Hardrock 100 Endurance Run

Over the years much has been written about the Hardrock 100 Endurance Run and a dizzying array of online reports and photos document this stunning annual rite of passage through Colorado's San Juan mountains.  I lived vicariously through this media for a long time, but not surprisingly, living the Hardrock experience firsthand is without comparison.  When I bumped into a Hardrock finisher at the Boston Marathon exhibition hall this spring he advised me that the mountains would be more beautiful and humbling and the experience more exciting and enduring than I could ever imagine beforehand.  He was right.  It's been several weeks since the run and I'm still working to assimilate the details of this adventure, reliving the many moments of wonder that shine brilliantly amid a return to ordinary days.

This is a story that almost didn't happen for me.  Like a little kid waiting for Santa Claus I was anticipating the start of Hardrock for months until I became sick in mid-June.  At first my doc thought it was Lyme disease and put me on antibiotics, but upon further inspection determined that I'm anemic and started me on iron supplements.  There's no telling how long I operated in this downward spiral of deteriorating health and diminished performance but ultra runners are susceptible to iron deficiency and the years of running and inadequate dietary intake likely pushed me over the edge.  It rattled my confidence to confront this reality only two to three weeks before the most difficult run of my life and it changed my perspective and forced me to adjust my expectations.

I headed out to Denver one week prior to the run with Joe and Joey.  As has become tradition, on day one we drove up to Loveland Pass and ran above 12,000 feet to sample the thin air.  I tried to push and not surprisingly, my lungs burned from the oxygen deprivation.  The next day we climbed Mt. of the Holy Cross, a beautiful, reclusive Sawatch 14er outside of Minturn.  It was a good day, but I was gassed on the ascent as I struggled to match my respiration with the pace, stopping occasionally to catch my breath like a rookie.  At least I had a few more days to acclimate.  It was Joey's first 14er and he rocketed up like it was no big deal, unfazed by the thin air.  A true rock star!

Animas River near Grouse Gulch

Next I headed down to Silverton, elevation 9300, to setup home for the week in this old southwestern Colorado mining town of about 500 people.  With only a couple of days to reconnoiter the course, I decided to check out some sections that we might encounter at night or late in the run, when I'd need every advantage to finish.  After a couple days of course recon, I was happy to have the camaraderie of Julia, Joe and Joey.  Together they formed the backbone of my on-location support crew, with Dan joining the party later in the week.

Joe & Joey in Silverton

It was Thursday afternoon before I knew it and I was scrambling to pack up my drop bags, contemplating what to stash in each location for the run.  I had thought about logistics many months ago, including most of the important considerations about clothing and food, but some of the fine details were left to the last minute.  Unlike other ultra runs Hardrock requires more self-sufficiency due to its remoteness, terrain, and weather which translates into more gear and food and a heavier load to carry.  I used a Salomon pack with 12 liter capacity which felt loaded to the gills but was surprisingly comfortable on the back.

After a pre-run spaghetti dinner at Grumpy's restaurant we returned to the house and I felt pretty settled about the run and as ready as I could be.  My only lingering concern was the weather forecast for 80% chance of thunderstorms in the mountains on Friday and Saturday, but I decided it was beyond my control. I drifted off quickly.

July 13, 2012 - 6:00AM Start in Silverton

Friday morning was surreal.  I awoke at 4:30AM, took a shower and dressed, pinning my number to my shorts, and doing some last minute prep while washing down some oatmeal and a banana with a cup of coffee.  We drove down the hill to town and I checked in at the high school gym.  With the steady accumulation of runners and their families and crews there was a palpable buzz in the air.

Joe, Joey, Mike, & Julia before the Start

A few minutes before 6:00AM we walked outside onto 12th street and lined up next to the finish chute and the new Hardrock, freshly painted with the infamous ram logo and flanked by the flags of each state and country represented by participants in the run.  It seemed like everyone joined in the countdown from 10 and then we were off, 140 runners strong, with a couple of blocks through town before a mild climb toward the Shrine of the Mines which looks out over the valley.  It was a decent morning, crisp and about 50 degrees with cloudless skies and I wore a t-shirt and shorts to start.

along the Nute Chute

The first two miles head out of Silverton and parallel US550 along the Nute chute, a cool singletrack section that cuts through an orange-red bank of scree before descending to cross Mineral Creek.  Joe, Joey, and Julia met me at the creek crossing and it was great to have their encouragement, even at this early stage.

