2005 Elk Mountains Grand Traverse

6:00am Monday, January 17, 2005- the CD player next to my bed winds up, and the jolly tune “Zing Zong” by Kanda Bongo Man wakes me up. I lie there for a moment listening to the song and tapping the footboard with my toes before rolling over to turn it off and climb out of bed. For the next 2 months Kanda will be my early morning training partner, urging me into my running shoes each morning. I need this motivation- I'm not good at gerbil activities. The day before I had cajoled my friend Mandy into joining me in a fit of hair-brained optimism and signing up as my team mate for the 8^th annual Elk Mountains Grand Traverse. The GT is a 40 mile back country ski race between the mountain towns of Crested Butte and Aspen in Colorado. The course follows old mail routes over two 12,000 foot passes with at least 10 miles above tree line. Teams of two are required to ski together throughout the course for safety, as well as carrying enough food, water and supplies to spend a sub-zero night in the wilderness should anything go wrong.

I would like to tell you that I will never know what possessed me to sign up for such an event, but the truth is I know all to well. I'm having a mid-life crisis. I woke up one day last December and realized that my body was going down hill, and the weekend warrior routine just wasn't cutting it for staying in shape. I was going to have to start working out. Ug. Like I said, the gerbil routine just doesn't work for me. I need goals- lofty goals such as climbing peaks, or crazy goals such as the GT. These goals, along with a bit of urging from Kanda and a fancy new heart rate monitor (my new favorite geek toy) are what motivate me to climb into my running shoes and jog down to the park, around the lake, up the ridge and back home once or twice or three times each morning.

I asked Mandy to join me as my team mate primarily because I knew she could kick my butt- that and she is always up for a good adventure. I also knew from our previous adventures together that Mandy would be a good team mate because her personality complemented mine in one very important way. While I am great at ideas and planning, Mandy is all about follow through- and that would be a very important trait indeed for this race.

Then there was the brutal blizzard training. We didn't ask for it. Really. It just happened. Twice. On the morning of January 12 Mandy and I embarked on what we would later refer to as the Rollins Pass Suffer Fest. The objective was to ski from Lake Eldora ski area over the continental divide to Winter Park, camp there, and ski back the next day. The camping aspect required that we take a tent and sleeping bags, so we were each carrying about 40 pounds. The day started innocently enough under blue skies at 8:00am with friends Pam, Barry and Ed joining Mandy and I for the first part of the trip. During the climb up to Arestua hut clouds scuttled here and there, but a storm didn't seem eminent. After a casual lunch break at the hut Mandy and I set out over Rollins Pass. Once we made it to the old Rollins road grade (long since closed to autos), we decided to follow the grade which traversed along a steep hillside above tree line rather than skiing up and over the alpine tundra. The winds can be particularly ferocious along this part of the divide, and the wind had blown the snow up hill such that the road grade was drifted in at a 40 degree angle with bullet proof snow which was difficult to get an edge into. The old road grade also crossed several avalanche chutes and several times we had to take our skis off and kick steps in the hard snow in order to avoid slipping and plummeting 800 feet to the valley below. The fun was just beginning. After an hour or so of obnoxious side-hilling we had enough and decided to climb up above the road. Unfortunately the drift on the uphill side of the road was too hard for skis, but too soft to walk on, so we ended up crawling uphill for about 10 feet. Just when we made it to the summit of the pass and were on our way down, the clouds which had been gathering throughout the day got lower, the wind picked up, and the snow started falling. We still had at least 3 miles to go before we got back down to tree line, the terrain was flat and snow covered, and we could only see 10-20 feet. Are we having fun yet? Apparently too much- the downhill grade was not smooth, but consisted of constant wind blown ridges and dips in the snow which were impossible to see in the flat light. Fortunately I had my GPS pre-programmed with the route waypoints and eventually we were able to navigate our way out of the blizzard and down to a packed road used by snow mobiles below tree line. After several steep downhill sections, some long arduous flat sections, several conversations with a snowmobile guide who thought we were going to die out there and a couple of naps, we finally made it in to Winter Park at 8:00pm. Mandy and I had both ran out of energy long before, and so we dropped our packs and stumbled into the nearest restaurant for dinner. Later we set up camp across the stream from a snow-mobile outfitter and crashed. The next morning I spent all of 30 seconds twisting Mandy's arm to give up on the ski back and hitch a ride. A friendly guy picked us up at Winter Park, and on the way back to Denver we regaled him with stories of our harrowing adventure the day before and many of our other travels. He came to the conclusion that we were crazy but harmless, and let us off with a wave and a shake of his head at the park-n-ride outside of Denver.

All smiles at Crested Butte the afternoon before the race.

