying at my supply caches. The entire run from the river to the base of Humphreys Peak would cover about 65 miles across the wide-open high desert. Given the time of year, the night-time temperatures would make this section quite pleasant for running. Then the following day, I'd make it back to my car at the base of the mountain where I'd carry out my last resupply before heading up the mountain for the final summit. At the top (hopefully before nightfall), I'd finally stop my watch after about 70 total miles to complete the route. Of course I'd still have to turn around and hike the five miles back down to my car in order to actually finish the adventure. In total, the route would cover over 82 miles including the initial approach hike and the final descent.

The proposed route with my resupply waypoints 

In the weeks leading up to my proposed date, I downloaded all of the necessary GPX tracks and read up on whatever run reports I could find for the route. In my reading I noted several different variations for the route, and also learned that the New Hance Trail would be quite a difficult trail to navigate. Despite this, I was genuinely excited to tackle this challenge, and very quickly decided that I would be taking on this this route purely as a journey run and adventure...meaning I'd be sucking the marrow out of it, and not worrying about my pace. I knew I would have to take long breaks at my supply caches and that the heat would likely slow me down anyway. So...I had a plan, and a date, all that was left was to execute. One final note is that I came to the conclusion that I was not particularly fond of the name "Hole-to-Hump," so I decided to rebrand my run as "Canyon-to-Crest." Not only do I think it sounds better, but I think it aligns better with my mentality of a this being an adventure, not an FKT attempt.

The Pre-Run Logistics

Everything leading up to my run was moving along well, and I got all the necessary supplies together for my attempt. I confirmed the support plan with E and she agreed to take me to the start, and to dropping off my caches along the way. My other friend D (the one who completed Cocodona) also agreed to possibly meet me out on the course to either run with me, or to simply bring me additional food and drinks. Of course I was grateful for any support. Everything was lining up great until the weather forecast updated a few days before my start date. The temps were going to be HOT. Forecasted temperatures for the bottom of the Canyon were projected to reach 105 degrees on the Friday I had planned to start, so my only option was to delay my start until later in the day, in the hopes that by the time I made my way down to the bottom of the Canyon, that I'd have cooler temps and some shade. I decided to keep to the plan, but also to not rush up to the Canyon. I reasoned that starting around 4 p.m. should still be relatively ok given that it would likely be after 6 p.m. by the time I'd reach the river. Of course this would mean it would get dark before I made it back to the South Rim, so I would need to carry my headlamp. I also wasn't sure about water, so just opted to carry a heavy water load down into the Canyon so I'd have enough to make it down and back up (spoiler: it still wasn't enough).

On Friday at around 12:30 p.m., E and I met at the Snowbowl parking area as planned and made it to the South Rim by about 3:30 p.m. (dropping of my caches along the way). We sat at the Buggeln day-use area for about 30 minutes so I could settle my nerves and pre-hydrate as much as possible. Just before 4 p.m., we drove the ~1.5 miles down the highway to the New Hance Trailhead area and I began my adventure at exactly 4:03 p.m. E snapped a quick "start" photo of me just before descending into the woods and down the steep trail.

Dropping my first resupply cache behind a Juniper

Resupply bag (in tree) and water jug

Moments before beginning my adventure (New Hance Trailhead)

The Canyon Descent

In less than a quarter-mile from the trailhead, the New Hance Trail began a series of incredibly steep and rocky switchbacks that resulted in a loss of over 1500 feet in about a mile. This section was quite treacherous and I had to be exceedingly careful not to misstep. This is the kind of trail where one can very easily roll an ankle or make a bad foot placement resulting in some serious problems. Consequently, this section was a bit slow going. While the total elevation was still somewhat high, (over 5500 feet) I didn't notice the heat too much in this stretch. Additionally, over the following mile I had noticeable shade due to the nearby red wall canyon face. However, somewhere around mile 3 of the descent, two noticeable things changed. First, I lost all of my shade, and the direct sun was now delivering temperatures well into the 90s. It was hot and I immediately took note of how much water I was already drinking. On top of this, the trail between miles 3 and 5, was quite overgrown and hard to follow in places. On several occasions I ended up following a dead-end and had to back track. Thankfully, the GPX track I had on my phone was incredibly accurate, so I just learned that I needed to check it often to stay on course. Even still though, I found it difficult and frustrating to get through this stretch. There was also notable undulation in this section, meaning I somehow managed to climb over 400 feet UP even though I was descending DOWN into the Canyon. 

