AdiRUNdack Trail Series - Race 3 - 20 May 2014

This Tuesday was the third installment of the 2014 AdiRUNdack 5K Trail Race Series, and it was another fun day.  Next week will be the final race of the series, and we'll find out who won the 20k challenge.

Current Standings

The 20K challenge is looking fairly locked up: Kevin Emblidge crossed the finish line first in each of the three races, running 17:47, 17:22, and 17:29, followed in each race by Tylor Duguay, at 19:05, 18:49, and 18:26.  Joe Porter finished 3rd in the first two races and 4th in today's, at 19:19, 19:08 and 18:36, and appears to be the current contender for #3.  Erik Sointio and Ryan Connor appear to be in the #4 and #5 slots, respectively, but Erik only has about a 20 second lead.  (I am basing this off of an informal review of the race data; I have not loaded this in to a spreadsheet for analysis and my findings are by no means official.  In order to win, place or show in the 20k challenge, you need to participate in all four races, and you need to be fast.)

On the women's side, it's a little harder to see without loading the data up, but here's what I think is going on: Elizabeth Emblidge is the clear leader, running 19:38, 19:21 and 19:23.  Next up is Susan Thompson, with 21:40, 21:30, and 21:24.  In third is Gabriella Frittelli, with 23:04, 22:54, and 22:56.  Susan Keely was in 4th, with 23:25, 23:17, and 23:20, but she was overtaken this week by Dennie Swan-Scott, who cut a full minute off of last week, running 23:31, 23:35, and 22:25.  (Again, this is by no means official; just my observations from reading the results sheet.)

Walt McConnell deserves a special shout-out, too.  At 82, he's the oldest participant in the series, and if I can run as fast as he can when I'm 82, I'll be very, very happy: 44:09, 42:29, and 41:13.

It's great to see so many people improving week over week!

The Race

Rebecca started us off again, this time with a working megaphone, and we were off.  I ran well the first two miles, but fell off the pace a bit on the third.  I had already decided that I wasn't going to sprint the track this time (more on that in a minute), and I think that was the deciding factor.  I finished in 31:05.

What went wrong?

I stepped out of the office to head to the race, and the moment that I stepped outside, I felt a twinge run through my Achilles tendon.  I knew exactly what it meant: I had been pushing the transition to zero drop too hard, and my tendon was starting to get injured.  I considered heading home to get different shoes, but there was no way I could make it in time.  So, I decided to just roll with it, and to ease off if I felt it twinge again.  The tendon was fine during the race, but I didn't want to risk another round of tendonitis, so I kept my pace as consistent as I could as I ran the final portion.  I love to finish strong, whether it's on a long run or at a race, but I just couldn't justify it today.

(Looking back over my data, my minimalist mileage (barefoot, or shod in VFFs or Trail Gloves) went way up the past few weeks.  I had been doing 1-3 miles a week (walking or running) in minimalist footwear, and then I jumped up to 4 miles, then 11 miles and so far 6 miles this week.  This is most likely the source of the problem.  I need to reel the miles back in and then slowly build them up again, and not let myself get overconfident yet again.)

I also screwed up the fueling a bit.  I had eaten a snack two hours before the race start, but it was a bit heavier than I really should have eaten, and I don't think it had a chance to fully digest.  Furthermore, I've been experimenting with different fuels, and today's pre-run fuel did not sit well at all.  As soon as we rounded the hard left to start climbing the hill (into the sun), I felt like I was going to throw up.  That feeling didn't leave me for hours.

I think that's about it.  I was very happy with my first two miles; I might have pushed too hard on mile 2, but I was having fun running uphill into the sun, despite my digestive issues.  I think that's what matters here, anyway: having fun.  Pushing yourself, and having fun.

Until next time, be excellent to each other!

AdiRUNdack Trail Series - Race 2 - 13 May 2014

Last week I wrote a quick report about the first leg of this series, and posted it to my blog as I usually do.  I don't usually promote these posts; they're done so I can remember what I did a year from now, so I can practice my writing skills, and so my friends can learn about what I'm up to.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I received notification from Facebook that my blog post had been posted to the Adirondack Runners group.  The race director, Rebecca Smith, had kindly posted my blog post to the group, and the president of the group, Amy Hachem, had commented on the Facebook post.  I was floored.

So, when I went to get my bib for tonight's race, Rebecca recognized me, and said that she had found the post while looking for articles on the race.  I was still amazed that someone had found it that quickly, and I'm thankful for everyone reading these posts, and to Rebecca for posting it where others could find it.

The Race

I walked a few laps around the track to warm up and then made a quick trip to my car to drop off my water bottle.  I had contemplated running with it (it's a small running bottle with a bit of nylon to keep it on your hand while you run), but decided I didn't need it.  During the last race I had found myself wanting for water midway through, but I had made it.  I figured that I would be fine this time around, too.