The course climbs up the Bear Creek drainage and I slowed down to a speed hiking pace.  When planning my strategy for Hardrock I originally had an idea that I might run the course in 36 or 38 hours, but after my health issues in June, I readjusted my expectations with a primary goal of simply finishing the run.  I reasoned that pushing too hard on the uphills would create added stress on my system and decided to stay focused on keeping a pace that I could maintain indefinitely.  Like the devil and angel on opposing shoulders, I could imagine Jack telling me that I wasn't feeling any soreness because I wasn't going fast enough while I could imagine Joe telling me that I'm here to finish and I better not drop out in Ouray.

ascending Putnam Basin

Treeline is around 11,400 feet in this corner of the world, and as the trees thinned out the sun was coming up and a line of runners stretched out along the course.  Turning up Putnam Basin I was enjoying the scenery, including the huge rocks calved from the ridge above which dotted the far side of the valley and reminded me that geologic time is now.  At a speed hiking pace I was able to meet and chat with quite a few runners along the way.

Porcupine Gulch, Kamm Traverse, & US Grant Peak

The top of the first climb reaches a ridgeline that opens expansive views in nearly every direction.  To the north U.S. Grant Peak stands on the horizon, the sentinel above Grant-Swamp pass.  The course winds its way around the head of Cataract Gulch before dropping into Porcupine Gulch and exposing the reddish cliffs above which the Kamm Traverse improbably traverses the mountainside.

feeling good at mile 11

Coming into the KT aid station at mile 11 I was feeling good and I stopped to graze at the buffet of food.  One of my strategies for the run was to eat as much as I could early on at the aid stations to supplement the hourly Gu that I ate.  I also tried to walk out of the aid stations to allow for a few minutes of digestion before I resumed running.  The Kamm Traverse was a dramatic section with a trail cutting across the steep mountainside and a precipitous drop down toward Mineral Creek.  Around the bend and across the river the climb to Grant-Swamp Pass began.

on the Kamm Traverse

Photogenic 13ers dotted the sky and wildflowers were abundant as the trail wound its way up into the basin and above Island Lake, one of the most picturesque spots along the course.  The final push to the pass was a bit of a scramble and revealed the next miles of the course, including the climb to Oscar's Pass.  But first there was the business of descending down to the Chapman aid station near the small town of Ophir before climbing up the far side.

ascending to Grant-Swamp Pass with Island Lake in the background

the rugged descent from Grant-Swamp Pass

Descending from Grant-Swamp was one of the more gnarly sections of the course, on a loose rocky slope that we had been warned about.  I watched the different techniques of people ahead of me, both the aggressive and timid alike and started my own descent, trending toward the fist-sized talus to the right.  I was able to plunge step and slide most of my way down the slope, cruising along at a good pace.  The trail skirts around through bouderfields before getting back into some nice singletrack sections below.

Chapman aid station, aka. the bacon station, was another chance to fill up water and grab some grub, including a to-go bag with bacon and tater tots for the climb up Oscar's Pass.  As I hit the old jeep road for the unrelenting climb I shifted into low-gear and chugged along, trying to keep the flies at bay and munching on pieces of bacon as the views became increasingly more dramatic.  A hardrocker I passed on this section told me he thought this is the toughest climb on the course.  The skies were clouding up now and down-valley toward the Wilson group the sound of occasional thunder filled the air.

from Oscar's Pass looking back at Grant-Swamp Pass

Crossing Oscar's Pass I took one last look back at Grant Swamp Pass and started the easy, runnable descent into Bridal Veil Basin.  It started to rain and I stopped to put on a raincoat while noting the graupel that had collected along the trail.  I leapfrogged with a bunch of runners on the way down, including Blake Wood who stopped to take pictures and document this route change which became part of the course last year.

the descent down Bridal Veil Basin

Beyond the head of Bridal Veil Falls the old jeep road intersects the famous Black Bear Pass road and the edge of Telluride can be seen far below in the bottom of a beautiful box canyon.  It took another 45 minutes to make my way down the switchbacks and into Telluride, mile 29, where I met my crew for the first time.  At the aid station I ate and drank heartily, especially enjoying the pumpkin pie.