Just shy of mile 5, the trail finally dumped me out into a wide and gravel-filled wash. From there, the trail simply follows the wash, and I chose to walk along the least rocky sections. The gradient was also much more gentle over the last 1.5 miles. Right around mile 6, I could hear the river and I knew I was close. I rounded one last bend in the wash and could see the Hance Rapids just up ahead; I had made it. As I approached the River, I was quite surprised to be greeted by a random person camping nearby. It startled me somewhat, but within moments he was headed back to his campsite and I never saw him again. I snapped a couple of short videos and promptly reset my GPS watch to start my official "Canyon to Crest" adventure. Start time: 6:30 p.m.

At the Colorado River just before starting my "official" adventure

Video clip of my "official" start

Segment 1: The Colorado River to Buggeln Day Use Area (~7.6 miles)

Just past 6:30 p.m., I left the river feeling energized; my Canyon to Crest had begun. My mission was to climb as consistently as I could back to the Rim and try not to push too hard or get discouraged. E had agreed to meet me for resupply at the Buggeln Day Use area about 1.5 miles down the paved road from the trailhead. Ideally, a trailhead visit would have been better, but there is no practical parking there. Plus, I figured once on top, I could easily stroll down a relatively flat paved road for a mile and a half for support. This climb would be similar amount of gain to climbing the South Kaibab Trail, but on much more difficult trail. I had made very careful mental notes of the tricky spots coming down, and based on the my start time, I reasoned that I would get through most of those spots before dark. I guessed that I'd be switching on my headlamp somewhere about half-way up the climb.

Segment 1: Colorado River to Buggeln

For the first 1.5 miles back up the gentle wash, I was making great time power-hiking over 3 mph as I climbed the first ~800 feet of gain. Once I peeled away from the wash and began the much steeper climb through the trickier section, I did slow down considerably. I made sure to keep my pace easy enough that I wasn't making any navigation errors or overtapping my water supply. I had considered filling up at the Colorado River and using my emergency treatment tablets, but I had read that there are somewhat high levels of heavy metals in the river that Aquamira tablets wouldn't effectively treat. I therefore chose to just ration what water I had remaining until I reached the top. Through the tricky section I thankfully did not make any navigation errors, but the I was exposed to the fading sun and the temperatures were still well over 90. I was quickly going through my water supplies and electrolytes and by the time I reached mile 4, I realized I only had about 500 ml of fluids left to cover the last 2 miles and 2000 feet of gain. It was going to be a rough final climb. It was also around this point that I started noticing my leg muscles cramping and spasming a bit. This almost always happens when I haven't kept my salts and fluids in balance. This all meant I had to take several short breaks on the climb to massage out minor cramps (costing me about 20 extra minutes on the climb)

Somewhere just before the 4-mile mark, as I was coming out of the tricky section and was moving on to the final steep portion of the hike, I had to switch on my headlamp. By this point it was close to 9:00 p.m. and I was getting anxious to make it back up top. Given my leg cramping, I was worried I wouldn't be able to run any of the long road sections I would have once I left the South Rim. I definitely didn't push too hard, so I was fairly convinced that I simply screwed up with respect to my water needs for such a hot day. In retrospect, I should have carried an extra bottle of Gatorade down from the top and stashed it along the trail for use on my climb back up.

