A John Muir Trail Record Attempt
by John Stamstad, Part 1
I lay down on a rock in the sun to warm up for a bit and I dozed off. A nice middle aged woman sat down next to me and looked at all my gear. She said, ‘Looks like you have some decisions to make.’ I said yes, I am trying to finish this trail but I have a plane to catch that I really can’t miss and tons of work to get back to and I’m trying to decide if I can/should try to make it. She replied, “Why are you here?” I went into a long explanation of how I was running the 225 mile John Muir Trail and I was doing it unsupported and I was trying to set a record. She smiled and looked at me with warm penetrating eyes, “But, why are you here?” And then she just got up and walked away……
John Stamstad
My run started four and a half days earlier on a cool evening at the Mt Whitney portal trailhead, just outside of Lone Pine, California. The John Muir Trail (JMT) goes for 200 miles and climbs almost 50,000 ft before it crosses a road—I don’t know of many trails in the world that can make that claim, if any—and this is in California of all places. Not only does it not cross a road, there are virtually no signs of civilization the entire way. I never saw city lights, I never heard the drone of a highway, and I don’t think I even saw a powerline. For an outdoor person, this is what heaven looks like. The trail is appropriately named after John Muir, who founded the Sierra Club and played a significant role in creating the National Park System. I think it is very fitting that the most significant point-to-point trail in the US is named after the most significant naturalist, and it is an absolute miracle that this wilderness is fairly unchanged from when Muir was exploring it in the late 1800’s. We all owe a lot to John Muir.
The Sierra Nevada’s Perfect Mountain Trail
I started thinking about running the JMT a couple years ago when I first heard about its existence. I really couldn’t believe that something like that existed in our modern world. I knew I had to experience this amazing section of wilderness. I read up on previous attempts to run the trail (although as John Muir said, “One day’s exposure to mountains is better than cartloads of books”). Tim Tweitmeyer and a group ran it with some support and finished it in 5 days 10 hrs (from Yosemite south to the top of Whitney).
Ready, set, go. The John Muir Trail
Buzz Burrell and Peter Bakwin ran it in 2000 in 4 days 15 hrs (from the Whitney portal north to Yosemite) using a support crew and were blown off the course near the end because of a major storm, but still finished in record time. Peter went back and ran it again in 2003 and set the record at 3:22. Keven Sawchuck went there in 2004 and set the current standard of 3:21 (with full support crew, from the portal to Yosemite). I make the distinction of level of support because I think it is important. There is a very big difference between carrying a big pack with lots of gear and running with the bare minimum, and having a crew cook hot yummy meals for you, take care of your feet, drive you to a hotel, and give you moral support at the lowest moments. I actually had a discussion about support levels with some elite ultra runners and one of them didn’t think there was much of a difference between a self supported run and a fully supported one. And actually he thought he could go faster self supported. Anyone who thinks that has never done anything ‘out-there’, never dealt with starvation issues, and has never gotten lost or injured with no one to look for them. When you do something solo you start with a nervous ache in your stomach: did I forget something? What happens if break an ankle, or twist a knee? Do I have enough food? What if I get hit with snowstorm? This angst is quickly replaced with the adrenalin rush of knowing you are facing the trail, the elements, and yourself and nothing else—the world is simplified.
I was planning on doing the JMT self supported, meaning that I would not have a crew but I would make stops to buy food along the trail. Not that buying food is easy—in 220 miles there are only 2 stores (both towards the north end of the trail), and one place where a package could be mailed.
Then a few weeks before I was going to do my run, I heard about Reinhold Metzger. I called him and asked him about his record for doing the trail with no support. He did it in 5 days 7 hours (from the top of Whitney to Yosemite) and carried everything he needed; he didn’t even stop for a coke. That is so hard core. I am a firm believer in recognizing the precedents of athletes that have come before you. I knew I had to do the run unsupported even though it would certainly make it harder and slower because I would have to carry much more weight, and I didn’t have much time to train for that added weight. But it is a much more pure way to do it and much more in the spirit of John Muir—just you and the mountains. Anytime you need a car to do a wilderness run, you are missing the wilderness part of the experience.
