A Snapshot and the Scoop: "Action!"

This may look like an ancient ruin, but it was actually part of a movie set built in 1965 for "The Professionals." Recognized for it's incredibly geologic formations, many movies and commercials are filmed within the Valley of Fire State Park boundaries, which has caused park rangers to have to carefully manage who gets permits to film so that no lasting environmental impacts are made. I won't lie here, I rarely watch movies and have not seen any of the ones filmed in the park, but just the physical reminder that things like this exist is pretty neat!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: My Spot

Last year's mountain climbing adventures actually left us with quite a bit of time on our hands, and we spent one afternoon just driving around, exploring Colorado by car. It was getting towards evening and we were on our way back to camp when I realized where we were - near the town of Salida, and not too far away from a favorite childhood haunt. I began looking for the turn off, going completely by landmark memory from I don't even know how many years ago. We drove past the road and I knew it immediately; I flipped a u-turn and, with mounting excitement, took the turn. Not far up the road, just inside the national forest, I found it: one of my family's favorite places to camp in Colorado, revisited year after year, affectionately named "Natasha's Spot." I'd had My Spot marked on nearly every map of Colorado I owned up until we all grew up and stopped being able to go together on week+ family trips and lost track of it after that. I hadn't even realized Torrey and I were driving close by until something about the drive jogged my memory, and at that point I knew I'd have to find it just for memory's sake. It was almost exactly how I remembered it, with the little creek rushing by and a wide empty space that perfectly fit a large tent, or a small camper. There was an additional fire ring now, two instead of just one, but the little gravel beach with the boulder overhanging the creek was still there, and I could all but see my younger self along with my sister sitting there for hours pretending we were surviving in the wilderness all on our own. I could smell the smoke from an early evening pine-wood campfire and taste the grilled potatoes my mom was so fond of making on every camping trip. I could hear my dad shuffling outside of the camper at night on us kids' side, pretending to be Big Foot and scaring my sister so bad she made me sleep against the outer wall (because what else are big sisters for but to protect you - and be eaten first?). It was way past berry season in late August, but I wondered if the strawberry patch was still there, a short (sketchy) walk across the swift stream. I don't know exactly how long I stood there among the trees reminiscing, but Torrey left me to dwell in my memories for a little while with a content smile on my face as I walked around and around, touching everything and taking way too many pictures of a few compact yards. If we hadn't had plans the next day with an already established base camp I probably would have asked if we could set up there that night, but there's always next year.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Reminders of the Past

Built by the CCC during the Great Depression, three cabins sit against a stone cliff overlooking the part of Valley of Fire State Park. The cabins are made from the same sandstone that's found in the rest of the park, and at first glance it's easy to miss them, which is sort of the point. Used by campers and travelers for years, the cabins now stand as empty reminders of what the CCC accomplished throughout the park, the state of Nevada, and the rest of the country as citizens struggled during the depression.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Something A Little Different

Things were a little different for last year's Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon due to construction on the mountain road, so while we were able to get to the summit on Ascent day to greet Torrey's dad at the top, I wasn't able to get to the top on Marathon day to play spectator. Instead I spent my day in Manitou Springs along with every other race spectator, watching the top via big screen TVs set up along the town roadways. I spent a lot of my time people-watching the crowd and cheering on the runners as they began to trickle in to their finish, which is what I supposed I'd have done at the summit anyway. Manitou is a cute little town, and I didn't at all mind being there for the day.

TROT Virtual Race #1: Brazos Bend 50K

Self-sufficient. I hadn't exactly intended to run this particular race. I hadn't been planning on running it even before COVID-19 and quarantine and social distancing hit us all. I had been signed up to volunteer at an aid station for the race at Brazo's Bend State Park down by Houston, my preferred place to see gators, but when the race directors cancelled every race from late February through May my volunteering was cancelled as well. Then they rolled out the virtual options for the cancelled races, offering the same distances, bibs, shirts, and medals a participant would receive during the in-person race, with the slight adjustment of letting each person run when they can, where they can. I was sold.