It was also somewhere in the stretch that I stumbled across some rather unsettling wildlife. As I was stepping up and over many large rocks, my trekking pole came down through a large spider web that was draped between two large rocks. I looked down and saw a large black spider scampering along the silken tapestry, slightly annoyed that I had disturbed her perfect little web. As the spider climbed around and under her web, her abdomen came into view and I saw the very distinctive red hourglass. This was my first ever black widow sighting. I remember thinking...this would be the absolute worst place to get bit by such a terribly venomous spider--halfway down the Canyon, with dwindling water supplies. After this encounter, my mental and visual vigilance amped up greatly and I became paranoid that I might accidentally step on (or near) something decidedly sinister. The entire encounter also made me incredibly nervous to stop for any breaks and sit on rocks to rest for fear of having a deadly spider crawl up on me. About ten minutes later down the trail, I ran into another deadly Grand Canyon native, an Arizona desert hairy scorpion (Hadrurus Arizonensis) standing right in the middle of the trail. Thankfully, these guys are quite docile and move fairly slowly. I simply stepped over him and continued on...but it still managed to add to my anxiety.

I began the series of tight switchbacks up to the rim and my paced continued to slow. I ran out of all of my water reserves about a half-mile from the top just as the temperatures were finally beginning to cool. Somewhere in this section I stumbled across my second black widow spider and all I could think about was how I just wanted to get the hell out of the damn Canyon. My leg cramping was still flaring up on occasion, but it wasn't completely debilitating. Right at the 4-hour mark, I rounded one final switchback and came upon a park placard and knew that the primary climb was over and I had made it to the rim. Once over the top, I lightly jogged the short trail segment back out to the trailhead, relieved to be done with the monster climb and the venomous creatures. I knew I still had over a mile before I'd get more fluids at the Buggelin picnic area so I eased back into a relaxed groove. As I neared the trailhead, I heard the distinct beeping of someone unlocking their car and saw the quick flicker of tail lights. E had been watching my tracking feed and chose to meet me at the trailhead just in case I needed fluids. I was so incredibly happy to see her and immediately dove into my prepared cooler for full bottle of Gatorade. I drank the entire bottle in one go and immediately began to feel better. We decided that rather than taking care of all my needs right there at the trailhead, that I would just jog down the 1.5 miles to the Buggeln stop so that we could get off the shoulder of the road and I could get in a proper rest in a chair (and swap out my gear). So, I took off slowly jogging down the paved East Entrance Rd (a wildly different surface than what I had just been on for the past 6 hours), and she drove down to Buggeln to set up my gear and "aid station" for my arrival.

Segment 2: Buggeln Day Use Area to Bucklar Tank (~21 miles)

Now that I was up on in the high country, the majority of my route would be relatively flat until I neared the high peaks. This meant I should be able to cover many miles at an easy jogging pace without too much physical effort. I had planned to try jogging as much as I could through the night at an easy 12-13-minute/mile pace,  but I hadn't really appreciated just how much the New Hance Trail would absolutely kick my ass though. I was going to need a few miles to recover and re-center myself. I walked a nice easy stroll down the road to Buggeln, and once there I spent a good 25 minutes just relaxing and resupplying. I swapped out my bigger pack and water bladder, for my smaller running vest and several bottles. I knew that I wouldn't need as much water through the night on flat forest roads. My first stretch would cover about 14 miles up to a spot known as Bucklar Tank (about 21 miles into the run) and so I opted to carry two full bottles of electrolyte mix, and one full bottle of water. This turned out to be just right. E had agreed to drive up to Bucklar tank, and wait for me to arrive,  meaning I didn't have to drop a cache there beforehand, and that I would have access to all of my supplies in her car. Of course it would mean she'd have to wait for several hours for me to arrive though.

Segment 2: Buggeln to Bucklar

Looking back now on my entire adventure, I think I can confidently say that the ~14-mile stretch between Buggeln and Bucklar was my favorite. The entire segment was still up in the ponderosa pines and the forest roads I ran along were simply perfect. I also really enjoy running through the wee hours of the morning, so the timing just worked out for this segment. When I left Buggeln, I had about a mile of the paved road still to complete, but once I turned south and into the forest, the run was simply spectacular. By this point my legs had loosened up sufficiently and I was able to run for hours. I plodded along ticking off mile after mile while I also bopping along to some good tunes on my little iPod shuffle. For the next three hours, I blissfully made my way along the empty and quiet roads with an enormous grin on my face. The cool evening experience was so starkly different from the hot and grueling climb I had just completed coming up the Canyon. Other than a few camper vans at the northern end of this segment, I saw no other signs of life for the entire stretch. It was pure magic. It is worth noting that it was also new moon as well, so it was incredibly dark and the stars were quite vibrant.

