Haleakala Crater, Maui, HI

Hawaii is hardly a trail runners paradise. For all the lush vegetation and dramatic mountain scenery, so much of it is either inhospitable or off limits. The pineapple plantation owners prohibit access to the higher terrain from across their lands and there is a complete absence of a right to roam. Coming to the end of our week on Maui, the few trails that exist require very long car journeys. But those few trails do offer some compensation.

Sliding Sands trail - Kapalaoa Cabin is beyond the highest peak left of center

At the crater floor with under two miles to the cabin

For most of the week I have been restricted to offerings close to the west coast near our hotel. A sea front jaunt, plus a severe hill work out on the Kapalua Village Trails. The latter is a lung-buster and follows the up and down cart track on a dilapidated golf course. It is like fell running on asphalt. I liked this track so much the first time that I went back for more punishment and wasn't disappointed.

A mile to go to the cabin on a cinder trail - the cabin is just around the obvious spur

I never got around to running the trail I really wanted to until our last day on the island. The Lahaina Pali trail seemed to offer access to a higher mountain - Hana'ula - which at about 6,000' gave the potential for some serious climbing. All of this would be illegal, of course. The Lahaina Pali trail crests a ridge and then drops into another valley. My plan was to hit the ridge and just head up to the distant summit. But it didn't matter. The only day it was possible was pouring with rain and this made the route an impossible mud bath.

A quick breather by the cabin with the sun just penetrating the cloud cover

The trails at the top of Maui's highest peak - Haleakala - looked spectacular, but they were a long drive. A fortuitous opportunity opened one morning to pay them a visit, and even a steady, warm drizzle as I left the hotel just before 5am couldn't dampen my spirits. The drizzle didn't even last for long and a muggy 75 degrees started to cool as I gained altitude on the 36 mile long approach road. The uphill road was deserted and I couldn't work out why. I paid my dues at the park kiosk and drove the last 9 miles to the parking lot below the crater summit. I had a nice surprise. There were a huge number of cars and several hundred people all waiting for the sunrise. It was a nuisance, because I had to wait 30 minutes for a parking space - until the sun came up and these early trippers could go back to bed.

Silversword plants dotted the terrain

Looking back over a cluster of Silverswords towards Kapalaoa Cabin as I headed around Pu'u Naue

It was 45 degrees and the sky was lightening as I set off on the descent of the Sliding Sands Trail. I wore a light wind jacket but was dressed for summer heat and I clicked along the long, winding descent. I covered the first 4 miles of steep descent in 38 minutes and reached the turnaround point at the Kapalaoa Cabin after 6 miles in 58 minutes. It felt great to be moving fast in high mountains again. I wore my Hoka's, but I didn't really need them because the trail was sandy and forgiving - great on the downhill, punishing on the ascent back to the trailhead..

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Kawilinau sink hole

Loose and sandy running 

Looking north across the crater rim on the slow ascent of Sliding Sands trail

I took a quick drink at the cabin and circled around the back of Pu'u Naue to the strange sink hole at Kawilinau. The sun was rising and warming nicely. Although not a clear crater, the exhausted Haleakala volcano had a crest to the west and remnants of smaller eruptions dotted around the crater floor. It was a barren landscape dotted with Silversword plants. Apart from a family at the cabin I never met a person until back on the final ascent to the summit - and even these people were casual walkers who were descending the upper reaches of the trail but with no clear plan or intent.

Looking back on my route from close to the summit

Final ascent to the summit

The slog back up the Sliding Sands trail was hard work. It wasn't the altitude - between 9,000' and 10,000' - but the trail surface. What had been pleasant cushioning on the descent was proving difficult or the return. Sections of deep sand meant lots of sliding around and it was difficult to run with any predictability. It was a pleasure to hit the occasional rocky section where foot placements could be certain. The profile of this ascent was also a little deceiving. The first mile is a mixture of gradual and steeper slopes which then level off and descend a little for a half mile. The final two miles climb uphill but weave around bluffs and sandy shoulders - these conceal the length of the trail and significantly foreshorten the summit, which seems closer than it actually is.

