Date: Mon, 03 Aug 1998 16:42:13 -0600 From: "Joe Prusaitis" Subject: 98Western States The start at Squaw Valley was directly under the Olympic rings at 5am. I looked for but couldn’t find Paul, and started alone at the back of the pack. It was in the 40’s, cool with little wind. I started walking briskly up the hill to the 8000 ft peak. Even though we moved upwards into the snow, it would get warm, so I had dressed lightly: shorts, short- sleeved shirt, and light jacket. I also wore my baseball hat, bandana, and long gaiters taped to my shoes to keep the snow out. It was a wise choice. 4.7 miles up to the peak with the first station right at the edge of the snow pack near 3 miles. Even though I had never carried large water bottles before, I worried about the canyons enough to buy two of them, and I now carried them in my fanny pack. They were a mistake. They constantly punched me in the back as I ran, they unbalanced my fanny pack regardless of where or how I wore it, and I never needed that much water at any time all run long. One old man said to me, “I see you brought the swimming pool.” I also carried a small hand bottle which did work well for me, allowing quick and easy access to a drink. It was a constant battle to maintain my balance in the snow and ice, keeping my body weight on one foot or the other. I never had to reach behind my back for the extra water bottles and didn’t want to. It had been many years since I had run in snow and I enjoyed the change, having loads of fun with it. I had never heard the term “sun cups” before this weekend and soon learned what it meant. The wind and water erosion of the snow had created 6 to 8 inch deep holes in spiderweb patterns all over the ice fields such that you had to run on top of the edges. Miss and you slide into a small hole and twist an ankle. It reminded me of skiing moguls, hopping from one hump to the next. The snow was iced over hard and the leaders had created a track which the followers ran in. Toe holds and snow steps were created on the uphills while tracks and runs to slide down where created on the downhills. It reminded me of the kids game “Slides & Ladders”. It was hilarious to watch the lines of runners floundering about in the snow like a bunch of kids sliding on a hill of fresh snow. We also had to traverse steep mountainside slopes with just the tiniest edge for us to hang onto. Some folks tip-toed across while others would just ski a shoe edge across. Slip and you could slide down a few hundred yards, then have to climb back up. We could see occasional streams running into and under the snow and hear it as it screamed below us under the snow, not knowing how deep the snow or the stream was, or weather it would support us. Others had already gone ahead of us but this didn’t resolve my unease very much. I moved much faster over these sections. There were occasional holes punched through where someone had post-holed. I saw a few such holes, but didn’t have the pleasure of experiencing this for myself. We hopped a few creeks, which would have been nasty to fall in at this point, but I also avoided this as well. Many of the runners around me had large bruises on their arms and legs with scrapes and blood to give it a dynamic color in the snow. Like Christmas presents under the tree, we runners added a lot of color to the green and white mountain sides. We were still pretty high up and from some of the ridges, you could see many miles away to other snow caps and green valleys. It was a truly beautiful site, if you only had a chance to look. I had a panoramic camera in my pack, but dared not reach behind me to get it. I was doing well but didn’t want to chance it. My ski experience served me well in the snow. You could spot the non-skiers as they floundered about like I did on my first ski trip. And shoes with good traction made all the difference. I found Paul and his buddy Mike about eight miles into the snow, and we continued on together. Just prior to Red Star Ridge we were reduced to a crawl as we climbed a steep field of loose rocks and then the rock face of a single large block for about a hundred yards or so. The tape which held the gaiters to my shoes was starting to come undone and now the snow was sneaking under it and into my shoes. My god, it was cold. The snow packs were becoming scattered with dirt splats here and there, and the edges were pretty slushy, falling into shallow pools of ice cold water. We scrambled along a few trails that looked more like small creeks We had been doing lots of ridge running up til now, and this became scattered groves of trees. We lost the trail a few times through the trees, but found it again quickly each time. Some if the directions it went through the