We all lined up near the start a little before 6.  I found Matt, whom I had talked with briefly after the last race.  We chatted for a few minutes, and then Rebecca got up to say a few words.  She remarked with a chuckle that no one had gotten lost last time, reminded us that there was no one out there to tell us where to go, and to just go straight if we were in doubt.  Then we were off.

I started in the middle of the pack this time, and found myself running way too fast once again.  Matt pulled a little bit ahead of me, and I tried to keep up with him, but he was moving just a little too fast for me.  At the end of the first lap, I managed to catch up briefly, and then he was off again.  I did my best to keep up the pace, to keep passing, and to keep moving, which worked for the first mile.  Right before the end of the first mile, Brian Teague ran past me, talking with another runner.  He had taken pictures of the last race, after having run it himself, and then repeated the trick on the Prospect Mountain race last weekend.  I don't know how he can run and then immediately hold a camera steady enough to take pictures of the other runners coming in, but I'm grateful for it.

I slowed down a lot on the second mile's hills.  During the last race, mile two was when I found myself fighting the urge to walk almost constantly.  This time around, it wasn't quite so bad.  My knee was hurting, I was thirsty, but I would live.  So I kept running, right up until we passed the water towers near the mall and the course started descending.  The big toe of my right foot got caught on a root or a half buried log, and I found myself sailing toward the ground.  I caught myself on my hands in a break-fall, but I didn't have time to throw my legs back.  My right knee, the one that had been hurting, the one that always hurts, ended up covered in dirt and what appeared to be blood.  The race had me in its thrall, though, so I jumped back up and kept running.

Two other runners whom I recognized as being around my pace cut past me just then, and I felt a surge of adrenaline.  I flew down the hill, focusing on turnover, and I passed them in short time.  I was determined to finish strong.  When I got past the people cheering at the edge of the track, I poured on whatever energy I had left.  During the run last week, I had nothing left by this point, and I just did my best to finish.  This week, I didn't have that problem: I ran the track portion at the end in the 7s, and finished at 29:20, a full 35 seconds faster than the previous week, another PR.  (I know I'll plateau eventually, so I'm enjoying these PRs while I can.)

Afterwards I walked over to the point where the track meets the woods road, and cheered other runners on for a little while.  After that, I caught up with Matt; he had also bettered his time from the previous week.  He said he was constantly looking to see if I was catching up to him, but I had lost sight of him after the first mile and hadn't seen him at all after that.

I'd like to say a huge thank you to Rebecca, and all of the staff and volunteers who put on these series.  The races are a LOT of fun, and they're well run.  I strongly recommend that any area runner check them out.  There are two more left in this year's series, on the 20th and the 27th.

Gear Analysis

One interesting aspect of running the same course week after week is that you can compare gear when you're pushing yourself over the same terrain.  There's a lot that you can't control, such as the weather, or how you're feeling, but you can use the experience to get a rough feel for how you perform when using certain gear.

I had already decided, going in to this, that I would run this course with different footwear each time, to try to finally figure out what shoes I want to wear for this terrain.  I've dialed in my road footwear (Brooks PureFlow 2), but my trail footwear is still all over the place.  After this race, I also realized that it might not be cut and dry.  I love my Bikila LSs (Vibram FiveFingers) for the type of terrain in Coles Woods, and they also did great on hikes up smaller mountains, and even Mount Equinox.  When it came to the High Peaks, though, with its mud and and eroded faces, they fell short.  I found that I had to push my foot down completely against the rock to get traction, and when I didn't, there was a good chance that I was going to slip.  The treads on the Bikila aren't that deep, and I think that's the source of the problem: get enough mud on them and you're in danger of not making contact with the terrain.  So I might need to settle on one pair for woods roads and smaller mountains, and another for the High Peaks and similar terrain.  Regardless, I still have a lot to learn.

On the first race of this series I ran in my Trail Gloves (Merrell), which are perfect for this terrain, and I didn't have any problems with them.  This week, I took out my Spyridon LSs, which are the trail running FiveFinger model.  I have a love-hate relationship with these shoes; they bite well on most surfaces, including some ice, but they tend to hurt my feet.  I'm not quite sure where the problem is.  In today's race my feet were OK, but my knees were hurting.  I'll probably run in my Bikilas next week, and I'm curious to see if my knees end up hurting during that run.  For the final week I might take out my road shoes.

I'm also trying to nail down running backpacks and clothing, as I find myself gearing up for longer and longer runs.  This race, to keep it simple, I just ran with an SPI Belt to hold my phone and my keys, and I found myself forgetting that it was there.  Last week, I, uh, well... I ran in my work clothes.  So my phone and my keys were in my pocket; no pack needed.  It wasn't horrible, running in jeans and a polo, but it was definitely sweaty.  (I do most of my midweek runs like this during the cooler months, when sweating isn't a problem.)  This week I stuck to a normal running outfit: wool running shorts and a wool base layer up top.

Well, that's enough rambling for one day.  Until next time, be excellent to each other.

Big Slide and Yard - 8 Jun 2013

(Final stop: The Garden in June.  Not quite as epic as the Judoon on the moon in June, but c'est la vie.  Allons-y!)

