Final jaunt in the Canadian wilderness: Grouse Mt to Hanes Valley

The best way to say goodbye to a country you have come to love deeply? Disappear into it's wilderness for a last day of hiking, running, snow sliding, slippery river crossings, stings and scratches, deep mist and laughs with a group of my toughest, most inspiring friends!

The destination: Mostly unknown...but in the general direction of a secret trail to the top of Grouse Mountain and then descending through the Hanes Valley and out to Lynn Headwaters.

The secret trail:

Deep in to the forest we go:

Across the summit of Grouse Mt., snow stubborn despite it being the end of summer:

A steep, slippery descent:

Nicola, Peter and Jenni taking a small break, Hanes valley behind:

Jumping down across the rocks into Hanes Valley:

Goodbye Canada, I will miss you and your wilderness!

Summer hike to Elfin Lakes

Late summer in the Garibaldi National Park (East of Squamish, BC), and yet a hike to the Elfin Lakes took me deep in the mountains and amidst a paradise of snow!

A glimpse of the Howe Sound from Garibaldi FSR:

One of the Elfin Lakes, partially defrosted, with the Elfin hut behind and a cloud-obscured Diamond Head on the right:

In front of one of the Elfin Lakes, the hut behind me:

Time for some deserved relaxation:

Hiking up to the Gargoyles, north of Elfin Lakes:

Looking East from the summit of the Gargoyles:
Diamond Head:

The summit of the Gargoyles:

A deep mountain sunset from Elfin hut:
The temperamental nature of mountain weather - the Elfin hut barely visible under cloud cover:

White River 50 Mile Endurance Run

5am. 4 runners wake before the alarm rings. They crawl out of their sleeping bags, out of the tent and start their own individual pre-race rituals. I am deep in a valley running the length of the Chinook Pass Highway. Our campsite is next to White River, a fast-running murky-grey ribbon of water that appears white due to glacial sediment washed down from the mountains.

I am one of 300 runners about to take on the challenge of one of the most prestigious, well-respected 50mile races in the United States, the White River 50 mile Endurance Run. The race has a formidable history as a previous USA track and field Trail and Ultrarunning Championship race, and has been attended by the likes of Anton Krupicka (2009 and 2010 winner), Scott Jurek, Kami Semick and Krissy Moehl. Big names aside, the real attraction of the race is the epic scenery that clears the mind of pain and fatigue. Much of the 44miles of single track trail sits up on a ridgeline from where the views of Mount Rainier beg you to stop, take it in and to enjoy!

Our group arrived at the starting line with barely time to adjust packs before the pre-race briefing began. The competition was stiff, but I was more intimidated by the amount of wild hair, handle-bar mustaches and crotch-splitting shorts around me. All thoughts of taking this run as a "training run" disappeared.

Jackie and I, with our matching Salomon race-vest:

Race director Scott McCoubrey prepping the runners on the the trail details:

Race Start:

The start took us from the Buck Creek campground along 6km of wide single track trail. What had looked like a bunch of gentle, nature loving hippies dressed in spandex turned out to be a ferocious bunch of runners ripping through the mud and setting a solid pace. Fallen trees were hurdled, rocks skirted and soon I realized that this would be a wild, challenging run as much about negotiating the mountain terrain as it would be about running.

The first climb up to Corral Pass happened without too much pain. The switchbacks climbed gently, easy enough for the general field that banter filled the quiet forest. One short, steep section reinforced with stairs left calves screaming for mercy, but then we were back onto the barely climbing trail that would take us up to 1800m. Here we started a lovely section that rolled through blossoming alpine meadows along the border of the Norse Peak Wilderness Area. One one side, Mount Rainier hung onto your shoulder, a huge 4392m high volcano that is actually one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world!

Uli Steidl returning from the out-and-back section holding first place:

Mount Rainier behind me:

Photo courtesy of Glen Tachiyama.

This is why I run:

Once we had completed the out and back section, we had a beautiful 10km section of single-track downhill ahead of us. I passed some of my "competition" during this section, stretching out my legs to enjoy the pull of gravity. The trail looped back to Buck Creek where we started, and then started the 14km climb up to Sun Top Mountain. By this stage I was hot and combining power hiking and running to try and maintain a steady pace up. I noticed that although some runners would pass me as I hiked, I would easily catch them further ahead.

Half way up a group of mountain bikers pointed out Mount Rainier behind me. This was my expression when I looked around:

Always time for a photo-op:

Running towards the aid station at the top of Sun Top Mountain:

Photo courtesy of Glen Tachiyama.

Quick refuel at the aid station:

From Sun Top we had another descent. This one would turn out to be brutal. 10km along a forest service road pushed every runner to focus on saving some reserves for the final leg of the race. I stuck to the shade and tried to manage my pace. I had a funny side cramp, so avoided taking in any food or water to minimise exacerbating the ache. Once we arrived at the Skookum Flats trailhead, the final 10km was ON. I splashed a GU Brew across my mouth and face, grabbed a fistfull of potatoes and set out to try and beat 10hrs.

I wanted this section done. Every small rolling hill that I would normally not even notice seemed like a personal Mount Everest. I can run this, I would remind myself. Every time I saw a spectator I would ask how far to the finish line. The answer would be a vague distance in miles that I wasn't able to convert to metric with my tired, glucose-deprived brain. My friend Jackie caught me with a steady pace about 4 km from the finish. She swept me along in her wake and I tried to hold on to her, but at one stage I had to gasp "Jackie, I'm going anaerobic, you go ahead." In retrospect I was being soft. But at the time, 78km in, I was defeated! So I stumbled after Jackie, ashamed for having given up, turned a corner and saw the open stretch to the finish line!

