From: "SIMMONS" To: "Ultra Runners List" Subject: nolans' account 2 Date: Mon, 11 Mar 2002 20:50:01 -0500 The 2nd account of my attempt on the Nolan's course in '01. Long and detailed. Hope all is well with everyone. After an uneventful climb up much of Mt. Massive with a small group of runners, Eric Robinson, Ginny LaForm and Matt Mahoney, who all thinned out before the summit, I took off flying down the backside of the mountain to the first crew point quite anxiously, as I had left bear with a stranger and in the vehicle that was in a state of disarray. I was glad to see that all had lived to survive Bear initially. I stayed back and rearranged things at the crew point, got Bear and myself sort of situated finally, and with some peace of mind about continuing on, left to climb Elbert at around 11. And what a climb it was with the beautiful, windy skies that seemed too good to be true for a Colorado afternoon. A rugged ATV trail climbed up between the steep valley walls to a point just above treeline where two long parallel ridges led 3,000 feet straight up to the summit. Either ridge was an option. I took the ridge to the right which started out with a tough, very steep scramble much like the scramble up Grant Swamp Pass on the counterclockwise Hardrock course before leveling off somewhat for the long climb up the grassy slope, which changed to talus for the last 1,000 feet or so; talus basically being just piles of big rocks and boulders. I could see Mahoney as a small, microscopic dot a ways ahead to the left on the opposite ridge throughout much of the climb. And as I was finally closing in on the top, Hans Dieter appeared close to the top of the opposite ridge out of nowhere, and reached the summit before I did. He must have done some extensive scouting, as he seemed to take some unorthodox but faster routes. After enjoying the climb, summating right at 2, and taking an unadvised route down an overgrown draw down from Bull Hill on the descent, I came out below scathed and frustrated. After the bushwhacking, it had ended up taking me longer to get down from Elbert than it had to go up it, and I still had one or two miles to go to the aid station from there. Slowly, I made it to the aid station and yet again, like after my second loop at Barkley in '00, my feet seemed to have a bad case of trench foot after staying wet much of the day despite the good conditions, due to running in decade old soccer cleats that retained water after the stream crossings. A few of the more prominent ridgelines along the impact points along my feet had already sliced open causing discomfort, and others threatened to. Unwilling to do any more long term damage than I had done in the past at Barkley and knowing that the ridges on my feet would open up much more if I climbed steeply up La Plata, I opted to withdraw indefinitely, hoping some hours off of them might make a difference. Andy drove Bear and I around La Plata to Winfield where the third aid station was and I made the best of my time off for the evening, got something to eat, enjoyed the warmth of the stove and some conversation and watched Mahoney stumble in from La Plata around midnight where shortly after he climbed into a vehicle to sleep for a while himself. It had turned out to be a beautiful, starry night. But cold. By early morning my feet had dried out considerably, and so in no real hurry, I prepared to continue on. Andy drove us back around to the La Plata trailhead and at around noon I left out to climb La Plata, way behind the flow of the race, but without concern for that. I climbed strong and summated the 4,000 foot + climb in just over 2 1/2 hours, and again the beautiful weather made it an exhilarating time to be climbing and descending the rugged mountains of the Sawatch range. It was a fun, fast descent down through the sun, down the three big staircasing descents into Winfield, which was itself really looking more like a ghost town by then, aside from the presence of Andy and Bear, who hadn't expected me to arrive so quickly. I took awhile before leaving to climb Huron as I had one more possibility of getting supplies at the already closed hike in aid station at Clohsey Lake situated high up between the steep walls of Huron and Missouri at an abandoned cabin, which was likely the last point Andy would be able to get any supplies to me before I traversed the bulk of the Collegiate Peaks. Around six, I left out and climbed Huron with some menacing clouds in the sky to the west and made good time climbing and the clouds to the west held off, and as I climbed higher, I could tell it would be another beautiful evening at least for a few more hours, as far as I could see. I sat on the steep, grassy slope just less than a thousand feet or so below the Huron summit and ate and enjoyed the last "warmth" of the sun as it set behind a cloud and enjoyed the beautiful sunset that lit up the entire mountainside in a dim, yellowish green light. There was still a slight hint of evening light in the western sky as I summated Huron in the cold wind, but I hadn't turned on a light, but did so then to read the map. I understood the steep eastern Huron descent down to Clohsey Lake could be tough and unforgiving. Charlie Thorn had graciously described the routes across the Collegiate Peaks briefly before I left Winfield that morning. He mentioned that I should descend east from just back a ways off the summit, down a very sleep slide. I went back just a few yards from the summit and began to descend, accepting that it looked considerably dangerous. About 100 feet or so down, it got dangerously steep, with nothing blackness beyond the edge of the drop offs below. I slowly made my way close to the edges and across from one side to the other, seeing if it was manageable at any place and thought, "No way." The thing was, Charlie had told me, "High up, the routes gonna look like you can't go down it." So there I was, seemingly a few steps from a dangerous or potentially fatal fall thinking, "Well, it looks like I can't go down it." Perhaps that hadn't been the best way of putting it to someone, but it didn't matter, I didn't have to be foolish, so I climbed back up and got in between some boulders out of the wind in a place just below the summit ridge and got out the map to consider the route more carefully. After attempting to make radio contact with Andy without being able to get adequate reception or any response I climbed up to the main ridge to re start the descent. I descended northeast along the summit ridge a prominent saddle that connected Huron and a slightly lower peak to the North, which was about 400 feet in elevation below the summit, from where I descended a very steep, but negotiable slide. It led down to an even more