I’m writing this report seven months after the fact, so the details are a little fuzzy.  Here’s what I remember.

Jason and Mike picked me up and we headed up north on a foggy June morning.  When we arrived at the Garden, there were still places to park, and the attendant directed us toward a spot.  A minute or two after Jason parked, she came back over and suggested that he move his car a foot or so, to ensure that no one tried to park next to him, because there wasn’t enough room for a car to fit there, but apparently people get a little bit ambitious in their attempts to park.  No surprise there.

Best View of the Day

We got geared up, and as we were doing so, another lady walked over and asked us a few questions, which were the usual questions we got when heading out into the High Peaks with dogs (do you have leashes?, how long are you staying?, where are you going?).  Basic questions to ensure that we were aware of the regulations.  We answered her questions, and we reassured her that we were aware of the rules and regulations of New York’s finest, and heavily used, wilderness.

My favorite part of that conversation was when she first walked over and glanced down to see that I was wearing FiveFingers and gaiters that didn’t really attach fully.  Her eyes widened a bit and she said, “wow, those are some awesome... gaiters.”  I thanked her, chuckled internally, and continued getting ready.

I know that it’s considered standard form to wear boots in the High Peaks, and elsewhere, but I’ve come to really appreciate wearing less footwear on mountain trails.  After wearing boots for 10 miles of rough trail, my feet ache and my toes are blistered and beat.  My pinky toes are screaming for relief, and it takes them days to fully recover.  I still haven’t made up my mind between wearing running shoes or minimalist shoes like FiveFingers, but in either case, my feet are generally better off afterwards.  That said, I fully appreciate that there are times when boots have to be worn.  Around here, that means any outing over an hour or two where your feet will get wet and cold, and any time where there’s a high chance of a venomous snake encounter.  Beyond that, boots are overkill in my mind.

We made our way over to the trail register, and stopped to chat again with the lady who had asked us about the dogs, and a guy who was heading in.  Both were either DEC or ADK employees, but I didn’t look closely enough to figure it out.  The guy and Jason talked about dogs for a bit, and then he also commented on my footwear.  He said that he had been working with a bear expert a few weeks earlier, and that the expert had come across the strangest looking bear tracks he had ever seen.  Fortunately, the gentleman who was leading him was familiar with the other wildlife in the park, and recognized that the bear expert was actually tracking a ferocious Homo sapiens vibram.

We made our way up the Brothers, stopping to assist the dogs when needed.  If I remember correctly, Autumn seemed to fly up the short cliffs, but Indiana hesitated often.  We all worked together to get the dogs up, and I remember enjoying the challenge.  There were several very large erratics along the Brothers ridge, and the northeast ridge of Big Slide, and I remember suppressing the urge to scale a few of the smaller ones.  (I really need to stop holding myself back on these hikes.  Most of the time I’m so focused on pushing on that I forget that it’s OK to wander a bit.)  There was one in particular that caught my fancy that I’ll need to check out the next time I head up; it might have been where the USC&GS marker is that’s labelled on the USGS map (near the NE summit of Big Slide).

The Brothers and the northeast ridge of Big Slide are fantastic.  Aside from the erratics, there are massive expanses of exposed rock.  Combined with the mist that we were walking through, it was an altogether beautiful hike.

After a while we headed back in to forest, and we came to an area with some intense blowdown.  The guy, ranger, whoever he was, had warned us about this.  It was bad enough that we found ourselves wandering through the woods unexpectedly.  We stopped and took a guess at where the trail would be, and I told the guys to wait a second while I went to have a look.  I found the trail about 30’ away, and hollered for them to follow.

Not long after that, we came to the junction that led back down to the JBL.  I knew from my reading that the base of the slide was a short way through the woods, and had wanted to go take a look.  There was supposed to be a herd path, and there was indeed a faint one, but it petered out without getting close to the cliffs.  We walked for a couple of hundred feet, then turned back and returned to the trail.

We continued on up, and soon enough came to a short side trail that led over to a view of the slide.  Jason pointed out that it was unlikely that many people would hike all the way up here to climb the slide.  It wasn’t worth the effort.  The slide was nearly vertical, and looked like it would be a class 5 climb.

We continued on toward the summit.  When we were nearly at the top, Indiana slipped on a 12-15’ rock face.  We had been supporting her and Autumn through a series of them, and they had both been fine, but Jason noticed some blood on her paw.  We got to the summit, and he immediately set about checking out her paw.  There wasn’t much that we could do for her, but the bleeding wasn’t heavy, and it stopped while we were on the summit.  We had initially planned on going for Yard, if we had time and conditions were good, but since Indiana was injured, we decided to head back instead.

