Note to self: When planning to do a 27-mile trail run in Colorado, at elevations mostly above 10,000, you probably want to do a little more training than running trails once a week at basically sea-level.
That said, I'm in Colorado for two weeks this summer, and I was determined to do an epic trail run. A friend had done the Four Pass Loop near Aspen a couple years ago. I was going to be near Aspen! Why not try that? The Four Pass Loop is pretty much what it sounds like -- a run (or, for sane people, a hike) of 27 miles circumnavigating the Maroon Bells while crossing four passes, each over 12,000 feet. This map of the route from The Hiking Project makes it seem quite reasonable:
The hills are barely noticeable! Until you realize the elevation starts at zero. You're over 10,000 feet for nearly the entire route. Here's an elevation profile that gives a better sense of what you're up against:
That's from my Strava record of the loop. The hills are steep, and they get steeper as you get closer to the top.
I was warned about Colorado afternoon thundershowers (and I'd experienced a few of them in my 6 days in Colorado prior to my trip), so I started early: 4:51 a.m. to be exact. If I completed the loop in 10 hours, I should be well ahead of any storms. As it turned out, that would be a very big "if"!
Things started out pretty well and I made good time on my way to the first of four passes, Buckskin pass. It was topped with a massive cornice and I took a detour to make my way around it.
Now it was down a steep but manageable trail before starting the climb to the next pass. Even this early in the run, the passes were starting to blur together in my mind...what was this one called? I had to look it up just now to report that it was "Trail Rider." On the way up to Trail Rider, I passed a huge, reflecting lake -- Snowmass Lake.
It was a bit more of a grind to make it up to the pass, probably mostly owing to my not being properly trained / acclimatized for this adventure. I ate an Uncrustable while chatting with the 20-somethings on the summit. When I explained my plan, a woman asked how old I was. When I told her I was 52, she said "you are a BADASS!" I didn't feel very badass at the moment -- especially since I was still only 10 miles in to my 27-mile day. A lot can happen in Miles 10-27. And it did.
The descent from Trail Rider was seemingly never-ending. I was maybe halfway down and hikers on the way up were asking if they were almost there. Uh, no. Finally I made it to the bottom and forced myself to run on the runnable sections of the trail, which were much more common here at the valley bottom. This would be pretty much the last running I did on the loop.
I was running along a fairly big creek at the valley bottom and figured eventually I'd have to cross it. Soon I was knee-deep in water. Not a terrible ford, but I knew this meant I'd be starting to climb again soon. Sure enough, the trail began winding up into the forest. I'd checked my elevation at the river -- about 10,100 feet -- which meant I'd have over a 2,000-foot climb to pass #3. At least along the way there was some spectacular scenery:
After I passed the waterfall I came to an avalanche-damaged area. Here the snow had broken trees like toothpicks and compacted to rock-hard. The trail was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately there were some footprints and broken branches to guide my way, and eventually I found the track. I passed through another avalanche area, and then some steep snowfields. Fortunately footprints were cut into the snow and I could make my way past. Then it was up, up, up through meadows with dense foliage. I scanned the ridge ahead of me but could neither spot a pass nor figure out the trail crossed it. Eventually as I got closer to the top, I saw some hikers above making their way around a snowfield. I slowly made my way up the steep slope, cutting switchbacks on occasion to avoid snowfields, making my path even steeper. I had to stop a few times just to catch my breath. Finally I was at the top of Frigid Air Pass, 12,400 feet up. It wasn't so much a pass as just the spot where the trail crossed the ridge. Some hikers there assured me that my descent would be steep as well. Great.
