Some days the mountain leans back

Some days the mountain leans back, lies down gently and grants those who venture onto its slopes ease of travel. The trail appears a nearly horizontal traverse, whose view magically sweetens with each step;

On certain days the mountain lies in repose, as if to say, "today, I will rest and bear the burden of your sojourn". Continuing, the mountain adds, "consider this your rest and enjoy the journey".

On several occasions this year - and countless throughout my life - I have had moments in the mountains where the mountain has the appearance and the feeling of 'leaning back' and lessening its slope's angle. This may be an illusion: whose to say that the lower slope angle is not the norm and on most days the slope has the appearance and feeling of being steeper.

It is probably all an illusion! What is measurable and constant is the slope's actual angle. My favorite trail on Mount Sentinel rises about 2000 vertical feet in 1.2 miles, a fairly steep trail. As a rule, this particular trail's required effort seems commensurate with its steepness. But on certain days - and today was one of these - the mountain truly has the appearance of lying back and lessening its slope angle, allowing for a less intense effort that yields the same results.

The reason(s) for this phenomenon (and that's a stretch) may seem obvious: variables in daily diet/hydration, sequence in a work out cycle, mood, time constraints, etc. All of these things certainly play a role in overall fitness and point-in-time health and performance, but do not explain the visual appearance of the slope.

Today, the trail presented itself modestly, looking half itself while providing fully rewarding pleasant and easy passage. And I will examine no further.

Thank you, mountain.

Onward and upward,

Brian

300,000 feet and Mount Sentinel

A  quiet moment for a fellow hiker on top of Mount Sentinel.

Today's 96th ascent of Mount Sentinel on the year, marked the 300,000 vertical foot milestone for 2013.

Ascent: 27 minutes
Descent: 28 minutes
Temp: ~82 degrees
Music: Vampire Weekend 'Modern Vampires of the City' and Sigur Ros 'Untitled'
Highlight: Finding my lost bike lock key hanging on the fence at the base of mountain Sentinel upon coming down the mountain.

That is all. Onward and upward!

Brian

24 Hours of Sinopah Mountain (in pictures)

Linds and I made our way up to Glacier National Park for an extended Labor Day Weekend. Over the course of 3.5 days we hiked over 40 miles of the park, logging over 9,000 vertical feet. Glacier did not disappoint! What beauty! Our last night in the park was spent at Two Medicine Lake in the southeast corner of the park. The inclement weather of the previous two days beginning moving out, providing some super cool changes in light.

The following pictures were taken during a 24 hour period at Two Medicine Lake (shown in the order that they were taken). The model? Sinopah Mountain!

Onward and upward!

Trip Report: Point Six and Murphy Peak

Trailhead: Snowbowl Ski Area parking lot (~5,000')
High Points: 'Point 7500', 'Point Six' (7942') and 'Murphy Peak' (8167')
Total Elevation Gain: 5,000 feet
Duration: 3 hours 23 minutes (round trip)

I got onto the mountain around 8AM via Snowbowl Ski Area. Although there is an established trail to the top of the Ski Area (~ 4 miles), I opted for the most direct route to the top of Snowbowl. From the top of Snowbowl, point 7500, I would then head up to 'Point Six' and finally 'Murphy Peak' by way of the connecting ridge between the two (and then a reversal of the route).

Looking south/southwest from the top of Snowbowl
(parking lot lower left)

Departing at 7:55AM from the parking lot, I followed the 'Runout' run for the first 3/4 of a mile before taking a hard left up a steep glade run on the crest of the rib that marks the western edge of 'West Bowl'. The line provides a direct shot to the top of Snowbowl. By this route, I bushwhacked my way through knee high vegetation interspersed with beautiful coniferous trees. About 700 feet below the summit, lush undergrowth gave way to an expansive talus field - rocks roughly the size of basketballs or larger. What a treat! It provided, without exception, a stable, direct and swift passage to the top. Within a few minutes of discovering the talus 'super highway' I was on top of Snowbowl Ski Area. I was very pleased to see that the clock read 8:39AM, about 45 minutes from bottom to top.