Running a virtual race versus an in-person race is pretty much the same thing: you put one foot in front of the other and run the distance you signed up for in what is hopefully a decent amount of time. There are a few significant differences though, as I discovered during my first TROT (Trail Racing Over Texas) Virtual Run. First and foremost, you don't have the social aspect of the race when you're doing it on your own. In this case that's the whole point, but I found myself missing the other runners and race volunteers, all of whom would normally be ready with an encouraging word and a heap of snacks at the aid stations. The aid stations were another thing I sorely missed; instead of having a table full of a variety of foods, electrolytes, and water refills, I was responsible for my own fuel during my run, carried my own water, and otherwise had to take care of myself. Sure, I could have planned my course so that I did loops or laps that took me back to my car every 5-10 miles so that I could refuel there and not carry so much, but I don't yet have the will-power to keep going when I could easily call it quits, get in my car, and go home. During a virtual race, you are also responsible for planning your own route. While there are advantages to that (hello flat trails and no elevation gain!) there are also disadvantages in the form of poor planning or just plain boring routes. Again, I could have planned my route to take me past my car somewhat frequently, but I didn't want to risk giving up. Instead, I planned a route that would take me 13+ miles away from my car, essentially forcing me to complete the distance so long as I didn't turn around before I hit the end of the trail.

While I would have preferred to run the race on the originally intended course at Brazo's Bend, I think I did rather well for myself considering I changed plans about half a dozen times. When I signed up for this race I had hoped to run it at my local state park, so that I could be close to home and because I already know the trails there. That idea was dashed when Texas closed all the state parks in response to the virus, because apparently people here (and everywhere, really) can't follow instructions to social distance. I toyed with the idea of running on the roads around my house, but I get horrible shin splints when I run on concrete and really didn't want to suffer that much. Then I hoped to run the race on a national recreation trail about an hour south of my house, in the heart of one of four national forests here in Texas, but further digging the night before I wanted to run led to the discovery that most of the 20 mile trail is closed for one reason or another. Finally, I decided to run a trail I've hiked a few times in the past, when breaking my own personal distance records in previous years: Turkey Creek Trail at Big Thicket National Preserve.

I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting myself into for this run. I'd hiked Turkey Creek Trail before, knew it was flat, if somewhat boggy in places, and it was roughly 20 miles from end to end. Hurricane Harvey wrecked havoc on the preserve and surrounding area, though, and did enough damage to the south end of the trail that they had to close it until repairs can be made. This left me with just about 14 miles to work with, running out and back, plus adding another four miles somewhere to hit that 50k mark, or 31.1 miles. I could do it. And I was bringing Ghost, too.

Ghost has found his purpose in life ever since I started running with him. He's a giant baby and hates water and heights, but if I take him out for a run he forgets everything except keeping pace with (or leading) me. We arrived at the northern trailhead for Turkey Creek just before 8am on a cloudy, cool April morning, and set out right after loading up with food and water. Ghost has his own backpack, which allows him to carry his own snacks, water, and bowl, and gives me a break from carrying extra weight. I have my own hydration vest - a gift from Torrey - that is more than sufficient to carry water, sweet and salty snacks, a rain jacket, and other little things that I would otherwise find at an aid station table. I'm generally adamant about being self-sufficient (probably a trait from backpacking and my Type A personality) and while I would have liked to ditch the weight of so many bottles of water and instead filled up at aid stations, I had no issue in relying on myself to provide what I needed. Covered in bug spray and satisfied we had everything we needed, we began.

I am not, and never will be, a fast runner. I am much more invested in distance, in pushing myself as far as I can go, in the mental battle that takes place between the logical part of me that screams what the fuck do you think you're doing, you can't go that far, and the tiny but much louder part of me that crosses her arms, raises her eyebrows, and snaps back yes, I can. I am perfectly happy with a 12, 13, or 14 minute mile. Hell, 12 minute miles are fast for me. I am just fine with power hiking when I need a break. And so I am okay with the fact that Ghost and I started out great with 12 minute miles, then eventually slowed to 16 minute miles, with a few 20 minute miles sprinkled in when I slowed down to eat a bag of M&Ms and a handful of pretzles at miles 5, 15, and 25. And those two 10-minute breaks I took at miles 10 and 20 to change my socks, eat half a Kind bar and a pickle spear, and dig out another water bottle from the bottom of my pack? No big deal.

I took the social distancing orders to heart on this race, and only saw three other human beings during the entire 31 miles, and all of them were at the trailhead as I was finishing up. On the trail itself, other than a plethora of bugs, I saw two other living creatures: a young coyote who we surprised as we rounded a bend in the trail, whom I locked eyes with before it turned tail and fled up the path before disappearing in the brush, and a copperhead snake (yes, one of the venomous ones here in Texas) whom Ghost stepped right over before I even saw it stretched across the trail, whom didn't even move as I gave a dramatic gasp and jump away from it, yanking Ghost by the leash. Neither the coyote nor the snake bothered us, and we went on our way though I was decidedly more vigilant after seeing the copperhead. I had been in a headspace that's almost a trance, the meditation state that I fall into during long runs where I'm just aware enough to keep to the trail but also removed enough to not notice how my muscles ache, how my toes are sore, how my heartbeat throbs in my fingers. After the little reminder that there are things in the woods that could send my day into a downward spiral of awfulness I was a little more aware of my surroundings, and definitely kept my eyes on the trail both in front of myself and in front of Ghost.