I knew I would need to stop for water between Frigid Air and Maroon West pass, so as I descended I looked for a good stream. I found one after about a mile and sat down to pump water. I was hungry but none of my food sounded good. I was also getting bitten by mosquitos. And was that thunder I heard in the distance? I decided to force down an Uncrustable as I started hiking again. My stomach didn't appreciate it, but at least I had fresh, cold spring water to wash it down. The trail "only" descended 1,000 feet between Pass #3 and 4, which meant I would have one last climb, 1,000 feet, and then I'd be finished with climbing for the day. As the thunder grew nearer and I began my final ascent, I checked my mileage on the watch. 19.7 miles, 7.3 to go. Assuming the watch was accurate.
As with all the climbs, the hike up West Maroon Pass grew steeper and steeper as I neared the top. I found myself stopping for breath twice every switchback. Running was a distant memory; I would have to hike this one out. I did some calculations and figured out that if I could average 30 minutes / mile I would finish in 13.5 hours, just before 6:30 pm. At least it would still be light!
The rain started to fall during my final approach to West Maroon. I was wearing a short-sleeve shirt and had a water-resistant jacket and gloves in my pack. I decided not to stop to put on the jacket until I started getting cold. If it rained hard, it would soak through the jacket anyways, so I didn't need to worry about getting wet; the jacket would just be for warmth. My rest breaks got closer and closer together. It felt like I was just inching my way towards the summit. I could see people lingering at the top. I wondered why they would hang out there when thunderstorms were approaching.
Finally, I crested West Maroon Pass. I had kept telling myself I'd be "sofa king glad" when I got there, and now I was finally there. I barely stopped to check the view, only allowing myself 30 seconds to take the final selfie of the trip.
The rainfall gradually increased in intensity as I made my way down the trail. A boy and his mom were hiking down ahead of me and didn't seem to know they should let me pass, so I decided to take the time to throw on my jacket. I caught up with them as they reached a steep snowfield. I could tell they were going to be a train wreck heading down the precipitous slope, so I cut down a rocky slope next to the snowfield and was finally able to pass them.
I had chosen to do the hike counter-clockwise because the trail down from West Maroon wasn't as steep as it was on the way down from Buckskin. While this was true, the trail was very rocky and overgrown with bushes. And the rain fell harder and harder. I approached a raging creek and hoped I wouldn't have to ford it. No luck. I plunged across the icy rapids, using my poles to steady myself. The current was so strong that the poles were vibrating from the force of the water. I sank in above my knees on the uneven creek-bottom, and leaned into the current to stay upright. The water wasn't quite icy cold, but it still chilled my skin quickly. I pushed through and hoped I wouldn't have to cross that creek again! Nothing to do but keep going. I felt hungry but nothing sounded good to eat. Plus I'd have to stop to get food out of my pack, and then I'd be even colder. I looked at my watch -- 22 miles down, 5 to go. Assuming my watch was accurate.
At one point, the trail leveled off and I thought about putting my poles away. Maybe it would be easier from here on out. As if to mock me, the trail got rougher and muddier. Then I hit another avalanche area -- the worst one of the trip. Somehow I made my way through and found the trail on the other side. 23 miles down, 4 to go. The usual assumptions apply.
Next the trail veered left and I saw that I was going to have to ford the raging creek again. What else could this day bring? As if to answer me, it started raining harder. I was definitely cold now, and I'd have to ford the creek again, getting even colder. Somehow I made it through that and clicked through Mile 24. Just 3 miles left. I hoped.
More mud, more rain, more slips and slides ensued. Mile 25. I was starting to doubt whether I could really be 2 miles from the trailhead. I caught up to a couple who had been moving quite quickly ahead of me despite wearing backpacks. The man turned to me as I passed and said "Are you by chance going to Aspen?"
"Yes."
"Do you think you could give us a ride? We missed the shuttle."
"Sure," I said. I couldn't imagine someone finishing a hike like this and then having no way to get home from the trailhead. "By the way, do you know how far it is to the parking lot"?
"I think it's 1.4 miles from Crater Lake."
We were actually in sight of Crater Lake, which buoyed my spirits. Then there was a lively discussion among the three of us as to what point, exactly, on Crater Lake the mileage was measured from. Having company made the time pass quicker, and we plunged forward, getting closer and closer to the parking lot, and dry clothes, and a heater, and home.