Typically in the GT there is a cutoff point at Star Pass (about 18 miles in) by 8:00 am due to high avalanche danger during the day for the section of the course after Star Pass. During the pre-race meeting the organizers announced that the usual Star Pass cutoff time of 8:00am had been moved up to 7:30am due to higher than normal avalanche danger and a change in the course. Mandy and I looked at each other with dread- we had anticipated that it would be difficult to make the cutoff by 8, and now we had half an hour less time. The tension was mounting. After the pre-race meeting there was a mandatory gear check- each team of two has to carry equipment and supplies enough to survive a night out in sub-zero temperatures if things go wrong. You could tell the first-timers like us because we didn't skimp on any of the gear- we had a real stove, bivy sacks, etc. The racers who were in it to win were the ones arguing with the race organizers about using a plastic bag for a bivy sack and a sterno can for a stove. Mandy and I were each carrying about 25 pounds of gear, food and water, while some racers got away with as little as 14 pounds.

Pile 'O Gear.

10:00 PM Friday: Ready to go (sort of)

After the gear check we headed back to the hostel to try and get some sleep prior to the race. It was hopeless. It was hard enough to sleep in the afternoon, and on top of that I was also anxious about making the cutoff at Star Pass. I tossed and turned, went to the bathroom, drank water to stay hydrated, and generally didn't get much sleep at all. I gave up at 9:30pm and went down to the common area to watch a sitcom with mom. At 10:30pm we packed up the last of our gear and headed over to the community school where the race was to begin at midnight. Once there we picked up our emergency contact cards, had our beacons checked, and nervously paced the halls with the other participants. The atmosphere was noticeably more subdued than at the meeting earlier in the day. While many contemplated race strategies, some of us just worried about survival.

At 11:45 everyone headed outside to the cross country ski track and the start of the race. Not planning on setting any new course records, Mandy and I joined the other nervous first timers near the back of the pack. Under a starlit sky and headlamp beams Reverend Tim Clark gave the blessing of the free heelers: "O creator of these soaring snow clad summits, we invoke your protection of these beloved brethren in their tremendous endeavor of courage and fortitude..." And I'm thinking- as I'm sure Mandy is- for the 100th time- what the heck did I get myself into??!! Tim's words faded to a loud cheer from 240 crazed back country skiers as fireworks went off and a cannon blast announced the start of the 2005 Elk Mountains Grand Traverse.

Almost immediately the pack started to string out, and 10 minutes into the race a long line of headlamp beams was snaking along a hillside across the meadow on the approach to Crested Butte ski area. As I struggled along at the back of the pack and saw the leaders nearly half a mile ahead, I was both happy to be part of this wild scene and depressed at falling behind so fast. Starting the climb up the hill I noticed that my heart rate monitor was beeping at me like crazy. I looked down to see that my heart rate was well over 160 beats per minute, and I was short of breath as well. Great. It's not even 12:30 yet, and already I was having problems with my asthma. Fortunately the trail was only single track width along the hillside and someone ahead was going slow and caused a backup just long enough for me to whip out my inhaler and suck down some Albuterol. Much better. Onward into the night we skied.

4:30am: Brush Creek; 11 miles in.

Mandy and I arrived at the bottom of a long climb and stopped to put our skins on and suck down some GU and water. Looking at my watch I saw that we were making good time, and for the first time during the race I relaxed a bit knowing that we would make the cutoff with plenty of time to spare. Mandy started up the hill ahead of me, and about 200 feet up the hill she slipped and stumbled. As I skied up to her she reached down and picked up one of her skins off of the trail. After applying and removing her skins several times the glue had frozen and would not stick to the bottom of her ski. Uh oh. This is not good. I peeled some duct tape off of my pole and taped her skin back on. Fortunately it held for the rest of the hill.

Unfortunately it was still frozen when we reached the next hill. It fell off 10 feet after Mandy put it on. I taped it on. It fell off. I taped it on. The other one fell off. I taped that one on. The first one fell off again. And so on. Each stop took 10 minutes, and we made at least 6 stops. The clock was ticking and our chances of making the cutoff were dwindling rapidly. After we ran out of duct tape I gave Mandy one of my skins and we each struggled with one good skin and one bad.

6:00am: Below Friends hut; 16 miles in.

