10 Points for Effort - Zero Points for the Bagger Challenge

Mid September, the family had planned and hoped to camp at the Frosty trail race and enjoy a last late season camping trip...but circumstances saw us throwing a birthday party for a freshly minted teenager and hauling dirt for the never ending backyard project...

No wonder that when this weekend promised glorious sunshine and dry skies, we were plotting an escape into the back country, tent and kids in tow. Since we are all a bit wound up with the amazing Bagger Challenge, why not try to hike with the family, camp out overnight AND bag some peaks?  I had some reservations about being left alone with the rug rats in the cold mountains, while ActionJackson and a few other Fat Asses would be bagging peaks, but I couldn't say no to a weekend away. 

Friday night, Wendy Montgomery confirmed that she'll join us and we quickly figured out a menu and a packing plan to avoid hauling up two of everything.  I was in charge of dinner, Wendy took on chocolate and coffee.  Which worked out great, since my stash of chocolate miraculously disappeared. 

The Happy Bus left shortly after 9:00am Saturday morning.  In retrospect, that was a tad late, but after a busy week, we all felt we deserved to sleep in a bit.  By 10:00 we were on our way from Porteau Road up the Howe Sound Crest Trail towards Deeks Lake.  By 10:15 Neil and Caroline Ambrose confirmed that they would be catching up to us and keep Wendy company while bagging Hat and some other mountains.  Jackson had committed to climb Hat with us but then had his eyes on Hanover Mountain.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

The trail follows a rough gravel road steep up into the mountains.  We were moving at a good clip, but my heavy pack soon slowed me down.  EJPowderhound didn't like the gravel road and kept me company, but as soon as our path turned into a rough little trail he sped up too and left me in the dust.  I was cursing not to have loaded some more gear into the kids packs...mine was definitely too much for me. 

After what seemed an eternity of steep uphill  along a rushing river (Deeks Creek), countless waterfalls and millions of mushrooms, the trail emerged at Deeks Lake and into some sunshine.  I was hoping that my crowd would have waited for me, but I only heard a brief, "there you are" in the distance and continued alone along the lake.  My water bladder nozzle was leaking and stopping the cold water from dripping on me was becoming very aggravating. I tried to enjoy the marvelous views of the mountain ranges around Deeks Lake but was too caught up feeling miserable and lonely. 

Finally, Ean was waiting at what would otherwise have prompted me to sit down and cry...a log jam river crossing...and the logs were very slippery.  Luckily, Ean was kind enough to relieve me of my pack, so that I could elegantly bum slide across and quietly mumble something about turning around.  Things looked up from here though.  I am not fond of lone hikes and company soon revived my spirits...didn't even flinch when we had to climb up a slippery rock face with the help of some frayed rope.  The views got better by the minute and soon we saw beautiful, turquoise blue Brunswick Lake appear through the trees.

We made camp just up from the lake near a tiny emergency shelter.  Ean, Erik, Caroline, Neil and Wendy decided to make a dash for Hat Peak.  But considering my slow speed and the fact that we were at the snow line, my daughter and I decided to hold the fort and stay put.  We had hot soup ready for the cold climbers when they returned from their semi successful mission (I let Caroline elaborate on that).  Caroline and Neil said their good byes and returned to their car.

A feast of Mac'n Cheese, peperoni's, chicken and chocolate filled our bellies.  We even got a good fire going thanks to some fire starter and the macaroni boxes.  We saw the first stars and a full moon but by 8:00pm we were tucked into our sleeping bags.  Wendy, JoJo and Erik complained that they were cold, but Ean and I were toasty in our down bags.  
 
It was hard to get going in the morning.  Every thing was frozen solid and only a cup of hot coffee finally got us in gear. Wendy and Ean decided to attempt humble looking Wettin Peak to the west of our idyllic spot.  EJPowderhound and JoJo and I packed up and then explored the shoreline.  Down at the water the sun was blazing and tempted EJPowderhound and me to a brisk dip in the ice cold water.  Brr, very refreshing.

