Lion Lake, RMNP

I know of few trail runners who run in pairs or groups. Occasionally they might make an arrangement to run with someone, but it appears, at least from my experience, to be a solitary pursuit. Part of this is expediency as we seek to exploit whatever small time window we might have, but I think it is also part of the psyche of the outdoor trail runner. On the rare occasions when I have met another runner in the mountains they have always been on their own.

It was a similar pattern back in the UK. Although on the days when fell races were held I would see a bunch of familiar faces waiting at the start, invariably these were individuals out doing their own thing in their own company. Members of a club might "pack" together one evening a week, but this was an exception to the rule and most weekly mileage was solitary. "Club" was a very loose concept.

I don't think this is because all fell and trail runners are socially dysfunctional, somehow lacking the basic elements enabling them to relate to humanity. Indeed some of the very best runners have a fearsome reputation for partying and having a good time. But running is a serious business and the focus required for trail and mountain running doesn't exactly lend itself to regular social interaction. At the more extreme end of the scale there are people like me who see this as a major virtue. The more remote and isolated a trail...the further away from the crowds I can get...the happier I seem to be.

Maybe my dogs provide some kind of social placebo. Perhaps I really want company, although not the kind that talks to me? It's certainly true that I prefer running with a dog than on my own, but this doesn't minimize the sense of isolation and solitude that is so much a part of what makes trail running so important to me and serves as a primary motivation.

I once heard someone postulate the theory that those in extreme occupations tended to engage in extreme leisure pursuits. The more demanding a person's job the more they sought a release - work hard, play harder. I'm not sure this theory holds true although it has some face validity. Unfortunately it leaves little room for those who find certain pursuits genuinely engaging despite being full-time basket weavers and bell-ringers - and who am I to suppose these aren't demanding jobs in their own right? The only "theory" that explains the trail runner to me is based on a sense of challenge, enjoyment of risk, aesthetics and personal drive.

For some unfathomable reason the Rocky Mountain National Park prohibits dogs from its entire trail system and ventures there deprive me of even my social placebo. I wish I could understand the rationale. One concern I have had described to me speaks of the threat to wildlife posed by unleashed dogs. OK, impose a compulsory leash requirement. Well, not all dog owners comply. OK, have Park Rangers issue tickets to the ones they catch in violation. And are the anticipated dangers posed by dogs so different in RMNP compared to the adjacent Indian Peaks Wilderness where they enjoy full access? Take the trail from Allenspark to St Vrain mountain summit - here is a trail that starts outside RMNP, crosses into the Indian Peaks Wilderness, the goes through a section of RMNP before finishing back inside the IPW. I can take my dog on this trail, which is great. How is it that different from the RMNP?

A few weeks ago, on a day when both dogs needed to rest after a week of high mileage, I went to the Allenspark trailhead for a trip up Wild Basin to...however far I could get. The weather forecast wasn't exactly great and there were storms expected in the higher elevations with 100% cloudcover. The Allenspark Trail heads due west and is a rolling trail that encourages fast running across the Northern shoulder of Meadow mountain. With no dog to consider I found myself varying my pace too much and struggling to find an effective rhythm.

After a couple of miles uphill there is a fantastic, fast descent to Calypso Falls and the trail switches back and forth for another mile to Ouzel Falls and shortly after to the junction with the Bluebird Falls Trail.

It was cloudy and cool, but the trail wasn't holding too much water and I wasn't seeing too much difficulty ahead. But one of the frustrating aspects of this particular trail was how much mileage I was covering for such little elevation gain. 5 miles into my run and I was still no higher than my starting point and all those undulations hadn't helped me climb any higher. Joining the Wild Basin trail didn't seem to change anything and it wasn't until the Lion Lake Trail branched off that the serious climbing began...and it began immediately, with a steep, long pull across rock slabs, narrow gulch's and rocky defiles. I went at too slow a pace, yet didn't feel I had much choice.

It was with some relief that I emerged onto the grassy plateau that preceded Lion Lake No. 1, and I jogged around to the North-East corner for a break and some refueling.

