Uranium was named for the planet Uranus

In my quest to more be skilled generally I’ve been working on mapping skills by downloading interesting-sounding data layers from the internet and trying to make something out of them.  Most recently I made this map of Utah mines [1]:

A few parts of the map struck me:

• Fluorine-fluorite (coded ‘F’ in the data) and Uranium (coded ‘U’) are often mined in the same places, leading to the attribute table commodity code ‘FU.’  This is funny. 
• The sand and gravel pits follow the base of the Rockies and length of I-15 quite nicely.
• Look at all those uranium mines. I was in one of those once. 

I think the Cold War is interesting.  It’s amazing that during my lifetime but not in my memory Americans lived with the legitimate fear of nuclear war (it is not amazing that we are re-living this fear).  That between 1947 and 1991 we were engaged in an arms race that produced nuclear warheads small enough for three to fit on a single intercontinental ballistic missile and each capable of producing a 475 kiloton explosion (that’s equivalent to 475,000 tons of TNT)[2].  The first nuclear bomb, dropped in 1945, was almost 20 times heavier with a 15 kiloton yield[3].  The U.S has LOTS of nuclear weapons, which required lots of uranium.  While we’ve begun slimming down our stockpile of nuclear weapons, hundreds of abandoned uranium mines in Utah currently bear witness to that crazy period of time. 

Look at this stuff.  Isn't it neat?

Abandoned mines are an environmental hazard but abandoned places are also irresistible.  Brent, Karina, and I had planned for a day of mine exploration during our 2015 Spring Break trip.  I downloaded a list of uranium mines and we set off to look at the closest mines… which turned out to be active processing mills (read: do not trespass there).  This was disappointing, but Plan B was to drive the roads in the part of San Juan County with the highest density of active mines in hopes of finding something abandoned.  And it worked. 

Speak friend and enter  

Uranium is a heavy metal that is found in rocks, soil, and water.  It’s way more common than silver or gold.  Uranium can move through the earth with groundwater, driven by changes in oxygen availability that will keep the uranium bound to water or bound to rocks[4].  Sandstone can be lousy with uranium because it is porous (so uranium-laden water can move through it) and because most sandstone deposits were formed near or below ancient seas, where the oxygen availability fluctuated a lot.  It wasn’t a coincidence that the cliffs we were exploring had bands of red and green rock that showed when oxygen was (red) and wasn’t (green) available millennia ago.  

The grey rock coming out of the chute and below it is uranium ore

When mining, the key is to find uranium-bearing rocks that have enough concentrated uranium to make digging a tunnel, carrying the rocks out of the ground, and transporting them to a refinery worthwhile.  Then a refinery will need to see reason to crush, heat, and spin the ore until it is enriched enough that it can make atom-splitting chain reactions (the physics and chemistry, of course, are more complicated, but that’s the gist of it)[5].  Uranium by itself isn’t very radioactive at all and wasn’t the real threat while we were in the mines. 

Tunnels

Side note.  I’m also think water law is interesting and it follows a lot of the rules of mining. Did you know that the General Mining Act of 1872 still stands as the rules for how one claims and works a mine.  1. First to claim it owns it.  2. Mineral rights are separate from land rights (you don’t own the minerals below your home).  3. You have to put in $100 of labor per year to keep your claim valid. 

Only slightly less magnificent than the Door of Durin

The mines we explored were three separate claims with interconnected tunnels established in the 1950’s. The ores in the mines were a mix of uranium, vanadium, potassium, and sulphur; in practical terms, there were a lot of yellow rocks[1].  Prior to the Uranium Boom in Moab, mines extracted radium (for medicine) and vanadium (for making iron steel stronger), both of which are found in the same places as uranium[6].  We left the tunnels with mild headaches, which might have been due to vanadium gas. 

Note the white calcite and yellow salts

The Uranium Boom (approximately 1952-1961) was wild.  Staking lots of claims was profitable at that time because the U.S. government paid a guaranteed price for uranium and the Colorado Plateau had a lot to offer.  But as mentioned above, uranium isn’t uncommon and the market quickly became saturated and the government stopped buying uranium.  Most mines were abandoned by the 1970’s, leaving behind structures, mining refuse, and any equipment that wasn’t worth the cost of moving.  Miles of underground tunnels and heaps of uranium slag are just one facet of the unintended consequences that came to Utah with the Cold War arms race, along with stockpiles of neurotoxins in the West Desert and down-winder cancer deaths in southwestern Utah. 