Once back at the parking lot I decided to add the additional mile to tag the true crater summit. This is an area that would be worth a return visit. There are many additional trails and extensions worth exploring. It would be great to find a trail that climbed up from much lower levels - I just can't get used to descending first and then climbing second. It was a great trail.

Constant frustration

Enduring an enforced 3 month layoff at the beginning of this year due to a serious achilles injury was one of my low points in recent mountain running memory. It wasn't just the loss of about 600 miles of potential running that disappointed, it was the extreme frustration of just not being able to get out. Only aggressive therapy pulled me through and my mileage picked up during spring and summer. In truth, I never fully recovered and even today the left achilles still feels vulnerable and I have to be really careful.

The road at the entrance to our community at its junction with 36.

Being careful isn't one of my character traits when it comes to physical exertion. But 8 weeks ago I was smacked right between the eyes with a second serious achilles injury - this time to my right leg. There was no sign of this coming at all and even as I reflect on the incident and think it through I still can't see the trigger. I was on an innocuous run on Boulder Valley Ranch from Neva Road. It was a week or so after the great Boulder flood and the ground was incredibly heavy - maybe that was it? Huge balls of mud would form on my shoes that added weight to my normal stride pattern. They would eventually drop off and then reform (the mud, not my shoes). It was an unpleasant cycle but then, so was being stuck in the house without exercise.

Looking east across Lost Lake

Lost Lake - early winter ice

Lost Lake outlet

With a couple of miles to go back to the trailhead I felt a sudden pain in my right achilles. This was all too familiar. I slowed to a jog hoping it was just a twinge. No such luck. A moment later and I was walking. It didn't feel too bad I kept deluding myself, but I was limping quite badly and I even wondered whether I could continue walking. But I did. At the car I scraped the mud off my shoes and drove home. I could barely limp to the shower and I laid up for a few hours with an ice pack. Back on the treatment table the apparent miracle that got me going so quickly last time has been frustratingly illusive. Two months into my "recovery" and I feel in no better state.

Crater Lake already in full winter dress

The best I can do is to walk, but even then I seem to pay a price in stiffness and pain. It is difficult for me to push off the ball of my foot. I am like a bear with a sore head. I had so many plans for the fall running season and all have come to nothing. With winter taking its grip in the high mountains it is equally frustrating not to take advantage of these last opportunities to get high before the trails and access roads become snow-bound.

Friendly moose heading to the low ground for food

With running in short supply there hasn't been the raw material to write about. My running dogs are as frustrated as I am. Every morning there is a fading hope of a jangling leash and the smell of running shoes...oh, the smell!! It seems like I need to take a protracted period of downtime over the winter to see if I can really put these injuries behind me. I fear again for 2014 if I don't do this. I have so much more that I still want to do that this is the only thought that applies discipline to my usual poor patient behavior. We'll see.

Apache Peak 13,441' - Navajo Peak 13,409'

This traverse dominates the skyline from Brainard Lake and is clearly visible from downtown Boulder, Denver and the airport. I have wanted to complete this trip ever since I made my first trip up Pawnee Pass and the monolith at the top of Navajo caught my attention. It's an interesting mountain when viewed from a distance because the summit cliffs look vertical on all sides and impenetrable. I knew this wasn't the case but I speculated about the kind of route that reached the summit. I just had to do it.

I did my "homework" ahead of my trip. I knew I needed to start early...in the dark...and I memorized the major obstacles along the route. I read as many online articles as I could find and compared these to Gerry Roaches "Indian Peaks" guide. Judgment in route-finding seemed to be the key and this is an area where I am generally strong. I wasn't concerned about the more technical sections of the traverse, I was just concerned to keep safe and also move as quickly as possible.

Long Lake - air temperature much colder than the water temperature

It was pitch black at Long Lake trailhead and I put on a long-sleeved top. Jogging along the wooded lake shore I was aware of lots of wildlife darting across the trail. I kept a steady pace without pushing too hard and arrived at Lake Isabelle in good time. The sky was lightening and the rising sun illuminated the high peaks. It is a beautiful sight.

Lake Isabelle trail split

I could see no hikers anywhere, although there was a tent pitched on the far side of the lake. No one stirred and i enjoyed the solitude. The sun rose as I skirted the lake and I removed my long-sleeved top as the temperature increased.

