Running the Chilkoot Trail

Gold! 1897 marked the start of the gold rush in southeast Alaska. Thousands of men, women and children arrived at the tiny, native village of Dyea, 45 miles north of Juneau, and headed out from their boats onto the rugged Chilkoot Trail. They forged north, up a steep mountain valley towards the Chilkoot Pass and beyond to stake their claims. At the summit, the gold-seekers entered Canada. The Chilkoot Trail had long been a trading route for the Chilkoot Indians, and the stampeders enlisted the aid of the Native Indians in their journey north. During the short, frenzied gold rush, several towns erupted along the trail growing from nothing to thousands over night. Bars, hotels, churches, brothels...you name it and it appeared in the camp towns along the remote trail. Three years later they were nothing but ghost towns. In the 1970's park services for Canada and the U.S. cleared the old trail, left the rusted mining remnants strewn in the woods, and established today's historic trail which draws hikers from around the world.

If you read my last post, you know it's been raining in Juneau for a few weeks. On Tuesday night, I was sitting at our kitchen table, gazing at the dark clouds, trying to determine where to run my longest upcoming training run of 35 miles, when a friend and local running legend e-mailed. A short break in the weather was predicted for Friday and she proposed running the Chilkoot. Wow!
My partner and I had hiked the Chilkoot in 2006 with three friends. It took us four nights. Since then I was longing for the chance to run the trail. Just as I hoped, on Thursday the clouds dissipated and by the time my friend, my partner and I boarded the ferry for the slow journey to Skagway, the sun was gleaming off of the mountains and the temperature started to climb. We arrived in Skagway just before midnight and got about four hours of sleep. We met another friend, Bob, at the trail head and started at 5:20 a.m. The sun was already shining as we trotted towards the first camp down the trail, Finnegin's Point, at 4.8 miles. I carried two water bottles and Iodine, four power bars, four GU's, a PBJ sandwich, a Snicker's bar, one light rain jacket, cap, gloves, my tiny camera and the BEAR SPRAY! Although it fit nicely in a quite small back pack, it was the heaviest load I've ever run any appreciable distance with.

We breezed through the first camp and spoke briefly to some early rising campers. About 45 minutes later, we trotted through the Canyon City ruins and soon arrived at Pleasant Camp where we chatted with some breakfasting hikers. Sipping coffee, one of them pointed towards the brush where a large bear carcass was decaying. According to the rangers, two bears had battled it out there a week earlier. I resisted the urge to move my bear spray from my pack to my front pocket. We jogged off, and stopped for our first water-stop at a lovely flowing stream two miles before Sheep Camp. As requested, we checked in with the ranger at Sheep Camp (mile 12.6). It was our last camp below tree line. Here, the trail turns rocky and begins to climb dramatically (1800 feet in 3 miles) to a spot known as "the Scales." During the gold rush, prospectors used to cache their supplies near the Scales and weighed their hauls before attempting the steepest part of the climb to the Summit.

We moved quickly and stopped only once for more water near the Scales following Bob's near demise from an angry momma Grouse. It was hot above tree-line, and I appreciated our short rest and our view back down the valley we had just hustled up. We moved on past some Australian hikers towards "the Golden Stairs". In July, the "stairs" are anything but stairs, and entail a 45 degree climb over large, sharp rocks upwards for the final half mile to the summit, gaining another 1000 feet. The prospectors preferred climbing the frozen stairs they hacked out of the snow in the winter which allowed them to avoid hauling their belongings over the sharp rocks. The prospectors also erected a tram to carry their loads for a price. I've read that one stampeder's family actually hauled their piano up the pass. I reminded myself of this as I climbed and sweated in the 70 degree sunshine. A quarter of the way up the rocks, I almost tripped on a piece of tram wire. You can see the wire by my legs. I was surprised by how much cable was still visible on the climb. Out of the jagged rocks, I followed my friends through the snow to the Canadian ranger's cabin at the summit, happy to see the Canadian flag waiving in the light wind at 3600 feet. We stopped and had a quick lunch with some Germans and Canadians. I ate my PBJ sandwich but was feeling hot, sweaty and thirsty.
We took off again, half running and half sliding down the snow towards blue, clear Crystal Lake. My feet were soaked as we repeatedly crossed outflows from the snowfields. Even with chilly feet, my head felt hot and my stomach was off. Four miles after the pass, at mile 20.6, we stopped at Happy Campy. However, I wasn't feeling so happy and told my friends that I needed to slow down, cool off and rehydrate. I walked a mile, again heading up on a rocky trail. We stopped and doused ourselves with cold water in a small lake and I gulped half of my water bottle.