I'd lost more time than I was happy with as I considered how much further to go. With a clear sky and warmer weather I would have headed for Mount Alice and the route that Kraig Koski described so well on his blog (http://running-dreams.blogspot.com/2012/06/mt-alice-loop-6-30-12.html). The contrast between the conditions we each faced could not have been more different and the onset of heavy rain (the first drops of which are visible in the lake on this picture) made my decision easier. A couple of flashes of lightening and cracks of thunder rapidly confirmed my decision and I began to retrace my route home.

With so many years running in the UK I'm no stranger to bad weather running and it made me feel at home to be plodding through a downpour running through small streams that were growing to rivers, trail surfaces squelching into mud and brushing through foliage that provided a literal cold shower experience. Lost in my thoughts I nearly stumbled into a couple who were map reading under a tree and their question caught me by surprise - "Is uphill this way or that way?" I considered, for a moment, the slope we were standing on and pondered my reply and decided on a deductive response. I pointed down the hill in the direction I was running and said, "Well, if that is downhill..." I then pivoted around and pointed up the hill from where I had come and pointed..."that must be uphill." Their thanks were both genuine and profuse and I could only wonder. A few more years and either could run for President.

Sawtooth Mountain and Coney Lake loop

Visually descriptive mountain names usually disappoint...in my view. Sharkstooth in RMNP doesn't quite cut it (sorry) for me. Similarly Arrowhead. Even Twin Owls on Lumpy Ridge. Never mind the Flatirons. Yes, I can see the vague similarity and the pattern-seeking creatures we are can fill in the blanks that geology has left out, but Sawtooth is perfect. Reflected in the small lake at Coney Flats it has a distinctive saw blade profile. The vertiginous cliffs on its south face, impressive from a distance, are much more foreboding up close and the proximal route I took with Otto provided a perfect view.

I had wanted to ascend Sawtooth since a failure last Fall. In mid November, on a cold, sunny day, high winds prevented progress beyond the upper reaches of the Buchannan Pass trail, with stinging blasts of ice and a lazy wind (the kind that can't be bothered to go around you and insists on blowing straight through you). This might be more of an excuse for an earlier error, for having run from Camp Dick (there are so many problems with that name) to the junction with the St Vrain Glacier Trail, I slipped on the iced-up timbers of a log bridge and took a plunge through the ice into a chest deep river. Although wearing shorts and tee shirt is usually an advantage when wet, I found it hard to get dry and recover warmth, even after upping the running pace past Red Lake, and when I crested the ridge near the top of the pass it became too dangerous to proceed. These were the days before I had invested in my Spot 2 GPS device - the one that sends a signal back to my wife showing her where I am on a map (www.findmespot.com). Even with this device today I want to avoid all difficulties, but not having the device and then getting into difficulty was unthinkable.

July 1st this year was a 100+ degree day in Boulder and leaving the Beaver Reservoir trailhead at 6.15am Otto and I struck a fairly brisk pace towards Coney Flats in a 65 degree heat. It was a stunning morning with no-one about.

We navigated the linked footbridges across the small lakes, quickly jogged up the Beaver Creek trail and then joined Buchannan Pass trail at the junction with the spur to Red Lake. We were accompanied a short distance by an overly athletic marmot (pictured above just left of the trail) but even it lost interest as it dismissed the threat it originally thought we posed. The route ahead was clear and compelling - a direct line to the col with tricky sidestepping of a snow field. All would be good.

From the rising trail the gentler north slope of Sawtooth came into full view - not exactly runnable, but certainly amenable to fast walking and it took little time or effort to reach the summit.

I should point out that this trip would be an entirely different proposition in low cloud or darkness. The summit is an exposed place and the cliffs on the south and west and east facets are extremely dangerous - get the navigation wrong and the consequence will be severe. What is a disarmingly pleasant approach on a beautiful day would be very different in poor conditions.


The summit is a lofty vantage point. It's not a mountain with a particularly high elevation (12,304'), but it feels like a big mountain when you are on top.

Otto and I spent as good 30 minutes taking a breather and enjoying the environment. We could pick out all the main mountain landmarks (he's a clever dog is Otto - I would point out a mountain and he would agree with me. He was right every time).

Here is Otto with Paiute Peak in the background.

The distant lake on the upper left is our starting point...and destination...Beaver Reservoir. Overall a 16 mile trip.