Early afternoon, and the two baggers returned full of adventure and bum sliding stories. Our return trip was relatively uneventful: blue skies, more views, a lot of downhill...oh, and the kids didn't even notice that they carried a bit more downhill than they had uphill - it certainly made a difference for me

More photos are posted here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/turtlepace/sets/72157622529951410

My Conversation With Mallory

Around lunch time today, I found myself alone, in a nearly vertical chute of snow, frozen moss and loose rock inching my way up a godforsaken bump on an obscure ridge-line. 

Some background:  Wettin Peak is below Brunswick Peak, between Hat Mountain and Deeks Lake. There's no known trail to it, or at least, no trail I've been able to find information on. It’s not an imposing peak at all, rather a rise on a ridge-line below Hat Mountain. But it's a named peak in the Baggers Challenge. All of the other peaks in the area were either well buried in snow and inaccessible to a dude in shorts and running shoes, or I'd bagged them already. So my friend Wendy and I set off on a little bushwhacking expedition we figured would be as simple as pie. 

My thoughts turned to George Mallory. Mallory, if you recall, may have been the first person to ascend Mount Everest way back in 1924. What would Mallory have done if he were in the same pickle I was in? The similarities are amazing. We were both bagging peaks. The stakes were high. We'd probably been separated from our climbing partners and we were most probably well out of our comfort zones. Mallory may have bagged Everest. Then again, he may not have. His freeze-dried bones were found a few hundred meters below the summit in 1999.

Needless to say, I made it out of there and back in one piece. Was it fate, blind luck or the ghost of Mallory that prompted me to drop down a different chute?

Seven Days of Baggery Makes One Weak

I think I have Bagger's Fever.  The symptoms have been particularly acute this past week:

• insomnia.  inability to sleep nights knowing my pals might be bagging while I am sleeping
• anxiety.  There are peaks out there I have never bagged and that I must bag before I die.  Better yet, on or before 22 October 09
• weight loss.  Inability to eat enough to replace lost calories
• intestinal distress.  Visceral desire to be playing outdoors while weather is fantastic.  Too many blueberries.  Too many gels.

It has been an eventful week.  Certainly the most prolific and exciting week of bagging I have ever experienced!  A short account and links to photos follow.  First, however, some background and clarification of terms I might reference, in case you were wondering which planet I'm from:

Bagger.  A participant in the Bagger Challenge.  Someone who is actively bagging mountain peaks in and around the lower mainland of British Columbia.  (Females are baguettes?)

Baggage.  The peaks bagged by a bagger.

Bushwhacking.  What a bagger does when (s)he is not on a trail.

Bagger's Shins.  What baggers get when bushwhacking.

Bagger's Itch.  My psychological affliction.  Also malaise caused by acquiring too many pine needles in shorts while bushwhacking.

Double Bagging.  Bagging the same peak twice during an annual Bagger Challenge.

A preamble to my week:  I had hoped to run my 100th ultramarathon at the Frosty Mountain 50K last Saturday.  For a bunch of good reasons, I didn't make the start.  I shouldn't have felt bad about not going, but I did.  So I was a bit bummed at the start of the week. Friends Peter Rietfeld and Wil Rougahles from the Netherlands arrived on their bikes after a ride from Calgary on Sunday afternoon.  We drank a lot of beer and burned some meat on the BBQ.

Monday.   Peter, a former Dutch national champion ultramarathoner, wants to do the Vancouver hash. On on!  It's in Stanley Park.  Peter and I lead the pack and find the BS (beer stop) before the beer arrives.  My pal's dogs get sprayed by a skunk.  Peter, Wil and I return home and sample some good old Canadian Sleemans beer.

Tuesday.  It's Peter's birthday.  Wil sleeps in.  I take Peter to Bowan Island and we bag Mount Gardiner on an exceptionally beautiful fall morning.   Celebrate with more Sleeman's upon our return.  Go to SFU to teach a business class.  Have some beers on the deck of the Highland Pub with my guest speaker and a bunch of students after class.  Delightfully warm evening.  Arrive home to email from the current leader of the Bagger Challenge.  Take the bait and agree to pick him up around 07:00.