Fortunately, after another stop at Deep Lake camp, my stomach settled. We had a pleasant three miles down hill and next to a deep cavern, flowing with water to Lindeman City. We stopped briefly again to play in the water, and at 26 miles into the run, we had just under 10 miles to go. We headed off again, climbing above Lindeman Lake on large, rock slabs towards Bare Loon Lake where we would detour from the trail towards the railroad tracks. Feeling pretty content and trotting along, I looked down and noticed the bottom of my shoe was flapping on the rock! At mile 28, the heal on my right shoe fell off. Bob cut the fragments off and joked that he was wearing the same pair and his were several months older. We continued, and don't tell Montrail since they're sending me new shoes "on the house," but I really didn't notice the difference.

The cut-off trail was 3/10th of a mile after Bare Loon Lake and we almost missed it. We ran a mile on the trail, and with a smile I crossed my last stream. We were now on the railroad tracks with five miles to Log Cabin. We were all pretty tired at this point, and my friend, the local cross-country coach, suggested we run two minutes and walk two minutes (two on/ two off). It worked well and we chatted cheerfully in the late afternoon sun, as we ran the last few miles towards Log Cabin, the Yukon highway, my partner and a chest of Alaskan beer on ice.
All in all, we ran 35.5 miles in 11:30 hours (10:08 hours to the tracks). Was it everything I hoped it would be? Indeed. I would do it again in a heart-beat, but maybe I would carry an extra pair of running shoes!
Sleet and wind returned early Saturday morning. Timing is everything in the rainforest.

View the Garmin stats by clicking: Untitled by anne.johnson1 at Garmin Connect - Details Once at Garmin, click "satellite" to view the Google Earth map. Elevation chart is on the bottom right.

Until next time,
AJ

Life in the Rainforest

Phew...I finished a 30 mile in the pouring rain. With the exception of one partly sunny day, it's been raining for three weeks straight. I'm in the most strenuous part of my ultra-training, and Saturday I ran 30+ miles with much of it in a heavy downpour. Juneau is surrounded by the Tongass Rain Forest. The Tongass is our nation's largest national forest and contains 30% of the world's remaining old growth, temperate rainforest. A temperate rain forest has (1) high rainfall (over 80 inches per year), (2) ocean proximity, and (3) coastal mountains. That's Juneau...a cluster of colorful, mining-era homes wedged precariously between Mount Juneau and Mount Roberts with chilly, salt water lapping at its doors twice daily with 20 foot diurnal tides and rain, rain, rain. How much rain? The average annual rain fall in Juneau differs dramatically within just a few miles.

My partner and I studied this map, compiled by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association, closely when we decided to purchase a home here after two years of renting. Downtown residents suffer over twice the annual rain fall (165 inches) as we do on the north side of Douglas Island (70 inches), a mere eight miles away! Rainfall also increases dramatically as you ascend in elevation.