I rolled into the Bucklar Tank area right at 2:30 a.m., and E was already set up for my arrival. I sat for a bit enjoying a nice break and refueling before heading out on what would be my longest segment of the journey. From Bucklar onward, I'd be entirely on my own and relying on my supply caches. I made sure I had everything I needed before leaving, said my goodbyes, and then set out with four full bottles and over 2000 calories of food to get me through the next ~22 miles.

Segment 3: Bucklar Tank to FR 417 (~43 miles)

The next segment of my journey run would have me traverse part of the Babbitt Ranch...one of the largest private ranches in the entire US. Most of this land, while private, is open to public recreation. Before this run I had known that in order to use motorized vehicles you needed to get pre-approval from the Ranch (a simple form), but I had assumed foot travel was ok as long as all cattle gates are closed. It turns out that there are new policies in place and that even those recreating on foot are supposed to submit permission forms before crossing ranch land. Of course I left no trace during my short time crossing the ranch, and thankfully didn't run into any trouble. But, were I to do this run again, I would definitely get my paperwork submitted ahead of time. The two relevant links are:

CO Bar Ranch access pass

Arizona State Land Department permit

Another really interesting thing about the Babbitt Ranch in this segment, is that it is now home to a massive (323 MW) wind energy project known as the Forged Ethic Wind Energy Project. Along my route, I would be passing right under the massive wind turbines sometime just after sunrise. I would note that as encouraging as it is to see such large renewable energy solutions being implemented in my "back yard" here in Northern Arizona, the story is not entirely rosy. It turns out that most of the power being generated from this facility is going to power a new Google data center located down near Phoenix, and not to the local or regional communities here in Northern Arizona. It is all a bit frustrating honestly. Even with that said though, It is still better than building out a new natural gas or coal facility.

Segment 3: Bucklar to FR 417

Once I left Bucklar, I still had several miles of ponderosa pine trees and dark skies. I rolled along for over an hour before I finally noticed that the pines were giving way to shrubby junipers. I could sense I was descending slightly into the more exposed high desert areas north of Flagstaff. This stretch was likely to get quite hot once the sun came up, so I tried to keep my pace up. At around 4:00 a.m. I could already see faint hints of light on the eastern horizon just as I was beginning to also notice the faint and somewhat ominous outlines of the massive wind turbines.

I came up on the boundary to Babbitt Ranch lands and had to go through a closed gate. I made sure to close it behind me, but that is when I noticed the signage indicating that I was supposed to have a pre-approved pass even to cross on foot. Given the very early hour, and that it was a saturday morning, I reasoned that it was very unlikely anyone would be out servicing the wind turbines or checking up on hikers. In total, I calculated that I would be through the ranch lands in about three hours as long as I kept jogging....so that's just what I did. I put my head down, cranked up my music, and just kept ticking off the miles. Some of the road stretches along this segment were several miles long in a straight line, meaning I could see precisely where I would be as much as an hour later. This had the somewhat demoralizing effect of making it seem like I wasn't making any progress on the roads. I would run for 15 minutes and look up and it would appear that I hadn't moved. I tried my best to not let this negativity get to me and instead trusted my gps track...but it was hard. I think it was along this stretch after the sun came up that I hit my mental low point of the run (somewhere right around the half-way point of 35 miles).

Just as I suspected, once the sun came up in the cloudless sky, the temperatures began to rise quickly, and I was still quite far from the next ponderosa pine forest (meaning I'd get very little shade). Some where about 15 miles into this segment I took a 10-minute break under a larger juniper tree just north of Dog Knob and deep within the sprawling wind farm. As I sat there snacking, I was accompanied by the gentle whirring of the large turbine blades spinning overhead.

