River of [Snow] Return - Idaho 208k Challenge Part 2 of 3

The River of No Return Endurance Runs take place each June starting and ending in the small town of Challis, Idaho. The race offerings include 25km, 50km, and 108km options that allow participants to choose their challenge accordingly. For the past three years, I have committed to the daunting task of spending the better part of a day in the thin air of the high country braving the 108km course. This would be my fourth year at RONR facing the most difficult course conditions the race has seen.

Pre-Race Meeting Friday Evening

On a normal year, the RONR course is no joke, it is frequently compared to the effort of a 100 mile race despite it being 30 miles shorter, some of this is due to the elevation gain and time at altitude, accumulating close to 17,000 feet of gain and spending a good portion of the race above 9,000 feet. The race is a collection of huge climbs and descents, flat sections are rare, and the remote nature of the Frank Church Wilderness adds to the experience. All of this is complemented with first class race directors Paul Lind and Neal Russell along with an army of volunteers.

In the weeks and days leading up to this year's event, we got frequent email and Facebook updates on the course conditions, the snow from this winter still clinging to the mountains combined with rapidly fluctuating temperatures kept us guessing until race day. Paul had warned us to consider packing snowshoes as over 10 miles of the course were still under several feet of snow come race week. The river crossings were raging and had been affixed with ropes to help aid with runner safety, needless to say it was going to be an epic ride. 

To combat the expected adverse conditions, the decision was made to push the start time up an hour earlier, to 4:00 AM, so the runners at the back of the pack would have the best chance to cross the final rivers before dark.

Course Map - Has been compared to a T-Rex

On race morning, I woke up at 2:30 AM after a restless few hours and worked my way through the typical final preparations for an effort such as this. After throwing some calories into myself and checking the items in my drop bags one last time, it was time to get the show on the road. I exchanged some good wishes with my friend Daragh Maccabee, who was running his first long distance mountain ultra (he had run the 25km and 50km races in the prior two years) and we lined up at the start awaiting the final countdown. 

Daragh and I before the Start

The first few miles of the race are downhill on pavement and then 4x4 trail before beginning the first major climb of the day, and I started out closer to the front than I usually would, the quick pace felt good to warm up cold muscles in the cool dark morning. as we turned off and headed up the climb I was toward the back half of the top 10 runners, a position I would hold for several hours. I talked to no one as I climbed up the familiar trail that wound upwards into the hills. The sky was just beginning to lighten as we traversed across to the first aid station and I settled into a more reasonable pace. Upon leaving the first aid station a runner had caught up to me and we started the climb out of there together, keeping the pace reasonable enough to keep up a conversation. Another three miles up and then we would begin our descent to the ghost town of Bayhorse several thousand feet below.

Sunrise near the top of the first climb

Old Mining Buildings near Bayhorse Townsite

I came into mile 16 at Bayhorse Town in just under three hours, a few minutes faster than any of my other trips around this course. I was feeling quite good and knew I had a monster of a climb ahead of me. I dropped the water bottle I had carried for the first few hours and grabbed my Salomon race vest that I had packed in my drop bag and headed out, knowing I had close to 5,000 feet of climbing over the next 10 miles before my legs would get their next downhill break. On this climb we would also get our first taste of what was leftover from the intense winter that we had this year.

Prior trips up Ramshorn Mountain had taught me to be patient with this climb as it is so early in the race, many runners try to tackle this with more ambition than they should and are left crippled shortly afterwards, I was determined not to succumb to this fate, so I kept the pace slower than a few others getting passed by two or three people on my way up. I ended up finishing the climb with the same guy I had ran with earlier in the race. As we approached the top of the mountain, we found ourselves climbing on top of snow drifts and looking for flagging to guide us up safely up the mountain. We hit the top just passed 10:00 AM, or 6 hours of race time. We would then lose nearly the same amount of elevation in half of the distance, dropping over 3,000 feet in the next 5 miles to Juliette Creek. The first part of the descent was quite difficult, a severe side hill that was drifted with hard-pack snow. It took a lot of effort to ensure that we didn't slide over the edge and offered next to nothing for traction for our shoes. Eventually we made it passed this section and got down below the snowline, allowing for some fast miles as we dropped down into the valley below.