From Snowbowl, I headed northeast via a ski run to the broad connecting ridge to Point Six. I opted for the most direct ridge road. A few minutes later I was standing amongst the radio towers and doppler radar that is Point Six. There I encountered a woman walking around the summit taking photos. She explained that she was with a crew that had driven up to Point Six to do some repair work on the HAM radio setup. We both made remarks about the beauty that surrounded us from our lofty perch above Missoula and the Rattlesnake Wilderness. I suggested that on the clearest day, Flathead Lake might be visible from this vista. Unsure of the veracity of this, she responded "maybe" and I concurred as I rethought the possibility of Flathead Lake actually being visible from this far south.

Looking north to Murphy Peak from Point Six
(Murphy Peak is the high point right of center)

After parting ways with the HAM radio enthusiast, I took a 1-2 minute break on the summit of 'Point Six' to mix an electrolyte drink mix and pull out a granola bar for the road. Feeling strong and fired up about the next objective, Murphy Peak, I dropped down the boulder field that defines the north shoulder of Point Six. Point Six and Murphy Peak are connected by a roughly two mile-long undulating ridge that dips down to 7500' with one prominent point on the ridge between the two named peaks. Amazingly, just above saddle between Point Six and the prominent ridge point ahead, a wilderness registration box materialized. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere with no real defined trail it was somewhat baffling. I quickly registered and followed what appeared to be more of a game trail than a manmade hiking trail. "Hey Bear! Hey Bear!" was my loud, audible mantra for the day (I did not so much as see bear scat). After about 1/2 mile I lost the game trail and headed for the crest of the ridge. Within a few minutes, I found myself on top of the prominent point that marks the halfway point between Point Six and Murphy Peak.

Self-portrait looking north on Murphy Peak

I let out a joyful 'Whoop!' as the next expanse of ridge opened up between myself and Murphy Peak's summit. The ridge narrowed and, at times, steepened amidst a jumbled mess of massive granite slabs. It looked super fun!

I quickly made my way down the ridge point to the final little saddle that marks the beginning of the summit cone of Murphy Peak. I stashed my trekking poles about 400 feet below the top as the ridge steepened and forced some quick and easy scrambling moves. A final move through a narrow slot in the rock gave way to the final talus field of Murphy Peak. Moments later I was standing on top with joy in my heart! The clock read 9:39AM, exactly one-hour after getting to the top of Snowbowl and 1 hour and 45 minutes from my car. I was extraordinarily pleased with this time, as I was aiming for something of a lung/quad-busting speed ascent.

I took a 3-5 minute break on top of Murphy Peak to rehydrate, take some food and electrolytes and snap some photos as well. It was so dang pretty up there! The panorama included a view of the Rattlesnake Wilderness, Missoula, the northside of Snowbowl, Point Six, the southern reaches of Arlee, the southern end of the Mission Mountains and the Grant Creek complex.

Hydrated and nourished, I donned my pack and began the long retrace of the connecting ridge back to the top of Point Six and down to the SnowBowl Ski Area. I did my darndest to retrace my line down Snowbowl. About 1/3 of the way down, I saw a mountain biker athwart my direct descent, enjoying a leisurely solo cruise in the mountains. Beautiful stuff. I regained the runout on the bottom 1/3 of the mountain and cruised on down to the parking lot. I arrived at my car at 11:18AM. Gosh, still morning! what a nice surprise.

Overall, this route goes down as one of my favorite local hikes. The connecting ridge between Point Six and Murphy Peak is pretty dang fun and the views from atop those two high points are spectacular.

Onward and upward,

Brian

July in review and lessons learned

Photo of the month: Linds and I on the summit of Pikes Peak (07/06/2013)

Just the facts:

Total ascent: 36,500 vertical feet

Mountain summits: 

Mount Sentinel (11 summits)

Pikes Peak

Mount Deanstone

Mitten Mountain

Mount Jumbo

Now the fluff:

A note on vertical feet or elevation gain. I use vertical feet as my primary indicator of success in terms of this project. Vertical feet measures the distance from the base of something to the top of something "as the balloon rises". With mountains, we are talking base to summit. If you to climb a ladder vertically, straight through the middle of the mountain from base to summit, you would be tracking the vertical feet measurement. To give you a sense of scale, The Empire State Building rises an impressive 1,454 vertical feet. The average level of a home is ~10 vertical feet. That coffee, sitting on your table, comes in at about ~3 vertical feet (floor to tabletop). Mount Sentinel, the mountain I spend a bulk of my time training on, comes in at just under 2,000 vertical feet (1,950ish). Pikes Peak boasts about 7,800 vertical feet. Vertical feet simply gives you a vertical measure of two points and does not account for the elevation. 