After my break I pushed on, now getting quite low on my water reserves, but nearing my 43-mile resupply cache. I was eager to check off this incredibly long segment and begin making my way back up out of the high desert and into the high country. I made it to the southern boundary of the Babbitt Ranch land and happily exited the final gate, grateful that I didn't run into anyone during my traverse. I still hadn't seen a single person on the run except for the one guy camping at the Colorado River. Just as I was thinking about how I hadn't seen a soul over the 40+ miles I had covered, I looked up and saw a person in the distance walking down the road. I was frankly surprised that there was anyone else out on these remote roads, especially given that they didn't appear to have any pack or hiking supplies. I squinted my aging eyes and realized that this person, was in fact D (the Cocodona finisher). She had driven out to meet me by my supply cache and to bring me extra food goodies--and coffee! I was thrilled to see her and once I caught up to her, we ran the final mile up to my supply cache together. Once there, I gathered my supplies, sat down along the edge of the road and took my sweet time gobbling up all sorts of high-calorie goodies. We chatted for a quite a bit and I thanked her for coming all the way up to this remote spot just to support me. One excellent bonus of this surprise visit was that she was able to snap a few extra photos of me as well.

As I sat there taking in a well-deserved break and talking to D, I realized just how close the mountain was now getting. I had been running with my head down for so long, I hadn't yet noticed that I was now close enough to see the snow drifts still present on Humphreys Peak. My final destination was now close enough that it felt real and tangible...and not just abstract.

After a relaxing break, I did take note of the rising temperatures, and decided I needed to move on to try to get back into the cover of the ponderosa pines as soon as possible. When D departed, she agreed to also meet me at my next supply cache near the base of the high peaks (about 16 miles further down the route). This would mean I would effectively have company for every resupply except for the final stop at my car.

My final destination now in view - Humphreys Peak

Approaching my supply cache (wind turbines in the background)

Enjoying my resupply and the good company

So many yummy goodies to snack on!

Segment 4: FR 417 to Hochderffer Hills (~59 miles)

I was looking forward to the next segment for a couple of reasons. First, I would be leaving the more-exposed high desert and re-entering the high country. This would mean more forest cover and cooler temps. Additionally, there would be a 6-mile stretch along this segment that would be out on the paved Fort Valley Highway (Route 180). Normally, I wouldn't exactly be thrilled to be running down a narrow shoulder on a paved highway, but I was honestly looking forward to something different. I know I can move fairly quickly on pavement, so was mostly just eager to move a bit quicker along that stretch and perhaps make up some time. Plus, given that the 6 miles of pavement were right in the middle of the 16-mile segment, it would help break up the long 16 miles into more digestible sub-segments.

Segment 4: FR417 to Hochderffer

I said my "see you laters" to D and took off with purpose. I was now fueled quite well, and properly hydrated and ready to tackle the last long segment of my run. I ran about a mile down route 417 before turning off onto the much more primitive Forest Service Road 9222A-- which was probably the most primitive road of my entire run. It was a proper dual track and quite overgrown and rocky in places. It looked like it didn't get much use at all (probably due in large part to the recent fires in the area).

Just as the heat was beginning to get uncomfortable along this road, I made it back to the cover of ponderosa pine trees. I made a turn onto a different forest road (517B) and before long I could see the cars whizzing by on the highway up in the distance. I was going to be contending with quite a bit of traffic. When I reached the pavement I opted to take a short break first and fuel up for the 6-mile road stretch. My hope was that I could run every step and try to cover those miles in just a smidge over an hour. As I sat under a shady tree assessing my situation though, I noticed that I had somehow gone through the majority of my water. I don't know how this happened, but apparently the heat from the previous few miles had me overtapping my fluids. Nothing I could do about it at the moment, so I clipped up my race vest, cranked up my vigilance, and stepped out onto the narrow shoulder. 