I hadn't intended attempting the descent to Coney Lake. The original plan had been to simply retrace my steps the way we had come, but there's something more complete about a loop or lollipop and once I saw Coney Lake from the summit of Sawtooth, and checked the map, I decided it was the route to take. I'm not sure I would do it again, or if I did I might take a different line on the descent.

We descended Sawtooth to the north and west and picked up a social trail that followed the ridgeline south along the Divide aiming to crest the grassy knoll ahead before tracking east to talus slopes above the lake. All went to plan. The view back to Sawtooth was impressive, and for this reason alone it was worth the tough time to come.

We hadn't realized when on the summit of Sawtooth just how large those cliffs were a few steps away.

As we traversed the grassy knoll we picked up a great view of Upper Coney Lake below Paiute Peak - not our destination, but a very beautiful place.




The talus on the decent was horrible and Otto was amazing as he slid with me on all four paws and showed incredible balance for a canine. He must have wondered where I was leading him to. It was a painful and slow descent. Dropping down a steeper rocky section my feet skated off and as I put out my left hand to brace my fall I gashed my hand badly on a sharp rock. At first I could just feel the warmth of the blood, and then I looked down and saw a 3 inch gash through to my palm. Our position was too unstable to get out my first aid kit, so I closed my hand into a fist and we kept moving. This turned out not to be the smartest of things to do because the blood coagulated around my closed fist and when I later opened it the action ripped the wound even wider. Still, nothing was broken and these things are fixable and the cool waters of Coney Lake were a welcome respite.

Never was a dog more deserving of some shade...

...or a cool down!!!

Although the trail from the lake back to Coney Flats was littered with fallen trees and snow patches, the return trip was uneventful. We picked up the pace to 9-minute miles and quickly clocked off the remaining distance. Although this wasn't a particularly long run, or particularly hard, the two of us were exhausted. And my hand still hasn't healed!!!

St Vrain Mountain

Is there anything more annoying than a supercilious dog owner with low common sense, zero self-awareness and outright certainty in all they say and do? Well I met one descending St Vrain mountain and will describe the encounter later.

St Vrain was the first mountain trail I decided to run shortly after we moved to Boulder last year. I'm not exactly sure why, but it has turned out to be one of my favorite trails and I chose it again on June 17th for an early morning outing with Livvy. The forecast was set for a cool start with rapidly rising heat during the late morning, but a fresh wind. I aimed to be back at the trailhead before the heat took hold.

I know that one reason I like St Vrain trail so much is that the section up to the treeline is so interesting and varied. What is usually the "Hors d'ouvres" is a substantive main course in its own right, so much so that many hikers (as I later discovered) turn back once they have crested the treeline. They are making a mistake, but it's one I understand. The two pictures above were taken last November on an earlier trip and they state the case for a trail that is rugged and varied and very runnable.

But if the first half through the trees is so beautiful, the rising traverse to the base of St Vrain mountain is exceptional. Although the trail surface turns loose and chossy and it is harder to run and find a secure footing, the views to Northwest and West are spectacular, especially across Wild Basin to Longs Peak and Meeker.

The first time I ran St Vrain I made a slight navigation error on the traverse south west to the mountain. I remember reading on protrails.com that a trio of small cairns marked the departure point for the long slog through Krummholz and talus. At the time I was running at a fair pace and it is easy to see how I missed them. On this trip I didn't make the same mistake, although a large snowfield had to be crossed and even early in the morning I kept "postholing' as Livvy skated around giving an admirable impersonation of Bambi.

Staying close to the boundary posts that mark the Indian Peaks Wilderness from the Rocky Mountain National Park, we strode out with our heads into the wind for the final 550' climb. And it was extremely windy. Every few paces I had to shield my mouth or turn sideways to inhale enough oxygen and although the altitude isn't that high (12,162') breathing was not easy. Some bright spark built the customary stone wind shelter on the summit and this was the only respite we got. I supplemented my tee shirt for a Smartwool pullover.

I ventured out of the shelter to take a few pictures, but it wasn't a place to be hanging around for long. It turned out to be a much trickier descent from the summit than I expected. The wind was gusting on our backs and several times it nearly launched me in the air and I found myself grappling for a foothold. Livvy skipped along with disdain, only perking up when she caught sight of a couple of chipmunks.

Despite the temptation of such an alluring target she seemed to sense my poor balance and, for once, didn't lurch forwards in pursuit. Instead she fixed a steady stare, noted the position and then buried her nose in the rocks as we got closer.