  

  

  

At Juliette Creek, about 30 miles into the race, we were about to get into the crux of the course, the stretch from there to Bayhorse Lake had been impacted by the remaining snow more than much of the rest of the course. This was also where I had stashed my snowshoes. I felt conflicted as I fought with myself over whether to grab them (and the large pack they were in) or leave them in hopes of the snow being hard enough to move over efficiently, ultimately deciding to forgo them in favor of a lighter gear setup. My good friends Jose and Elsa were manning this aid station and they helped me refuel from the long stretch of mountains I had just come from and warned me of the treacherous stream crossings ahead. Sure enough, right out of the aid station was the first test, what is usually not much more than a trickle, was a raging river that was close to waist deep with a fixed rope strung across to hang on to. Wading my way across, the icy cold water felt good against my already fatigued legs, but I knew better than to linger here, the high country was calling. 

The climb up Juliette consisted of 10 or more crossings of varying difficulty, all with safety ropes strung across them. As we climbed higher, the patches of snow became more frequent until there was more snow than not, and eventually we came to the final clearing and push up the climb, a mile or so of nothing but snow. It was definitely softening up already and I felt some empathy for the people who would be coming through here later in the day, as I was still towards the front of the pack and knew there would be some carnage later in the race if the heat kept up.

  

At this point I was still running with the same guy from earlier and we were struggling equally with the snow, but apparently others were as well, as we came to the final section of the climb we found ourselves closing in on the runners in 5th and 6th place. We didn't catch them and lost some time once we got to the top, the snow was patchy and mixed with deep, difficult mud sections as we made our way through the last few miles to Bayhorse Lake.

A rare dry patch on top of Juliette Drainage

We arrived at Bayhorse Lake (mile 38.5) just as the two runners ahead of us were leaving. I stopped long enough to change into dry shoes and socks, a brilliant choice, and get some real calories into me. Slices of cheese quesadilla and peanut butter sandwich squares helped to fill the growing void in my stomach.

Trail just past Bayhorse Lake

The trail leaving Bayhorse Lake wasn't any better than what we had come in on, lots of deep snow, but it was in the shade and we stayed on top of it for the most part. It still made for slow going and I was definitely behind my pace from prior years after the slow miles up Juliette. We forged ahead though, and eventually caught up to the two gentlemen in front of us again, and this time I was able to make a move. I knew we were about to hit some easy downhill miles, and the trail was just beginning to become runnable again, so I pushed a bit harder and passed them. The group of us were 5th through 8th positions and I was able to gap all three of them to take 5th place on my own as I made my way down Trealor Creek to the Squaw Creek aid station. By the time I got down there it was definitely the warmest it had been all day and I was afraid the extra effort I had put in over the past few miles would catch up to me soon, my legs were reminding me that I had raced a tough 100k just two weeks before that and surely wasn't recovered yet.

  

Leaving Squaw Creek I caught a glimpse of 6th and 7th coming down the road, so I quickly headed out, but I wasn't moving as quick as I would have liked. I knew I was closing in on the home stretch now, with just a single climb and a monster descent left in the race. I still had over 20 miles to go, but it felt manageable now. Within 20 minutes of leaving the aid station, the two guys behind had gotten close, I could hear them talking a short ways behind me and they got within a creek crossing of me at one point. I decided to give a little bit more effort and see if I could gap them again as my climbing legs weren't quite finished yet. The further we climbed the less evidence I saw that they were able to match my pace, and eventually I was on my own again in the most remote section of the course. Winding through the trees, climbing an endless stair-master, popping out into a meadow here and there only to be thrown back against the hillside a short time later, dry shoes were a thing of the past, and the mud became more prevalent as the climb continued, eventually giving way to the snow patches I had grown to loathe.

Creek 'Crossing' that we ended up hiking up instead of across

"The Meadow"

Up, and up, I climbed higher and the snow grew softer, now punching through on nearly every step. I didn't regret not having my snowshoes with me, as the patches were short and frequent enough that you would lose more time donning and doffing than you would benefit from wearing them. Eventually I broke through the final section of trees and into the final clearing before the last short climb of the race. Only a few hundred yards long, it took much longer than it should have, as the snow was deep and soft. I finally made it through and up the last kicker of a climb, greeted by a few saints that had hiked up to watch and cheer runners on. I wasn't out of the woods yet, there was still about two miles to go before I hit the next aid station, and this section would prove to be just as, or more challenging as much of the rest of the course due to the deep soft snow. Sinking up to your knees while attempting to run downhill is quite a challenge when you've been on your feet for over 12 hours already that day. 

More soft snow...