As we approached the end of the trail, we started to see tourists in flip-flops making their way up the trail. I guess Dad had decided this was the day they were going to see Maroon Bells, and DAMMIT, they were going to SEE them!
Finally we were off the rough trail and onto the smooth, pebbled path alongside Maroon Lake. It couldn't be far now! And then I was unlocking my car, and letting my new friends in, and grabbing my dry clothes, and changing into them. I was shaking with hunger. I was driving down the mountain, glad that the hardest thing left in my day would be deciding what to have for dinner.
After I dropped my new friends off at their hostel in Aspen, I decided on pizza. I had a 30-minute drive to our rental house, so I called Greta to ask her to order pizza. In 30 minutes, I'd be home, and warm, and eating hot pizza and drinking cold beer. It was a good day.
It wasn't a great run, though. I had been hoping to finish in around 10 hours. It took 13 and a half. I hadn't run at all after about 15 miles. I think the elevation got to me, and the technical nature of the trails. Yes, the rain and avalanches and fords slowed me down too, but not by 3 and a half hours. In the end, none of the numbers mattered much. I had an epic experience, got to see some spectacular scenery, and came back in one piece. That said, here's the Strava record of the run.
That said, I'm in Colorado for two weeks this summer, and I was determined to do an epic trail run. A friend had done the Four Pass Loop near Aspen a couple years ago. I was going to be near Aspen! Why not try that? The Four Pass Loop is pretty much what it sounds like -- a run (or, for sane people, a hike) of 27 miles circumnavigating the Maroon Bells while crossing four passes, each over 12,000 feet. This map of the route from The Hiking Project makes it seem quite reasonable:
The hills are barely noticeable! Until you realize the elevation starts at zero. You're over 10,000 feet for nearly the entire route. Here's an elevation profile that gives a better sense of what you're up against:
That's from my Strava record of the loop. The hills are steep, and they get steeper as you get closer to the top.
I was warned about Colorado afternoon thundershowers (and I'd experienced a few of them in my 6 days in Colorado prior to my trip), so I started early: 4:51 a.m. to be exact. If I completed the loop in 10 hours, I should be well ahead of any storms. As it turned out, that would be a very big "if"!
Things started out pretty well and I made good time on my way to the first of four passes, Buckskin pass. It was topped with a massive cornice and I took a detour to make my way around it.
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| Beautiful views abounded |
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| Atop Buckskin Pass - the first of four 12000+ passes |
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| Postcard-perfect reflection on Snowmass Lake |
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| Obligatory selfie near Pass #2 |
I was running along a fairly big creek at the valley bottom and figured eventually I'd have to cross it. Soon I was knee-deep in water. Not a terrible ford, but I knew this meant I'd be starting to climb again soon. Sure enough, the trail began winding up into the forest. I'd checked my elevation at the river -- about 10,100 feet -- which meant I'd have over a 2,000-foot climb to pass #3. At least along the way there was some spectacular scenery:
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| Massive waterfall at Mile 13.5 -- a nice sign that I was halfway through the loop! |
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| Stunning vistas -- and foreboding clouds |
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| Pass #3! |
As with all the climbs, the hike up West Maroon Pass grew steeper and steeper as I neared the top. I found myself stopping for breath twice every switchback. Running was a distant memory; I would have to hike this one out. I did some calculations and figured out that if I could average 30 minutes / mile I would finish in 13.5 hours, just before 6:30 pm. At least it would still be light!
The rain started to fall during my final approach to West Maroon. I was wearing a short-sleeve shirt and had a water-resistant jacket and gloves in my pack. I decided not to stop to put on the jacket until I started getting cold. If it rained hard, it would soak through the jacket anyways, so I didn't need to worry about getting wet; the jacket would just be for warmth. My rest breaks got closer and closer together. It felt like I was just inching my way towards the summit. I could see people lingering at the top. I wondered why they would hang out there when thunderstorms were approaching.