I have made several silly mistakes this year; all were due to me skimming too fast over a map or a guidebook, or not bothering to read them at all.  On Greylock, I stupidly assumed that it would be easier to use the road instead of the trails, and added several miles over hard (literally hard) terrain that we didn’t have to do.  I was so concerned about the snow condition that we skipped the Farmer’s route up to Mt. Williams, and instead walked the road up to the AT and then hiked up from there.  On the descent, we took the road back instead of the Bellows Pipe Trail, because I thought that there would be a high risk of an avalanche on such a steep looking slope.  The slope looked steep on the map, but didn’t look steep in person, and there wasn’t enough snow or open terrain for an avalanche, anyway.  I let fear get the best of me, and made a long day unnecessarily longer.

On Sawteeth, I didn’t even both reading the guidebook, and just took a few internet reports as enough information.  As a result, I didn’t know what to expect, and couldn’t convey that to my hiking partners.  We ended up stretching ourselves a bit thin on that one; yes, we did make the summit, but we were right on the edge of what we could accomplish.  It could have been bad.

Here, on Big Slide, I read the map way too quickly, and thought that there was a trail that lead down to the JBL out of the Big Slide - Yard col.  I thought that would be the quickest way to get down, so I suggested that we go that way.  Jason agreed, because he didn’t want to take Indiana back over the rocks that had cut her up in the first place.  We got to the summit of Yard quickly (it isn’t much of a col) and I realized that I had made a mistake: the trail I was thinking of was actually back at the junction we had passed before summiting.  I felt horrible, since I was trying to get Indiana down as safely as possible.  The descent off of Yard was rough in spots.  At one point the trail dropped straight down off of a 6’ cliff.  We could get ourselves down fine, but Indiana wouldn’t get close enough to the edge for us to hand her off.  We saw another possible route over to the left, and tried to show it to her, but she wasn’t having it.  While I was checking that out, she walked back over to the trail and let Jason help her down.

Eventually we found the Klondike Notch Trail.  From this point on, we were on mostly level terrain, but decidedly muddier.  Ridiculously muddier.  We made our way over to the JBL, passing a few people doing trail maintenance, and stopped for a rest and some water.  I decided to go inside and have a look around, and ended up buying a coffee each for Jason and I.  Mike chose not to have one.  The coffee was a locally roasted blend called Hammer.  The JBL staff prepared it in a percolator, served it in small ceramic cups.  Payment was collected on the honor system.  The whole experience was wonderful.  I had intended on purchasing more of the coffee, but I never got a chance.  The company that roasted it, Adirondack Bean-To, went out of business a few months later.

A Cuppa in the Woods

As we were enjoying our coffee, a group of younger, fit-looking men came up to the JBL and plopped down not far from where we sat.  They were visibly exhausted, like they had pushed way too hard for far too long.  It was a bit strange then, and even stranger in hindsight, because they had come from the direction of Marcy or the Orebed trail.  They had to have descended to get to where they now were, and most people don’t get bushed like that on a descent.  The only thing I can think was that they must have been running.

We made our way now along the Phelps trail, aka the Northside trail, which led back to the Garden.  It was fairly uneventful, until we reached a junction.  I had a look at a sign board, and noticed that there was a note, written by a ranger, instructing the members of some party where to find another member of their party.  When we got back to the Garden, we found the ranger and the boy.  I stopped to chat briefly, letting him know that we hadn’t seen the rest of the party on our way out.  The ranger said that the boy had been left behind by the rest of his party up near the col between Wolfjaws, and that he had mistakenly descended in to the wrong valley.  Luckily the boy had his wits about him, and he got help.  As we got our gear off and got ready to head out, the rest of the boy’s party finally showed up.  We heard a bit of the conversation as we headed out, mostly of the boy’s older companions making excuses about why they had left him behind.  I was very glad that it had ended like this, though, with embarrassed excuses, instead of the other way, with SAR and dwindling odds of survival.

Now that I think more about it, I wonder if the out-of-breath guys were his companions, having made a hasty climb back up the AMR side of the Great Range and down to the JBL side?  Or perhaps the boy descended down the AMR side and the ranger brought him back over to the JBL side?  I suppose that makes more sense, since their cars were parked at the Garden.  Anyway, enough rambling.

To end on a positive note: I love hiking with dogs.  Especially these dogs.  Indiana is a Husky and Autumn is a German Shepherd.  If you’re feeling tired, Indiana will literally pull you up the hill, as long as her leash is attached to her harness and not her collar.  It’s instinct for her, and I love it.  On the first hike I took with her, I was dragging far behind, and she kept an eye on me.  It was wonderful.  Autumn is excellent on the trail, too, finding her way very well, even over the steep stuff.  On top of all that, they’re both wonderfully affectionate, and well-behaved.  You couldn’t ask for better trail dogs.

(Thus concludes our trip backwards through time.  I'm caught up on trip reports.  Finally.  Time to go climb something new.)

Equinox Mountain - 29 Aug 2013

(The TARDIS takes us back to August of 2013 now, and there's singing in the distance... not quite elvish, not quite dwarvish...)