My long run on Saturday started 26 miles north of Juneau on the Herbert Glacier trail. I'm not sure what the annual rainfall is at Herbert Glacier. The sand flats in front of the glacier are around 800 feet in elevation. Anyway, statistics didn't much matter this weekend since it was pouring everywhere in the Tongass. As my partner ran across the sand towards the glacier, I stopped to stretch feeling tight and cold after 26 miles in the chilly, wet weather and wondering why we didn't move somewhere warmer and drier. Then I started reflecting on life in the Tongass. Rainforests hold 2/3rds of the earth's plant and animal species. Rainforests also play a key part in maintaining our global climate system in part because they absorb atmospheric carbon dioxide, dramatically cooling our air as it passes through. Rainforests are in jeopardy primarily because of clear-cutting. In 1950, they comprised 14% of the planet's surface, and in mere decades that number has fallen to 6%. Some experts predict that rainforests may vanish in the next 40 years. Due to deforestation, we are already losing an estimated 137 plant, animal and inspect species every single day! These sobering thoughts reminded me of how fortunate my partner and I are to call the Tongass home and left me wondering what I can do to preserve this moist, verdant treasure. Back at my Jeep, I waited for my hands to warm up before turning my key in the ignition and reflected on what a treat it was to spend my morning running in the rain!

Bicyling the Yukon

Where better to spend summer solstice weekend then the Canadian Yukon? Last Saturday was the annual Kluane Bicycle Relay. It's a 150 mile event that starts in beautiful Haines Junction (Canadian Yukon) and heads south, over the Chilkat Pass and down to the seaside town of Haines (Alaska). The highway between the two cities, the Haines Highway, was built in 1943 by the Army Corps of Engineers. It connected Haines, a U.S. military base, to the Alaska-Canadian (AL-CAN) Highway which had been built a year earlier. The AL-CAN connects the contiguous U.S. to Alaska via Canada and was a military supply route during World War II. The Haines fort was decommissioned in 1947. The military jeeps are long gone and at least every June, they are replaced by hoards of bicyclists.

Bikers in the Kluane relay have the option of riding solo, double, or on four person or eight person teams. Generally, I'm on a four person team, but this year I rode double with a friend of mine who is recovering from a paragliding accident last summer. After multiple surgeries, her recovery goal was to complete the second half of the Kluane bike relay. It took us over twelve hours but we did it! I rode the first 70 miles and with my ultra-marathon goal in mind, I stopped and ate and went for "time on my seat". It was a gorgeous sunny day. The first half of my ride was pure enjoyment. But, as I was beginning a series of climbs towards the pass, the notorious Chilkat winds kicked in and my luxurious ride through the stunning mountains rapidly morphed into a demanding physical grind.

Here is the elevation chart for the entire ride. The first rider does the climbing. The second rider takes over about 10 miles short of the Chilkat pass and then has a thrilling downhill spin through U.S. customs and finishes with about 30 miles along the rapidly flowing Chilkat River and generally faces a nasty headwind.
This year the wind subsided below the pass and my friend had a lovely ride into Haines. On Sunday morning, we boarded the ferry back to Juneau. It sounds odd after riding 70 miles, but my legs felt rested Sunday afternoon when I ran up to the local tram. I've heard that running and biking require using different leg muscles, and I guess that's true. This weekend I'm running lower mileage and early July brings my two hardest training weekends. Will I wish I was back on the bike?

8 Hours on Old Mining Trails

After two weeks of gorgeous weather, rain has returned to the Tongass Rainforest. Fortunately, I was almost done with my 25 mile run on Friday when the storm started. I ran Perseverance Trail, including the wooden "Flume" section, three times. During my run I saw a bear, a chubby marmot, mountain goats, and as I rounded a curve, a small black animal that scampered into the bushes, shrieking at me. We have mink on the shores here, so maybe it was a mink. I was at about 500 feet of elevation. My partner and a friend of ours ran the third out-and-back with me.

Perseverance Trail is stunning rain or shine. It begins in the mountains, less than half a mile from my office in Juneau and climbs several miles to the turn-around point at Ebner Falls. Perseverance Trail is over 100 years old and originally led to five large gold mines, one of which in the early part of last century was the largest gold mine in the U.S. Here's a picture of miners heading up the trail to start their day:


The gold mines are gone but there remains over 150 miles of tunnel in the mountains that surround Juneau.

