Training Log Archive: Swampfox

Record high temps for the day (at least 88F vs the old high of 87F) led to record high cold water consumption by me on the day. Mapped during the heat of the day and thought about when it might rain again. My current fave pair of running shoes is pretty wrecked and it has been my plan to throw them out after the next rainfall. The rain keeps on not arriving and the shoes keep getting more worn and worn with too many holes in the uppers to count, and soles so smooth you could write literature on them.

Ran afterwords and kept hitting rocks--luckily without taking any falls. Some days rocks reach out more forcefully than on others.

C • Literature 4

More warm, and more not rain. Much of August was solidly above the average highs, and I can think of only one time I saw measurable rain--though that's a bit of bad luck; several storms just barely passed by town. The dust is thick everywhere, and nearly as thick as the trail dust are the grasshoppers. With no rain or hail, the cheat grass remains ready to go after any socks or shoes that come too near. For now, winter seems far away.

(According to the Denver Post, this August was the 3rd warmest ever for Denver. Even though Laramie is not Denver, it is Laramie.)

And yet this weekend marks the traditional end to summer. Go into the forest and you can see it: all manner of undervegetation plants are turning to fall colors and with them some percent of the aspens are beginning to change over, too.

Spent the afternoon mapping and then ran trails to close out the day outside.

Saw the two turkey hens again, in the same area as earlier. Once again, they didn't really seem to mind me. They kept an eye on me, but as long as I was about 60' or so away, they were cool with me being there.

I reserved a portion of the afternoon for a visit to the quartzite ridges of the Snowy Range. While I was there, I ran up to the top of Medicine Bow Peak. There was a couple up there having lunch. They seemed surprised to see me, but told me their names anyway. I told them I was Carlos Santana's younger brother and described for them vivid scenes from Woodstock. Funny how those memories never fade. Luckily, I had thought to wear a bandana for the run.

On the way down I made sure to cross through a pleasant snowfield.

I dreamt I saw the tallest buildings in Wyoming,
Lit up like New York skyscrapers on New Years Eve,
And I dreamt I saw a thousand purple saurians,
Grazing on high altitude ferns of sage the size of craters on Saturn,
And I dreamt of smiling, foxy cowgirls,
Emboldened, sunburnt by winds so fierce,
And I dreamt of eleven kilometers,
Hard driven run out at the dream terrain Remarkable Flats.

But when I awoke and saw my dirty feet,
Glittering with diamond dust,
And my O' pants streaked with salty sweat,
And a crumpled map by my bed,
I knew it had been no dream at all.



For a change, I even got the looped controls in the correct order. And who said practice doesn't help?

Many massive camping trailers have already showed up in advance of the coming weekend.

C • dream 2

There has been an unusual outbreak of Uhaul trucks running around town. In fact, I've never seen anything like it before. Perhaps they are like mushrooms popping up after a good rain, only here the triggering mechanism has been 2 weeks of unparalleled fine, sunny summer weather. Or perhaps it is something else.

I think it is something else.

My leading theories: 1) in a highly secretive and yet to be announced move, Uhaul has decided to relocate its World Headquarters to the diminutive crossroads known as Laramie; 2) there are Space Invaders from Mars coming to take control of the high prairie, and of course they have to use Uhaul trucks just like everyone else.

It seems to me 2) is the more probable circumstance.

Whichever the case, I think it has nothing to do with unit trains filled with wind turbine parts.

For a long time I've wanted to climb Pole Mountain. Of course lots of people would tell me things like "that would be so foolish" or "you can't do it" or "you will perish". And it's not like I didn't understand the dangers of the endeavor. But that last one always bothered me; of course I'm going to perish. Even the stars one day perish, and they're not even trying to climb Pole Mountain.

So I made plans, made preparations, and trained and trained and trained to maximize my chances. The critical decision: to not take the easy way like so many of these wannabe weekend adventurers. If you pay a sherpa to carry you to the top of Everest, you have accomplished what? As a practical matter, that meant that I would make the summit attempt without the use of supplemental oxygen, and that I would do it solo, without the use of any aid or special climbing gear. Though I would take along a non-functioning Bic lighter. It wouldn't help me start a life saving fire, but if at some point in the climb I faced a crisis of confidence, I would take out the non-functioning lighter and tell myself: "Well the situation appears to be hopeless, but at least I've got a non-functioning Bic lighter, so I will press forward and upward." Many times the difference between success and failure is utterly marginal.