Sun rise over Lake Isabelle

Navajo on the left, Shoshoni on the right, Apache dead center
It was spectacular running in the crisp morning air.

Leaving Lake Isabelle with the sun rising

The hard work now started. Leaving Lake Isabelle the trail contours across the stream valley before reaching an unnamed higher level lake around 11,000'. From here the Isabelle Glacier trail strikes up to the north in a series of tight switchbacks and I was blowing hard as I reached the top of these.

Just below the higher level lake

The key decision is when to leave this trail and head directly to the basin below the Navajo Glacier. I picked the right place. Just after cresting the rim of the valley immediately above the upper level lake I saw a faint trail go straight on as a switchback cut right. I took this line and found myself able to run across shallow rock slabs that enabled quick progress. I crossed a busy stream and took a gully line that brought me right to the point in the basin where an ice pond marks the line to the East Ledges on Apache. This was going to be my line - a photo below that I took on the descent marks the exact route I took and it was very straight forward.

The summit spires of Shoshoni tower over the high level trail

Half way up the East Ledges I met a breeding pair of Ptarmigans

View of Navajo and Dickers Peck from the East Ledges ascent on Apache

There were some wet sections on the ascent of the East Ledges, but the route was obvious. It was a long slog but it took less than an hour to reach the summit. There were fabulous 360 views and I took a short break. There was a cool breeze that took the edge off the warm sun.

The route to Navajo from the summit of Apache - very straight forward

I descended quickly from the summit and skirted the minor summit between Apache and Dickers Peck before arriving abruptly at a steep rocky ridge leading down to the Dickers Peck col. If you intend completing this route let me give you some advice - don't try to descend the dirty gully to the left (east). I am sure it is possible, and I am sure many people have done it, but you are missing the best line. The steep ridge is the line to take. Yes, it looks a little intimidating and improbable, but once started it is ridiculously easy, just a few steps down here and there, but very good hand and foot holds and much less loose rock than in the dirty gully. I arrived at the base of Dickers Peck in no time.

Looking from the descent towards Navajo summit. Dickers Peck is in the foreground. The route goes left of this and then climbs the obvious easy ramp up and right to the base of a steep chimney shown in the next photo

The steep chimney viewed from the top of the rising ramp shown in the previous photo. Take the left branch...it is easy.

Looking back from the same point as the previous photo was taken. The steep ridge I descended is obvious on the left side of the picture.

The chimney was steep in a couple of places, but there were plenty of holds and I reached the top quickly. A few cairns pointed to the south along another obvious ramp and this brought me back into sunlight on the south ridge at the point where the Airplane Gully route arrives. A few easy steps over steep rock and I was on the summit - one of the best summits in the wilderness (only Lone Eagle Peak and Mount Toll have more impressive summits).

Navajo summit with Lake Isabelle (left) and Long Lake (through my legs). Niwot Ridge stretches to the east.

Arikiree on the left and North Arapaho on the right

I didn't hang around long on the summit, even though I'd had the mountain to myself. I toyed with the idea of completing Niwot Ridge, but I was running out of time and wanted to leave that for a direct ascent. Anyway, I had an airplane to catch in the gully below.

Navajo summit from the top of Airplane Gully

The descent is loose but obvious and I arrived at the top of airplane gully and looking forward to the trip. So many people have described this gully as a horrible place and I was keen to find out for myself.

Approaching the plane wreckage from above

More grisly remains

The wing perched precariously above the steep drop

The wreckage of the airplane is perched precariously towards the top of the gully. 3 people died in this crash in 1948 and remnants of the plane are scattered down the gully. It's a grim place. I picked my way by the wreckage and found the best descent line hugging the right wall (looking down) of the gully. It really wasn't that bad and I was back at the trail in no time.

View of the Kasperov traverse connecting Shoshoni to Apache

The East Ledges ascent on Apache from the bottom of Airplane Gully

Descending to the small lake above Lake Isabelle

Back on the Interstate above Lake Isabelle

This was an outstanding trip.