It was mid afternoon and Julia walked me out of the aid station and pointed me in the right direction, crossing through town and up to the old Liberty Bell trail which gained elevation quickly.  As the rain started up again I put on my raincoat and continued uphill in a dense forest.  As the trees thinned, the jagged ridgeline appeared above us and the trail wound its way up to Mendota Saddle where an ascending traverse was visible to a notch where Kroger's Canteen aid station was perched.

only 65 miles to go!

Clamboring up the last few feet to the aid station, I was surprised to see Sue Johnston, a former Vermonter and past winner of Hardrock working the aid station, and she was excited to see a Vermonter running it.  For its diminutive size, Kroger's was probably my favorite aid station with an accumulation of some really cool cats, including Roch Horton, who gave me some broth, a perogie, and a sip of a Fat Tire.  These guys haul all of the food and supplies up here and hang out for the duration.  Incredible.  Stamped in the snow below the aid station were the words "only 65 miles to go!"  It was a not-so-subtle reminder of the seriousness of this endeavor.

descending from Kroger's in Governor Basin

From Kroger's it's a long downhill into Ouray, starting with a steep descent on a scree and soil covered slope under the shadow of Mt. Sneffels.  Picking up an old mining road the trail descends a few miles to the Governor aid station which is right on Camp Bird Mine road, 8 miles away from Ouray.  Reaching the road I picked up the pace and managed to cover the mileage in about 90 minutes, finding myself in Ouray just as it was getting dark.

Ouray Town Park, mile 46 the Pacing Begins!

Coming into the town park I was greeted by Julia and Joey who helped refill my pack while Joe got ready to begin his pacing duties with me.  I enjoyed a espresso smoothie that someone had left behind before we headed up the road and out of town.  In my mind I had split the run into many sections and I was looking forward to getting to Ouray, mile 46, and the camaraderie that Joe and I would share for the balance of the run.

With some caffeine in my system I was chatting about all that had transpired so far today and Joe told me about their adventures as well.  Crossing back over Camp Bird road we headed up the ice park trail which parallels US550, now using our headlamps.  The trail crosses US550 over the top of the tunnel through the mountain and begins a steep ascent of the mountainside.  In the dark we could see headlights that were hundreds of feet above us - at first it looked as though you might be seeing an airplane and then you'd realize that the route traces its way up that far into the sky.  It reminded me of the experience of an alpine start on a big peak.

along the dramatic Bear Creek Trail

The trail up the Bear Creek drainage is blasted into the mountainside and is only a few feet wide in places with a 200-300 foot drop down to the river.  In the darkness we couldn't quite capture that 'wow' factor, but it was pretty amazing even in the dark.  In spite of being on my feet for more than 15 hours we ascended at a good pace, passing a few runners with their pacers and sharing the trail with Jim from Ohio up to the Engineer Aid Station.

Engineer Aid Station

The wind was blowing at Engineer and we grabbed some food and drink while the crew worked to secure their tarp.  Engineer is at the edge of treeline and continuing onward the night was getting cooler.  Up until this point I had been eating a Gu every hour, but when I went to have another one I couldn't keep it down.  I was surprised as I struggled to think how I would need to adjust my nutrition plan only halfway through the run.

I was still moving okay as we climbed toward 'Oh Point' where a fan was parked at the top with a pair of signal lanterns and shouting encouragement to all of the approaching runners.  'Yeah baby!' 'That's what I'm talking about!'  When we reached the top his van was open revealing an incredible display of libations.  Going in there would be a sure way to quit the run.  Glancing in was like looking at the sun.  I took a quick peek and continued down the road.