For the first few miles I jogged along a steady pace, but soon noticed I was slowing. I needed water. What happened next was rather fortuitous timing. As I was contemplating my situation, I came up on an Arizona Department of Transportation vehicle pulled over with its lights flashing. I asked the driver what was going on and he informed me that a large bull had escaped the nearby ranch and was straying out onto the highway. They were trying to "persuade" it to go back to the ranch. He then paused, looked me up and down and asked, "Hey do you need some water?"

"That would be amazing!"

He tossed me a full bottle of water and I drank the entire thing in one go. I hadn't realized just how dehydrated I had become, so the timing couldn't have been more perfect. I thanked him multiple times and quickly moved on. With some new pep in my step I trotted down the highway until the base of a fairly steep highway climb. Along this climb I reverted back to a walking pace and captured a short video.

Video from my roadwalk

Not long after topping out on the climb I had one last open stretch of paved highway before making the turn at the Hochderffer Hills back into the forest. I made quick work of these last two miles and happily started up the forest road towards my last cache. Less than a half-mile into the dirt road section D once again came running towards me to run the last mile into my planned rest stop. As we happily chatted our way up the road, I couldn't help but notice the now looming cloud cover over the mountain. It was getting darker each minute and it all had me sincerely worrying if I was going to be presented with thunder and lightning up my final climb to the summit. It would be just my luck if I made it 70+ miles only to be stopped by lightning on the final push. 

Just as we neared my resupply cache I felt the first rain drops. The one piece of good news was that at least the direct sunlight was now obscured...meaning that it was much cooler, and the running more comfortable. I spent a solid ten minutes resupplying at my cache, thanked D, and then set out for the short 6-mile segment back to my car parked at the base of the final climb (in the Snowbowl ski area parking lot). I had my final "cache" and extra supplies in the back of my car for one final fill-up before tackling the big mountain.

Running in to Hochderffer

The looming clouds over Humphreys Peak

Segment 5: Hochderffer Hills to Snowbowl Parking Lot (~65 miles)

The section from the Hochderffer Hills to my car in the Snowbowl parking lot would only be a short 6 miles. On top of the short distance, the segment would also be on a section of road that I've run many times as part of the Stagecoach 55k ultramarathon course. This would be a very familiar stretch...although it would turn out that one small segment at the end would present an interesting dilemma.

Segment 5: Hochderffer Hills to Snowbowl

Leaving my resupply at Hochderffer, I made quick work of the 3 miles up to the diminutive Fern Mountain. At this small peak, the road curves around to the east and begins the climb up towards the Snowbowl. All was going well, and I was making good time until I reached my planned turn onto Pine Mountain Rd. Every other GPX track I had downloaded from previous runners who had done the Hole-to-Hump route used this road, but upon my arrival, I was greeted by a large sign that read "Private Drive - No Public Access". Looking at my map I contemplated backtracking about a half-mile to climb up the nearby Domingo Tank Trail instead. It would of course add some extra distance but would be along public land. I stood there for a good two or three minutes debating what to do, and in my somewhat sleep-deprived state I opted to simply risk it, and walk up the private road. I reasoned that I was staying on the road and not actually entering anyone's property so I should be ok, but looking back now, it was definitely the wrong call--even if there was a lot of precedent for taking this road. For anyone reading this and thinking of following in my footsteps, please don't do what I (and others) did. Just use the Domingo Trail instead. It will take you directly up to the Arizona Trail and then it's a short hop over to where the Pine Mountain Rd would have brought you up. In the end the time difference would be negligible.

Pine Mountain Road vs Domingo Tank Trail

Once at the top of the private Pine Mountain Road I quickly scampered into the woods and took a bee-line bushwhack path up towards the Snowbowl parking area. I arrived at my car around 3:15 p.m., which was a bit later than I had hoped, but still early enough where I would be able to reach the summit in daylight, and hopefully make it back down below treeline before needing my headlamp. The ominous rain clouds had lightened a bit over the previous six miles, so I made the command decision to go for it and complete my Canyon to Crest. I resupplied as best I could, topped off my waters, grabbed a new headlamp battery, and stuffed by lightweight puffy jacket under the outer bungee straps of my running vest. Right at 3:30 p.m. I left the parking lot and started my way up the Humphreys Trail.