A heel-kick for good luck:

A solid "training run," I finished in 9hr 52, 9th female overall and 1st in my age category!

Jackie and I, fresh as daisies:

Our group, Mike, Jackie, myself and Rune:

This race exemplified what trail running is for me. It called on you to leap, to bound, to have faith that the trail would catch you. During some parts I felt completely alone in the forest, and yet at every aid station I would turn up and feel like I was arriving at a 5-star Hilton hotel. As Mike said to me later, "well Gretel, now you can tick that off your bucket list." He is right. Every runner should take the time to come and run this amazing race in the wilderness of Washington State once in their life!

Running on the Sunshine Coast Trail

You know those runs where you feel like you are flying? Your heart rate is barely pushing 100bpm, you dance around roots and rocks in a way that would make goats envious, the weather is perfect, the views stunning, the company and conversation hilarious...Well, my run on the Sunshine Coast Trail this past weekend resembled nothing of this trail running harmony. Let's just say that Mother Nature kicked my arse in a very un-maternal way.

The plan was to run the last section (section #5) from Saltery Bay to a campground at the west end of Lois Lake. This would be approximately 42km, and I estimated it would take me about 6 hours given the uphill climbing and terrain. I had camped overnight with my girlfriend, Jenni Chancey, who dropped me off at 6am at the trailhead. Plenty of time, or so I thought. I had such high hopes. The guidebook had promised stunning views and big elevation gain and loss - Just what I needed for a good training run so close to the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc.

The view of the Strait of Georgia from the campsite at Saltery Bay at 6am:

Getting ready, take note of the down puffy jacket I have to wear mid-summer in Canada!

At the trailhead, right next to the ferry terminal at Saltery Bay:

Saltery Bay:

After about 3km I knew that this run was going to be one of those runs! Lots of the climbing was a decent mix between scrambling and trail pointed straight uphill, not gentle switch backs easing you up the slope. I had my new Black Diamond Z-Series ultra distance trekking poles to train with and get accustomed to, so the hiking was well suited for that purpose. Much of the trail at this stage was through open forest, with occasional glimpses of the sun on the glass-like water of the Georgia Straight. At reasonable intervals there was signposting marking the S.C.T, making the job of navigation easier for a first-timer like myself.

After the forested, coastal section above, I came out on the Saltery Bay FSR. Here I should've taken a left (Hindsight a couple of days later, while sitting on the couch with a beer is a wonderful thing!) I took a right instead as there was no immediate signage. I ran down the FSR and eventually came to a sign that said S.C.T North, the trail that I needed. About halfway up this trail I realised I had already come this way, and that I had looped back on myself. I had to run back to the FSR and up the road to the original intersection. By this stage I was starting to question whether I really needed to run the whole damn 42km, or whether I could call my friend for an early pick-up (yes, I was considering bailing). I was back on the original trail now, and about to start the climb up the the 1300m Mt Trubridge summit.

The sign pointing the way to Mt. Trubrudge:

The day was warming, the humidity rising, and spring was in full swing. All around me insects were busy in a frenzied orgy of mating and sucking nectar from the blossoming salmon berry bushes. The air was vibrating. I started to notice that every time I stopped, I would pick up a swarm of mosquitoes and horseflies. I'm not sure if it was my sweat, or whether they could sense my rising irritation. I looked like a mad-woman flailing my trekking poles around my head to stop the horse-flies from diving down to bite me in the face. All I could think about were the good, old Aussie hats with the dangling corks.

Up the mountain I climbed with my swarm of flies. Any photos I took became a risk. "Is this photo really worth a bite from an angry fly?" I had to ask myself.

The view from the summit of Mt Trubridge: the Salish Sea and Nelson Island:

Not wanting to linger on the summit with my hungry companions, I started to descend on the north side, only to find that winter was still lingering even here on the Sunshine Coast in mid-summer. The snow made navigation tricky as much of the trail was covered. I wasted a lot of time searching for trail markers and flagging, and was grateful every time I located another piece of pink tape hanging off a branch. The snow didn't deter the flies whatsoever, so I made use of the downhill to try and outrun them.

I passed through a swampy section where the snow had melted and formed large pools. Keeping my feet dry was impossible as I squelched through, still moving from marker to marker. The trail turned onto a narrow, rocky chute that looked like a small creek-bed as it had melt water running down it, heading for either Elephant Lake or Lois Lake at the bottom of the mountain.

By this stage I had given up on out-smarting the insects. They had proven themselves the superior species, both in endurance and in intelligence. See below the photos, taken while descending from Mt Trubridge and note the mosquitoes trying to strike at me:

Finally I hit some open trail that seemed to be part of a mountain biking system and I could pick up pace and get into a rhythm. By this stage I had been on the trails 6 hours. I was anxious to finish within 8 hours, but super happy I had not bailed earlier despite the natural disasters that had befallen me. Scratched up, nursing several insect "wounds," feet wet in unavoidably stinky shoes, I arrived at the Highway-FSR intersection where I would meet Jenni for a well deserved pick-up. Although I can reflect on this adventure and laugh now, at the time the frustration I felt at not running the run I had expected was mentally defeating. As trail runners though, this is what we live for and what makes us so strong. We deal with crappy weather, run in knee-deep snow and fight through tear inducing winds. Nothing on the trails is ever monotonous or predictable. That said, I killed a few of those flies and felt pure satisfaction.