I'm coming to the supercilious dog-owner in a minute, but we did meet a really nice couple walking near the traverse and they took our picture. If they represented what is best in humanity we were brought down to earth by the worst. I don't remember all the details - after all, we were running quickly and everything is a literal blur - but I recall hearing a yappy dog. I generally dislike yappy dogs so my expectations were't high. Thankfully, it seemed to be off the trail to one side next to the stream, and as we slowed to pass by it was clearly been restrained (with some difficulty) by a frustrated owner. There were three or four others in their group, one of whom remonstrated with us for causing their dog to bark. It was a silly comment to make but their dog was a frustrating dog and this was clearly a regular occurrence. This might not be the most politically correct comment to make, but I sometimes just have to look at some children to know that they are going to be obnoxious and my sense tends to be alarmingly accurate. Well, I felt this same way about dog, owner and the group member who addressed his observation to me. This is usually sufficient for my brain to prevent my mouth from opening and adding copious causticity to their ignorance. But as it turned out, events took a wholly unexpected turn for the better. Although Livvy and I had slowed to facilitate passing, we hadn't actually stopped. Now, Livvy is a pretty social dog who likes to meet and greet and she took a beeline for the dog. I want you to picture one of their group members for a moment. He was the large man with the large mouth and he was resting heavily on his walking poles. My forward momentum stretched Livvy's leash and as she came back towards me she dashed in the gap between the man's legs and his walking poles. The momentum of the two of us wrapped the leash around his poles and whipped them out from under him. I didn't actually see him fall over, but I did hear it. Conversation over. I shouted a muted apology and we continued our run back to the trail. I like to think of it as a fortuitous accident but I could have sworn I saw a smile on Livvy's face.

James Peak, June 9th 2012

James Peak had held an interest to me since plotting a running course on a map over winter. At 13,294' it represented a great challenge and I wasn't sure how lingering late season snow might affect the steep traverse from Rogers Pass to the junction with the Ute trail.

I haven't worked out why I select some running routes over others. With so much territory to cover selection is important. I generally like to visit higher peaks because I like the twin challenge of altitude and scale of ascent. A low elevation trailhead and a high mountain finish is ideal and preferable to a high elevation trailhead. But then there are other important considerations. The peak has to be scalable by a dog. As much as I want to ascend Mount Toll, there is no way it would be fair to even try to do this with a dog. Similarly North Arapahoe Peak. I particularly like those peaks that turn out to be not overly difficult for a dog, yet fulfilling for me. Because so many of these peaks are new to me, it is only in retrospect that I can really appreciate the quality of the selection. While I don't think there is a "bad" peak to climb, there are aesthetics at play. I can't fully explain why St. Vrain Mountain is one of my favorite running trails...but it is. Despite taking a nasty fall there a few weeks ago, it still draws me back.

I hadn't been in the James Wilderness, but one trip was sufficient to convince me that this would be an area to which I would return again and again.

The East Portal trailhead is a bit strange. The spectacular drive up Rollins Pass Road ends at the Rio Grande railway tunnel. Despite our early arrival, Livvy and I soon caught up with two hikers who were heading North on the Forest Lakes trail. Our next contact with humanity would be with two ice climbers as we descended from the summit of James Peak. The intervening solitude was special.

I was really pleasantly surprised by how much of the early section of the Rogers Pass trail was runnable. In fact, I was concerned that I was running an unsustainable pace that I would pay for at altitude. The trail was fairly soft and green meadow interspersed the dense forest.

But as we climbed and the forest thickened we began to encounter the evidence of strong winds, winter storms and heavy snow as we navigated carefully by fallen trees blocking the path. The National Park service is attempting to reroute part of the trail and this took us on a slightly longer loop that was more open and runnable, but shortly after the Crater Lake trail heads North we began a series of river crossings that really slowed us up.

One river crossing landed us on a steep patch of snow and the fallen trees made the trail difficult to follow. I just headed up the river bank knowing that a few hundred feet higher we should see the trail crossing back over. We emerged from the treeline suddenly at about 11,000' and the trail skirted the North shore of Rogers Peak Lake. I've yet to encounter an ugly mountain lake, but this was truly beautiful.