Finally, I crested West Maroon Pass. I had kept telling myself I'd be "sofa king glad" when I got there, and now I was finally there. I barely stopped to check the view, only allowing myself 30 seconds to take the final selfie of the trip.
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| The one and only Sofa King atop Pass #4! |
I had chosen to do the hike counter-clockwise because the trail down from West Maroon wasn't as steep as it was on the way down from Buckskin. While this was true, the trail was very rocky and overgrown with bushes. And the rain fell harder and harder. I approached a raging creek and hoped I wouldn't have to ford it. No luck. I plunged across the icy rapids, using my poles to steady myself. The current was so strong that the poles were vibrating from the force of the water. I sank in above my knees on the uneven creek-bottom, and leaned into the current to stay upright. The water wasn't quite icy cold, but it still chilled my skin quickly. I pushed through and hoped I wouldn't have to cross that creek again! Nothing to do but keep going. I felt hungry but nothing sounded good to eat. Plus I'd have to stop to get food out of my pack, and then I'd be even colder. I looked at my watch -- 22 miles down, 5 to go. Assuming my watch was accurate.
At one point, the trail leveled off and I thought about putting my poles away. Maybe it would be easier from here on out. As if to mock me, the trail got rougher and muddier. Then I hit another avalanche area -- the worst one of the trip. Somehow I made my way through and found the trail on the other side. 23 miles down, 4 to go. The usual assumptions apply.
Next the trail veered left and I saw that I was going to have to ford the raging creek again. What else could this day bring? As if to answer me, it started raining harder. I was definitely cold now, and I'd have to ford the creek again, getting even colder. Somehow I made it through that and clicked through Mile 24. Just 3 miles left. I hoped.
More mud, more rain, more slips and slides ensued. Mile 25. I was starting to doubt whether I could really be 2 miles from the trailhead. I caught up to a couple who had been moving quite quickly ahead of me despite wearing backpacks. The man turned to me as I passed and said "Are you by chance going to Aspen?"
"Yes."
"Do you think you could give us a ride? We missed the shuttle."
"Sure," I said. I couldn't imagine someone finishing a hike like this and then having no way to get home from the trailhead. "By the way, do you know how far it is to the parking lot"?
"I think it's 1.4 miles from Crater Lake."
We were actually in sight of Crater Lake, which buoyed my spirits. Then there was a lively discussion among the three of us as to what point, exactly, on Crater Lake the mileage was measured from. Having company made the time pass quicker, and we plunged forward, getting closer and closer to the parking lot, and dry clothes, and a heater, and home.
As we approached the end of the trail, we started to see tourists in flip-flops making their way up the trail. I guess Dad had decided this was the day they were going to see Maroon Bells, and DAMMIT, they were going to SEE them!
Finally we were off the rough trail and onto the smooth, pebbled path alongside Maroon Lake. It couldn't be far now! And then I was unlocking my car, and letting my new friends in, and grabbing my dry clothes, and changing into them. I was shaking with hunger. I was driving down the mountain, glad that the hardest thing left in my day would be deciding what to have for dinner.
After I dropped my new friends off at their hostel in Aspen, I decided on pizza. I had a 30-minute drive to our rental house, so I called Greta to ask her to order pizza. In 30 minutes, I'd be home, and warm, and eating hot pizza and drinking cold beer. It was a good day.
It wasn't a great run, though. I had been hoping to finish in around 10 hours. It took 13 and a half. I hadn't run at all after about 15 miles. I think the elevation got to me, and the technical nature of the trails. Yes, the rain and avalanches and fords slowed me down too, but not by 3 and a half hours. In the end, none of the numbers mattered much. I had an epic experience, got to see some spectacular scenery, and came back in one piece. That said, here's the Strava record of the run.