The next section along the Engineer Pass jeep road down to Grouse Gulch was much longer than I had anticipated, mostly due to my slow speed.  Joe was encouraging me to pick up the pace but my energy was flat and my stomach was unsettled.  Coming into Grouse Gulch at mile 60 I was excited to see Dan and Joey and I appreciated their enthusiasm and assistance.  For the first time in the run I sat down and munched on some crackers and a few gummy bears.  I sipped some broth and a Coke and put on some long pants  before we headed out into the night.  Dan and Joey were off on their own adventure to drive over Cinnamon Pass Road enroute to the Sherman aid station.

daybreak at Grouse-American Pass - Handies Pk on horizon

Joe and I started up the switchbacks that climb Grouse Gulch.  It was one of the sections I had scouted and I felt good knowing what to expect, but my energy was still flagging, so my pace was slow.  At Grouse-American Pass Handies Peak came into view across the basin as the first light of the new day was on us.  The approach to Handies seemed circuitous as we descended the basin and followed the popular 14er trail as it wound its way around the basin and began climbing the mountain in switchbacks.

Joe tags another 14er

The wind was kicking up when we summitted the high point on the course at elevation 14,048'.  I understand there are easier ways to collect this 14er other than running Hardrock.  After a couple obligatory pictures we began the descent into Grizzly Gulch, running downhill and picking up steam.  With daylight returning I was feeling pretty good again.  Hearing another runner gaining on us we picked up the pace to the trailhead at Burrows Park where there is a minimal aid station.

descending Handies Peak toward Grizzly Gulch

I expected to move well along the shelf road that descends toward Sherman but it was slow going.  There were some dramatic rock slides along this stretch that had recently ripped down from the upper reaches of Sunshine Peak above us, tearing a path through the trees, across the road, and over the bank to the river below.  Coming into Sherman at mile 74 it was great to see Joey and Dan.  I sat down without much prodding and a spread of food was presented to me including eggs, pie, and Coke.  I stayed at the aid station for about 45 minutes while I ate, drank, and needlessly changed my socks.

fueling up at Sherman Aid Station

With less than 30 miles to go I knew I would finish the run.  I never once felt that I might not finish, but there were moments when my forward speed was slow enough to elicit some concern about making it back to town before the 48-hour time limit.  This next section up Cataract Gulch climbed steeply at first through dense forest and passing a nice waterfall, before getting out into the open.  The gulch extends due south and levels out somewhat, although there's always some climbing to be done on the course, and we gained some additional elevation as we passed by Cataract Lake and Divide Lake, situated on the Continental Divide, at the head of the basin.

the mild descent through Pole Creek

Next we dropped into the Pole Creek basin and made our way on a cross-country section which led to a path that paralleled one of the forks of Pole Creek.  Joe did a great job pushing the pace through this section.  At the bottom of this small valley, the creek reaches an open area, a sort of confluence of creeks and the countryside is wide open here.  It's a place where you can see in many directions for miles.  And from this point the Pole Creek aid station is visible on the top of a small hill, blue tarps shining in the distance.

elk herd in West Fork of Pole Creek Basin

We pulled into Pole Creek aid station and enjoyed some broth and snacks before heading out into the wide basin of the West Fork of Pole Creek that climbs up to its common ridge with Maggie Gulch.  In the basin we were treated to the bugling of elk and a herd that seemed to be acting erratically, splitting in two with one group running up the side of a mountain.  It felt like we were on a safari.  It was about 2:30PM when we left the aid station and the weather was starting to threaten.  The sound of occasional distant thunder was around and darker bands of clouds were sweeping over the ridges above us.

Reaching the ridgeline, the trail descends around the mountainside until the Maggie Gulch aid station came into view below us.  There was still some elevation to lose, but it was a smooth run down to the aid station where I mostly ate potato chips.  The 'potato soup' was basically dry, burned potatoes and feeling a bit queasy, I couldn't hang onto this horrid concoction after leaving the aid station.  I popped a ginger candy and I felt much better as we began the next climb.