Yet my eyes are drawn toward
The mountain in the east
Fascinates and captivates
Gives my heart no peace
The mountain holds the sunrise
In the prison of the night
Till bursting forth from rocky chains
The valley floods with light

...
I do not know of dust to dust
I live from breath to breath
I live to climb that mountain to
The Fountain of Lamneth
- Neil Peart, RUSH, The Fountain of Lamneth

I grew up in between the Adirondack and Catskill mountains, and visited both frequently, with my family and with the Boy Scouts.  From our house, and from the surrounding land, however, neither region was particularly visible.  Despite this lack of visibility, there was a mountain that I saw on a regular basis, off to the east.  The vision of it was so ingrained in my head that when I saw it again, a few years ago, I stopped in my tracks and stared at it in wonder.  “Which peak is that?”  I asked myself that question over and over again, stopping whenever I visited my old hometown and attempting to take seat-of-the-pants measurements.  There’s no good place, really, to stop and take a bearing, since all of the good vantage points are along a busy road.  Nevertheless, after months of obsessing I was fairly certain that I was looking at Equinox Mountain, which belongs neither to the Adirondacks nor the Catskills, but to the Taconics, the stubby remnants of ancient giants that run through four states.  I drove over to take a look at it a few times, though never when I was able to get out and actually walk up it.  From up close Equinox looks even more impressive.  I don’t know how the Taconic peaks do it, but they all look much larger and much more difficult than they generally are.

The View

Finally, one clear winter’s day, I was driving along Northline Road in the Ballston area when I came across a view that made me pull over and gawk.  Instead of seeing a single peak or a double peak, I saw peaks.  Plural.  Several of them.  I snapped a few pictures for later analysis and moved on.  When I posted the pictures to Flickr, a kindly gentleman named Kevin was kind enough to show me Peakfinder, which is an excellent utility that takes a location and a compass bearing and displays an approximate view of the mountains in the distance, complete with labels.  Once I had that I was able to confirm that, yes, I was seeing Equinox, and Little Equinox, and their neighbors, including a smaller mountain over in Greenwich called Willard.  To the south of Equinox I saw Grass Mountain and its neighbor Spruce Peak.  (I had mistaken Spruce Peak for Stratton Mountain, which sits across the valley and is a Green Mountain, not a Taconic.)

Just confirming the names of the mountains that I had been fascinated with was enough for the time being, and I was a bit put off by the topo for the Equinox summit trail.  It looks treacherous.  I decided to put it off until the snows had gone.  Come August, I found myself with a spare day, somewhat unexpectedly, and I decided to go climb Equinox.  I drove over to Manchester, VT, found the correct back road(s) and parked at the Equinox Preserve and Trust parking lot.

The lot was nearly full, which was a bit surprising for the middle of the week, but it seemed like most of my fellow hikers were just enjoying the trail network down below.  There are miles of trails at the foot of the mountain; from what I could see they were almost entirely old woods roads, wide and a bit eroded.  It reminded me a lot of the Gunks, with their quaint old roads leading through beautiful woods.

I made my way up the red trail and then the Blue Summit Trail, past a heavily graffitied water tower, a small information booth, and numerous junctions.  At the final junction in the lower section, with the Maidenhair trail, there was a sign attached to a post, warning hikers that a trip to the summit was a strenuous hike.  Well, they were right, though it was nowhere near as steep as it looks on the map.  The trail climbs steadily for about 2600’ over about 2.85 miles, which is on par with an Adirondack High Peaks hike.  The key difference between climbing Equinox and climbing a High Peak is that there isn’t a 2-4 mile walk-in to start climbing, which is often the case for the High Peaks.  The other differences were that the majority of the Equinox trail is wide and gently rising, and the only exposure I got was in a section even more eroded than the rest.

Around 12:30, an hour after setting off, I came to a bench by the side of the trail, and a junction.  The left side of the junction led to a spring in 250’, and the right continued the hike.  I chose to skip the spring for the time being and just focus on summitting, so I headed right.  The trail immediately narrowed and steepened.  At once I felt like I was transported to the Adirondacks or Catskills - the mud was much darker now, and the roots of nearby trees were visible and ready to catch a toe or two.

The trail continued up, occasionally clinging to the edge of the mountain, but generally proceeding up on a reasonable slope.  Eventually I came to an especially damp and dark section, which wouldn’t have looked out of place along the Porter ridgeline.  The woods were gorgeous, and they marked the point where the trail really started to level out.  A few minutes later I was in the summit woods, surrounded by stunted trees and on a different trail network.  Ahead of me, the summit trail continued on, and to my right a path led over to Lookout Rock.  Another trail led off to the left, unmarked.

I continued toward the summit, and in a very short time I came to a bizarre metal building with a chain-link fence attached to it.  The trail continued around it, as did I, and I immediately came to another junction.  Though I didn’t know it at the time, I had come upon what appeared to be the remains of an old road, one that used to climb over the summit and continue on down to Beartown Gap and Dorset.  This wasn’t obvious at all from where I stood, but as I headed left toward the summit, I passed an old road sign on rocks that looked far too narrow to support motor traffic.  Later, when I hiked over to Lookout Rock, I found another pair of road signs, along the same track, as well as a wide corridor through the trees that looked a lot like an old road.  I suppose it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise: there are roads all over this mountain, and there were roads all over the other Taconic peaks I’ve visited to date.  The trail to Mt. Berlin is entirely on an old woods road, with roads coming in from all different directions at regular intervals.  When I mentioned that I had hiked to the summit of Mt. Berlin, a buddy of mine told me that he had wheeled up it years ago.  The Greylock massif is covered in paved roads that provide motoring tourists with summit access, as on Equinox.  People really like driving over the Taconics.