We reached the beginning of the trail and my car at mile 27, right around seven hours after setting out. After a quick refill of water bottles and a purging of empty ones, reapplying bug spray because the mosquitoes were swarming after the repellent wore off after twenty miles and Ghost and I were being eaten alive, plus ditching Ghost's pack, we ran back to the trail. I needed to hit 31.1 miles to reach a 50k distance, and so needed to run out and back just a couple of miles. I was in no danger of quitting, despite being near my car; I was only four miles from finishing this, I felt great, and Ghost was happy to be without his pack. We were good! It's almost stupid to admit, but the only concern I had was my phone battery dying. I used my phone to track my distance and time, and if it died on me before I finished I wasn't sure if it would record my run or if it would be lost. I ran my fastest four miles at the very end of the race, desperate for my phone battery to last. I had 10% charge, and watched that number drop at an alarming rate during the last mile. I all but sprinted it, huffing and puffing through a stitch in my side and burning calf muscles, Ghost loping alongside me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic as I ran circles around the tiny trailhead parking lot, trying to hit the last two tenths of a mile that would push me firmly over to my 50k distance. When I saw my distance numbers roll over I practically sobbed with relief, sprinting over to my car to plug my phone in while also hitting "finish" and "save workout" on the running app.

Only once I was sure that my phone was charging and my run was saved did I allow myself a little happy dance for completing my second 50K ever, my fourth race total. I showered Ghost with love and treats, so incredibly proud of him for not only finishing his first 50K distance but leading me for the entire way. He never once dragged behind, never once showed any sort of wish to slow down or stop. There were even times when he would pull insistently on the leash, clearly wanting to go faster, and it is probably because of him that I managed to shave 12 minutes off my time for that distance, finishing this 50K race in 7 hours 46 minutes. We will definitely be running a 50K together again, and it just so happens that I'm signed up for two more virtual races of that distance, with plans to sign up for four more once registration opens next month. While I might not have originally intended to run the Brazos Bend 50, and although I missed some of the things that come with a supported in-person race, virtual racing has definitely grown on me, and I'm absolutely sure Ghost enjoys it too.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Shooting Wildife

I had so much fun spotting and following this herd of Desert Bighorn Sheep during my visit to Valley of Fire State Park. Myself and another pair of guys followed the herd by car at first, then when they got closer we pulled over and pulled out our cameras, planting ourselves on the side of the road and watching them graze, wander, and head-butt for a good twenty or so minutes. Although it was bright and sunny out, the wind was blustery and by the time the herd moved off down the valley I was shivering, teeth chattering as I bid the other photographers goodbye. It's always fun to get good shots of animals doing what they naturally do - from the safety of a proper distance and a zoom lens.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pikes Peak Year Six

Once again, last August found Torrey and I at Pikes Peak, participating in and cheering on from the sidelines the runners of the Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon. Torrey and I spent Ascent day at the top of the mountain, cheering her dad as he made it to the top. It was colder and windier on Pikes than it had been on any of the other 14'ers we'd climbed that week, and I was a little bit glad we had a warm giftshop/cafe to get into and warm up. Torrey keeps trying to talk me into running the ascent and up until now I've been adamantly against doing so . . . Now though, I might consider it. Just not this year; I'd like a little more running experience before I go for something like the elevation gain I'll have to suffer through in order to complete that particular race. We'll see though!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Mouse's Tank

In the desert, little shaded pockets of sandstone, usually located in the bottom of canyons, that are filled with perennial water are called "tanks". These tanks are life-saving resources for desert animals and humans alike, such as the Southern Paiute Indian this particular tank located in Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada is named after. "Little Mouse" was a fugitive accused of killing two prospectors, and used this water source while hiding from the law in the late 1800s. Though he was eventually caught and killed, Little Mouse survived for far longer than anyone would have thought in this dry desert, all because he found this tank of water. Today, desert-dwelling animals such as lizards, snakes, mice, and big horn sheep use this water source and others like it to survive where there are no rivers or lakes, and where rain is scarce.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Relief from Mountain Climbing

Even before Torrey and I decided to cut our mountain climbing short by one day last summer, we'd been planning on pampering ourselves at one of the many hot springs resorts in the Buena Vista area. Choosing to not climb Mount Princeton ended up being absolutely the right call to make, as we watched thunderstorms roll over the summit from mid-morning on, knowing there was no way we'd have reached the top safely that day. Instead, we were busy relaxing in one of the modernized hot springs pools at the Mount Princeton Resort at the base of the mountain, soothing our muscles sore from climbing and backpacking during the few days previous. We spent hours there, alternating between lounging in a pool chair and soaking in the steaming waters, until the staff eventually kicked guests out due to the incoming storms. We fully utilized the free showers at the pool (thank you for the free shampoo and soap!) and, feeling relaxed and clean, went on our way.