We wandered around a couple miles of underground tunnels where we experienced true silence and darkness when we dared turn our headlamps off.  We found the remains of blasting caps and earthmoving machinery.  I discovered that I feel very uneasy underground while Brent is emboldened.  In the first tunnel he pushed ahead while I was farther back, taking very cautious steps.  Karina was caught in between us, but I found the bravery to lightly skip up to her, making sure not to take any heavy, earth-shaking steps.  Given how quiet the tunnel was, I thought I could use my inside voice to alert Brent to my fear and get him to come back.  I spent minutes saying, ‘Brent.  Can you come back here?” in a volume that doesn’t deserve an exclamation point and I got really frustrated that he never came back.  But I couldn’t yell for fear I would cave in the whole tunnel. 

My Fellowship of the Tunnels

The tunnels all went deeper into the sandstone, but we had to stop at the depth of the regional water table, below which the tunnels were flooded.  That is where we caught up to Brent, who promised he had not been ignoring my quiet pleas.  Some entrances required crawling into, which felt intrepid.  One entrance was quite large and grand, like the Mines of Moria.  It was exciting to get a glimpse into the semi-recent past and to have it all to ourselves.  The threat of trolls and Balrogs made it all the more interesting. 

Ever intrepid Karina

The uranium mines in the Four Corners Region still have tens of thousands of pounds of uranium ore left, but the cost of extraction is more than the price of the ore.  Like abandoned conventional weapon blast sites and missile launch pads (which I will detail later), they show what Utah was like during the Cold War. 

 Sources:

[1] Utah Automated Geographic Reference Center, “Minerals.” Geoscience, 2017,  https://gis.utah.gov/data/geoscience/

[2] “W87.” Wikipedia, Wikipedia, 5 Feb. 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W87.

 [3]  Wellerstein, Alex. “Kilotons per kilogram.” Nuclear Secrecy Blog, 23 Dec. 2013, http://blog.nuclearsecrecy.com/2013/12/23/kilotons-per-kilogram/.

 [4] “Uranium ore.” Wikipedia, Wikipeida, 5 Feb. 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uranium_ore

[5]  Rhodes, Richard. Making of the Atomic Bomb.  Simon & Schuster, 2012. 

[6]”Utah’s Uranium Boom.” Utah History To Go, State of Utah, 2018,  http://historytogo.utah.gov/utah_chapters/utah_today/utahsuraniumboom.html

All the New Things from the Past 731 Days

I skipped my annual review blog last year because I was grumpy.  I’m still grumpy (holidays are hard), but it’s important to periodically celebrate what’s been accomplished and assess what needs to change.  It feels like everything has changed over the last two years and it was hard to catalog the most important.  I would prefer to write a triumphant statement about the last 365 days (or 731 days, in this case), but life isn't like that and I have a blog so I have room to cover the exciting new things and the bummers (starting with the bummers because it was too much to end on). 

Bummers – Despite all the pretty pictures I post, sometimes things are terrible (but I will not post pictures of my crying face, it’s my worst face and I prefer to keep it to myself).  I can't look back without acknowledging these things happened.

The cutest dog that was also a jerk.  I rewarded myself for finishing my comps by adopting a shelter pup.  I named him Shackleton after my favorite explorer and registered for the first available obedience class.  My love wasn’t enough to overcome the poor socialization Shack experienced in his early life and I had to surrender him to the shelter after two weeks of biting and a traumatizing attack.  The experience was literally scarring.   

So cute. Such a turd. It's still painful to look through the pictures from our two weeks together. 

Academia is not for me .  Grad school negatively affected my mental and physical health.  As every year in grad school ended, my reviews were clouded by feelings of failure and general slacker-ness.   Doing research and having a job was cool, but it would be insincere to look back at the last two years and not acknowledge how much I felt like a failure.

The things that got me through dissertation writing: skiing at Beaver, the Outdoor Office, and occasional field work. 

