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Sierra Nevada

What to Take for Climbing Mt. Whitney

Jan 25th, 2011
by dolomitesport.
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Planning to Climb Mt. Whitney Next Summer?

For those headed to Iceberg Lake at the base of Mt. Whitney to climb one of the classic routes, the East Buttress (5.8) or the East Face (5.7) – or even for those just aspiring to do the Mountaineer’s Route (4th class gulley) – here are my thoughts on what to take so as to prevent a backbreaking march from the Whitney Portal.

The North Fork of Lone Pine Creek Trail

The climber’s approach to the massive and beautiful East Face of Mt. Whitney is certainly one of the best hikes anywhere. The reward comes from not only getting to climb Whitney, but to camp at Iceberg Lake at its base. While not an overly difficult approach, the amount of weight on your back might be hugely influential to how you enjoy the day. You’ll leave your car at about 8,300 feet and drop your pack at 12,400 feet. Both the elevation gain, and the elevation itself, will take their toll along the way. And remember, day 2′s agenda includes a trip to 14,495 which for many requires the freshest possible legs and lungs.

I am always a bit surprised to see the towering loads arrive to Iceberg Lake. Usually they sit atop a sweaty, exhausted, hunched over hiker with a pained, yet jubilant to have arrived expression. My take is that, being the Sierra Nevada, there is little reason to take much. Yes, you need the basics, and even the basic set of extras in case the weather gets bad or someone is injured. But, keep life simple (and light) and try to really only take exactly what is required.

Climbing Gear for Mt. Whitney

Here it is, our gear for two nights at Iceberg Lake and two days of climbing, both the East Face and East Buttress. Our trip was at the end of September, the nights were below freezing but the daytime forecast was all sun.

This is what was inside my Deuter Spectra 50 liter pack, but does not include our food bag, government issue poop bags, or the clothes I was wearing – all out of the picture.

BD Megamid tent

MSR Isobutane Stove, Titanium pot, coffee mug

Superlight mountain clothing, including down jacket

Summit pack (Deuter’s Speedlite 15 liter)

MSR Waterfilter (Iodine is lighter still)

BD lantern (luxury item for the long Autumn nights)

Climbing rack, harness, helmet, 10mm rope & shoes (a good pair of sticky rubber approach shoes could replace climbing shoes)

First Aid Kit & Headlamp

MSR Neo Sleeping Pad, a fantastic piece of gear

Ultralight ground cloth

Sleeping Bag; Deuter Exosphere -4 Celsius 550 down

Food: we live on angel hair pasta & pesto, cheese, nuts, dried fruit, energy bars and bagels while in the backcountry.

Total weight with camera gear: 40lbs

The tent is without a doubt a luxury item as well, there are fewer pleasant things to do than sleep under the stars, and few nicer places to do it than the Sierra Nevada.

Another option is to use a Guide Service. Let them carry some of your weight, safely guide you up & down the peak, and even prepare some tasty backcountry cuisine.

The two primary Guide Services of the Eastern Sierra are:

Sierra Mountain Center

Sierra Mountain Guides

Janine's pack weight at the Whitney Portal; 36lbs Meanwhile, Alberto provides a friendly reminder.

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The American Climbing Road Trip

Sep 18th, 2010
by dolomitesport.
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Morning winter camp outside the Buttermilks in California's Eastern Sierra

Last spring I made the conscious decision to not let the bike rule my year. Meaning, I did not want to focus on racing a road bike and all the time required to train – I wanted to let my year flow, do whatever sounded good at the time, travel to different places, do a little of everything, and especially to get back to what I used to be most passionate about. Climbing.

Dan Patitucci on Supercrack, Indian Creek, Utah

From 1989 to about 1996 I did little else. It was time spent doing anything but working. Little did I know it was an investment in my future as an athlete, part of the outdoor industry and finally as a professional mountain sport photographer. Time well spent. Later, I mellowed out on the climbing schedule to study photography and figure out exactly what it was I was going to do. Hooking up with Janine established a vision, we committed to being outdoor photographers and once again I was both climbing and shooting climbing.