Segment 6: Snowbowl Parking Lot to Humphreys Peak (~70 miles)

The final climb up to the summit of Humphreys Peak is one I have done many times since moving to Flagstaff...so I wasn't nervous about the route (I was just nervous about the looming clouds and the fact that it was getting very late in the day). I was quite literally the last person going up the mountain and I probably passed two dozen people coming down. One thing I did notice in my research of other runners' GPX tracks was that once at Snowbowl, it was common to simply straight hike up the ski slopes to avoid the long switchbacks of the Humphreys Trail. If you go this route, it is obviously steeper, but is way more direct and allows you to pop onto the trail near the upper saddle (avoiding the switchbacks). I chose not to do this mostly because the ski slopes were still covered in snow, and I had heard (perhaps incorrectly) that the ski slopes are technically off limits to hiking. Mostly though, I just wanted to go the route I was familiar with given the late hour. I knew the Humphreys trail quite well, and despite its long and rocky trail tread, and therefore its necessarily slower pace, I didn't want any surprises on my last 5 miles. So, I stuck with the classic approach and started up the very protracted switchbacks towards the upper saddle. 

Somewhere around the third switchback, I started encountering my first snow and ice patches along the trail. They weren't too bad at first, but by the time I reached the upper switchbacks, I was walking along extended sections of slippery ice. I didn't bring any microspikes or other traction, so just had to take things slowly and rely on my trekking poles to keep me stable.

After some slow going, I finally topped out on the upper saddle right at 5:30 p.m. (or about 23 hours after leaving the Colorado River). The ridge line traverse over to Humphreys Peak from the saddle, while not exceedingly technical, is slow going. Additionally, it can be a bit frustrating as there are three distinct false summits that you crest before actually reaching the proper summit. It doesn't matter how many times I hike Humphreys, I also think I reach the true summit before I do and this climb was no different. After the second false summit I was all but certain the third summit was the final peak...only to be reminded that there is in fact one more climb up to the true high point. 

It was somewhere around false summit #2 that I heard a distinct thunder rumble and knew that I had to move. I wasn't going to turn around this close, but I did not want to be on the exposed ridge any longer than I needed to be. At exactly 6:30 p.m., 24 hours after leaving the Colorado River, I crested the final climb and was greeted by the familiar wooden sign indicating Humphreys Peak. I was also greeted, rather surprisingly, by a couple that had also just reached the summit about 15 minutes earlier. I sat down, took my requisite finish photo, stopped my watch, and then chatted a bit with the other hikers. They asked me, 

"So what time did you start up the trail?"

"Funny story actually..I started 24 hours ago from the Colorado River!"

"Whaaatttt!?"

After just a few moments of sitting at the summit basking in my successful adventure, I began to shiver uncontrollably. I donned my puffy layer and bid adieu to my fellow summiteers. I needed to get moving again to warm up and I wanted to be back down below tree-line before dark and before any possible thunderstorms. I was in such a hurry in those moments, that I didn't even capture a finish video on the summit. This was probably a good thing though as my phone battery was now down to under 10%.

Segment 6: Snowbowl to Humphreys Peak

Finish Photo - Final Time: 24:01

The Humphreys Descent

The hike down the mountain was slow. My feet were hurting, and I was finally starting to really feel the effects of sleep deprivation. On the ridge line portion up top, I kept tripping over rocks and over my own feet. I slowed way down and carefully navigated the tricky stuff back to the saddle. I did not want to incur a major injury along my "bonus" miles. Once back in the trees I felt much better. I picked up my pace a bit and weaved my way back and forth along the upper switchbacks...watching the ice patches get smaller and smaller as I descended.