Back pain.  I passed two very tiny kidney stones.  They both hurt and the fact that they came out so small added a lot of insult to the injury of a rock moving through my body.  Simultaneously I started having severe lower back pain that kept me from running (difficult to do when lying in the fetal position).  Things have improved since I started weight lifting (which was unexpected), so that’s a nice way to end the year.

Back pain views aren't all bad (L to R): passed my first kidney stone right before a Colorado trail half marathon, spent the summer in legs-up-the-wall pose, and passed my second kidney stone near Tombstone Butte. 

The world is on fire.  Natural disasters, political awfulness, and so many refugees.  It’s hard not to scream into the void because I can’t fix any of it.

New Places – I like change, especially changing scenery.

The San Rafael Swell .  We first visited the Swell for climbing in May of 2016 and every time I go back I think, “Why didn’t we come here sooner?”  Climbing, fossils, floating, hiking… you can do everything there and you don’t have to see any people.  You should go there, but maybe not while I’m visiting.

The San Rafael Reef (or the Sandstone Alps), the San Rafael Knob, and the San Rafael River near Mexican Mountain. 

France .  Our May 2017 trip to France was a big deal (a reward for finishing my dissertation and our first international trip together).  I don’t know French, but I want to eat all the cheeses and see all the things, so France was a good place to start world exploration.  During our 10-day trip we toured museums in Paris, explored the beaches of Normandy, and wandered the battlefields of Somme.  It was wonderful and overwhelming.  We ate fresh pastries and bread every day, but only sampled a fraction of the cheeses, so we’ll have to go back to sample the rest of them.

The Eiffel Tower (of course), the Normandy American Cemetery, and the Beaumont-Hamel Newfoundland Memorial

Wasatch Mountains .  It was tough leaving the Bear River Range for Salt Lake City, but the Wasatch are bigger and steeper (though more crowded).  I still have the Bonneville Shoreline Trail and seven canyons to choose from for a whole variety of adventures.  I’m learning a lot more about geology, as there is limestone, quartzite, conglomerate, and granite.

Hiking, climbing and biking in my new backyard.

The West Desert .  On the other end of the population spectrum are the mountains of the West Desert.  And talk about geologic variety.  I had to download this geologic map of Utah just to figure out what we’ve been playing on.  The West Desert is the driest part of Utah and all that exposed earth is stunning.

Ibex, Stansbury Island, and the Silver Island Mountains

Climbing Other New Places – We took the time to explore new climbing options in the Uintas, the Wind Rivers, the Jungle on the Aquarius Plateau, and the Valley of the Gods.  We saw some amazing things, climbed good and bad rock, and dodged thunderstorms.

East Ridge of Wolf's Head in the Wind River Range, Lady in the Bathtub in Valley of the Gods, and three silly birds atop Kestrel Tower in the Jungle on the Aquarius Plateua

Working in Humid Places – Being a wetland scientist has given me the opportunity to attend conferences (and run a little) in very warm and humid places.  Often the people were delightful, the food was good, and the running was a bit difficult.  

Visiting a longhorn in Corpus Christi, Texas; scoping out Civil War era mustaches in Vicksburg, Mississippi; actually running on the beach in San Juan Puerto Rico.

New Activities – I heard someone say that they collect hobbies and that felt true to my experience.
Floating.  I am not a swimmer so it was scary saying ‘yes’ to a ladies trip down the Ruby-Horse Thief section of the Colorado in July 2016.  It was great and I learned enough to lead my own trip down the Little Grand Canyon section of the San Rafael River in June 2017.  It’s amazing to float for days through stunning canyons (with no cell service or convenient points of escape) and end up miles away from our starting point due only to gravity.

The ladies of the Ovary Up trip on the Colorado, enjoying the warm San Rafael River, and my awesome friends at the bottom of the Little Grand Canyon.  

Hunting.  On the other end of the water travel spectrum, this year I also spent time sitting in a marsh waiting for birds to fly past.  Especially cool – I actually got something – a widgeon – and it was delicious.  Thanks to Chad showing me what the heck I’m supposed to do. 

Sunrise in the marsh isn't bad. It was exciting to be back in the marsh after only seeing it flying out of SLC International.  

Rock hounding.  Another abrupt shift: hunting fossils, petroglyphs, and rocks that can’t move but do hide.  Finding cool rocks is darn exciting.