As our business grew we evolved towards other subjects. But lately, the bug is back, I am ready to climb, or more accurately I am ready to go on a climbing trip. There are few things like it, especially in the States if one knows where to go and how to live; car camping in the Eastern Sierra sage, sleeping beneath the stars on a clear Sierra night, waking up with a wall of granite as your objective. Bliss.

Moonlit camp at Iceberg Lake beneath Mt. Whitney

Ahead of us are six weeks cruising the US; our old playground of the Eastern High Sierra, Indian Creek, Yosemite and finishing up at Smith Rock. What makes this trip extra special is the fact that we are doing it all with Italian friends – the first being Alberto De Giuli, who has never been on US soil. To see my own nation through his eyes will be interesting, he has been entertained by me in his home country, now I get to revisit what is so familiar but once again experience the newness of it all.

First up for Alberto: Acclimating to the art of being a dirtbag American climber. It is nearly impossible to be a true dirtbag in Europe. I have tried to tap into my roots but truly, it seems hopeless as I get more and more civilized with each road trip. Just the other night we bivvied in our car at the Tre Cime before climbing, but having eaten lunch that day at a three star hotel followed by dinner at a Michelin Two Star, Brunello buzz and all, this hardly qualified as “dirtbagging” it. As we settled into our car for the night we watched some nearby Germans cooking on their camp stove, Janine posed the question, “I wonder what they’re having for dinner?” At this we roared, but soon we realized that we truly do miss some of the simpler things.

In the coming weeks we hope to share some of what we are up to, check back here for stories, reports and of course loads of photos.

Some things have really changed: Not much film cannister labeling these days

Other things haven't changed at all: Cannot wait to drink Peet's in the Sierra backcountry

Thankfully, the days of living on the road in an '84 VW are long over

Good memories from an epic: Bedside first aid kit & climbing gear

Off we go... YeeHAW

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Trail Running in California’s Sierra Nevada

Apr 27th, 2010
by dolomitesport.
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Sierra Nevada: The Range of Light & Fast

FOMO —Fear Of Missing Out—I have it, in the form of an extreme case. Years ago, when we first settled in California’s Eastern Sierra Nevada, the FOMO came on strong. Living in such close proximity to so many mountain sport options, how could it not? Each day the question; Do we go alpine climbing, sport climbing, bouldering, mountain running, mountain biking, or hiking? No matter how good our choice turned out, we were always left fearing that we had missed out on something better.

Janine running beneath Keeler Needle and the Mt. Whitney Group

But with inspiration from local ultra runner Phill Kiddoo and his suggestions of “Run-a-Bagging” big backcountry peaks, our recovery from FOMO began. Each time I mentioned a classic alpine route, Phill countered with, “I’ve run that.” He was rolling all of our outdoor passions into single summer days, running into alpine areas and climbing easy ridge routes to summits. Countless granite fins, towers, massifs and ridge crests guard many peaks but most offer easy scrambling routes requiring no more than time, trail-running shoes and a caffeine buzz. In fact, California’s Sierra Nevada is a truly ideal playground for mountain sports. Its warm, dry summers with minimal thunderstorm activity means possibilities are limited not by conditions, but rather by conditioning and motivation.

Our first steps toward FOMO recuperation began over the winter, when we created a hit list of local mountain runs. Virtually every trailhead offered a worthy objective. Come late June, as the snowpack gave way to dirt and bare rock, trails re-emerged and four months of backcountry running awaited Janine and I. We were chomping at the bit, since we had put in many training miles at lower elevations and had the fever to get up high.

Running Banner Peak

Dan headed into (l-r) Ritter and Banner

Our first objective was Banner Peak outside of the ski town of Mammoth Lakes, just 40 minutes north of Bishop. There, at the Agnew Meadow Trailhead, we set out pre-sunrise, facing 20 miles round trip and 5000 feet of climbing, a glacier crossing, a narrow snow couloir and a 3rd-class rock ridge (no rope required but some exposure) to the summit of 12,936-foot Banner Peak.