climbing toward Hardrocker Point outside of Maggie AS

After climbing steeply uphill, the course cuts across a sag before another push up to the ridgeline and the second highest point on the course, an unnamed 13,200' point on the ridge, affectionately called 'Hardrocker Point'.  But after crossing the sag, a darker band of clouds was pushing through with thunder in the area and I suggested to Joe that we wait out this weather.  Meanwhile others continued upward and a part of me couldn't understand it.  Maybe the risk was low, but why not manage the risk a little bit if you can?

a wall of weather beyond Stony Pass Rd. and Point 13,165' 

After waiting out this weather we continued up in our raincoats, surging up to the ridge with excellent views down to the Buffalo Boy Mine before descending to the low-point between Canby Mountain.  From here the Stony Pass Road and Green Mountain pass were visible, places I had scoped out before the run, and I was feeling excited to be here.  However, in contrast to the passing thunderstorms that had been an irritant for the past hour or so, to the south was a dark wall of clouds which threatened to bring more severe weather.  The expanse of the Needle Range, normally visible from this perspective, was no where to be seen.

Joe and I descended as quickly as we could to Stony Pass and began to angle around point 13,165' to head over Green Mountain pass.  But as we approached the pass the weather began to turn dramatically.  The rain started and became a downpour while hail was also mixed in.  The lightning was close, producing some dramatic thunder that reverberated through the mountains, while low clouds streamed through the pass and partially obscured the rocky face of Green Mountain.  We jettisoned our poles and stood still, unsure of our next move.

Several other groups approached us and continued on toward the pass in the middle of the storm.  Etched in our memory will be an imagine of one soul moving quickly up that final pitch in the clouds before disappearing down the other side.  We backed down the trail a little ways to where we might be somewhat lower than the surrounding area, but we were still very much out in the open.  Nearby us were two other groups who were trying to figure out what to do and were huddling with each other to stay warm.  Joe and I joined their huddle, six of us gathered together in the rain and hail.  None of us was happy with this predicament, and one of the women in the huddle was especially upset.  In that moment I wondered how long we would have to wait in order to continue.  Sure the weather was bad, but I am more stubborn than the weather and I figured I would wait it out and still make it back to Silverton in time.  I never considered that my run could be over.

While we stood in our huddle we talked about what we should do next and at about that time two gentlemen approached us on the trail.  They laid it on the line for us, telling us that if we waited much longer we would succumb to exposure.  Given this grave risk, it seemed sensible to choose the least of the evils and proceed over the pass together.  Besides, the last nearby lightning was probably 5 minutes ago.  We hastily climbed to the pass and before long we were on the downhill, still quite exposed, on a cross country portion of the course.  My hands were freezing cold and I had to grab a pair of gloves out of Joe's pack, needing assistance to put them on.

the course from Green Mountain Pass seen earlier
in the week - trail descends to the right

We all were running now, fueled by adrenaline and trying to warm up, as we descended into the hanging valley that sits just above Cunningham Gulch.  Much to our surprise, we came upon Joey and Dan who had hiked up into the valley from the aid station to reconnoiter the course and wondered where we were.  No aid was given and we said a quick hello before they bolted off ahead of us down the trail.  Went to show me that while I thought we were really cruising along the trail here, after some 38 hours on my feet I really wasn't moving that fast!

winding trail between cliff bands descending to
Cunningham Gulch as seen earlier in the week

The descent into Cunningham is a hoot, with a steep trail that drops down between cliff bands while giving a great perspective of the final course climb up the Dives - Little Giant Basin, another hanging valley and peaks that aren't even visible from the aid station below due to the steep walls of the gulch.

Down in Cunningham I tried to dry off, changing my shirt and getting some food and drink.  The broth was a little funky, but it was good to drink some warm liquids.  It was just about getting dark when we steeled ourselves for this final climb up Dives - Little Giant.  I was psyched to be bringing it home - the finish was near, only 10 miles up and over this final obstacle.  After the band of heavy rain earlier, it seemed like the skies might be clearing for us.