And today was the day.

I set off under clear skies and with a light wind at my back, and trotted along well maintained trails until I could glimpse the notorious SW face of Pole Mountain. This would be the face I would be using for the final summit assault.

From there I changed course and continued advancing along trails, now behind a sheltering rocky ridge, and nearly circling the fearsome mountain so that when I at last departed the trail network I was facing Pole Mountain from the north. I then descended down one arm of a "Y" shaped valley system through thick timber, and then ascended the other arm, aiming for a grassy Col separating the peak from the afore mentioned rocky ridge. The second arm of the "Y" was full of fallen timber intermixed with much rocky debris and hostile ground juniper. Progress was slow and at times almost discouraging. But then I would clutch my non-functioning Bic lighter and find new resolve.

Eventually I saw signs that the dark forest was lightening ahead, and I emerged into the grassy meadow that was serving as my final attack point.

Checking my watch, I saw there was enough time, and the timing itself was perfect: in the gathering shadows of the late Happy Jack afternoon, the icy shrouds above were re-freezing, and the rockfalls were ceasing. Before initiating the final assault, I gathered myself, raised my arms to the gods, and sang my special climbing song that I had picked for this expedition: Kelly Loggins' "Danger Zone". I sang it so well that even though time was of the essence, I decided I would sing it again, so I did.

Then I started the final climb.

I summited exactly one hour and fifty eight minutes after departing base camp (aka my truck), giving you some idea of the terribly arduous nature of this reckless endeavor. The view was incredible, even better than I had dared thought, almost 360 degrees of the splendor of the high Wyoming prairie and bits of forest clad low peaks here and there, not to mention many orienteering maps.

I scouted the flattish, rocky summit thoroughly, ascertaining there was not the slightest sign that any human being had ever been there before. I was elated. I was the first person to climb Pole Mountain! I could already taste all the congratulatory posts and "likes" that would in when I posted news of this on Facebook!! Except that I had forgotten to bring along anything for a selfie. Oh, well. At least I had my non-functioning Bic lighter with me, and that was the important thing.

Actually, as any veteran expedition climber knows, the really important thing after reaching the top is getting back down in one piece. As they say: "Anyone can be carried up to the top of difficult mountain by a sherpa, but making it back down alive is a another thing." Even sherpas get tired.

I therefore took my time descending, checking and re-checking each hold, wary that each foot step could be stepping onto a piece of precariously perched stone. A fall into the abyss below would mean immediate death, or at least some scratches and bruises.

Eventually I emerged from the rocky wilderness and vast seas of ground juniper, and stepped onto well maintained dirt trail again, and could begin trotting to base camp. And from there it would only be a short drive back to a hot shower and pretzels. Pretzels? Only pretzels, after something as epic as this? Well, yes, pretzels. Somehow, every race and epic adventure around here ends with pretzels.

C • The Ascent... 2

Photos from Sunday. It's hard to tell for sure, but there are almost no bison lurking in this view. Looking towards Happy Jack (to the SW):



Looking the other way, the view across a a section of Superfly Marsh jam packed with details and marshy terrain (it could almost be a typical Tiomila terrain!), and a horizon that just goes on and on:

C • Looking the other way 4

Don't look now, but there is a strong rumor that Laramie Daze has been added to the calendar (2020).

C • It has been added... 11

Lots of trains come through town, and occasionally a unit train will come along. Invariably the unit trains in these parts are either carrying coal or oil. Until today, that is. While I was biking over the viaduct downtown, a train rolled by, and it was a unit train carrying wind turbine parts. It was headed north out of town, and my guess its destination was Rawlins. There is often a lot of wind by Rawlins, and now there are a lot of windmill parts there, too.

I was so pleased upon seeing this that I went out and mapped for a while, and then I ran intervals until it got dark and the air became thick with owls.

C • owls 3