July was a banner month. January was the last month that I hit 36,500 vertical feet of ascent or more (62,700 feet). I learned many lessons from January's efforts. The most important being that 60,000 feet a month or more is not tenable for my body or social life. Post-RA me simply isn't up to the task and post-Linds me simply doesn't want to throw myself headlong into a futile endeavor to the determent of our relationship. In February, I dropped steeply to 36,350 feet and continued dropping to the low 20,000s through May. By June, I was ramping back up to the 30-40,000 foot range, right where I want to be. 

Truth to tell, I am feeling really good. My mind continues to be my biggest enemy. Pre-RA, I had very little respect for the recovery needs of my body. In 2008, I ran, on average, 18 miles/day with a smile on my face (a little over 6000 miles for the year). I dismissed all aches and pains outright. Post-RA, I am hopeless when it comes to aches, pains, twangs, twinges, pops, cracks and creaking. When I feel a slight twinge in my knee when going from a seated to standing position or hear a pop in my shoulder when stretching, my tendency is to leap to the worst case scenario: it's over, there is a good chance I will never be able to walk or climb again. Honest, objective discernment over real or perceived problems with RA is, in my estimation, the single greatest challenge of dealing with the disease. It is amazing how emotional physical aches and pains can become. I have tons to learn in this area. "Remain calm! Don't panic!" These are my mantras in times of broken focus. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. 

Our brains are extremely powerful organs often controlling physical outputs - pain, illness - through thought inputs - worries, anxieties.

Prayer remains the greatest tool in working through these times: the very act of prayer calms and quiets the mind and allows for honest analysis and a sense of correctitude regarding the ultimate course of action. Linds has been alongside me as I rediscover my prayer life. Prayer, in my life, is an opportunity to acquiesce that many things lie out of my control and no amount of worry or misguided focus can change that. It is a time to cede control to a higher power (whatever that means to you) and say "I don't know what is happening, I don't have the answers and that is 'okay'!". And then move on: let go and let God (not sure who first said that, but it's a good one).

Onward and upward,

Brian

Delusions of grandeur quelled by heat-induced delusions and new information

Dehydration is nothing if not humbling. Being humbled is nothing if not humbling. The day's weather on my 75th ascent of Mount Sentinel this year was nothing if not humbling.

95 degrees and windless, Thursday's outing challenged the dynamic tension between heat and water retention. With every labored breathe I could feel my body's water content evaporating. Like a watermelon in a food dehydrator, my body was tormented as it lamented the loss of its vital liquid.

From the outset of the 75th ascent, I felt invincible: strong, swift, steady and focused. These are the elements that, when experienced in excess, can take a person from self-assuredness straight to hubris. I am unstoppable and unflappable! This jump from self-assuredness to grand control over all is not so much a slippery slope as a concave precipice: it unequivocally ends in a crash.

Life, in its fullness, is quick to remind us of our limits. I failed to adjust my standard pace on account of the heat. 15 minutes in and halfway to the summit my body's water resources were depleted: dehydration had determined that I would be a vessel of its moisture vacuity on this day. So it goes. And so it went.

Unwilling to accept that something like heat could affect my performance, I pushed on, on pace for the standard 30 minute ascent. A few minutes later I was standing on the summit. The heat had vanquished the precious life-sustaining goodness called water. It won handedly. Bad decisions rarely yield good results. This instance was no exception.

Nausea set in. Stomach cramps took hold. A slight twinge in the fore of my head portended of aches to come. As usual, I did not linger on the summit. I headed down at a brisk pace wishing away all of the symptoms that had developed (I also quietly harangued myself for the poor decision making that had gotten me to this point).

The descent, as usual, was also uneventful, save for the sickness that had settled in. To distract myself, I remained focused on the prize: a drinking fountain at the base of the mountain. 30 minutes later, I found myself where I started, sucking down copious amounts of water from the drinking fountain. I counted my blessings, stretched and hopped on my bike for a short ride home.

I had been in this place - dehydration and heat exhaustion - many times before during my ultra-marathon running days. I imbibed 20 ounces of Gatorade and 40+ ounces of water upon getting home. The story does not get any more interesting from this point. In fact, it probably peaked on top of the mountain. I recovered quickly and feel like a million bucks again, etc. etc.