Saturday my partner and I stayed on Douglas Island and ran the Treadwell Ditch. The Ditch was an ingenious waterway crafted in the early 1900's to carry water from Cropley Lake that sits above what is now Juneau's ski area down and around the mountains to the Treadwell mine at sea level; a slow and steady drop of over 2000 feet. The waterway is still visible and the trail that runs alongside is still runnable IF you don't mind forging several rushing streams above waterfalls and climbing over 10 or so downed trees. The trail is VERY technical, but a good place to run on a rainy, windy day because you're in the forest the entire 11 miles. Here's a picture near the end showing one of the better sections of trail next to the water ditch:


Here's a photo showing why the Treadwell Ditch is not a weekly run and why we each turned our ankle a couple of times:


On the trail, after we passed the spur trail to Bonnie Brae, we came upon lots of bear scat but luckily no bears. Our dog, Lars, did run (literally) into an angry momma Ptarmigan. She hissed and chased him and then led him down the trail away from her 3" chick.


But, that was the only real excitement during the trek. Really, it was a splendid run considering that we were protected from the rain and 25 mph gusts raging down the channel. The trail skirts three or four alpine meadows, and the wildflowers are in full bloom. We saw Monkshood, Chocolate Lillie's, Dogwood, Columbine, and Lupine. Oh yes, and I fell into a mud hole surrounded by Devil's Club, and its prickles are still in my left palm. According to local lore, Devil's Club is used by Native Alaskans as a tonic in tea to prevent cancer. It has other medicinal purposes, including helping to stabilize blood sugar and when its root is pounded, its applied as a salve to stings and wounds. But, it is nasty looking, don't you think?


Completely wet and our legs covered in mud, we finished the run after 3+ hours. We were surprised to turn around during the last fifty feet and find another soggy runner bearing down on us. Who else would be running the Ditch in this weather? It turned out to be local trail-running legend, Geoff Roes, in the midst of his final training run for the Western States 100 that takes place in Squaw Valley, California the last week in June. Geoff's blog is inspirational for anyone thinking about running an ultra: http://akrunning.blogspot.com/

Here are the Garmin stats for our run (once there click on Satellite to see the Google Earth version): Untitled by anne.johnson1 at Garmin Connect - Details

Back at the house, Lars raced to his bed and sacked out for the remainder of the rainy day.


Aaahhh...the life of a Juneau dog.

Running a Marathon as Training

Wow! I forgot how hot and sticky Minnesota is in the summer compared to Juneau, but a few miles into the Stillwater Marathon on Sunday, I remembered. Why did I run a marathon in the midst of my training? Well, a website I stumbled on recommended running a marathon or a 50 km event as part of one's ultra training because of the value of the water-stops. For a change, I followed the instructions which here advised not cutting back for the run but just adding it into the schedule. Since I'm an expert at defying tapering rules, I gave it a try.

It was a mass start of 4 races (marathon, half, 20 miler, and 12k). My partner ran the first two miles with me and then she split off for an impressive 12k finish. During the remaining 24.2 miles, I practiced holding at 10 minute miles, walking frequently, eating more, and rebuilding my store of Vitamin D after a rainy Juneau winter. Despite the heat I finished smiling, but the sprinkler at the end was the absolute best part!

Here are the Garmin stats and Satellite map: Untitled by anne.johnson1 at Garmin Connect - Details

The most challenging aspect of the weekend was getting up at dawn the next morning and running another 12 miles (a mini-sandwich). Generally, the day (or often days)after a marathon, I indulge myself by sleeping in and rising late for a large, guilt-free brunch. But no, this post-marathon morning I found myself trudging around the Minneapolis lakes laden with lactic acid. The last 6 miles were sheer drudgery and involved my stopping every 100 yards to stretch. I guess that's the point of the weekend 'sandwich'; a taste of the disabling pain that I'll feel in the last dozen or more miles of the ultra. Have I mentioned that I haven't registered yet?