About half-way down the descent I did finally have to put my headlamp on for the last 2+ miles. The final three switchbacks of the trail are quite long and notably rocky and I was getting somewhat frustrated by this point. I kept trying to soak in the final two miles and tell myself to savor them as they would be special upon later reflection. I did my best to spend that final 45 minutes thinking back to some of my favorite segments along my journey. I thought back to the spectacular miles from Buggeln to Bucklar in the early morning hours and the 5 mile trek along the massive wind turbines. I thought of my fun rest stops chatting with friends and my familiar miles along the Stagecoach course. I thought of the difficult stretches when it was hot or when the road seemingly went on forever. I thought of the insane New Hance Trail that I had hiked in nearly 100 degree temperatures while also dodging black widow spiders and Arizona scorpions. Eventually a smile returned to my face and I was overcome by a feeling of contentment and accomplishment. I as happy that I had set out to complete this goofy little trek to nowhere, and come away with a trove of new memories.

Along the final half-mile of the descent as I was just coming out of the woods, I looked back up at the mountain and noticed that the night sky had cleared. I squinted and it almost looked like I could see a faint hint of the northern lights over the mountain. Silly I thought, Arizona is way too far south for the Aurora. I found out the following day that the northern lights had in fact reached as far south as northern Arizona...so it was possible that is what I caught a faint glimpse during the final few hundred meters of my hike. What a wild way to end my adventure.

I got back to the car a few minutes later, sent out a final tracking ping from my InReach satellite tracker and stopped my watch for a final time. The final clock time as I hopped into my car was about 9:15 p.m....still early enough to grab a bite to eat on the way back home I thought. On the 30-minute drive back home though, I could tell that I was terribly sleep-deprived and not entirely safe to drive. I decided to forgo any food stops and simply head straight home for my own safety. I needed to sleep much more than I need to eat. 

One interesting thing that I thought about on my drive home was how during nearly all of 70+ miles of my run, I was entirely alone...yet somehow at both my start (Colorado River) and my finish (Humphreys Peak), I found myself in the company of others.

Some New Adventures on the Horizon

The new wheels...

Well it's been quite a while since I posted anything up here. I suppose in some ways I'm keeping this antiquated journal on life support, but I still find some comfort in coming here and posting a few updates from time to time.

For now, I just wanted to share a few adventure plans for 2025. Once again I find myself deep into a large training block of running and it feels good to be really fit again. I am signed up to run the San Juan Solstice 50 miler in June again this summer, and I hope that this time I can experience the course without a debilitating stomach bug. Last year's experience was straight up miserable. In addition to the SJS50, I have a few other possible race plans sprinkled in, but nothing concrete yet other than returning for my 9th running of the Mountain Masochist 50 in November. I am also 7th on the wait list for Hardrock, but it's very unlikely I'll get selected (and I'm not even sure I'd want to do it to be honest).

Additionally, I have a few other plans brewing. I'll be heading back to the Grand Canyon for my 5th Rim-2-Rim-2-Rim, and have plans to tackle a local route known as the "Hole-to-Hump". 

Most notably amongst my adventuring this year though, is my return to Colorado for another 7-day moto-camping /14er trip. I will be tackling my last two 14er summits: Capitol and Snowmass Peaks. These are two of the most difficult mountains on the 14er list, so this adventure will take some detailed planning and steely nerves. I am planning to summit Capitol with a friend of mine that has already done it, so that I am not tackling it alone and have someone with me that has experience on the mountain.

The other exciting news here, is that after almost 5 years of fun and merriment on my Royal Enfield Himalayan 411 motorcycle, I did sell it to a friend and former graduate student of mine....and turned around and bought something a little bigger (and more capable). As much fun as I had on the Himalayan (and as attached to it as I was), it was notably anemic on the highways and struggled on the mountain roads in Colorado. I went with a new bike (CFMoto Ibex 450) that has more displacement and is a twin-cylinder (yet is still lighter than the Himalayan was!). So, this means I'll be heading up to Colorado on some new wheels this Summer.

One last snippet of news, is that I'm about half-way through a complete draft of my new text which will detail my entire experience with the 2012 Barkley Marathons. I have 6 complete chapters of what will likely be 12....so stay tuned!

-j

The old Himalayan on the day I sold it...