John Stamstad running the John Muir Trail through Evolution Basin
The route starts with a 6,000 foot climb from the Whitney Portal trailhead up to the peak of Mt Whitney—the highest mountain in the lower 48 at 14, 491 ft. Actually the proper JMT starts at the top of Mt Whitney, but you can’t start at the top of a 14k mountain without climbing it first. I was geared pretty light for crossing that type of unforgiving terrain: 18.5 lbs total, most of that food. I didn’t carry a sleeping bag or pad, just a Patagonia down sweater, Grade VI rain jacket and pants, some good gloves and a space blanket bivy sack. As I started up Whitney I realized I might not have the extreme heat issues that other JMT runners have written about. I knew right then that it was going to be cold. I have had a lot of experience with cold though. I’ve ridden my bike the whole 1100 mile length of the Iditarod Trail in Alaska in winter, so even though I had the bare minimum for gear, I was confident—I knew I had just enough. There is a great saying up in Alaska, “you tend to pack your insecurities”. It is always a fine line between carrying too much and too little. The less you carry, the less you need to carry because you are moving faster and get through it in less time. But if you don’t bring something that turns out to be necessary, it can lead to major problems. I’ve always believed in being pretty conservative when it comes to gear. I think it is really irresponsible to go out into the middle of nowhere unprepared, have something go wrong and have to rely on other people to rescue you. And when other people have to help you, you are putting their health and well being at risk.
Summiting Mt. Whitney as a warmup
The trail to the top of Whitney is 11 miles long and it took me just under 5 hours, which I thought was pretty good with a full pack and at a very easy pace. But after the top I really started to feel the chill. I was running with every piece of clothing I brought and I was barley warm enough. My feet were even getting cold, but the kicker was that my water bottles were freezing while I was moving. I knew that meant the temps had to be in the low teens or even single digits. That is scary cold when, mentally, you are still in summer mode. I had to keep shaking my bottles to break up the ice and then when I wanted to drink I had to stop or at least slow way down and hold the spout in my mouth to warm it up for a minute and thaw it out. My finger tips were getting frost-nipped from holding those bottles. And drinking near freezing water doesn’t exactly warm you up from the inside.
I ran straight though the night—sleeping wasn’t an option at those temperatures up high. While climbing 3000 vertical feet up the 13,150 ft Forrester Pass, I realized that the stream water, though cold, was warmer than 32 deg. So whenever my bottles froze I would just stop and thaw and refill them at a stream. It was a painfully slow process that was brutal on my already cold hands, but at least I could keep going.
The descent off of Forrester was really chunky and slow, and very hard on the body and feet with the heavy pack.
Glen and Pinchot, both at about 12,000 ft, were next up. Everything is a 3000 ft climb around here, and that wouldn’t even be that bad if they started at sea level but out here the low valleys are still 8 or 9,000 ft high. The terrain is incredibly sparse, most of this is above tree line, so it is just rock as far as the eye can see. With nothing to eat up there, the animals stay away; I don’t think I saw anything other than squirrels and a few buzzards the whole way.
The next morning I was on my way up Muir Pass. This is the real ‘hump’ of the JMT. It is about the 100 mile mark, and the last high pass. On paper the trail is all ‘down hill’ from here. The dry air was killing my throat and sinuses. My throat was so inflamed it was hard to swallow and my nose was constantly filled with dried blood. Structurally I felt perfect, I only had one small blister, and while I didn’t feel super fast, I felt like I was on ‘auto-pilot’ mode—I could run forever as long as I had enough food and water. I ran into Dan Patitucci on the backside of Muir Pass. He had run over Lamarck Col to meet me and do some photos for Patagonia. I was surprised I didn’t meet more people on the trail, and even more surprised that people really didn’t stop and talk. You would think that hikers who might go days without seeing another person and would really take the opportunity to connect with another human for a few minutes. Rarely did anyone say more than hello, and barely made eye contact. But I guess it is a different breed that does long trails, and the JMT and PCT thru hikers do it specifically to get away from people.