All right. So. At the Mount Sentinel Trailhead, before heading up, I noticed a small index card tacked to general notice board. On it read: "#5000 to the top of mount sentinel, RLS, 05/25/2013". If I am reading this correctly, RLS, whomever that is, completed their 5000th summit of Mount Sentinel this week. That is mind-blowing!  We are talking on average 100 summits a year for 50 years or 200 summits a year for 25 years. Unbelievable! This new information, was immediately humbling, reminding me that my goal of 100 summits of Mount Sentinel in 2013 was, in the world of serious hikers and athletes, peanuts. It was a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things.

Any delusion of grandeur, of being great or exceptional this day, the 75th ascent, was quickly brought into check by the elements, God's realm, and by human performance, God's other realm. This isn't to say that I really considered myself great, but I did consider the objective unique to me. My goal was based solely on my abilities post-RA. And, it lives a balance that includes family, friends, work and other hobbies. The elements and humans will always challenge that fine line between self-assuredness and hubris.

We ought to do things for our own betterment in the context of a community. Without that grounding, that context, we are simply tinkering with the status quo of self-gratification and are liable to die - both physically and spiritually - from heat exhaustion and competition.

The moral of this post: drink more water, exercise in the heat smartly and never compare yourself to others, especially those that are known to you only by mysterious index cards.

Onward and upward,

Brian

A year ago today: vin-dit, wampeters and kingfishers

"...vin-dit, a Bokononist word meaning a sudden, very personal shove in the direction of believing that God Almighty knew all about me, after all, that God Almighty had some pretty elaborate plans for me." KV from Cat's Cradle

A year ago today, I had a conversation that changed my life.

The place: Placid Lake (aptly named). The people: Aaron McPeck and Linds Sanders.

A year ago yesterday, I opted to sleep under the stars next to the glowing embers of a dimming campfire. This, over a cozy space in the tent with Aaron and Linds. The decision to sleep outside had everything to do with the yen for open air, a big sky and solitude. 

A year ago today, a calm, crisp dawn greeted us, setting the stage for a comfortable, relaxed morning. Eager to get a line in the water and pass the morning throwing some casts, I headed down to the beach area near our campsite to scope out the water. To my surprise, I was not the first to seek the serenity of the morn. Linds had set up shop on the beach with a journal and book. My initial reaction, as it is in all cases when you are seeking solitude of any kind, was something like discouragement: I was not alone.

As it happened - as it was supposed to happen, Bokonon would say - I noticed Linds scanning the edge of the water eagerly in the direction opposite of me. She was rapt. My curiosity was piqued. I dispensed with my fishing plans and walked over to where Linds was seated to see what there was to see. She greeted me with a smile that quickly affirmed my decision. We exchanged morning niceties and got down to business: what's out there? what was she watching so intently? 

A kingfisher, as it turns out. A kingfisher! She went on to tell me about their call, how they hunt and where they live. I heard the call first. We waited. Then, with the precision of a Blue Angel, the bird launched from its perch some 100-150 yards away and flew the tangent, diving, diving, diving. It penetrated the water as if there were nothing but a superficial border between two geo-political realms. Water and sky, where one begins and the other ends is of no matter to the kingfisher, on one side of the line lives prey and on the other no prey. There was a momentary pause, the ripples dissipating, before the country-less bird emerged victorious, fish in beak. It returned to its perch, quarry in possession, and resumed its call.

As captivating as the scene was, Linds and I were lost in conversation. Highlights, of course. Family. Friends. Hiking. Running. Kayaking. Religion. Bucket list birds: kingfisher and the pileated woodpecker. Health. Even the kingfisher couldn't put on a show spectacular enough to draw our attention away from each other. The conversation came easily and joyfully. It was life-giving. We heard each other say things that we felt, but had never expressed before. We laughed, we smiled, we sighed. 

A year ago today, Linds and I began a forever conversation.

Onward and upward,

Brian   

P.S. In other news, 22 days into July, I am sitting at 26,500 vertical feet for the month and feeling like a million bucks! Last week, I got up Mount Helena 3 times and Mount Sentinel twice. I love Mount Helena. That is a nice mountain.