Janine’s case of FOMO is much less severe than my own; in fact, she is mostly happy wherever she finds herself. For her, running to the base of Banner Peak without packs would have been a fulfilling day. I wanted the satisfaction of reaching the summit. Janine gave in to my plan and we began sorting and packing gear, one of the great joys of Run-a-Bagging is the combination of not having to use much gear but that which you do take must be perfect, therefore careful research (shopping) must be performed.

Janine headed up the snowfield splitting Ritter and Banner from the south

Our packs were small running models, just big enough for tights, wind shirt, hat, gloves and as many energy bars and gels that we could cram in. I would later learn that some friends measured these running peaks not in miles or hours but in the number of energy-gels consumed. Janine, being Swiss, typically measures her own runs in the number of Toblerone bars she can get down before their Matterhorn-like form succumbs to the afternoon heat. We also strapped super light Kahtoola crampons to our packs for the glacier and couloir. Finally, we prefer hand bottles in the backcountry, since they are quick to fill in creeks, save weight in the pack and make great palm shock absorbers when we stumble while gawking at the views.

The trails from most Eastern Sierra trailheads are steep, but Agnew Meadows is a rolling cruise through a river canyon. We spent the first couple of miles in the dark enjoying the solitude and quiet that only pre-dawn provides. Cold, wet grass overhanging the trail quickly drenched our skinny runners’ legs and made us long for the summer sun to fill the canyon. As the black sky grew lighter, there, looking impossibly far away, rose the bulk of Banner Peak and its even larger neighbor, Mount Ritter (13,143 feet).

Glissading the Ritter Banner couloir

The specter of our objective was usurped by our immediate need—to outrun the swarming mosquitoes capitalizing on our casual pace. Much of the trail follows Shadow Creek, which flows over a series of granite shelves creating numerous waterfalls. Soon we were above tree line at the glacier, where we swapped modes from running to power hiking over the steepening snow/ice. We wore running shorts all the way up the couloir, where we caught two hikers who were also gunning for Banner Peak. It was an interesting contrast.

Us: trail-running shoes, short shorts, bright red crampons, both hands strapped to water bottles and smiles on our faces.

Them: mountain boots, full climbing attire, large packs, ice axes and smiles on their faces (or were they just laughing at us?).

“Where did you come from?” they asked.

“Agnew Meadows Trailhead,” I answered.

“And you’re here already? No way. ”

“No, really, we ran in.”

“Ran in? Why?”

“Uh, because we’re trail runners …” I decided to leave it at that and not mention the fact that we would be home by early afternoon enjoying a pale ale and plotting the next trip.

Janine and I topped out in the couloir, removed our crampons and headed up the ridge. On this section, we appreciated the versatility of modern trail shoes – especially those with sticky rubber for good grip on rock. Less than an hour of scrambling took us to the summit.

It wasn’t even noon yet, so we kicked back and had some laughs reading the bizarre, altitude-enhanced, summit-register entries as they usually involve God, “I can’t believe I made it” testimonials or something resembling an Oscar speech.

I added my own, knowing our climbing friends would be along in a few minutes. “Agnew Meadow to Banner Peak, car to car—the Sierra really is made to be the Range of Light and Fast.”

After descending the rock section we whooped down the glacier in full glissade mode. Freezing cold sections of creekside trail from the morning were now tempting swimming holes in the afternoon heat. The thought of sandwiches beat the need to cool off, and, besides, we were still embracing the joy of movement. It had been a full day and we were in love with “Run-a-Bagging.” By combining so many things we love, we had found the cure for FOMO and look forward to many years of treatment.

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DolomiteSport’s note… This article was originally written in 2004 and published in Trail Runner Magazine. Looking back, I see it truly was the beginning of a love affair with mountain running in to climb easy peaks. Countless similar trips have been done since in mountains throughout the world.

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Eastern Sierra Nevada Trail Running Resources

Basecamp

Dan cooling off in one of countless High Sierra lakes

Bishop (pop. 3800) is strategically located in the heart of the Sierra Nevada, and serves as the jumping-off point to countless trail systems, most within an hour of town.