First Bite of the Sandwich

This past weekend I took my first bite. According to the ultra marathon blogs I've been obsessively perusing, the sandwich refers to arduous back-to-back long workouts with a rest day on either end. Apparently, they are necessary in order to train your body for the beating it will take at the actual event. The experts recommend the sandwich approach over one super long (40+ mile) run. Hey, why not feel terrible two days instead of one? Anyway, most runners who work typical weekday hours, rest Friday and Monday and spend hours of their weekend on the trail - the meat of the sandwich.

Saturday I ran 20.5 miles. I chose some hilly routes in an attempt to mirror the fifty mile run, Stormy 50. Basically, I ran three different local trails, close in proximity to each other and each stunning in its own way. First, I ran "the Flume", a mile long boarded walkway under the rain forest canopy (a favorite place to watch bears and mountain goats) and up Perseverance Trail, an old mining route a bit over 8miles in length with several hundred feet of elevation. After several miles of steady uphill running, the route ends in Silverbow Basin near cascading water from a large waterfall that has destroyed the most recent attempt at a footbridge. Generally I lose my GPS signal 2-3 times on this route because of the steep mountains on both sides (Mt. Roberts and Mt. Juneau). Saturday was a gorgeous morning and I took off around 8:15 with my dog, Lars. I'm also a bit nervous around a couple of the bends due to the steep drop-offs. There's a bench to rest on dedicated to a young local runner who plunged to his death about ten years back.

After Perseverance, I ran down to sea level and along the channel to another popular spot, Salmon Creek. The trail is approximately 4 miles, and like many runs in Juneau, this too begins with a steep incline of a couple hundred feet away from the water and into the mountains. Unlike Perseverance, the trail is wide enough for trucks although vehicles are generally prohibited. After the initial climb, the road meanders upwards through the forest and stops at the local electric company's old power station. Above me (and reachable by single track) is a large dam built in 1914 that holds the town's water supply.

After running back to Basin Road from Salmon Creek, I was pretty tired from the uphill on the pavement. I now had the most difficult part of the run: a gain of 1300feet in 1.5 miles on a fairly technical trail to the tram. The tram trail has a few gorgeous shaded views of the channel and mountains, but with the roots, rocks and consistent rise, you have to pay attention or you'll fall flat on your face. Only a few weeks ago, I ran into snow below the tram. On Saturday it was almost gone. I stopped at the top to admire the view with the tourists and drink a coke. The run down was a reward for the other 19 miles.

On Sunday I biked 50 miles instead of running. This may not be ideal, but I'm participating in a 70 mile bike event in the Canadian Yukon in a few weeks and need some time in the seat, so to speak. I met my riding partner for the event, Gail, and we rode from the local glacier and 'out the road' about 6 miles past Herbert Glacier and back. 'Out the road' is a phrase used by locals to refer to the only road that attempts to leave Juneau and it only gets about 45 miles where it dead-ends in a bay. Yep, you can't drive, bike or run from Juneau. You've got a love it or move! My riding companion, Gail, is in her early fifties and is recovering from a paragliding accident last summer from which she has several permanent pins near her pelvis, following at least three surgical procedures. Unfortunately, she is also facing some problems with her aortic valve because of the accident. But, undaunted, she's hiking, skiing, riding and tagging seals for work. Amazing.

Off to pop some Aleve and eat a real sandwich. Until next time...

Runners' Knee

I'm laying low this week with a sore knee, technically called chondromalacia but better known as the dreaded "runners' knee." The condition is brought about by over training, raising mileage too quickly, and hyper-extension of the knee. All of these apply to me. Naturally, we had a warm, sunny, all around gorgeous weekend here in the rainforest. I missed a popular spring 5k run staged during a minus tide across the channel behind our house, but this year's run had to be re-routed because an angry sow with two cubs was hissing and spitting at people. Our next door neighbor also discovered a less aggressive bear hiding under his deck. Yes, the long winter is definately over and we're cruising towards the midnight sun. Not being able to run, I popped some Ibuprofen, washed it down with an Alaskan IPA, and we flew kites by our house. I'm feeling better already...