Buster Lake

 Finally I made it to the road, and began the descent back down to Challis, the aid station had been moved a mile or so further down the road than in prior years due to the snow and mud, but when I finally got to it, I knew the worst was behind me. Derek Call fed me some chicken pot pie and sent me on my way. I knew that the hard part was over, but I still had close to a half marathon of 100% downhill to go, so I wouldn't be able to take it easy just yet. I settled into what felt like a reasonable downhill pace, somewhere at or under a 10 minute mile and turned on autopilot, everything hurt, but it didn't feel like I was putting much effort into this speed as I meandered through the trees on the forest service road. I had one aid station left, Custer Motorway, about 5 miles from the finish, as I came up on it I was greeted with cheers and smiling faces. I was appreciative, but ready to be done. Just after I gave them an answer to the question of how far back the next runners were of anywhere from two to twenty minutes behind me (I had no idea), I saw a glimpse of orange way up the road. The chase was on. 

I knew that I hadn't been pushing myself too hard down the hill, but I also didn't want to lose the position I had worked all day to maintain, so I quickly finished up at the aid station and started running, hard. I hoped that I would be able to put a good distance on the next guy and not have to run hard all the way back to Challis, but I was wrong, every time I looked back, no matter how hard I was running I saw him, seeming to match my speed exactly. On I pushed, and the pavement jarred my battered joints. I reached the edge of town, knowing that there was about a mile left, we would run straight down Main Street and take a final left turn to send us back towards the City Park where the finish line was waiting. I hadn't gained any ground, but I didn't seem to have given much up either, and I was running scared.

I hit the final turn with a third of a mile left and looked back, finally able to relax a bit once I knew he wouldn't be able to catch me and ran though the finish line, almost collapsing with exhaustion and emotion, 6th place would finish less than a minute behind me, and 7th two minutes behind him. I had a final time of 16 hours and 33 minutes, and a 5th place overall finish in a competitive field.

Sheer exhaustion.

Paul presenting me with my 208k Challenge Award

Once I had calmed down a bit from the excitement of the finish I was able to sit down and eat some proper food, Cheyenne had saved me some pizza from earlier in the day and the race directors had provided kegs of beer so I was all set. Several of us got our sleeping bags out and hung out next to the finish line late into the night and into the next day cheering people on as they crossed the line accomplishing something that many people don't ever get the opportunity to experience. Daragh crossed the finish somewhere just under 22 hours, much to the delight of his wife and daughters who all ran the shorter distance races earlier in the day. The DNF (did not finish) rate of this race was over 40% this year, a testament to the difficult conditions we faced. A huge congratulations to everyone who was able to overcome adversity and complete this event. 

If you are looking for a challenging race and are willing to travel to a remote area in Idaho, this race will not disappoint. Everything from course markings to race directors, volunteers, and race swag are on point, and I would recommend this race to anyone looking to see what Idaho Ultra Running is about.

2017 Loot

4 Years of RONR, 3 Years of '208k Challenge'

Scout Mountain Sufferfest - A Prelude to the Idaho 308k Challenge

As part of the Idaho Trail Ultra Series, the Idaho 208k Challenge is a unique opportunity to race in some of Idaho's premier high mountain ultra distance races. To complete the challenge, a runner must complete the River of No Return 108k Endurance Run and either the Scout Mountain 100k or the Beaverhead 100k. These races span just a 5 week period each summer and individually they have been drawing attention from runners across the state and the northwest. In each of the past two years, I have been fortunate to have completed the Idaho 208k, finishing RONR and Beaverhead in 2015, and Scout Mountain and RONR last year. These races have become a staple for my summer racing season the past few years as I continue to build my resume and gain more experience in the world of ultra running.

This year is no exception. As if I didn't learn my lesson last year at the scenic and challenging Scout Mountain Ultra Trail (SMUT) 100k, I decided to run again, and up the ante a bit. In 2017 I will be attempting to complete all three of these 100k+ races in 5 weeks.

After a cool spring thus far, the weekend of June 3rd came quickly along with the warmest temperatures we've seen yet this year. Coming into the race with zero heat training, I felt somewhat nervous as I spent a good portion of the same race last year suffering in the sweltering heat, and with a projected high in the upper 80's, this would be no different.

Race morning started early, as usual, alarm at 3:45, quickly throw some food into me and then finish up the final preparations before the gun goes off at 5:00 AM. The first 25 miles of the race are set in the picturesque foothills and rolling single-track heading north from Mink Creek towards Pocatello. After the first hour in the darkness, we were treated to a summit sunrise as we hit one of the early high points of the course. Shortly after the sun rose I cruised through the first aid station moving fast and enjoying the still cool morning breeze knowing that it wouldn't be long before that breeze would be a distant memory once it heated up.