manageable talus chute and eventually to a slightly sloping boulder field. The stars were in the thousands, the Milky Way was beautiful and lower down, without any wind, the eastern side of Huron was mildly warm. Just on down at treeline I had no problem recognizing a small prominent hilltop depicted on the map to use as an exact reference to where I was, and was able to make radio contact with Andy, who was at the old cabin at Clohsey Lake below. Bear had been left in the vehicle. I could see 1 or 2 faint lights far below through the forest and the reflection of light in what was certainly water. I had the location marked and put the map away. Without any trail to use on this steep descent, I made my way straight down through the dense pine forest filled with many huge boulders, downed pines and small cliffs Sometime shortly after as I made my way through the pines, the entire forest and mountainside lit up all around almost as bright as daylight in an eerie white light that lasted for a few long seconds. I radioed Andy and to inquire if he'd seen it down there and he said he had but he wasn't sure what it was. It had been way to long and bright to be lighting. I finally reached the water's edge at the lake just across from cabin around 11:30, and sloshed through the knee deep icy water at the northern end of the small lake among the reeds. The thick mud beneath the surface almost stole 1 of my shoes, so I just took them off and made my way through the freezing slime barefoot for the rest of the short ways through the water and to the cabin. It sort of felt good on my feet anyhow. Andy was waiting with some supplies. He hadn't been able to drive the vehicle all the way up and had stopped about an estimated 2 miles or so below where the vehicle wouldn't cross a fast moving section of the creek. Inside the doorless cabin, I sat in an open room where the aid station had been and changed socks and put some warm things on as I started getting quite cold from not moving and it had gotten much colder down by the lake anyhow. I repacked for the rest of the attempt, but supplies were limited to what Andy had brought with him, as most were in the vehicle, and we'd planned on having access to it. At least 2, maybe 3, rats, 1 a good-sized rat with a tail that seemed to be just short of a foot long, scurried back and forth across the room and above in the rafters while we were there. The big rat wouldn't hold still for a photo, though. I went out, ate by the fire ring, no fire, and left to climb Missouri just at 12:30. I unfortunately continued south on the lake pack trail though instead of turning almost immediately to ascend Missouri after leaving the cabin area. The thing was I hadn't even realized there was a pack trail that continued south at the foot of Missouri's slope, and the trail kept deceivingly turning east up slope as if it were finally going to climb. In my opinion it's natural to be hesitant to turn around and backtrack when you're not certain, as you're reluctant to forfeit any ground already covered incase you are right. But around 40 minutes later, I knew I had to turn around, and backtracked till I was again back within shouting distance of the cabin to where the trail turned right and suddenly began to climb steeply, and I knew that that was the correct trail that ascended through treeline to the very steep Missouri ridge. The summit trail had obviously almost immediately switched back not far from the cabin, but in the darkness the pack trail that continued on through the forest to the south had been much more apparent. That was the 2nd big navigational error I had made. I began to climb. It was cold and windy and I wasn't able to contact Andy over the radio to check on Bear and make certain he had made it to the vehicle safely and that all was well before getting out of radio range for the rest of the event. Just barely above treeline my AA flashlight was getting dim and I had to switch to only other flashlight I had, another AA, and shortly after the trail faded out, as the route just ascended straight up a very steep, northern facing grassy hillside to the summit ridge from there. It was still a very beautiful starry night, but much colder at that point, and I saw quite a number of bright, falling stars, but didn't enjoy them as much as I might have under different circumstances. Most of all it was my fingers that were numb in the biting, freezing high wind. A discomfort that seems to get to me more than many others. Concerned about using up the only light I had left, I turned it on only when moving forward, as the steep climb required 30 or 40 feet of forward progress till I had to stop and catch my breath before another push. The going up the steep slope was slow like so, all the way up, until I finally reached a cold, high ridge where the wind really started howling. It led to the east, climbing gradually and getting rockier. Finally, it leveled off where the summit ridge had to be traversed a quarter mile or so to the high point of Missouri. About 1/3 of the way across, the second light faded out as well. The batteries had been in the vehicle I had planned on having access to, so I had had to make do and go on without. Fortunately, I was able to go slowly along the relatively safe knife edge ridge with my night vision for a ways. Knife edge for lack of better word, although slightly over exaggerated. But just 50 or 60 yards or maybe less from the high point, I came to an outcropping of steep cliffs on each side that blocked the way. I couldn't see a natural path on either side and it seemed dangerous enough to warrant hesitation in the darkness. I wasn't going to descend lower to get out of the summit ridge wind and have to do any of the climbing again, so the only thing to do was to wait for daylight despite the cold. I backtracked slightly and took shelter just west of and below an outcropping of rocks where it wasn't so windy, and attempted to stay warm using a space blanket. Not that these things have worked either of the two times I've attempted to use them on the Nolan's course, but they do get you somewhat warm attempting to unwrap them and fighting for ten minutes to get wrapped up in them in the high winds. It didn't matter anyway. It was very cold and I couldn't get warm or comfortable enough on the sloping rocks to sleep, so I eventually ended up standing up shivering in the first hints of light, waiting for the sunlight to come over the ridges. When I finally got enough warmth from some direct early rays to stop shivering, I got my things together and continued back towards the summit and negotiated the section I had hesitated to negotiate in the darkness with ease by dropping below the rocks and summated about ten minutes later. GOD bless.