The Summit of Equinox

I found the summit not long after heading left at the junction.  The summit of Equinox is viewless, or at least it was that day, due to some low clouds.  Just off of the summit is a massive aerial - well over 100’ tall.  What really caught my eye, though, was the visitor’s center.  I had read about it, briefly, but when I first saw it, it looked more like a shrine to a Christian saint than an actual visitor’s center.  There was a massive, larger than life painting, presumably of St. Bruno, facing the summit.  It was illuminated in the gloaming, presumably as a call to the faithful.  I hope he wasn’t too disappointed.

I circled around the mist enshrouded building, self-described as the “Saint Bruno Scenic Viewing Center”, and found that there were several people on the other side: a summit steward of sorts and 4 or 5 motoring tourists.  The steward was explaining to the motorists that people also hike up to the summit from Manchester, using me as an example.  I smiled at the motorists, said “Yep!” and kept moving.  I don’t particularly like being made into a spectacle.  As I was wandering around the outside of the building, the steward stopped me for a few minutes to discuss my choice of footwear; she was astonished that I had hiked up in my FiveFingers.  I stopped myself short of saying “well, I almost hiked up barefoot, but the gravel near the base would have slowed me down way too much” and instead just explained that I had been getting nasty blisters from my boots, and the FiveFingers worked much better for me.  We chatted a bit more, and I took my leave.

I headed back the way I had come, and then headed along the old road towards Lookout Rock.  I passed by a few pet burial sites, and arrived at Lookout Rock a short while later.  At least I assume it was Lookout Rock, since there are a few vantage points along the way and none actually bear a label.  The view was nice, and the clouds had parted slightly, but it wasn’t anything spectacular.  I could see the Green Mountains, and Manchester in the valley below.  The view is probably better without clouds obscuring it, and I have to assume that the view from the summit viewing center is much better, since it sits at a better vantage point, and is, after all, a “viewing center”.

I would have liked to explore the old road some more, and head down towards Beartown Gap a bit, but I needed to get home, so I left it for another day.  I was thrilled to at least have seen those signs at this point along the mountain, since I had seen the old road on the USGS topos, but couldn’t find anything about it online.

In case there's any doubt, THAT is the Yellow Trail.

I took the yellow trail from Lookout Rock back to the first summit trail junction I had come to, which was a much prettier route than the old road, and then started my descent back down the Blue Summit Trail.  I stopped to check out the spring, which, to my surprise, was running through a gigantic white pipe thrust into the hillside.  The rocks below the pipe descended in a cascade of brilliant green moss.  I didn’t dare walk over to sample it.

Now, at last I fall before
The Fountain of Lamneth
I thought I would be singing
But I'm tired... out of breath
Many journeys end here
But, the secret's told the same
Life is just a candle
And a dream must give it flame

The key, the end, the answer
Stripped of their disguise
Still it's all confusion
And tears spring to my eyes
Though I've reached a signpost
It's really not the end
Like Old Sol behind the mountain
I'll be coming up again...
- Neil Peart, RUSH, The Fountain of Lamneth

(The TARDIS is only taking us back a week or so for our next stop, to another Appalachian feature.)

Reflections on Minimalist and Imaginary Footwear, Part 1: Erosion

... so think positively and do not let the shod see you wincing.

- Richard Keith Frazine, B.D., The Barefoot Hiker

I have logged over 110 miles in minimalist footwear since last Fall, split up between running and walking, over a variety of terrain.  I have also logged 6 whole miles without any footwear whatsoever over the last month.  My imaginary footwear, if you will.  What follows are my observations and reflections on this experience.  This will be broken up into several posts, with each post focusing on a theme.  Today's theme is erosion.

This past weekend I had the pleasure to go off and hike one of the Adirondack 46rs.  While the majority of the peaks are still under a voluntary closure, due to the trails being sodden, a few are on the "OK" list, including Big Slide, which I hiked up with four companions: two humans and two canines.  I did this trip in a pair of Vibram FiveFingers, specifically a pair of Bikila LSs, and this was my second time hiking up a mountain in this pair of shoes.  Their intended purpose is for running, but I have found them adequately suited for hiking.

There was a bit of mental tennis about going out and doing it barefoot, but Mr. Frazine convinced me, through the book quoted at the top of this piece, that this would be a very bad idea for a first barefoot hike.  I did get out yesterday to do a shorter hike in my bare feet, over relatively flat terrain.  Yesterday's hike was over well-drained, sandy ground, so some of what follows is necessarily hypothetical and not empirical.  I have never walked through six or more inches of blackened standing water in my bare feet, and I have no intention of ever doing so.