Such exciting old minerals: hematite used to paint the Buckhorn Wash panel, fossilized sponges, Bonneville Salt Flats are made from the minerals left over from Lake Bonneville

Taking pictures of plants .  In addition to the plant pictures posted as the Plant of the Day, this year many more were officially published in Wetland Plants of Great Salt Lake .  Since then Brent said that he was OK with me taking so many pictures and got me a macro lens so the habit has been validated and I’ll be taking it to the next level.

Salt sandspurry (Spergularia maritima), Pickleweed (Salicornia rubra), Juniper mistletoe (Phoradendron juniperinum)

Mountain biking .  Much of my 2016 grumpiness was due to failing at my resolution to become a bad ass mountain biker.  I’m closer to badassery after riding some exceptionally cool trails and learning a lot about bike maintenance. Not without incident, of course: I lost a thumbnail working on the brakes and went over the handlebars a few times.

I've got such good people. Riding the Wasatch Crest, the Whole Enchilada, and the White Rim.  Sarah deserves an award for organizing river trips and mountain biking trips!

New circumstances – everything is different

New job .  I started my job as the wetland person with the Utah Division of Water Quality in October 2016.  Officially, I’m the wetland coordinator, but I don’t know exactly what I’m coordinating.  It’s wild (or secure, I guess) to have a job as a scientist that also provides good benefits and isn’t temporary.  It’s a bummer to start my retirement savings at 33, but so very exciting to have a retirement plan.

I'm mostly an office monkey now, but sometimes I get out to drive the airboat, filter murky chlorophyll samples, and poke at algae mats.  

Mostly done with USU.  I named and defended my doctoral dissertation, Sheila, in May.  It was many different things, which I will delve into some other time.  The important thing is that I got to graduate and my people showed up for me in a big way.  Thank you so much to everyone who befriended, fed, and supported me in ways big and small through the last five years.  You made grad school suck less.

Marsh people (the Marsh Llama and Marsh Ninja) graduating together.  

Moved to SLC.  Leaving Logan was hard but commuting from Logan to Salt Lake was harder.  I spent my first year here in a tiny place in the Avenues, a neighborhood I loved.  Now I love being in Millcreek where I have a room for my bikes (that isn’t my living room or bedroom).  I miss being close to My Person, but love the recreation opportunities down this way.

Such unexpected opportunities living so close to downtown.  

I’m sure grateful for the people who have helped me through the bummers and facilitated all the exciting new things I’ve tried in the last two years.  Having good people is good .  I’ve gotten two new niblings, run some excellent trails, had some gorgeous rides, and enjoyed so much good company. There’s been a lot of change and that’s really great.

Riding Bikes Is Hard - Singing Makes It Better

I enjoy music, like just about everyone else.  Unfortunately, I’ve reached that point in life when the music that brings me the most joy is now relegated to its own station.  Not old enough for that to be the ‘oldies’ station, just the ‘throwback’ station.  I hate the term throwback. 

Anyways, many of my favorite songs are favorites because of the memories they evoke.  Below are a few of the songs and associated memories I love:  

Separate Ways – Journey – I see my dad drumming on the steering wheel of our Dodge Caravan every time I hear it. 

Walking on Broken Glass – Annie Lenox – I remember coming home to my mom rocking out to this song.  I didn’t catch her mincing across the kitchen floor like there was glass on it, but that’s what I imagine. 

She’s Got Skillz – All-4-One – Reminds me of being 13 and doing silly dances with my friends, mostly just shaking our butts. 

Magic - Pilot – Teaching my 3-year old sister to sing that song and repeat lines from “Happy Gilmore.”  

Stronger – Kelly Clarkson – A particularly triumphant bike ride with Karina that I’d like to detail here. 

In 2010 Karina suggested it might be fun to borrow road bikes and ride around Bear Lake.  It was an oddly great idea then, and it of spun out of control to the point that we both owned road bikes and padded shorts.  The 2012 Cache Valley Century was Karina’s first 100-mile ride, which is a big deal.  The day of the ride I was grumpy and in poor shape and made the whole thing terrible.  The first hours were pleasant enough, but I was slow and fell behind the other riders, and since Karina was riding with me she fell behind too.  By the halfway point I was riding into a phantom searing hot headwind and was visibly cranky (I think I actually had an angry aura around me), but Karina was doing her best to encourage me.    