By the time I reached McClure meadow, down the valley from Muir Pass I had gone 2 nights without any sleep, and was on my intended pace to do the trail in 4 ½ days. It had been a big mistake to start this run at 5pm, it meant that I would have to do an extra night, and the nights proved to be cold and slow.
……to be continued
Behind the Scenes of Stamstad’s Record Attempt
by Dan Patitucci
“Sir, the John Muir Trail is not a day hike”.
This, from the overweight, under experienced desk ranger at the Lone Pine Ranger Office upon hearing that John did not intend to camp on the 220 mile trail. I was gagging on laughter as she went on to explain to one of the world’s best endurance athletes how the Muir Trail requires weeks of walking and camping. John, in his usual stoic way, listened patiently and politely. Finally he fessed up, “I’m running the trail, I’m not stopping, therefore I am not camping.”
The Ranger excused herself to call her supervisor. A square peg had walked in and did not fit into her round hole of bureaucratic training. To make a decision, she would need the help of a superior. A short time later she returned with newly drawn up regulations for John to read over. It stated John would not camp along the way, for if he did, he would need a bear canister. He agreed and together we exited the air conditioned building with permit in hand.
An hour later, on an unusually cold autumn evening, he stood at the Whitney Portal Trailhead seemingly unconcerned by the rapidly approaching darkness and cold night. On his back he wore a large Patagonia hydration pack bursting with high calorie foods, hopefully enough to get him to Yosemite National Park along one of the countries most demanding trails. He looked down at his watch, clicked start, said, “Cheers”, and was off. I watched him float away before turning to my car to drive home.
Two days later I woke early to get a head start on my own day. The plan was to run over Lamarck Col, through Evolution Basin and up Muir Pass where John said he would likely be passing at a specific time. The Sierra, in typical fall fashion, were spectacular and my own long day in was blissful. While heading up Muir Pass I saw a crouched figure ahead, descending awkwardly and slowly - but nevertheless, the figure was running. It was John, exactly on schedule.
Upon connecting it became immediately apparent that he was in a bad state. His neck was killing him, his mouth was filled with sores from being stressed & eating odd foods, and of course he was utterly exhausted after running 100+ miles with no sleep, much of it over 11,000 feet. All of this in addition to having spent two nights out in well below freezing temps.
Being an unsupported attempt, I could give him nothing but encouragement. I could only watch him in his effort. It was a thing of beauty to see a man so driven to succeed. Together we ran through what is arguably the Sierra’s most beautiful valley, poor John unable to raise his head. I made some photos, told him a few jokes, and reminded him that Janine and I would be there at the end for him. Once again I watched him float away, halfway finished, and again I too turned on my own heels and ran my puny 15 miles out. …..to be continued
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Sleep deprivation is a pretty fascinating thing. Everywhere I looked, inanimate objects were moving, even the rocks, they just kept shifting around. The big rocks looked like tents, I mean they looked exactly like tents. I would stop and go up to them, usually say, “hello is anyone home” and have to touch it before being convinced that it was rock instead of ripstop.
These lower passes of Gladys and Ruby Lake –lower being only 10,000 ft–were warmer but going up Donahue was brutal—40mph winds and cold. There was nowhere to hide, I just had to put my head down and go. I got over the top and I really needed to sleep, this was my fifth night and I had only slept 2 hours total. I made it down to tree line but it was still way below freezing. I decided to bivy anyway. I pulled out my space bag only to find that it had ripped apart. I didn’t have much choice so I just laid down between two fallen trees for some shelter and wrapped the remnants of the bag around me like a blanket. I woke up an hour later and realized that my legs were so cold they had no feeling from the knee down. When I moved to feel them, my hands were like clubs, so numb from the cold that I couldn’t uncurl my fingers. I couldn’t even get up to walk. After a short panic attack, and a few agonizing minutes, I was able to get some circulation and movement back and I restored calm. As soon as I could, I got moving and tried to generate some desperately needed heat. I had 7 miles to go to Tuolumne Meadows, and as soon as I hit the warm sun I stopped and lay down on a rock…….
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