I would like to address one of the stated reasons for wearing minimalist footwear on the trail, which is to reduce damage.  The idea is that you are stepping with less force, in footwear that weighs less than a traditional boot, and therefore you are damaging the trail less.  This was mentioned in The Barefoot Hiker in Chapter 4, although he also talks about damage to grasses or other plants, which does not come in to this piece.  I am talking strictly about well-established hiking trails here.

I understand the concept, that wearing less on your foot would reduce erosion, but until a controlled study has been done, we're only left with empirical evidence.  The only thing that comes close to a study of this that I am aware of, is the Leave No Trace pratice of always walking through muddy areas, which has been shown to strengthen trails and reduce damage.

Here are my thoughts and observations:

1. Over dry ground, I do not see a difference between the various forms of footwear, or lack thereof.
2. When the ground is damp, I do see a difference.  Minimalist footwear or bare feet will often leave only a slight impession, whereas a boot will often leave a deeper impression.  So, over slightly wet terrain, I agree with the hypothesis.
3. When there is standing mud, this becomes less true.  The minimalist or barefoot hiker must will themselves to step into the mud of unknown depth.  This does get easier over time, but I found it to be a constant effort.  In boots, an inch of mud is no problem, whatsoever.  It doesn't even touch the upper.  A few inches of mud is generally not a problem, either, and it only ever really becomes a problem when the boot is submerged past the lowest point of entry (usually the top of the boot, but occasionally the tongue, in a poorly constructed boot).  In minimalist footwear, an inch of mud will soak your foot.   When barefoot, you run the risk of stepping on something hidden in the mud, and so must take great caution.  The natural tendency in minimalist or imaginary footwear is therefore to avoid the mud, and to walk on (and therefore erode) the edge of the trail.  This tendency can be overcome, but it takes willpower.
4. When this mud gives way to deep pools of standing water, I feel that the barefoot hiker is at a loss.  Unlike a stream which can generally be peered into, the mud puddle is impossible to penetrate with the eyes, and the water itself must be avoided, regardless of the footwear.  This is especially true for the barefoot hiker, for whom the pool provides almost certain danger, in the form of unseen sharp objects and a large supply of microorganisms feeding off of the decaying material.  This is further complicated by the fact that the dead wood and slimy rocks that we walk along to traverse these deep pools are, well, slimy.  It's easy to fall off of them.  I would not want to risk this while barefoot.  I would go around.  At least in the minimalist footwear, I can accept a slightly higher risk factor, and balance along the logs and rocks placed haphazardly in the mud.  I still do not want to fall in, since I could still suffer a puncture wound.  In boots it becomes much less of an issue.  The worst that will happen is that your foot might get wet if you fall in.
5. Finally, continuing the empirical evidence, in my experience over the weekend, I found that I displaced as much mud in the deeply muddy sections as my boot-shod companions.  Every time I watched them walk through a muddy section that was several inches deep, and then watched myself walk through it, the mud displacement was very similar.  Granted, I weigh slightly more than they do, so it would be good to repeat the observations with someone who weighs the same as I do; preferably someone who weighs the same when gear and clothing is taken into consideration.

So, in conclusion, on this first point, I do not see minimalist footwear or bare feet causing any less erosion on the most sensitive terrain I have encountered: muddy trails.  The weight of the user is far more important than the style of footwear.   I would love to see this disproven or confirmed through repeatable tests, but in the meantime, all I can do is observe.  I would also advise hikers and runners to look for and respect voluntary trail closures, to help keep the trails in the best shape possible.

P.S. On a personal note, I will say that I enjoyed walking through the mud and streams.  I alternated between rock hopping and simply walking straight through the muddy sections, and found that I preferred just walking through them.  Yes, my feet were sodden by the end of the hike, but I had already anticipated this, and had a towel and a clean pair of sandals waiting for me in the car.  The rock hopping was actually more painful in the Bikilas than it is in boots, presumably because of the extra impact on the ball of my foot.  The streams felt refreshing, and it was interesting to see how much of the mud would be scrubbed off by the action of the water alone on each iteration.  While I expected them to be wiped clean every time, a decent amount of mud remained after a few seconds in the running water.

Well, that's it.  Until next time, "be excellent to each other..."

Spruce Mountain - 25 May 2013

I have had a bad, bad case of wanderlust for the past few weeks, and this weekend I finally got to satisfy a small chunk of that.  For the most part, I have spent this year on level ground, working on cardio fitness and overall training.  It has been fantastic, and while I feel great and have had some wonderful experiences, it’s time to get some elevation.

I also needed to test out my gear, since I am pushing myself to transition fully into minimalist footwear.  Since, I knew that none of the shoes I have are waterproof, I wanted to know how bad it would really be.  Saturday looked like the best bet, and when the opportunity presented itself that afternoon, I geared up quickly and headed out.  The day was cold and rainy, so I stopped at the Stewart's in Greenfield Center to get some coffee.  I was at the trailhead by 15:15, and headed up the trail by 15:20.

