Pursuing the Sub-Nine Kasugi

Pursuing the Sub-Nine Kasugi

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." -Albert Einstein

    The Einstein quote has always resonated with me. I saw it first in the folds of a coaching clipboard belonging to one Bruce Gunderson.  I coach High School Track and Field with Bruce.  He is a sage beyond his years and is never too far away from his coveted yellow clipboard.  It is filled with an eclectic mix of notes, sketches, and other fabled coaching lore. I think there's even some hieroglyphics and moon runes in there. I digress.
 Way in the back, on the last page is where the quote can be found and for me, it’s a reminder that if you aren't satisfied with your current results then something has to change. There are no shortcuts or quick-fixes in this life;  Buck-up cowboy.  

    Finishing last year’s Kasugi Ridge Traverse for me was a gratifying personal accomplishment.  It represented the longest run of my life.  It was thirty miles and with an elevation gain of over five thousand vertical feet it is nothing to snub noses at.   Essentially traversing the spine of Denali State Park, the trek was a chance for me to link together three shorter hikes that I had done previously, multiple times each.  

     That year I wanted to quit at the halfway point at the top of Ermine Hill.  My entire lower body felt like it was about to cramp with one misstep or ill-word. But for reasons rooted in stubbornness and maybe even stupidity I pushed onward, over the hill beginning the second half of the course.  Why not? I only had fifteen miles to go. Trudging-on with the baggage of accumulating lower body pains, I managed to finish the damn thing in nine hours and thirty minutes; Dead last. I have to admit that my mommy actually helped me remove my running shoes and gaiters at the truck because I was so stiff I could not bend over. Thanks mom. My dad drove me home and provided special recuperative goodies such as cinnamon rolls and even a few fat tire amber beers! Despite my enjoyable recovery post-race, I missed the nine hour cut-off so I didn't get an official time for the race.

Near the Ermine hill cutoff

 

    Although I was thrilled to have finished such a long and arduous trek, it didn’t take me long to decide that I would have to do it again.  I decided that I wanted that coveted official time but Einstein was right, I had to do something different.  Cue-in the Rocky music.

    The summer prior to my first Kasugi race I had been focused on climbing Denali and it was on a whim when I decided to enter the race three weeks beforehand. Although it would certainly qualify as an off the couch entry, I didn't care; I was excited. I wanted to check out Kasugi’s ridge in its entirety.  I filled in the blanks in the on-line registry and after a long pause and with at least some reluctance I pushed the send button sealing my fate.  

    I have enjoyed distance running my whole adult life but my patterns have been sporadic at best.  I’d pick up the mileage for a few months at-a-time and then something would come up and then I'd think to myself: should I go running?.....meh.  Summer always presents a cornucopia of recreational options and along with my set net obsession, hunting addiction, and family camping it seems that running would always take second-fiddle.  This year will be different-I told myself.  Make time-I thought.

     I reasoned that staying in good running shape must be easier than having to gain it back time and time again.  

     As a Physical Education teacher, Track and Field coach, and cross country runner I have always believed that the hardest part of running is taking those first few steps out the front door.  Even if it is raining, snowing, or 20 below, once outside,  the run itself is always rejuvenating, invigorating, and even refreshing. Sometimes running doesn't come easy.  Sometimes the struggle to keep going is overwhelming but it always feels great to complete a run and not once after a run have I ever regretted doing so.

      I decided to keep track of my running efforts over the course of the year in the form of a running-log.  I set up a spreadsheet to keep a running-total of my mileage.  Along with the miles, I also noted pace (when possible), time of the run, and other information such as location of the run and even how I felt.  I included a column for other exercise (weight training etc.) and nutrition.  I thought that it might provide insight and possibly inspiration to review my training efforts as the year progressed.  It was fun to watch the numbers add up over the weeks and months that followed.  I found myself looking forward to logging-in to add my latest numbers.

    By late October I had reached 200 miles of running and to get me through my usually lazy Christmas break, I signed up for the Willow Winter half-marathon.  This race was on Dec. 12th and it gave me a goal to train for.   Although it was only a half marathon, the snow was super soft and as-it-turned-out, it was a pretty tough slog.  I finished in 3:23 locking down fourth place out of 23 which turned out to be my highest race-finish to date.  Boo-yah!

At the finish of the Willow Winter half

      In February I was able to compete in a race in San Diego.  The Mission Gorge 15 K was a beautiful mountain run and I finished in the top half of my age group.  By the 1st of March I was at 400 miles of training and I decided to commit to the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage on the Solstice in June.  I kept up my miles through our commercial fishing season the best I could and by the start of this year’s Kasugi Ridge Race I had accumulated 722 miles of running. Hah! Off the couch my ass.