When the bad skin I was using fell off for the umpteenth time I gave up, stuffed the skin in my jacket in disgust, and struggled up the last hill to Friends hut with one skin on and one skin off. I lost hope with every step- we must be too late to make the cutoff by now; there was no way we would make it up to Star Pass without skins. I looked ahead and saw a team leaving the Friends hut checkpoint about 10 minutes ahead of us. Surely they were the last team to continue to Star Pass. As we arrived at the friends hut the course marshal saw me struggling with one skin and gave me a grave look. I looked back at him and said “Skin issues”, the last of my will draining out with the words. He looked at me and said “You can continue on, but the cutoff time at Star Pass is strict. You have 51 minutes to make it up there- it takes most people an hour.” I turned to look at Mandy, and when she saw the despair in my eyes tears started streaming down her face. Months of training, hours upon hours of agony, hundreds words of encouragement- all down the drain. Behind the tears, however, there was a look of determination in Mandy's eyes. “You know,” she said, “My skin was sticking a bit better on that last climb- try yours again.” I pulled the skin out of my jacket and sure enough, there was just a bit of tackiness to the glue. Call it good luck, good karma, or the hand of God, but in that last struggle up to Friends hut, the temperature had warmed enough to give the skin just enough tackiness to stick ever so tenuously to my ski. I knew then that even though our chances of making the pass were slim that Mandy deserved nothing less than my last and best effort; so I put the ski back on the ground and clipped in. Mandy looked into my eyes and a spark of hope flashed between us. She turned and started skiing up towards Star Pass. The marshal looked at me and asked “Are you guys going to be OK?” “Yes,” I said, still not believing we would make it, and resigning myself to the fact that we would see him again in just over an hour. Then I turned and followed Mandy who was already 50 feet ahead and climbing the hill. With each step I prayed that the skin wouldn't slide off, and somehow each step it held. Mandy pushed the pace hard and we climbed quickly and steeply, passing one team, then another, and yet another. Through all of the side hilling and switchbacks, somehow that damn skin stayed on. Mandy crested a ridge and started skiing up it faster than before. When I crested the ridge I saw that we had just another few hundred feet of climbing, and then a traverse over to the pass- but surely we were too late.

7:22 am: Star Pass; 18 miles in.

43 minutes after leaving Friends hut we stood atop Star Pass. Mandy looked at me and said “Wooo Hooo!” raising her pole. Still in a state of disbelief, I didn't understand her exaltation and looked to where her pole was pointing. She looked at me again and said “Woo Hooo!”. We made it. I can't believe we mad it. Then I thought- Oh my god- now we have to finish this... Twenty two miles of wilderness skiing lay ahead, not the least of which was the half mile immediately in front of us which dropped precipitously off of a cornice into the valley below. I broke out of my reverie and smiled at Mandy, tapped her pole with mine, and then we headed down the other side of Star Pass.

10:45 am: Taylor Pass; 25 miles in.

The anxiety level dropped substantially after we made the cutoff, and we took a couple of 5 minute breaks while skiing over to Taylor Pass. Mandy's competitive spirit had not dwindled in the least, however. Just before Taylor pass we arrived in Taylor basin, a broad valley above tree line, and as we paused for a snack with several other teams Mandy looked across the basin at the teams in front of us heading up the pass and over the hill to Richmond Ridge. I could tell that Mandy was itching to go as we debated briefly on whether or not to put the skins on (which were working fine now that it was warm and sunny). We decided to leave them off, and Mandy quickly persued the team 5 minutes in front of us. Having caught them at Taylor Pass, she charged up the hill in persuit of the next team. Finally she stopped and waited for me at the top of the hill, and for the rest of the ski we jokingly referred to anyone in front of us as "Mandy bait".

12:30 pm: Barnard Hut; 31 miles in.

Several steep hills (both up and down) after leaving Taylor Pass we crossed a meadow and arrived at the Barnard Hut checkpoint. This marked the begining of the end- the final nine miles of the race. My friend Cathy was working as a race volunteer at this checkpoint, and kindly greeted us with soup and chocolate. There is a mandatory 10 minute rest at Barnard, and while Mandy was itching to get going again, I jabbered on with Cathy and the other volunteers and we ended up spending 23 minutes there. Finally Mandy gave me the harry eyeball and we started out on the last leg. I felt surprisingly good at this point, but after about a mile we came to a long uphill climb (if you haven't figured it out already, most of this race is uphill) which was studded with 2 foot high washboard ripples created by snowmobiles. Ug. Slowly but surely the washboards and never ending hill took it out of me, and by the time we reached the top of Aspen Mountain I was pretty wiped out.

Mandy and I had been skiing for 15.5 hours by this point and our legs were rubber. Now all we had to do was ski down 3,000 vertical feet of intermediate terrain at a ski area. Piece of cake if you have downhill equipment and have been riding a chair lift all day. Not so easy if your legs are rubber and you are on skinny skiis and tiny boots. We were able to ski the first part of the slope, but when it got steeper and narrower we decided that sitting on our butts and sliding was the better part of valor. So we slipped and slid our way down Aspen mountain, tearing a huge hole in my pants in the process. Before we got into sight of the finish line we stood up and started making turns again, so as not to look utterly rediculous crossing the finish line.

4:12 pm: Finish Line; 40 miles-

And so, finally, Mandy and I held our hands high in triumph and skied on wobbly legs across the finish line with big smiles on our faces. We skied 40 miles and gained 7,800 feet elevation in 16 hours 12 minutes from Crested Butte, and we were three months and 430 miles of training removed from that fatefull day in January when we grinned at each other and said "Aw what the heck..." Filling out a registration form on the internet can be a dangerous thing- but it can also be wonderfull!