Getting There. Bishop lies on California Highway 395 along the eastern escarpment of the range, approximately three and a half hours south of Reno and four to five hours north of Los Angeles. The town of Mammoth Lakes (40 minutes away) now has flights in and out from LA, Reno, and San Jose – check in with them for more info. Mammoth may also serve as your basecamp and is higher in elevation and much cooler than Bishop for mid-Summer visits.

Seasons. While summer days can hit 100 degrees in town, Sierra trailheads 20 minutes away can be quite chilly. July through September are the best months for mountain running.

Resources. Drop into Bishop’s prestigious running shop, Sage to Summit on Main Street for maps and trail information. Sage to Summit’s owner Karen Schwartz, is currently compiling running trail information for a soon-to-be-released guide to the Eastern Sierra.

R.J. Secor’s The High Sierra; Peaks, Passes and Trails is the bible for local hiking and climbing. Remember though: a great hiking trail may not always be suitable for running due to the surface and steepness. The book’s information is best for ascending the peak’s themselves. For running selects again, Sage to Summit is your resource.

Food and Drink. Bishop’s Black Sheep Cafe is where to get your morning buzz & carbs as well as to meet like-minded trail mammals. Evenings are best spent at the Whiskey Creek Happy Hour in downtown Bishop, or better yet, on your tailgate tucked away in some cool backcountry parking spot near a trailhead.

Sierra Tick List

Jason Hamm headed to Mt. Emerson

Bishop Area

> North Lake—Piute Pass—Mount Emerson : A great warmup for Sierra mountain running. A six-mile casual climb to Piute Pass serves as a primer for the thousand feet of talus to the summit of Mount Emerson.

> South Lake—Bishop Pass—Mount Agassiz : Running to Bishop Pass is a local tradition. Adding the northwest slope of Mount Agassiz makes it even better. An almost entirely run-able six-mile trail puts you at the base of the switchbacks to Bishop Pass, attain the col, follow the slopes where they drop onto the pass then head straight to the summit. Stunning views of the Palisade Crest await.

> Evolution Loop—North Lake to South Lake : THE Sierra classic. Replacing summits with passes, this 40- to 70-mile loop will have you seriously considering Eastern Sierra real estate. A variety of early options exist to customize the length. Choose the Lamarck Col over Piute Pass to eliminate about 25 miles. No matter what you choose you will end up running the John Muir Trail (JMT) through the Evolution Basin, arguably the Sierra Nevada’s perfect spot. Next up is Muir Pass; consider the JMT Thru-Runner’s body condition at this point—mile 100 of their 215-mile journey.

Janine running into Bishop Pass

Janine climbing Mt. Agassiz's north slopes high above Bishop Pass, 3rd class

Janine Patitucci running in the Sierra high country, Evolution Loop

> Glacier Lodge/South Fork Big Pine Creek—East Face of Middle Palisade : The choice for the mountaineer-runner. A steep trail run and cross-country travel brings you to a small glacier and the East Face of the 14,000-foot Middle Palisade Peak. Here you will curse the author at the site of the imposing wall in front of you. But really, it is 4th class, quite safe and easy (I too was intimidated). Gain the face by the right side of the prow where it splits the glacier.

Dan Patitucci on the Shepherd Pass Trail

> Shepherd Pass—Mount Tyndall : If a remote, grueling 12-mile uphill run to a long ridge to 14,000 feet sounds like fun, this is the run for you. Shepherd Pass is known for being hard and mentally tough, as no matter how much you run, the pass never seems to get closer – I suggest starting well before first light. Luckily, it is also known for being wondrous in its alpine setting.

Mammoth Area

> Agnew Meadow—Banner Peak : As described above in the feature story, this is our favorite of the bunch. Get an early start to avoid afternoon heat when running out of the canyon.

Mountain Trail Running and Peak Bagging : Gear List

Shoes. Trail-running shoes with sticky rubber are a must. We are longtime La Sportiva fans as they have the mountain running shoe dialed in with real support, protection and sticky rubber, the combination of which is helpful for Run-a-Bagging.

Clothing. Mid summer, the Sierra are warm, hot even, but, they are mountains and as such, anything can happen. If the forecast is good, my usual set up is running shorts, light weight tights, running-T, long sleeve, thin insulated vest, super light rain shell. Of course, a beanie and gloves. Extra socks might be  good idea both for that fresh feeling and to avoid the dirt and grit rub. Thunderstorms are the threat for getting wet and cold.