The trail itself is comprised primarily of multiple logging roads with a few single track segments thrown in to keep you guessing.  There are very few markers, and some of the markers that do exist lie boldly to your face.  “The trail goes this way!,” they whisper, knowing full well that no one believes them.  Only an idiot would choose to blunder out the door without at least reading the trail description one more time, so as to be forewarned about these myriad follies.

I am that idiot.

And I stumbled through myriad follies.

I managed to guess correctly at the first junction, based on a trail marker that consisted of the remnants of a piece of paper stapled to a tree.  I wish I was joking.  When I arrived at the point where trail cuts back on to private land, I wasn’t convinced that I was supposed to proceed across the private land, and instead followed what appeared to be a trail that went off on the public side of the property line.  That turned out to only be a herd path, going nowhere, fast.

Backtracking, I started to head back down the trail, looking for an unmarked junction that I must have missed.  Eventually I gave up and consulted my phone; I confirmed that the trail did, in fact, still proceed over private land.  Eventually the trail dwindled down to a grassy old woods road with a single track running through it.  To keep up the excitement, it disappeared briefly right near a junction.  To the left, I could see a woods road that was still in use, based on its condition.  To the right, I could see the grassy remains of a wood road, with a broken single track pretending to wander down it as it had down the previous lane.  After a minute or two of Pooh-ish pondering, I headed up the right-hand track, which turned out to be the correct route.  Eventually I saw a few cairns marking the path, and knew I was on the correct course at last.

The excitement was short-lived.

After the grassy section, the trail heads into the woods again, following a stream up the mountain.  I stopped and took several pictures of the first honest marker I had seen that day: a white Saratoga PLAN marker.  As the trail proceeded upwards, the stream got wider and wider, until there was no distinction between the two.  This was good for my LNT training, since it gave me ample opportunity to walk through the wet sections.

Not far up the trail, I came to a proper pond, the size of any respectable kiddy pool.  To the left, just a short way up, I could see a Saratoga PLAN marker.  I waded up, only to find that I was quite literally walking up a stream.  There was no sign of a trail at all, except for the markers on the trees that told me I was heading in the right direction.

They lied.

This was the abandoned side trail that the ADK Guide Book authors had warned me about.  Once again my decision to not give the guide book a proper read came back to haunt me.  I blundered onward, and came out to an old woods road, which I would have been able to follow had I gone straight at the kiddy pool instead of angling to the left.

C’est la vie.

The rest of the trek was uneventful, aside from losing the trail several times over the next quarter mile.  Eventually I came to realize that the trail just kept splitting and rejoining itself, and that it didn’t really matter.

By 4:30 I was standing on the summit.  I took a few pictures, had a snack, and then headed over to check out the fire tower.  Right next to the fire tower was an interesting looking pool.  It wasn’t immediately obvious what was feeding it, but it seemed to fall away at the far end.

As for the descent, well, the service road that went back down to where I had parked loomed right behind the fire tower.  The wind had picked up, and it was still raining, so I opted for the easier route down.  Down I went.

The road leads past several buildings and numerous side roads. Perhaps the most interesting feature of the road and the surrounding land was how open it was, often with grassy fields on the side.  At one point, I came to a junction with a map and several signs sitting on one side of the field.  Walking over, my first thought was that it was some kind of promotional sign, but it turned out to be a map for snowmobilers.  The map showed where the user was, and the trail network in general. There was also a junction sign on the other side of the clearing, similar to what you would find on a hiking trail.  To top it all off, there were route markers (corridor 8) and real, reflective trail markers leading off into the woods.

Near the bottom I passed one soul enjoying his or her (or their) cabin.  I realized that that was the first sign of another person that I had seen on this hike.  A few minutes later, I was back at my car.  I cranked up the heat, downed the rest of my coffee, and headed on my way.

This trail crossed private land, so I’d just like to say “thank you” to everyone who opened up their land for us hikers to enjoy.  Thanks!

P.S.  I realized while I was posting this that I forgot to describe how the shoes did on the hike.  I intend on writing a full post on this in the future, but for now, here's what I wrote on the Flickr picture, which I think sums it up:

So, this was my first hike up a mountain wearing VFFs.  They did very well, in terms of traction, but this particular model (Bikila LS) has no water resistance at all.  They breathe really well, which works on warm days, but doesn't work so well on wet ones.  Especially not trails that have been turned into streams by the May rains.

So, I'm looking in to my options.  There are a few water-resistant models (no GoreTex, though). There's always wax/oil, as well.

Despite the permeability issues, I had no blisters after the hike, which is the main reason why I transitioned into them: to reduce blisters caused by my feet getting crushed inside traditional boots.

One other positive aspect is how well they flex; on several occasions I felt more of my foot go against a slanted or rounded surface than would have made contact if I was wearing a traditional boot.  This extra traction was a plus, and I can't wait to see how they perform on more difficult hikes.

Thanks for reading!  Until next time: "be excellent to each other!"