We are sleeping in the back of our truck, which is parked along the Animas river just East of Silverton. Anna is sleeping in the cab and awakes crying. Sam and I bring her in with us and we settle in for a little more sleep. Before doing so I look at my watch; I see that it is 6:45 am and I think that Joel started the race 15 minutes ago. I already feel anxious to join him, but know I won't get to until at least 8 pm tonite. I lay awake a few minutes thinking about wanting to get up to our meeting point before realizing that I had plenty of time to do so.
I get to our meeting point at 6 pm. It's at least two hours before Joel's earliest ETA, but I am getting really anxious. I also want to try to take a nap before he arrives. By the time he gets here he will already have run 42 miles and climbed a 14er along the way. My job is to pace him and take care of him should he get disoriented by the miles, and the darkness, and the fatique that accompanies the mother of all endurance races. He is going 100 miles in some of the roughest terrain in North America, and he has to do it in less than 48 hours if he is to be successful.
10 pm comes and goes and I began to worry. I met Joel yesterday for the first time and he seemed a strong, experienced runner. He did not have much experience in the Rockies, but seemed to know that he needed to pace himself and that the mountains could exact their toll if not respected. He told me he would make it to Grouse Gulch, the 42 mile point, well before the cutoff. I had no doubt that Joel would make it, but my anxiety, brewing since this morning, was making me unduly worried.
Joel rolled in just after 10pm. He was looking very good, was joking with the aid crew, and was in and out of the aid station in about ten minutes. He ate a lot of food here and walked out of camp munching a bumto. We headed towards engineer pass at a steady walking pace and talked the whole time. It was dark out, and the sky was filled with all the stars that one can see when in the back country. The headlights of other runners headlamps could be seen bobbing up and down, both in front and in back of us. On the ascent to Engineer pass we passed a few people. Joel slowed a little after leaving the aid station but maintained a good pace. The 48 hour pace translates into a pace of 2 miles per hour. Our pace from Grouse Gulch to Engineer is around 3 miles per hour. Joel is doing great as we begin falling to Ouray.
We head accross a huge meadow and the reflectivetrail markers of the Hardrock 100 are lit up by our headlamps. The next aid station, with lanterns aglow, can be seen near the bottom of the meadow. We come into the aid station about a half hour later and Joel calls out his number and then backs it up with a very emphatic, "write it down"! His energy level spikes as he enters the aid station. This will be his regular routine as he comes into the aid stations on the course. He is always calls out his thanks when he leaves and his energy spike lasts about 15 minutes out of the aid station.
We are descending in the dark towards Ouray. We are in Bear Creek canyon, and the farther down stream we go the deeper the river goes, finally turning into a gorge. The trail narrows and Joel mentions that it is hard keeping his eyes open. If I point my headlamp down into the Canyon cannot see anything but dark. If I look accross the canyon my headlamp bounces off a sheer rock wall. I am reminded of the following line from Nietzshe: "When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you". I worry about Joel falling asleep and going over the edge.
Traveling in the dark with a headlamp is a very wierd experience. After awhile you feel as though you're looking through a coffee can. The shadows are the most disconcerting thing. Joel tells me he sees bugs all over the ground and I begin to think the fatique is wearing on him. I look down and see black bugs on the ground; it takes me a few minutes to figure out they are shadows from plants. Joel makes the same observation a few minutes later. As we are near the mouth of the canyon I run past an old mining shaft. Bats are flying out of the mine shaft; I am scared senseless and duck down. I then realize that I have been fooled by the headlamp; the movement of the leaf shadows from a tree growing near the mine shaft were my bats.
Joel is growing tired as we make the final descent. We are coming up on the confluence of Bear Creek and the Uncompahgre river. The rock formations along the trail switchbacks have unique patterns. On one section of the trail we walk across some thin plate size flakes that have peeled off the rock wall, and it sounds as though we were stepping on pieces of china. We come up to the Uncompahgre river and immediately notice that there are no stepping stones or logs to cross the river, which is about 30 ft. across. There is only a fixed rope attached on either side to the river. The darkness and the cool morning air make it seem deeper and wider than it probably is. After a few minutes of contemplating we do the only thing we can, which is ford the river. In reality the river only came up to our knees.
Into Ouray as dusk lights up the mountains that this small town is nestled in. We fumble around trying to find the aid station. Seems a little funny that we can find our way in the back country, but get lost as soon as we set foot in town. We finally find it and Joel's spirits lift as we blow into the aid station. We are in and out in typical fashion. The day is upon us as we head out of town on the Camp Bird road. Joel winds down only a few minutes after leaving the aid station. His quads are totally depleted and he is trying to run the down hills in an attempt to bring them back. Our pace has slowed, but we are still clipping along at 2.5 miles per hour as we chug our way through the biggest ascent of the race, which is from Ouray to Virginus pass.
As we pass the Camp Bird mine we pass a runner who has just dropped out. We come into the aid station that is just past where the road forks into Governor and Yankee Boy basins. We head into Governer basin and make a quick stop at the aid station, not even sitting down. The cutoff time seems to be in error at this station. We both rationalize that it must be wrong, but Joel begins to pick up the pace as we leave the aid station for the final, and toughest, portion of the climb to Virginus pass. I don't know if his legs came back or if he is spurred on by the incorrect cutoff time. Whatever the reason, he is flying up to Virginus. We pass two runners on the way up and climb three long, tough scree slopes to make it to Virginus pass. This is when Joel proclaims, "this isn't a run, this is a trek!". Joel averages over three miles per hour on this climb, one of the toughest of the race. I knew when we topped out at Virginus pass that Joel was going to finish the race, and was quite impressed by his showing of true grit.
The pass was beautiful. A mere notch in the Saint Sophia ridge, it afforded an awesome view of the San Juans and Bridle Veil falls on one side and the majestic Mount Sneffels on the other. To top it all off a very nice group of people had packed in an aid station. We had hot chocolate and snacks before shoving off.
The descent to Telluride was very steep and long. The descent of scree slopes left Joel' s shoes filled with rocks and he stopped to dean them out. He tried to run once we got to a jeep track, but his quads were still gone. We rolled into Telluride and immediately became lost. We finally made it into the aid station, and Joel was his lively self once again. He had 25 miles to go. He thanked me profusely for pacing him, and I thanked him for making it possible for me to do a portion of the Hardrock. I truly felt (and still do) that Joel was doing me the favor. He had 25 miles to go and picked up another pacer named Carolyn. Joel left the Telluride aid station around 1 pm. His progress was on my mind for the rest of the day until I plowed into my sleeping bag around 9 that night.
The next morning we awoke at our same campsite along the Animas. We drove into town and went to the high school gym for the awards ceremony. Joel was no where in site, but a quick perusal of the race results told me that he had finished with ten minutes to spare! When I finally ran into him he gave me a very colorful and energetic explanation of his last 25 miles. He and Carolyn had become lost and had to finish the last part of the race at an eight minute per mile pace. I congratulated him and noted that he was as high as a kite. He looked and felt very good. One of my old coaches once told me that victory takes all of the pain of competition away. Joel's good spirits following this race are the best proof of this principle that I have ever seen.
Brian Scott
bscott@lanl.gov
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