Lone Eagle Peak, North Face

Sometimes my running shoes are left behind and are replaced with sticky rubber. There was a time when I used to run to keep fit for rock climbing before it became an end in itself, but it has been difficult finding a consistent climbing partner in the US and running has dominated my outdoor pursuits. But an annual "boys vacation" has developed and this enabled a trip to the high country, and on this occasion it was for an overnight excursion to the remote Lone Eagle Peak.

Iconic mountain images conjure precipitous slopes and sharp peak summits. Just think of the Matterhorn in Switzerland. The very first time I saw a picture of Mount Everest and became aware of what it represented as a challenge, I recall how disappointed I was that it seemed to lack the dramatic profile I hoped for. While impressed with so much of the great climbing on Mount Blanc in France, its rounded snow dome seemed to take the edge off the Brenva Face and the Pear Rouge. Only on the more minor summits and ridges - such as the Peuterey Arete, Les Drus (not so minor) and the Tour Ronde - does the classic profile match expectation. The Pyramid du Tacul and the Dent du Geant also make the case. So when I first saw Lone Eagle Peak on the cover of Gerry Roache's Indian Peaks guide I was taken by the dramatic image. It encapsulated so much excitement and apprehension - was it really a sharp pinnacle summit? Were those summit cliffs really as vertiginous as they appeared? It simply demanded to be climbed.

Lone Eagle Peak with brooding thunder clouds as backdrop

The classic North Face was well within capability and undaunted by the 8 mile approach from Monarch Lake along Cascade Creek Trail, the plans were laid. It could be climbed in a single day trip but it seemed better to overnight at Crater Lake. The long walk in was surprisingly easy with only 2000 feet elevation gain. There were no persistently long steep climbs and a steady pace saw us at the overnight camp around 5.30pm. During the last 2 miles we were welcomed by heavy thunder but very little precipitation - so typical of afternoons in the high mountains. My freeze-dried Katmandhu curry failed to inspire the aroma of Tibet and a fitful night on hard ground brought the welcome dawn.

Closer view from our camp at Crater Lake

It's a short, steep pull to the start of the climbing - a short, water-streaked wall that ends on a grassy terrace. We followed this terrace up to the south for about 4 pitches of simulclimbing. It ended beneath a nasty, wet chimney that was really awkward to ascend with a pack. A nice crack towards the back of the right chimney wall encouraged my efforts and the wet rock posed few problems. It was just a strenuous thrutch and I got to the top with a feeling that effort triumphed over style. What followed was more grassy scrambling interspersed with short sections of proper rock climbing and I began to wonder what this climb was all about. I knew the crux pitch was just around the corner and it couldn't come soon enough.

Looking down the long pitch above the wet chimney

And there it was. A rising traverse onto the north wall ended in a steep drop. Across this drop a sling was strung around a flat spike signaling the belay at the foot of the pitch. It looked stupendous. A series of disconnected cracks and bulges rising vertically for about 150 feet. This looked the business and I hurried across the steep gully and brought up my partner.

At the top of the rising traverse about to cross the gully to the steep crux pitch

The guidebook (and various online websites, such as Mountain Projects) goes to great lengths to poorly describe the start of this pitch. It warns against choosing an earlier set of cracks to the left, yet omits the most important feature of all - the gully. "Climb the rising traverse to the right until you can cross a steep gully and belay at the foot of the crack system to the right" is the only description you need. It is that simple. The Roach guide writes five sentences and still gets this wrong. Maybe it was just too obvious to me? Anyway, stories of climbers getting off route on this section raise more questions about their competence and general judgment than they do about the descriptive quality of guide books...but the book descriptions could be better.

Looking at the belay below the crux pitch from the position of the previous photo

All concerns about this route disappeared once I left the belay and started up the wall. The climbing was exceptional. It was also quite easy...in fact, I found the chimney pitch mentioned earlier to be much more difficult. Yes, the climbing is at altitude, and it is steep, but the holds are huge and there are plenty of them. But these are minor quibbles. It was a feeling of kinesthetic and aesthetic joy that pulsed through my body as I cruised up the wall. The exposure was wonderful; the protection was excellent. There were supposed to be 4 metal pegs but I could only find 3 and none were really necessary. The movement was natural and composed. It was a disappointment when the pitch ended.