Trail running packs should fit trim and tight against the back

Probably fine...?

Packs. Just large enough to accommodate food & water, clothing (see above), and map. Pack stability is important, test yours on short and long runs before you commit to a serious day. Packs can end up rubbing, causing sore necks, or, even after feeling comfortable in the shop, being hopelessly uncomfortable on hour 4. The perfect pack is out there, find it.

Hydration. We like hand-held bottles, although bladder systems work well too. Hand bottles are easily monitored,  easy to fill creekside and keep weight off your back. Sierra water may be crystal clear, but using a water filter or chemical treatment is wise. Up to you… sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.

Calories & Salt. In recent years I have gone back to normal food when out, it is pretty tough to beat a homemade burrito. Just be sure to have a good mix of of salty and sweet. If you do bars, remember, the Sierra can be hot, choose accordingly, Larabar and Clif Bar work well. Finally, even in the High Sierra you are sweating, probably a lot— consider replacing lost electrolytes with a supplement like E-Caps.

Kahtoola crampons are great for spring ascents of high peaks, like here on Mt. Dana

First aid. Carry athletic tape and gauze for patching skinned knees, etc. For lightweight kits, check out Adventure Medical Kits. The Sierra Nevada are a high mountain range with many passes over 12,000 feet and loads of summits over 13,000. Know your limits, pay attention to headaches, don’t just treat them with drugs.

Crampons. Most routes don’t require them, but those that do will have you wanting a pair of lightweight Kahtoolas. They’re made to work on hiking and running shoes.

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Shop Mountain Gear for the best trail running shoes, clothing & training equipment

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Running the Sierra Nevada John Muir Trail

Apr 14th, 2010
by dolomitesport.
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Sierra Nevada Endurance Testing Grounds

by John Stamstad, part 2

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.
The mind also has an interesting way of coping with stress. I was starting to get a couple of blisters but in my head they weren’t mine—they were someone else’s. The one on my right heel belonged to a girl at the office which is even stranger because I don’t work in an office. I kept getting mad at her, “would someone please tell her to stop smashing that blister, it hurts like hell!”, or “my god do I have to stop and bandage that for her again? Can’t she do anything herself?”
I stopped a little further down at Evolution Creek and slept for an hour. When I picked up my permit at the ranger station a couple of days before, the rangers gave me the scare talk about bears. “You can’t go out there without a bear canister”.  “You have to camp only where there is a bear box”. Well, I needed to sleep and this was the spot. I put my pack with the food about 10 feet away from me and just piled some good throwing rocks next to my bivy bag. If a bear wanted my food he wasn’t going to get it without a fight—my food was my lifeline. I slid into my mylar bag and slept for an hour without even needing an alarm clock to wake up. My body was totally in tune, I told myself to wake in an hour and despite the obvious serious fatigue, I did.
Evolution Creek can be a treacherous crossing so I wanted to be fresh. Dave Horton had to cross this stream in June when he was doing his PCT record run and the water was up to his chest – it was a life or death effort.
I awoke to cold air and a colder stream crossing but felt very happy to have cold, knee high water. It always makes things easier to think about someone who has suffered more.

Climbing up Silver Pass, just past Muir Ranch, I was overcome by the feeling that I had been there before, everything seemed familiar, I felt like I knew the route. I spent hours thinking about how you could have an intense feeling of deja vu even though you know you have never been there before. Here is the theory I came up with: I had researched the route,  read stories about it, and saw photos, so I had a lot of info about it. What if I had a dream about it months ago that I never remembered at the time. Where do those dream memories go? They can’t disappear completely. Maybe it’s the subconscious memory of those dreams that you don’t even know you had that can lead to deja vu……
I started having some pretty serious back and neck problems at the bottom of Silver Pass. I think the bouncing of the pack irritated an old cycling injury (I had a couple of mountain bike crashes that I lead with my helmet—compressing vertebrae in my neck and right between the shoulder blades). It was a wrenching dull-and-sharp-at-the-same-time pain. When those vertebrae go out of alignment I am just plain miserable. I was chewing ibuprofen like they were M&M’s.  I’d have to stop and with a lot of work I could do some chiropractic on myself and get everything back in line. I started doing pushups, because that would pop them back into alignment, but the last thing you feel like doing on a 200 mile non-stop run is to drop and do 30. I also tried hanging from a tree to put some traction on my back and stretch things out.