Dwarfed by Haystack Mountain this lake lay a little below the more famous Heart Lake and we would have an elevated view of both as we climbed to the top of the Rogers Pass.

As we left the lake the climb up the pass was improbable from below. I stopped to check the map to be sure I hadn't made an error, but it looked like the trail headed directly up a ridiculously steep ridge above some unstable cliffs. I wasn't wrong and Livvy pulled ahead impatient with the delay. This photo also shows the ridge line that lies ahead leading to the final slopes of James Peak.

The wind picked up as we climbed and although we were in full sunshine it was only about 7am and the temperature was dropping with the altitude. I pulled on a long-sleeved thermal and strode out more quickly. The view back was tremendous and we could see a small camp by the east shore of Heart Lake, but no one was about.

Once at Rogers Pass we had a clear view of the approach to James Peak. Thankfully the trail skirted to the North of the rocky ridge line and it looked like it was free from snow. We had a good idea of what lay ahead and began picking our way across this final section.

The summit views were fantastic and we spent a little time consuming a late breakfast. I removed my filthy running shoes to clean out debris and Livvy licked between my toes. It's one of the few pleasures I have in life and it was shortly followed by her licking my face. Words can't describe. Shortly after leaving the summit we encountered two ice climbers who had started at 4am.

The descent took us back along the rocky trail to the top of Rogers Pass and we retraced our route back to the car. This trail exceeded my expectations. Once out of the trees it is both challenging and spectacular yet reasonable for a dog. Livvy was in her element. This is definitely worth a return trip.

As we descended the temperature rose and Livvy cooled off in the fresh, ice cold water of South Boulder Creek.

Why the dog?

I prefer to run with a dog than to run on my own. Although I enjoy solitude there's something about the company of a dog in the mountains that makes me feel more whole...like sharing a sense of beauty, isolation and challenge without actually having to talk about it (or invent a supernatural sky daddy for me to "spiritually connect" with). The instant "sharing" through a dog's presence seems to make me more appreciative of my environment, more reflective. As I look back on the many times I've been in the mountains, the best days have been with a dog.

To be specific, I mean Otto and Olivia. I'm not one of those indiscriminate dog lovers who sees pleasure in all canines - you now, the type of person who "dog sits" when owners are on vacation and seems to be able to heap love and affection on every dog they encounter. I'm generally indifferent about dogs...other peoples' dogs. They hold no interest. Yes, I can recognize a great dog...a healthy specimen...a definitive example of a breed...but there is no emotion, no connection, no...interest. I'll go through the motions of stroking a dog and feigning interest when I meet one with their owner, but really...I'm thinking...let's move on, I'm done, it's just another dog. On my worse days I probably don't do a good enough job of concealing my disinterest, although I've managed to control my more direct comments..."Wow, that's a fat little dog!" "It's a Lab! I've never seen one of those before, how special" "Oh, it's a pug - did you know that over time owners come to resemble their dogs?" But I still think them.

And it's not just that Borzoi are more elegant and graceful...even aristocratic. I like an animal that seems to make choices. Many years ago in the UK we used to have cats. I liked cats for that reason - they would do things on their terms. But then I realized that all cats were indifferent to human demands and this, over time, devalued the independent streak. They were instinctively indifferent. They weren't making "choices". It's always puzzled me why many people seem to like the waggy-tailed dog who sees and seeks pleasure in every interaction. It's not even as though this behavior is driven by demanding food and reward. Some dogs...many dogs...just seem to lick everyone. Everyone is a friend. That annoys me. It isn't even about being trusting. What virtue a dog greeting a compete stranger no differently than they greet their owner?

Perhaps Lilah (Otto's older sister) is the epitome of the discerning canine. She is truly an anti-dog. The customary rattling of the dog leash - sufficient to send most dogs into paroxysms of bouncey delight and anticipation - are a signal to Lilah to hide. A good ten minutes of "cat and mouse" ensue as Lilah goes one way around the sofa and I go the other in a frustrating attempt to leash her for a walk. Eventually, she gets cornered and submits. And it is a submission. It's not as though this is a game and she's glad to be caught. This becomes apparent when, on warmer days, Lilah displays her displeasure by prostrating herself on the roadside under the shade of a bush. It's not that she lies down to sniff and poke around. This is a protest. No amount of encouragement in an excited sounding voice can motivate her to get up. She makes forward progress impossible...have you tried dragging a prostrate dog? The occasional passer-by will look curiously at the event - "She's just having a rest" is really a euphemism for "I didn't want to walk in the first place, but now we are here I'm doing it on my terms and I couldn't care less what you think". I like that in a dog. She gets up when she's ready and we progress at her pace and we turn around when she wants to turn around. This isn't exactly disobedience. After all, she sits and lies down perfectly to order. She's just making a point. And the point is that she'll chose what to do and when to do it. What a great attribute.