Wednesday.  Pack according to Bagger's Essential Companion, but in haste, forget the knife and lighter.  Off and running direction Indian Arm Trail at 07:15.  Hammer our way to Runner Peak.  Take the "easy" route up the ice, then a cliff.  (Read it and weep, RunRik!)   Continue on to bag Mt. Elsay and a slew of religious peaks (Rector, Curate, Vicor, Bishop, Presbyter.)  Not a worry in the world... except how to get back to the car by 19:00!  Decide the quickest way home is to take a water taxi from the Wigwam Inn at the head of Indian Arm.  Do a bit of bushwhacking (OK, about 800m of it!) and lose some time.  Continue the bushwhack part way up one of the Dickens.  Now dark.  No cell reception.  Bag Dickens #1, then #2, then #3, then it's midnight and the start of another day.

Thursday.  Continue to run along a ridge to nowhere.  No exit to Wigwam Inn to be found.  Given we're en route for Squamish, decide to double back.  Route-finding a nightmare with headlamps in the dark.  Decide to hunker-down around 02:00.  Make a comfy bed of cedar boughs and tuck in under a space blanket.  A lot colder than the night before on SFU pub patio!  (CENSORED.)  Decide to head down to Seymour reservoir at 04:00.  Try the cell at Dickens #2 (renamed Brokeback Mountain) just before dawn.  Works!  Learn that loved ones have called NS Search and Rescue around midnight.  Chopper arrives at 07:00 and takes us back to car, both home by 08:15:  total time of 24 hrs, of which 22 hours on the run.  Eat all leftovers from BBQ I missed last night.  Catch up on email, make some calls and haul a couple dozen wheelbarrows of dirt into my backyard.   Bagged 10 peaks in past 24 hours, so pass on the opportunity to go for an evening run.

Friday.  Have to make some money and get some work done in the back yard.  Feel guilty for not bagging anything.

Saturday.  Up at 05:00 to meet Paul at 06:00 for some baggage on the Howe Sound Crest Trail.  Guestimated five hour run ends up being 12 hours.  Bad case of Bagger's Shins on top of raw scars from 2 days prior.  More breathtaking views.  Miss another BBQ.

Sunday.  Double bag Mount Strachan, this time with Wendy and my family.  Eat more blueberries.  Harassed by other baggers out bagging the Indian Arm trail, Gambier, etc.  Retrieve the magic rock from its hiding place on Cypress Mountain and put it in my back yard.  Haul a few more wheelbarrows of dirt into back yard.  Eat a hearty feast of boletes in garlic butter with homemade bread.  Celebrate life with a few pints of hefeweizen and 1/2 price pizzas at the Taylor's Crossing pub.  Another crappy day in paradise, but can't sleep knowing that:

• the monsoons will soon come and there are peaks yet to be bagged
• Tundra the Wonder Dog may have overtaken me in the Baggers Challenge 

The Bagging of Runners Peak

Sunday 2 August 2009... a date that will go down in the record books for my buddy Rick and me.

It started innocently enough.  With just under a week to go before the STORMY ultras, we thought we'd get in a final shakedown run and bag a peak or two for credit in the 2009 Bagger Challenge.

Rick came by to pick me up at 8:30.  As I debated whether to go with one handheld or my Nathan bra-pack, we sketched out a 2 hour itinerary on Mount Seymour.  The skies were cloudless.  It had been a week of record-breaking high temperatures, but the forecast for the day was high 20C degrees... pleasant in comparison.  How to maximize the number of peaks we could bag in a 2-3 hour run?  I opted for the hydration pack, stuffed a couple of granola bars and a gel in with my whistle and a vest and off we went.

Some history:  About 5 years ago, it came to be known that the Indian Arm Trail had never been bagged by a runner (e.g. run from start to finish.)  At the time, Rick and I were on a rampage of bagging some of the longer hikes in the lower mainland such as Lynn Lake and Colosseum and being first baggers of the Indian Arm Trail had appeal.  One similarly fine Sunday morning in August, Rick, Dommer and I ran to the back of Mount Seymour to scout how "runnable" the Indian Arm Trail was.  After about 250m on the trail, we concluded that it was not "runnable" at all and gave up.  (Note:  Murray Comley since fast-packed the thing in 2 days and almost got his ass kicked.)

Some geography:  there is a very popular hiking trail that goes from the Mount Seymour parking area to Mount Seymour via Mystery Peak, First Pump and Second Pump.  Total return distance is about 10K.  Just beyond Mount Seymour is Runner Peak and then Mount Elsay.  From Seymour you can almost touch Runner Peak. 