Topping out on the crux pitch

The remainder of the climb was easy - a short traverse to the left and a longish pitch to the summit and wonderful exposure on the narrow summit crest. At about 1 meter wide the summit ridge is really exposed and at its tip the precipitous cliffs seem to drop right to the ground about 2000 feet below. A beautiful calm summer day rendered the situation harmless and enjoyable, but high winds, cold and rain would dramatically alter this feeling.

On the summit

Descent route from the top of the climb. There are two gully options - we took the right hand one, but the left hand (yellow) option looked better. Either way you have to end up on the promontory at the top of the gullies.

Much has been written about the descent from Lone Eagle along the route of Solo Flight. The Roach guide isn't much good as it is written from the "ground up", but there are many detailed online descriptions and photos of where to go. They all seemed to make a bit of a meal of it to me. As I stood on the summit and pondered the options it all looked very obvious, and it was. Did climbers really try to descend that horrible gully? All anyone really need know is to climb up the horrible gully rather than descend. Far from being "tricky"the navigation across the descent was easy. Arriving on the shoulder overlooking the Lone Eagle summit we unroped and packed away our gear for the slog back to the campsite and the even longer walk back to the car.

An exhausting day, but truly memorable. I might even do it again just for that one pitch of perfection.

Hoka One One Stinson EVO B Review

(UPDATE BELOW)

I am naturally skeptical and resistant to hype that sounds contrived. With so much focus over recent years being directed (with good effect) towards minimalist running, the appearance of a great big clod-hopping "clown" shoe like the Hoka One One seemed one misdirected fad too far. Even the testimony of highly reputable ultra runners was easy to discount as I rationalized product endorsements, sponsorship and back-handers. At the most fundamental level I didn't like to entertain the thought that every premise of my running shoe choice and practice for over 35 years had potentially been wrong. Even my more recent serious injuries and knee and joint pains couldn't provide the evidence for me to challenge my own bias. But over recent weeks my mind was "tipped".

4 months ago I had a long discussion in Boulder Running Company with one of the sales associates. "Just try them," he said. And I did. And they were weird. I jogged around the pavement outside the store. I am sure I was more concerned about how they looked ("clownish") than how they felt and I didn't want to pursue the issue any further. How could I, in all honesty, wear these monstrosities in public? I had a certain style to maintain...standards to uphold...there were issues of public decency. There are reasons why few men wear yellow and purple striped suits. And although in the "style vs. function" balance I trend heavily towards function, this doesn't make style irrelevant. And Hoka's have no style...well, they have style, but in the purple striped suit variety. Wear these, so I reasoned, and I become a clown. So I didn't.

Another store, another discussion. This time in Vertical Runner in Breckenridge. Another sales associate hooked on the Hoka. Was I the only one immune from the hype? Was everyone getting back-handers? But if I explore my psyche, I went into the store to look at the Hokas. It was as irresistible as a boogie on a stranger's nose.  I wanted another drooling experience of sheer horror, disbelief, petulance and disregard. I wanted confirmation about just how stupid these things looked...about how, despite many claims to the contrary, these things just wouldn't work on technical trails...how my ankle would roll...how I would be unable to "feel" the trail beneath my feet...that I would lose touch with my feet wallowing in these great marshmallows. I desperately wanted to be right.

Then two things happened in quick succession. First, I tweaked my calf muscle injury again last week and this was a major blow to my recovery. It happened on a straight forward trail after about 8 miles and I was shocked because I had felt nothing for weeks to even begin to hint that this was possible. Was it my shoes? Second, I had three or four days of serious knee pain during the day that made it difficult to ignore. I couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes without getting up and stretching and walking around. It was distracting and annoying and I worried what my body was telling me about my physical well-being. Would my running days be coming to an end? Was it my shoes?

What stuck in my mind was the testimony of older runners, just like me, extolling the virtues of the Hokas. How they provided protection against the knees. How they nullified the effects of joint pain. How they...well, prolonged the running lives of keen runners like me. So I tipped. And I went straight out and bought a pair. Not the unisex version, but the full bloodied "men only" version. The Stinson Evo B...whatever that means. Not only were the shoes an obvious joke, but the joke of the name was too subtle even for me to understand. I asked the cashier for a bag in order to conceal my embarrassment and hurried back to the car glancing around incase anyone should point at me and laugh. "Another idiot in clown shoes."