trees were not easy to see, but we managed ok. The snow thinned as we approached Duncan Canyon until it was just occasional drifts in the shaded areas, and then it disappeared completely just short of Duncan Canyon at 24 miles. It had taken me 6 hours to cover 24 miles in the snow. This was my first major drop bag and I took my time here to remove the long gaiters, shoes, socks, pants, gloves, and jacket. Everything was wet and dirty, and clean shoes, socks, and pants, minus the jacket felt great. I refreshed my water, reloaded the fanny pack with new goodies, and slugged down a ProEnhancer. My weight was ok and I was allowed to continue. The snow was soon only a memory and this was like a whole new event: Western States part II. Mike had gone on ahead, but Paul and I continued together. From here to Dusty Corners at mile 40 was the snow-adjusted course, different from the normal route due to the excess snow. This 16 mile section was paved and then dirt road. Not much to look at, yet not ugly either. Now that we were out of the snow and the sun was up, it was warming up, and so was I. We stopped to soak our bandanas and hats in a stream on the roadside. Typically, I would have walked this section, but Paul pushed up this hill, and I went with him. Neil Hewitt came up on us in here, and we three stayed together on up to Last Chance. Lots of good runnin along here with plenty of downhills and flats. Neil went out ahead of us at Last Chance and was gone. Only 4.5 miles to Devils Thumb, featuring one hell-of-a canyon between us and it. The ride would be memorable. We could see the other side. As the crow flies, it was less than a mile. As the joe crawls, it was much further. We could also hear water roaring down at the bottom but couldn’t see it. A couple miles of switchbacks to the bottom and then 1.7 up to Devil’s Thumb. The trip down was wonderful: waterfalls, bubbling brooks, and plenty of shade. The creek coursing through the canyon bottom was full and noisy creating an environment lush and pristine. I was feeling pretty damn good about this whole thing... and then the wheels fell off... quickly too. The steep climb up and out, fried my brain and dashed my senses. I had to sit down to recover my equilibrium. Paul waited. I began again to move upwards, but slowly now, and continued at a snails pace, stopping numerous times. Relentless forward motion, however slow, and we eventually topped out right into Devil’s Thumb. The snow had put everyone well behind schedule, and this had put us both even further behind. I was zonked, fried, trashed, and exhilarated. My god, this was beautiful country. I had a camera in pocket and was too stupid to use it. My senses were overloaded with the exertion and the scenery. So I sat in Devil’s Thumb and coaxed my self back to life. Watermelon for the weary. Strawberries for the weak. Oranges, oreos, coke, soup, pretzels, and chips. Looks like a few of these folks wrapped in blankets had been pulled. I felt bad for them. We moved out before I got too comfortable. I knew that just ahead was another canyon just like the last one. I think it was just as deep, but traversed quite differently, We moved laterally across the wall most of the way down to the bottom in a strait line. Less U-turns made the going easier, but Paul was struggling now and we stopped many times. The El Dorado Creek waited at the bottom which we crossed via a bridge to an aid station. The last canyon didn’t have aid at the bottom and I didn’t realize this one was here until we ran into it. It was a good place for a break prior to the next climb. I was hoping that I would not have the same problem on this one. It was 3 miles to the top and it was slow, but not as mind numbing as the last one. I fared much better this time and we were soon into Michigan Bluff at the top. This was the first major aid station but a minor one for me. Lots of people here: crews, family, workers, locals, and whatnot. I found that I was closer to the 30 hour plan than what I thought I would be. The canyons had kicked my butt way behind what I had thought I would do. I really didn’t think that I would be fast, but I sure thought I would be way ahead of where I was. It was going to be dark soon. I had put a “just-in-case” flashlight in this bag, and it was a damn good thing too, because I would need it. We had covered the first 55 miles in 15 hours. Not what I had expected at all. Volcano Canyon was next and Paul really wanted to get through here before dark. He said it would be very bad footing with lots of loose rocks and fairly treacherous terrain. Well, we didn’t make it. It got dark just as my light eluminated a sign that warned of dangerous terrain. In the worst light possible, we entered