       -------------------------------------------------

    “Hi Katie!”  I was surprised to see her there.  She had hiked up the Ermine Creek trail and was tucked into the bouldered scree on the mountain-side.  Katie and her husband Tom are good friends of mine and fellow teachers at Susitna Valley School. She was cheerfully greeting each of the racers as they passed.  She took some photos of me as I stopped and gave me a good slug of water.  She was taking full advantage of the glorious weather to pick blueberries between glances of the jagged and glorious vistas of the Alaska Range.

Thanks for the water and photography Katie.

    Two miles later I arrived at the Ermine hill cut-off and I was 25 minutes ahead of last year time.  I was ecstatic.  Carrie Sayer handed me a cookie.  I didn't stop until further up the next rise.  A group of super-cool hippy runner-types had set up an impromptu aid station.  They offered-up power bars, goos, gels, and even a couple of almond joy candy bars.   Cheering commenced when I grabbed an Almond Joy off the pile.  Apparently there had been bets on whether anyone would take it.  I ran over the hill slightly refreshed clutching a fistful of gummy-chews, Carrie’s homemade cookie,  and a full sized Almond-Joy.

Near the fabled rock pillars

    I ran between the rock pillars of the Ermine hill pass en-route to the skids of the steep back side. Over the course of the next ten minutes I would lose 900 vertical feet of elevation.  Not soon after in the marshy lowlands, I slowed considerably.  I had hit the wall.  I bonked.

      The uphills I had to hike but even on level ground I was struggling to maintain the slowest of jogs; I’m a long way from the finish I thought. Shit.

    I knew I was ahead of several other runners at this point but I realized that at my current pace they would soon catch me.  Fearing another nine-plus hour finish, I tried to focus my efforts on the only thing I felt I had control over;  my eating.

    I began to slurp down goo after god-awful goo hoping to regain some energy.  Along with these super sweet, syrupy goos you can also buy little gummy chews that come in a pack of fifteen or so.  I kept one going in my mouth for the remainder of the race.  Slowly but surely I crawled my way back out of Bonk-ville and by the time I reached the rounded summit of Golog ( 2970 ft.) I was able to begin running again.  In fact I ran the rest of the way, another ten miles or so stuffing my cheeks with ultra sweet goos and chews for energy.

   About four miles out I noticed that I was not only going to beat last year’s time I was going to crush it!  So with as much of a kick as I could muster I picked up the pace at the end and finished in 8 hours and 21 minutes.  I beat my time from last year by an hour and nine minutes securing my spot in the official results of the 2014 Kasugi Ridge Traverse.

Doing my best to fake a strong finish

Reconciling The Wolverine Trail

Reconciling The Wolverine Trail

    

This year I decided that I would name it the Wolverine Trail.  It is a trail that I know well.  Although I have traveled it many times since my first moose hunt when I was only thirteen years old, I hadn't really given it much consideration or thought. 

     Each time it was the same;  Push a cart to the back of the valley and then pack our rafts and all of our gear over the pass to the creek for a week long moose hunt. From the creek,  the rafts are inflated and from then-on, the work is different, still hard, but different.  Up until then though,  everything is strapped on your back.  Usually the pack over the pass takes three round trips each. It’s just over two miles to the creek.   The hope has always been that all the effort will pay off when a moose is down and the raft is put to work instead of our backs.

      This year I hunted alone.   So with no one to blame but myself I arose before dawn on the morning of the third day. I was sixteen miles off of the road in a non-motorized hunting area when suddenly and quite unexpectedly, my trip changed in dramatic fashion.

     The rain had pounded the tent all night which was consistent with all nights previous, and when finally there was a lull in the downpour, I pulled on my clothes and outer gear.  Who wants to start their day in the rain?  Just as I unzipped the tent the rain began again.  Great.  

       I didn’t know the exact time of day but it was very early and the beginnings of the day’s light had yet to light up the sky.   Having just emerged from my tent, I stood there for a moment to get my bearings. I saw the cook stove sitting there. Where’s my coffee?, I wondered.  Maybe I should put on my boots first, I thought. Oh look there’s a big bull moose standing there looking at me....huh?

     There, not forty feet away on a nearby rise was a rather large moose looking at me.  Okay.

    Holy shit, what is a moose doing way up here?  I was camped in the high alpine country.  Moose tend to hang-out in good browse areas thick with willow bushes and swampy lowlands.