We started a slow and methodical climb up the switchbacks as light gave way to darkness and our headlamps came out again.  Across the valley we could see the sets of headlamps making their way over Green Mountain pass, down the valley, and descending the final pitch to Cunningham.  Pretty cool sight.  Joe was telling me that he wasn't feeling all that well, although he still seemed to be moving well.  It made me feel like I needed to be more focused myself to compensate for any deficiency we might have as a team.

the Little Giant - Dives climb seen across Cunningham
Gulch earlier in the week

Further up the drainage the climb was unrelenting and the night sky was punctuated with some lightning which I thought must be far away.  A breeze kicked up and not five seconds later it began to rain, and not more than another ten seconds and it was hailing again, the kind of precipitation that stings and numbs your skin - or is that from the cold?  There was no turning back now.  We both agreed that we were going for it and our pace hastened as we made our way upward, exposing our faces to the wind which blew down the exposed terrain.  We continued this way for a while, spotting the course markers flashing in the light of our headlamps until the rain mercifully stopped.  But the wind continued blowing and under rapidly clearing skies the temperature dropped.

Reaching the top of the climb I noted the first iron post in the ground which is a marker for the crossover from the Dives Basin toward Little Giant Basin and Silverton.  In the darkness you can't quite appreciate that you're threading the needle across a narrow ridgeline, but you have a sense of the void all the same.  As we started to head down the basin we switched out headlamps and I tried to maintain a good downhill pace to help stay warm.  Eventually the trail reaches a jeep road below that feels endless and as we made our way down this road, the miles ticked by very slowly.  In the headlamp lit darkness the leaves at the road's edge seemed to be patterned, even some with letters or messages, and they fluttered in the wind.  Rocks and trees took on shapes of animals or other inanimate objects as only some mild hallucination could create.

Toward the bottom of the jeep road I lost track of the turns that we made onto various other roads and trails, eventually joining the trail that would deliver us to Kendall Mountain.  I alternated running and speed walking in this area.  Eventually we came down the final slope to the pavement where some fans cheered for us as we made our way into town.

kissing the Hardrock!

Only a few blocks to go and we walked a good part of 14th Street through a deserted Silverton.  It was past 1:00AM afterall.  Turning onto Reese St. I started to run again, and upon seeing the approaching headlamps the small crowd gathered on 12th Street stirred and cheered our arrival.  Only one thing left to do, I rounded the corner and ran into the finish chute, planting a kiss right on that ram's nose!  I stopped.  I was exhausted but exuberant.  Dale was right there with a medal and a big bear hug to wish me congratulations on the accomplishment.  Dan and Joey were right there too!  Dale asked if I needed anything, if I was okay?  I was just so happy, all I could think of was, wow, yeah, I could use a bed right now.  43:23 was my time.  What a course!  What scenery!  What an adventure!  Since Friday I had been saying that I felt like I needed to pinch myself - was this all really happening?!

It's difficult to sum up in words my experience at Hardrock.  It is so much more than 102.5 miles, 33,000 feet of elevation gain, and climbing 13 passes over 12,000'.  It is truly an adventure of epic proportions.  For those who are fortunate enough to experience it, from the elites who run in under 30 hours to the recreational runners like me, the beauty, ruggedness, and challenge of Hardrock makes an indelible and lasting impression which helps to explain the tendency of runners to make an annual pilgrimage to Silverton.

This community of runners and the history of the run make for a very intimate atmosphere.  Of course it's more than just the runners that make the event because it would not be possible without the dedication and energy of volunteers, like Jigger and Paul at Grouse, and the run staff, like the tireless, charismatic race director, Dale, and the president of the board, Blake Wood, whose accolades are truly impressive and whose scenic photos inspire runners who have never set foot in the San Juans.

For me, this run would not have been possible without the support of family and friends.  I am truly fortunate for Joe who paced like a champ over a 28 hour period, and for Julia, Joey, and Dan who spent a lot of sleepless hours driving and waiting, in order to cheer and offer unconditional support.  My success is due to their efforts.

at the Start/Finish with the Vermont flag, as Dan looks on

At the end of the day, Hardrock isn't about earning a medal or a poster or a t-shirt.  Experiencing Hardrock is special because you live firsthand the joy of mountain running, distilled in the San Juans with a purity unmatched elsewhere.  Far from a competition with others, it's just you out there challenging yourself to summon the physical strength, endurance, and will power to accomplish something extraordinary in the wild country.