That night my sleep deprivation induced imaginary friends came out. I had about 4 alter egos who would help me problem solve, that way I could concentrate on running and they would take care of the other details. It sounds a little crazy to write about it now but at the time and in that state– which is like being a live character in a dream world– I didn’t think anything of it, it seemed logical. And it was actually very productive. One of them suggested that I wear the pack facing forward on my chest. I remember thinking, “Man why didn’t I think of that”. It worked like a charm for my back but the downside is when you wear your pack on the front you can’t see your feet, which means you trip a lot and have to go slowly.

Then my shoes started falling apart. They had completely split right at the crease between the toes and the foot. They were both wide open and in this terrain they just filled with sand. But it is not just sand, it is volcanic sand which is a lot like crushed glass. Not good for the feet. My toes would keep popping out of the shoe completely and I would have to stop and get them back in. And then I would have to stop every mile of so and dump out the rocks and grit. Don’t even get me started on the blisters. The little rocks were making divots in my skin and becoming embedded.
I tried taping the shoes closed but the athletic tape I had just didn’t work very well. If I had brought duct tape I might have been able to close them, but then sealing your shoes with duct tape is just going to cause more problems because they won’t breathe. The only downside of being a product tester is that sometimes you play the role of guinea pig, and you only find out about issues when you are halfway through a 220 mile run in the middle of nowhere. That shoe issue was fixed in production so at least I didn’t suffer in vain.

My back was getting worse. It got to the point where the instant I put the pack on my back, my neck would completely seize up. One of my imaginary friends told me that the whole thing was psychosomatic– I was creating the pain in order to avoid something else, that I was being self defeating. If the trail couldn’t break me then I would do it myself. I didn’t want to believe this, I didn’t believe it, I felt like my pain threshold was higher than it had ever been and that I was totally focused on the goal and what I was doing. It isn’t like I haven’t had any experience with discomfort. I once rode my mountain bike 80 miles with a broken collar bone and separated shoulder, and that was a pleasant afternoon compared to this.
Another friend came to my defense, sort of: “The pain is real, you are not creating it. The military is. They made this pack to intentionally torture you, to see how much pain a person can take. They are recording all of your measurements. They are going to use this data for interrogations.”
Hmm, that would suck. It took me a couple of hours to convince myself that that was probably impossible.  When you are out there all alone, different rules apply and you don’t take reality for granted.
Running non-stop for 4 days and 5 nights isn’t reality for most people so
I just kept pounding the ibuprofen and focused all of my energy on relaxing my neck and back. Slowly I could get it to function. With a combination of relaxation techniques, and alternating the pack front to back, self chiropractic, and pill popping I was able to make progress down the trail.
I was really bummed out because I was moving so slowly. I knew when I started this trail that everything had to go well. I was on a tight timeline, I had to catch a flight and get back to work. It obviously isn’t the way to do a trail like this but I had been trying for two years to run it and this was my only opening for the year, I just didn’t have any other choice. But by getting behind schedule I knew I might have to bail at Tuolumne meadows—just 25 miles from the end. That would be devastating.
My blisters were starting to be a problem. It is hard to train for blister prep when I never get them unless I run more than 100 miles. I used some of those miracle blister packs—the ones you just stick on a blister, they magically heal it, and when you remove them they don’t stick to the blistered skin. Well in the real world it doesn’t work quite as advertised. For one, they are waterproof , which really means that they don’t breathe. I realized this when I smelled the rotting flesh on my foot. I knew I needed to get that bandage off in a hurry and get everything cleaned out. Of course all of the skin came off with the bandage exposing raw meat. I went back to my old school standby of gauze and athletic tape and that worked beautifully.
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…….
…..I opened my eyes, and tried to figure out what had just happened.  “Why are you here?” It felt too real to be a dream. I looked all over the ground to find someone’s tracks. I ran up the trail a bit to see if anyone was there. Nothing. I guess that woman was a dream. I have never been so affected by a dream. I never even have dreams…..but this whole run was starting to feel like one big dream…..I started to think about it, what did she mean ‘why am I here’…..and then of course the obvious dawned on my tired brain. She wasn’t asking about the details of my run, she wanted to know why or rather “she” was trying to get me to look at why I run. As it became clearer that I wasn’t going to have time to finish the JMT, I didn’t feel the guilty fear of being a quitter; I didn’t feel like I had failed.
It has nothing to do with running, or checking a trail off my list or setting a record.  I had had traversed 200 miles of an amazing stretch of wilderness, I had learned a great deal about myself, and I had an emotional experience that I simply can’t get in normal life. I came into Tuolumne Meadows feeling incredibly alive. That is why I am here.
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John Stamstad spent 15 years as a professional mountain bike racer specializing in long distance events before trading his bike for running shoes. He is a member of the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame, holds the 24 hour off-road world record and created Singletrack Ranch, a mountain bike instructional vacation company. He is an Endurance Ambassador for Patagonia and uses his vast experience as an athlete to help design their new shoes and clothing.