A Bit of a Letdown: Joshua Tree National Park

Disillusioned. Perhaps it was because it was cloudy, or maybe because it was snowing (in southern California!), or maybe because I was sleep-deprived, but regardless, my first impression of Joshua Tree National Park was lackluster. Maybe I had over hyped the park I've heard so much about as a premier place for rock climbing and camping and backcountry hiking, but when I actually got there I really didn't see what all the fuss was about. I mean sure, the miles and miles of paved and dirt roads were great to drive, the Joshua Trees were otherworldly, and you can never go wrong with dropping me into the middle of a desert, and while I can absolutely see why it deserves national park designation I just wasn't all that impressed. Is it possible to get travel burnout? Have I really been to so many places that one of the most visited national parks rates as just an "eh" on my list of natural wonders in the country?

I'm probably not being completely fair. I really was sleep-deprived, coming off of two days of manning aid stations at this year's Grandmasters Ultra race, both nights of which were spent shivering in blisteringly cold, windy conditions despite our best efforts to provide warmth for the runners and ourselves. I was also (still sort of am) struggling with my depression, and dealing with the letdown of my expectations for my February desert trip not being met. I had been so looking forward to the desert sun, for brilliant red rock canyons and towering mountains bathed in light and shadow. While I did get that (during the day) for the two days I was on the Arizona/Nevada/Utah border (a post for another time) both the drive to the area and the rest of the week afterward before I got home were plagued with winter storms, traffic-snarling blizzards, and overcast skies. I went out there for the sun, damn it!

It snowed the entire time I explored the upper elevations of Joshua Tree. Sometimes the snow was light and I took short walks through the desert plants, sometimes the snow was heavy and I sat in my car on the side of the road, pouting. I did make sure to drive the scenic dirt roads marked on the park map, and those ended up being my favorite parts of the visit. You all know how much I love to drive, and if I couldn't hike among the cracked granite boulders famous for their rock-climbing routes then at least I could see them from the warmth and comfort of my car. I mean, technically I could have hiked, but why would I purposely subject myself to being cold and wet and miserable when I was already grumpy with how my visit was going? If I'd done that I probably would have wound up with hypothermia and absolutely no desire to return to the park someday in the future when there's better weather.

As it was, I spent nearly the whole day in the park determined to see everything I could from my car because I had driven all the way out there and I am way more stubborn than what's probably good for me. The clouds cleared off a bit once I descended into the lower elevations, from the Mojave Desert into the Colorado Desert, though by the time I got there it was later in the afternoon and not much left to drive of the main park road. Don't get me wrong, the scenery was exactly what I'd been hoping for when planning my visit; rugged mountains lined with Joshua Tree forests, wide valleys filled with all sorts of my favorite cacti, sand-colored granite blocks as tall as skyscrapers, and a general lack of other people in the area because I purposely visited in the middle of the week (and also apparently during a winter snowstorm). Joshua Tree was beautiful and packed with the activities that would normally make me giddy and itching to get my hiking shoes on to explore, but I just wasn't feeling it this time around.

Someday, whenever I make my way into southern California again, I'll revisit Joshua Tree and give it a second chance. Someday I'll go back and there won't be a cloud in the sky and I'll soak up as much of that desert sun as I can handle (spoiler: it's a lot). Someday I'll hike as many miles of cacti-choked trails as I want, and maybe even do a bit of climbing while I'm at it. I'll keep dreaming until that someday comes.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Three Corners

Reachable only via (really awesome) four-wheel drive roads, the corners of Arizona, Nevada, and Utah converge out in the middle of the Mojave Desert, not far from the tiny town of Littlefield, Arizona. While not as famous as it's Four Corners counterpart (Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah), the three corners is still a bustling place during good-weather days. It was also the most remote aid station at this year's Grandmasters Ultra race, and I spent a day here with Torrey, Tyler, and Chris while we served runners completing their race. I would probably never have visited this little concrete and metal monument if not for the race, so props to the race directors for giving me a chance to see something new!