As runners, we figured it was appropriate to bag Runner Peak... and so it became our destination as we jogged out of the parking lot.

Now, Rick and I don't take the Bagger Challenge lightly.  Rick was careful to document our route on his GPS and I took photos with my new bombproof Olympus camera at the summit marker of each peak we bagged.  Since Rick had programmed in the coordinates of several geocaches, we also shook a few bushes and turned over a few stones en route.  By 10:30, we arrived at the summit of Mount Seymour.

The views were breathtaking.  You could see the entire lower mainland of BC.  Towards Whistler, the sky was hazy from forest fires.  Someone with a good arm could almost throw a rock and hit the summit of Runner Peak and Mount Elsay wasn't far beyond.  As we left the main trail, there was talk of bagging them both.

Literally and figuratively, things went downhill from there.  The trail was more of a gopher path that dropped precipitously down the side of the mountain.  While there was an occasional bit of surveyor tape on the ground or a stone marker, they were very hard to spot.  We spent a good bit of time route finding.

We passed though bugland as quickly as possible, but still our noses, ears and eyes were quickly filled with no-see-ums and mosquitoes... not a good place to break a leg! The trail briefly contoured Mount Seymour, then dove down again, eventually bottoming out on a snowfield between Seymour and Runner peaks before climbing steeply back up again.

Eventually, we concluded that there was no trail to the top of Runner Peak and that we'd have to bushwack.  What were we expecting?  There was no trail on our map or the GPS.  Our run was now well into its 3rd hour and we were cutting trail.

Needless to say, our slog up the peak was slow and more than a tad treacherous.  We crawled on all fours and pulled ourselves up the side of the spire by holding onto the roots of bushes.  But we made it.  Then discovered that Runner Peak was made up of several peaks and the one we were on appeared to be the lowest of the bunch.

Neither Rick nor I wanted to go down what we just climbed up, so we went down a saddle and climbed the next peak.  It was rough going, to say the least.  You sure didn't want to fall up there.  No place to land a helicopter.  It would take a coon's age to haul someone out if Search and Rescue needed to be called-in.

After achieving our goal, we ventured down a skree slope.  It eventually became a steep field of prickle bushes that narrowed into the void.  Carefully holding onto roots, we went as far down as we could before the slope became so steep we couldn't go any farther without falling.  Bad plan.  We bushwacked back up and tried another slope.  Equally bad plan.  Water, food and time running out, we opted to exit the way we came up.  Good plan, though bad for the ego and for our battered and bloodied legs.

The gopher trail looked like a super highway in comparison to what we'd come from, but was not any easier to follow on the way back.  Rick followed a piece of tape.  It had probably fallen off a bush and been carried down the slope in a rain storm. Needless to say, it was a "falsie" and we almost got our asses kicked yet again.  Now 5 hours into it, we were beginning to think we might not make it home for dinner.  It was way hotter than the weatherperson on the radio said it would be this fine afternoon.  I began to wonder whether I'd be drinking a cool beer or my own pee first.

Back at the snowfield, Rick stuffed his bottles with snow as I looked for runoff to fill my pack with.  I could hear a waterfall in the distance, but couldn't get at the water under the surface.  I imagined cold beer waiting for us in Rick's car... but I didn't pack any, so there would be no reward at the end of the "run".  We started a very long, steep climb back to Mount Seymour.

By the time we reached Rick's car, we'd been on the trail for about 8 hours.  We had no water left.  The concession at the parking lot was closed and the vending machine out of order.  Damn!  'Made it to the Safeway before either of us passed out... that ice-cold coke tasted a lot better than the alternative that had crossed my mind only a short time ago, thank you.

So, for those of you hoping to add Runner Peak to your baggage list, take heed... and be sure to bring a few pals and some climbing rope!

Photos of the day are here.

Wednesday Morning Adventure Run

Last night, I was inspired by stories of barfing runners.

First, I read with great interest David Crerar's chronicle of the places where he has puked on the 50K Knee Knacker course.  Second, it was hot last night and I wasn't expecting to get much sleep.  I had a cool one and hit the hay around midnight with a copy of Dean Karnazes's book Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner.  I got as far as chapter 5 where Dean describes how he gorfed all over the interior of his brand new Lexus after his first 50 mile run.  In the book, Dean was running the 50-miler to get in a qualifying run for the Western States 100.  This brought back fond memories of 2007, when I was pacing some elite ultrarunning pals at the WS100.  All 3 finished their attempt at the 100-mile distance dry-heaving in the med tent at Michigan Bluffs after loosing their cookies all over the previous 50K of the Western States trail.