Behind the Scenes, part 2

by Dan Patitucci

Deep in the forest beneath the south side of Half Dome, we heard the phone ring. “I can’t believe we have service back here”, was the first thought that came to mind, much less whom would be calling, it was John. “You’re where?” …”The Tuolumne Store, I’m done, I’ll be at the store, on the side of the road, you’ll find me”.

Janine and I had run in hoping to meet John along the way so we could run out with him to the finish in Yosemite Valley. Now we were sprinting back to the car, knowing John would appreciate a timely pick up, still an hour plus drive away.

We pulled into the Tuolumne store’s parking lot right at dusk, and there, huddled amongst the boulders was a person so annihilated it could only be the result of 200 miles of running. In the shadows John lay as a dark mass, we helped him up and immediately noted the shredded shoes, filthy and torn clothing and the fact that his feet were anything but usable. “You must be ready to get out of here” I said. “I’m ready for a beer”.

A couple of hours later, after beers and fish tacos at the Mobile Mart, we pulled up to our Bishop house. John was long gone and waking him was tough, getting him out of the car harder still. Here was proof that rigor mortis is possible while alive. Once inside the house, he came up short of the bed, shorter yet to the shower, and collapsed in the armchair, displacing our cat. Once again, he was out. Here, in the light of the living room, I studied him. This was a man who had just run the John Muir Trail and had not slept much at all in 5 days. He looked the part. I have never done anything to push myself to these extremes, but I could imagine that what he felt inside his destroyed body was pure joy. I was left tremendously inspired.

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John Muir Trail Photography

To see images of the John Muir Trail, visit our great friend, and professional photographer John Dittli’s website as he has produced the definitive coffee table book on the trail.

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John Stamstad Running the John Muir Trail Unsupported

Apr 12th, 2010
by dolomitesport.
3 comments

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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Sierra Backcountry Spring Powder

Apr 6th, 2010
by dolomitesport.
3 comments

Ben Grasseschi plowing along

A foot at the house...

The Endless Winter

Janine, Dan and a large group of friends are headed into the Sierra for 5 days of work; alpine climbing and ski touring. The Sierra got wind of this and decided it would be best to do a little tidying up of the backdrops with nearly a meter of fresh snow. Not sure if that is what we really wanted, but we got it. Plans have been adjusted accordingly.

Today we thought it important to do a little, uhhmm uhhm, “scouting”. What we found was an amazing amount of powder for April in the Sierra Backcountry. Last week we were skiing corn and even had reports that a good harvest was found at 13,000 feet. Corn & flip flops turned to powder. This truly is the Endless Winter in the Eastern Sierra Nevada. The Sierra have been the perfect host for our winter stay. Much appreciated.

Next week we’ll have a batch of Eastern Sierra photos and hopefully tales of turns and sun.

Janine Patitucci missing the spring a little less today

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