the canyon. What-the-hell, may as well get the full Western States experience. It was not quite as deep as the last two canyons but tough enough. I started seeing things in the dark that made me question my own senses. I saw what looked like an enormous spider come running up the trail at me, and I stopped short and jumped backwards into Paul who was behind me, and I bellowed out “What the Hell is that”. I started talking about spiders, and then realized what I had seen was the shadow of an overhanging plant, that appeared to come at me as I was running forward, making the shadow move toward me. It made me laugh at myself as I realized what had happened. Paul didn’t know what I was doing and was undoubtedly questioning my sanity. I also started seeing cats and other small beasts run at me as the shadows and light danced with each other. It entertained me for awhile: these lions, and tigers, and spiders. Well, we stumbled through Volcano Canyon just fine and were soon at the Bath Road station on the other side, a bit more beat up and tired. Somewhere along here, I found an ice cold beer. My friends think that I’m nuts for having a beer in mid-run, but I can honestly say that it was the best damned thing I had all day. The Foresthill station is in the middle of a small town of the same name, and was teaming with all sorts of people as we rolled into it from out of the darkness. Paul compares it to a small rock concert. The look and feel of this place was like a finish line. Our names were announced as we came in and we were immediately led to a scale for the mandatory weight check and then to our drop bags. Joyce & Kathleen helped us get our gear together and back out again quickly. Joyce was pacing me in from here and came along with us as we left. We were still on the 30 hour bubble at 10:30pm with 17.5 hours gone. From here again was a different run. Gone was the snow, the sun’s light, and the big canyons, and we still had 45 miles to go. The trail from here to the river was called California Street and I loved the names of the stations along it: Dardanelles, Peachstone, Ford’s Bar, and Sandy Bottom. For some reason, I was led to believe that this was a generous downhill section all the way to the river. How foolish of me to assume anything about this course. We did have plenty of downhill to Dardanelles, but the ride to Peachstone was wild. Five miles of up’s, downs, twists, and turns all the way there. At one point, you could see the station’s lights across the canyon, but it was still a long ways off. Much of the trail hugged the cliff walls, with a dark void on one side and a rock wall on the other. We concerned ourselves primarily with staying upright and not drifting to the left. Just a tad difficult after having accumulated 60 miles of wear, while running in the dark on a trail new to me. It was certainly entertaining. Joyce was between Paul and I during this stretch, so I couldn’t see Paul, and she could walk as fast as Paul was running, so when Paul would run, I couldn’t tell... and I kept falling behind. It didn’t help any that Paul was constantly stopping to empty his stomach. We were an odd slinky that slowly slid along the trail. Our pace was so erratic that we constantly passed and were passed by the same people over and over again. Ford’s Bar was not as far or as wild as the last section. We found it and passed through it soon enough. Paul revived himself along here and was aching to push ahead. He wanted to beat the 30 hour limit and I was bit less concerned about it than he was. In my mind, I had 32 hours to get it done, and was going as fast as I could go. I was still a few miles away from my resurrection and couldn’t hang on, so I let him go. As it was, we were still on the bubble after 22 hours at Ford’s Bar. Paul had talked to Joyce before going ahead, about his plan to get us in under 30. The plan was to skip Sandy Bottom so as to arrive at the River Crossing and Rucky Chucky ASAP and then get up the 2 mile long hill to Green Gate prior to sunrise. We found the river and the sand, but still had a ways to go to find the Sandy Bottom station. You could hear the river rushing by on our left but couldn’t see if through the darkness. We came up on a buck standing just off the trail on a large boulder. We caught him in our lights. He watched us as we watched him and we slowly moved away. Finally, we found Sandy Bottom and skipped through without delay, on to the river crossing which was less than 2 miles away. When we arrived, we found Paul there waiting on a raft ride across the river. He had missed 2 crossings due to the crowd, and caught the next one along with us. Paul was out of the station pretty quick and gone. I took my time to change some