And they do look ridiculous.

They are a big shoe, but surprisingly light, despite their bulk. The size 9's fit me perfectly. I deployed the single pull lacing system after remembering to tighten the front eyelets, and they were very snug and tight. I don't wear socks and need a close fit. These shoes fit better than nearly all my other pairs...and I have a lot of pairs. Of course, fit is only one issue - how did they perform?

I was tentative departing the Button Rock trailhead. It was raining a little and the rock was wet. Puddles were forming and this was going to be a decent test. I had bought the new Brooks Cascadia a month ago and was extremely disappointed with their poor performance on wet trails - they had horrible traction on wet rocks and consequently I couldn't trust my placements. As underwhelmed as I was with the Brooks, I was pleasantly surprised with the Hokas. They just worked.

I worried about the spongy ride and then realized that once I started to focus on running the trail this disappeared as an issue. I just got used to it. In fact they felt quite pleasant. I discovered that I didn't have to worry about smaller rocks because...well...I didn't feel them. I cruised across the edges of hardened mud ruts caused by vehicle tires without the usual ankle tweak. I began to enjoy them.

There is one point that needs to be made - it is important to pick your feet up and not drag low on the stride pattern. I sometimes do this when I am tired and going downhill and it has caused a few falls. These shoes would be more prone to that and I was very conscious to keep reminding myself to pick up my follow-through on my trailing leg. Thankfully no falls so far, but I wonder what they will be like when I get really tired?

The tread holds well ascending steep, loose, rocky trails. They stuck to the surface and I didn't feel any scrambling or slipping. But these shoes come into their own going downhill. They were exceptional. I could attack the descent and ignore the usual imperfections in the running surface. They also enabled a fuller downhill stride. Typically, in low profile shoes like my Walshes or Salomon Speedcross, I would be very careful to avoid golfball-size rocks or uneven rocky outcrops - in the Hokas I quickly learned to ignore them. The deep cushioning on the sole simply absorbed them. With the rounded sole I was also able to strike my heel more fully and confidently and this meant a much faster and safer descent. With low profile shoes the heel takes significant punishment on steep descents and my stride pattern shortens to compensate resulting in a slower pace. It is the exact opposite in the Hokas - full stride, confident placement, more even feel and much faster pace. It was just how I remember running when my joints and ligaments were younger and more supple. It was fun.

But the "clown" feeling is still there. It's strange, because I've never had the remotest concern about what other people might think, it's just that these shoes look completely ridiculous. However, I am going to clock up some mileage in them especially on the high level technical trails. I am actually looking forward to it, not only because I think they will be great, but because I rarely encounter anyone. My "clowning" will be relatively private.

UPDATE - August 10th 2013

The Devil's backbone trail near Loveland, CO was a perfect test for my new shoes. Although the trail has no steep ascents or descents there are long sections of nasty terrain with sloped rocks and loose choss. If these shoes were going to fail they would fail here. And because the trail is fairly level that meant the test would be at speed.

Two things are now really clear to me. These shoes are really good on rough, loose, stony ground. You really can ignore most of the loose rocks and undulations that would cause careful foot placement when wearing low profile shoes. Second, they are great for running quickly downhill. I find that I can take a fuller stride and not have to worry as much about an uneven landing. Because the sole is so soft the pain of striking hard surfaces is diminished and my original fear of twisting my ankle has so far proved illusory.

There are some things I don't like...but are unavoidable. First, the lace holder is very poor and I find that the lace pull bounces around across the top of the shoe - it is distracting and it is annoying. I don't know why Hoka couldn't build a lace holder like Salomon on the Speedcross 3. Second, it is hard to accelerate up steep climbs without the cushioned sole absorbing some energy. This is noticeable. Push hard on the ball of the foot and quite a bit of energy is just absorbed by the sole and this makes it hard going up long climbs. It's a trade-off between overall comfort (which I like) and loss of impact (which I don't).

Overall, these are quickly becoming my running shoes of choice for longer distances on rough trail surfaces - particularly those involving nasty, technical descents.