I've been injured for a long time.  The old body has a lot of kilometers on the odometer and it's in the shop more than on the road for the last few years.  That in mind, I still hope to get in about 100 more ultraraces before I fall apart for good. I've been running some tests these days to see how hard I can push it before I break.  Stories like David's and Dean's remind me how fun it is to ultrarun!

Every Wednesday, my pal David Greer hikes the BCMC trail at 6:30 am.  He's invited me to join him several times, but straight up, I don't love running on trails that are mobbed and where people get pissed at me if I run back downhill.  But I was looking forward to catching up with David.  So, I figured I'd weave a hike with David into an adventure run and so set my alarm for 6:00 am.

My house is a few kilometers and downhill from the base of Grouse where David was starting his hike at 6:30.  Without him knowing about it, I decided to race him to the top.  Didn't have a watch, but I figure it took me 40 minutes to run to David's start.  It had been about 5 years since I'd been on the BCMC and I forgot how steep it was.  He was alone and on a good pace.  'Almost puked up a lung before I caught him near the peak!

The view from the "Peak of Vancouver" was stunning.  Cloudless blue skies.  Ships in the harbor.  Stanley Park and the skyscrapers of the west end and downtown.  Even at 8:00 it was getting hot, so I filled my water bottle, wished David a good day, and set off on a little adventure run.

My immediate goal was to bag a peak or 2... and thereby creep up a notch or 2 in the Bagger Challenge.  Not a soul to be seen as I made my way up to the south and then north peaks of Fromme Mountain.  Bugs were getting bad.  Dry as a fart and, by now, hot too.  I found a nice little lake that I didn't know even existed.  Considered going for a skinny dip, but named it Bug Lake instead and promsed to come back in the fall when the berries that surrounded the lake were ripe and the bugs dead.

Back on Mountain Highway (which, at this point is still a dirt access road for the ski resort), I heard a dumptruck rumbling downhill in first gear somewhere behind me.  I decided to try and outrun it.  This section of the road is fairly flat and fast and I was able to reach the stone quarry and duck off on Per Gynt trail before he caught me.  (I wonder what he was thinking?  Runner dude in a Hawaiian shirt.  Alone.  Way up in the stix.  Running faster I can drive the truck.  Where'd he disappear to?)

I was on a tear!  First, I beat David to the top, then I beat the dumptruck.  After ripping 15 times in the last year-and-a-half, my calf was still holding.  I was running well.  Then I went over on my ankle.  Shit!

'Never puked on a run.  But have gone over on my ankle more times than I can count.  This was a bad one.  Yes, I had a gel.  No, I didn't have my cell phone or even my whistle.  Was I to die of starvation?  Of exposure?  Or would I get eaten by a bear?  I'd sure be lucky if anyone came up this trail in the next 3-4 days.

I swore and hopped around a bit.  That seemed to help. 

At the next junction, I opted for a bit of bushwacking.  There's an old gravel road, decommissioned in the 1930's I think, that I'd always wanted to explore.  It was completely overgrown, but between the chest-high prickle bushes that tore at my legs and aloha shirt, I could make out a bit of a trail.

Hummm.  Fresh bear skat.  Not sure if this was a good idea? 

Found a neat old insulator and an antique kid's ski glove way back in the boonies somewhere in the Mosquito Creek watershed.  (No bones, so guess the kid make it home safely.) Eventually, I made it back to the old skyline chairlift trail, just below where a US Navy plane crashed into the mountain about 50 years ago.

Unless you count the truck driver (who I didn't actually turn around to look at), I'd didn't see a soul until I reached Skyline Drive and the fringe of civilization.
 
Arrived home just before 10:30 am, sweaty, pine needles in my hair, dirt all over my legs, bloody legs and torn aloha shirt from the prickle bushes, sore ankle, but otherwise intact. 

Can't wait to get to the next chapter in Karnaze's book where he gets stoked to do Badwater... something I've thought about running one fine, hot day.