clothes and get ready for daybreak. We were 78 miles in and 22 miles to get. 23 hours were gone with only one hour of daylight left, just minutes ahead of the 30 limit. It was 4am, and the beginning of the final leg. Hell, my final leg. We made good time walking the two miles uphill on a dirt tractor road to Green Gate and cleared it well before daylight. Wanting to cover as much distance as we could before daylight, we didn’t linger, but shoved out quickly toward Auburn Lake and Brown’s Ravine. I took some Advil in here and the sun came up as 5am rolled around and past us. Joyce reminded me that I had been lapped by the sun as we put up our flashlights. I finally got some energy back and started a good roll along here. Maybe the Advil, maybe the sun, or maybe the downhill... but, I was cruising. The trail rolled along as it wrapped around the hills and we could see others in front and behind us. We could hear people all along here, but sound carries across the canyons and we had no real idea how close Auburn Lake was until we dropped off the hillside and into it. I sat down for a few and sipped a coke. I was getting bone tired and knew I still had a ways to go. We slipped out and followed the trail that didn’t really change much as we pushed on and on until the next aid station. Brown’s Ravine was staffed by the Harriers in some pretty wild outfits. Devils, Snakes, Divas, and ... maybe I was hallucinating On! On!. 90 miles down and 10 to get. I was finally ahead of the 30 hour bubble. Just a little room, maybe 30 minutes. We ran along the very scenic American River and Joyce took a few pictures of me. It was 8am and 27 hours were gone. I will long remember this run with fond memories, but at this time, my face was frozen into the position that required the least amount of effort. I’m sure the pictures will capture this. We did find a few good climbs going along the river valley on our way to Highway 49. This was my last drop bag, but Joyce kept me moving: “There is nothing in there that’s going to make you go any faster” is what she said... so we skipped it. I dropped my fanny pack here and we grabbed a few Jell-O slices. With only one bottle in hand, and the sun coming up, I was just barely hanging on. The station after Highway 49 was less than a mile. I think they did it just to make sure folks turned off onto the correct trail here, into and across the field. For the next few miles we ran through a series of trenches that had the feel of tiny bobsled chutes. We pushed it through here, getting the sled sliding again, banging both banks with knees, hips, and hands. I felt a blister pop on my left big toe. Oh well, I’ll check it when I’m done. We climbed another hill and then fell off the back side right onto No Hands Bridge at mile 96.8. It was 10am and 29 hours were in the books. This historic bridge is a pretty sight crossing the American River, but there was no shade, and I was too tired to appreciate it right now. Only one hour to go 3.4 miles, and still one damn good hill to climb. At this point, I really wasn’t certain that I would get inside the 30 hour bubble. The sun was out in force, my hat was gone, my sunglasses were gone, and I had one full water bottle. We made our way across the bridge and along the trail toward the last big hill. I was intermittently walking and shuffling as Joyce coaxed me on. I wanted so bad to run, and I was so close, and I was so beat. I dumped water on my head, face, and shoulders. Joyce poured hers on me too. I finally got to the base of the climb just after 10am and started up... slowly. I walked faster in the shade and crawled in the direct sunlight, so I stutter stepped all the way up to the streets of Auburn and the last aid station at Robie Point. It was 1.3 miles to the finish line and I had 30 minutes to do it. But the street was still a good uphill climb and I had to continue walking. I poured more water on me and walked. We crested the top and ran down a small hill to the base of another hill. Not too many flat spots on this course. So we walked and ran as we rolled toward the finish. We rounded a corner and there it was, the stadium and the finish line. In a few moments we were on the track and running the inside lane for the last 3/4 of a lap. They announced my name as I rounded the track and said I was from Austin Texas. I got a bit misty eyed as I approached the last turn. I had worked hard for this and felt a great sense of fulfillment. I don't care how difficult something is, if it makes you feel like this, it’s worth doing. Joyce pulled off after the turn so she could take some pictures of me crossing the finish line. It was done. I was done... at 29 hours and 40 minutes. Hell, I had plenty of time to spare.