     There wasn't any of that in the pass, just high tundra. In fact, the night before I watched a herd of forty caribou move over a nearby ridge.  It wasn't surprising to see caribou here, it’s their habitat, but not moose.  

    Maybe like myself, it was just passing through.  Maybe it heard me snap the wooden timbers of my cart for the fire the night before and wanted to check it out.  It was nearing the rut.  Bulls get very curious and aggressive during the rut.  Many hunters call them in-close with sounds of another challenging bull.  Sometimes knocking sounds such as chopping wood will bring them in.

     Maybe the moose was crossing the pass and had been hunkering down in the driving rain just as I was and when the rain subsided, he arose, started his day and happened upon my doorstep.

      I was no where near the creek where the weight of the moose could be offset at least somewhat by the flotation of the raft.  Two miles to the creek would represent the longest moose pack-out I've ever heard of.  Certainly the longest I've ever done.  The longest one for me was maybe a mile but the burden was shared among others.

    It was easy to stay calm because I was barely awake. I bypassed the coffee, cook stove, boots, and everything else making a nonchalant B-line to my rifle.  I pulled it out of it’s cover, chambered a cartridge and turned to face my new neighbor.

    During my fumblings he had retreated thirty feet but after I turned back towards him with something new in my hands his temperament changed.  

    He turned back, walking directly at me swaying his big rack back and forth.  Holy shit he’s challenging me to a dual!  In the confusion of his hormone fueled rut he was looking for a scrap with me. What a bully!  Maybe I should have taken it as a compliment that such a beast would consider me a worthy fight but since my antlers were many brow-tines shy of a decent match-up, I took the other road. I slid the safety from safe to fire and dropped him on the rise not fifty feet from the tent.

The creek in the valley yonder is where
the floating begins.

    Although this last paragraph would be a tidy ending to the story, for me it was just the beginning.  Since this wasn't my first rodeo, I knew that as the excitement of the moment passed that I was in-store for a real bitch of a pack out.  In some strange back-corner of my mind though I was okay with it.  Not only do I enjoy the challenge, but I also have learned to embrace the suffering that is inevitable with such things.  The rewards of gratification later-on far outweigh the self-doubt of passing it up.

With the moose on the ground I began the process of field dressing in the wee morning hours in the driving rain.  I finished mid-day and knew that I had to get my camp and all of the meat away from the kill-site.

     In my first load, I filled my backpack with an assortment of gear along with a 60 pound bag of back-strap and neck meat.  I put the game bag inside a garbage bag so it wouldn’t bloody my backpack and took off down the old Cat trail.  Also, I grabbed one of my oars to use as a walking pole.

    The pack was heavy and I had to find strategic sit-down spots occasionally to recover. These hand-picked rest spots had an elevated seat and allowed me to stand back up without too much effort.  

    At one such spot, halfway down the trail I looked up and was surprised to see a wolverine running down the trail towards me.  He had just crested a small hill in the trail and was thirty feet away from me when we both noticed each other.  He slammed on the brakes in dramatic fashion.  I immediately stood up and did the only thing I could think of; I raised my oar into the air to make myself appear bigger.  I had to do something after all I did had fresh bloody meat on my back, still warm and my rifle was sitting idol, back at camp. 

     Luckily, contrary to popular folklore the wolverine was just as scared as I was.  He paused to check me out, then turned on his furry heels running back over the hill from whence he came.  He left the trail, diving over the edge of the embankment.  He paused to stand on his hind legs to check me out again.  Maybe he smelled the fresh moose on me.  Maybe he was just curious.  When his head lowered below the bushes he was gone from me and after all was done I was grateful for the encounter.

    Over the course of the next two and a half days I would become re-acquainted intimately-so with my newly named Wolverine trail.  

Bags of meat waiting their turn for a piggy-back ride.

     Originally cut-in as a mining prospect in the late seventies, the dozer’s markings have since overgrown and inter-weaved with local game trails.  It is an elegant trail affording brilliant views of the high alpine tundra.  It represents a passageway between two distinct biomes; high alpine tundra and lush willow lowlands.  At it’s end it morphs into a tidy game trail as if it were planned.   

   I relocated my camp very near this end spot.  I wanted to get my camp away from the irresistible lure of the gut-pile and it turned out to be a good midway spot to shuttle loads of meat in and out of.

   With the last load of meat and antlers loaded onto my back I set out one last time down the Wolverine trail saying goodbye to each landmark as I passed it.

Wolverine trail near its namesake.

Tenderloin medallions, bacon, onions, jalapenos,
olive oil, garlic, and one succulent habanero pepper...
yeah!

   

Sadness of the last beer.

Happiness of one special bottle.

Repairing my hooves.