Harvey has "issues". It's really too complex to explain. Although some of his issues are health and age-related...like arthritis...he's always had issues. He's a really BIG dog and isn't built for mountain trail running. He can run for short bursts about the yard, but he's clumsy and has poor coordination. He is a lovable hound who lives in a constant state of apprehension...not the happy kind that creates an eager buzz...but the "someone might stab me in the back" kind, underscored by a suspicious glance and an averting of the eyes. His very best kind of day would involve 23hrs of sleep somewhere in the house, safe on his own, with the balance of 60 minutes eating, taking care of the body's functions and barking through the fence at a cyclist. He knows how to have a good time. He does go for walks, but they are short.

So back to the mountain trails. Otto is so eager. Always in front, sometimes straining at the flexi-leash, he just wants to get ahead and keep going. He likes to point the way. Olivia sometimes likes to be ahead, but she is an endurance hound and when the pace picks up she slots in at my heels and takes a breather. Whereas Otto will run for 15 miles, Olivia seems able to go forever. The pleasure to me is being in the company of these distinct and selective characters in such a fantastic environment. I only wish I could emulate their graceful and powerful running style.

South Arapahoe Peak

June 2, 2012 - South Arapahoe Peak, 13,397' 

The Fourth of July trailhead was empty at 5.45am and it was a cool 48 degrees just before dawn. Olivia (Livvy, the youngest of our 4 Borzoi) was eager to get going. I packed a light running sac with some dog biscuits (I have strange tastes), water and a light fleece, slipped on my trusty Walshes (http://www.peteblandsports.co.uk/brands/walsh/) and started a slow jog away from the trailhead.

The sun was already high as we broke through the treeline and we emerged on the plateau to warmth and clear skies.

Mount Neva (12,814') is in the center of this shot with an unnamed peak (12,923') top left above the hidden Upper Diamond Lake. You can just make out Arapahoe Pass trail on the extreme right heading up towards the Continental Divide above Lake Dorothy. We'd be turning off this trail to the right for the ascent of S. Arapahoe.

A trio of alpine Marmots kept Livvy alert and interested as we slogged up the rough trail. This section is more runnable than it looks and apart from some thick ice in the Krummholz we made very quick progress.

The first view of South Arapahoe was just round the corner and we stopped for great views all round.

This is a great view (to the South East) of Diamond Lake with a fair amount of late season snow lingering...although nowhere near as much as this time last year. The north side of Devil's Thumb Peak is just off the photo to the right. The Diamond Lake loop from Hessie was the very first run I did with Livvy as a pup last year and she has gone from strength to strength.

It's a steep and rocky pull to the summit and we were able to avoid most of the snow. I seemed to find a better track to the summit than when I ran this last year with Otto. We kept close to the East edge and trended left at each step as we gained height. Last year I traversed West too low and found myself scrambling up loose couloirs. The air gets thin above 13,000' and we took our time up this section. There was not a soul in sight.

There are spectacular views back East to the plains from the summit. It was a little windy and cool but this is a great place to be at 7.30am on a Sunday morning. Livvy ate a handful of dogbiscuits and then licked my face - it could have been worse.

Looking North, N. Arapahoe Peak is in the left foreground and there is a distant view of Long's Peak and Mount Meeker just left of center.

Those Marmots were just way too interesting and their constant calling was a distraction on the descent. Although Livvy looks to be staring them down she's actually imagining two slices of bread wrapped around one of them.

The stream was too tempting for Livvy to resist and with the heat increasing she took her break in style framed by the col west of S. Arapahoe Peak. As we rejoined the main trail we met our first hikers of the day and we didn't look in too bad a shape.

This is looking west to the Divide.

We were left with the short 2 mile jog back to the trailhead. What a perfect early June morning.