The first few hours were a treat, despite the rising temperatures I was moving fast and efficiently hardly stopping at aid stations as the morning sun got higher in the sky. The wildflowers were in full bloom adding to the experience as we traversed across the hills. Eventually, I came into the aid station at City Creek around mile 25 just before 10 o'clock, nearly five hours into the race. I was on pace to be faster than last year by a considerable margin as I began the first major climb of the day.

The climb up out of City Creek starts as a gradual incline that follows the creek upstream for several miles, getting steeper the further up we went, an overall gain of around 2,500 feet in 5 miles. This section is close to 11 miles between aid stations and I got caught without water for too long last year so this year I made sure to grab two extra bottles and threw them in my pack before beginning the climb. I chatted with a woman from Canada as we climbed, finally nearing the top we had to cross a snowfield with huge steps carved for a giant, or Sasquatch perhaps. I packed my hat full of snow and forged ahead, the heat now in full force in the exposed terrain. Another 5 miles down and one mile up before we would have aid, this is one of the real tests of the course.

Top of the climb out of City Creek before we started the descent.

I came into Midnight Creek aid station knowing that the last 11 miles had taken a toll, I was ready for a quick break and an opportunity to refuel. My friends Mike and Natalie were manning the aid station and I gladly took them up on their offer of watermelon and otter pops. Once I had properly situated myself I headed off down the trail, leaving a couple of runners that had come into the aid station behind. It was a gradual 6-mile descent back to the start line before I began the final 21-mile loop that would take me up and over the monster that is Scout Mountain. I was expecting these miles to be easy, but shortly after leaving the aid station I couldn't seem to keep any sort of running pace at all, and then my stomach went south. I lost everything that I had eaten in the past few hours and didn't have any calories to replace what was now steaming on the side of the trail. Lethargic and fatigued I alternated between hiking and jogging, I could tell that it was going to be a long day. When I finally got down to Mink Creek aid station I had lost any time I had banked on my time from last year, but I was still determined to keep putting one foot in front of the other for as long as I needed to finish the race. Solid food didn't sound good but I knew I had to start eating again otherwise I would really be in trouble. I choked down a few squares of PB&J sandwich and grabbed some pretzels to take with me and headed off. This would be a long slow climb up Scout, but it would end up being the climbing break I needed to get out of my funk.

Scout Mountain from 1/3 up the climb. 

The final major climb of the race is tricky, it gains around 3,400 feet over something like 10 miles. If you had legs left it would be easy to run a good portion of it, but in my condition, it wasn't hard to convince myself to power hike the entire climb. I used this as an opportunity to continue to eat some solid food and try to get my hydration and nutrition back under control. Halfway through the climb, I arrived at the second to last aid station, I had been playing leapfrog with two other runners for much of the race and they seemed to be in similar shape as they were just getting ready to leave when I got there. I hurriedly restocked at the aid station and headed out after them, I caught one runner, JohnMark Smith (JM) after a few minutes and we stuck together as we pressed on towards the summit. As we closed in on the highest point of the course we passed a couple of tough old BTR's Mike Blessing and Randy Thorn who were running the 60k, they were deciding on the best route to take across one of many snowfields at this elevation. The snow was soft and punchy, but also extremely slippery so we all took care as we crossed, actually, we looked like a bunch of drunks stumbling across the snow.

JM trying not to fall (again)

Just passed the summit we had more snow to navigate, and I (along with countless runners before me) decided to approach this like a rational adult, by sitting down, picking up my legs and sliding out of control down the slope. Once the ground reappeared beneath me I was able to pick up the pace and run fairly comfortably down the several miles to the final aid station of the race. There were just 5 miles and two short climbs between us and the finish so JM and I headed out again together to wrap it up. In good spirits and with the end nearly in sight, we made good time on the last section of the course and I crossed the finish in just under 14 hours and 11 minutes, a few minutes faster than my time last year and good enough for 10th place male.

One race down, two to go. River of No Return 108k is looming just a few days away...

I want to say thanks to Race Director Luke Nelson, he puts on an incredible race, the course is impeccably marked and the volunteers at all of the aid stations were helpful and encouraging. This is a top class race and I will surely be back again. Our public lands are a critical part of our country and need to be protected as such. Scout Mountain Ultra Trail runs on public land in the Caribou-Targhee National Forest. People like Luke and events like these provide support to protect our right to continue to enjoy the great outdoors.