Our first road bike effort - scared, tired, and happy

 Around Mile 85 we were creeping past cornfields and heard an explosion like someone was shooting at us (seriously).  Karina’s tire had been blown out by a goathead thorn.   No patch or replacement tube is a match for a two-inch sidewall gash.  So there we were, 85% of the way through Karina’s first 100-mile ride, facing defeat.  She had the motivation to finish, but no bike.  I had the motivation to keep sitting right there, but a bike with perfectly good tires.  It just made sense to trade bikes and let Karina finish.  I worried as I waited at the finish line for Karina to come in.   I knew those last miles could be awful and I felt guilty for being so unpleasant to bike with, which had delayed Karina’s finish.  Plus it was so smoky that day, the finish line had been dismantled, and the course finished with an uphill segment.

All my fears faded when I saw Karina riding across the finish line.  She looked great, strong, and happy.  My heart nearly burst when she told me how she finished.  After 6 hours of suffering with me, I think she was alright riding the final miles by herself, but also had no support, and was wearing shoes that were too big and riding a bike that rattled.  Instead of stopping frequently to eat and cry (like I would), Karina kept peddling and started singing “Stronger.”  It was the best song for that ride and inspires me to this day:

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger
Just me, myself and I
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

So strong!

Every time that song comes on I see Karina biking up that last hill.  Happy and strong.  It makes me smile.  

After this experience we developed the No Guilt Rule: either one of us can ride on ahead at any point without feeling guilty.  We meet up at aid stations and finish together, but don’t suffer together when we could be enjoying the time on our bikes.  When we do ride together we always sing. 

You should watch this, Kelly Clarkson is the only American Idol that matters: 

Biking Turtle

I’ve been trying to figure out a compelling way to declare my love for mountain biking came up empty.  Instead, here’s a silly story about a time I fell mountain biking. 

I LOVE MOUNTAIN BIKING!  It makes me feel alive.  It’s so easy to scrutinize my skinny legs, prominent ribs, presentations and writing…  But I celebrate everything I am when I’m biking because my muscles, lungs, heart, and brain are working together to power up the mountain.  My skinny, clumsy body was designed for pedaling a bike uphill. 

Last year was rough and I was looking to start 2016 off right.  I’m most happy where I can feel the sunshine on my shoulders and warm sand between my toes and St George is the closest I can get to that in January.  So I bought a ticket to the late night showing of “Star Wars” on New Year’s Eve, borrowed my mom’s car (thanks!) and headed to Latitude 37, Elevation 2800 ft.  Not truly warm, but warmer and full of sandstone.  “Star Wars” was great and I got out of the theatre just after midnight, in time to enjoy a fireworks display.  The next morning I rose feeling certain that I make great decisions and headed for the Bearclaw Poppy trailhead. 

I chose the Bearclaw Poppy/Stucki Springs trail in order to have the most options (4 miles, 7 miles, or 27 miles) and because the trailhead was a familiar place (the Green Valley Gap).  Starting early meant I had the trail to myself most of the time, and gosh did I need it.  The whole trail system is rated as mostly intermediate with some beginner sections (rated just like ski runs), but there is also a section called the Acid Drops.  Many Mountain Bike Project commenters rate the Acid Drops as fun, but I’m a timid downhill rider and I rate them as Super Scary.  As I descended drop after tiny drop (natural jumps) I got increasingly scared and my least helpful mantra began running through my head: Stay on your bike, dummy.  I kept getting off my bike to scout the drop, remounting and getting my butt back as far as I could, and descending with my brakes on.  (According to this wikihow page I just found that is partly right.)  Or I just walked my bike down. 

Elevation profile, speed, and feelings

Then the tears came.  This wasn’t fun.  I wanted my friends there so Karina and Emma could laugh at/with me and Brent could show me what to do.  What should have looked bad ass, riding down the steepest section and conquering my fears, looked less so with tears streaming down my face.  At least I was alone.  Atop one of the last and longest drops I ran into others going up the trail so I paused to see what they would do and stop crying, but downhill riders have the right of way on that trail so they waved me down.  I had little pride left over by this point (1 mile/20 minutes in) so I admitted to the others that I was scared and would be happy to wait.  Then the great thing that almost always happens when I run into people in the wilderness happened again: they helped me.  The oldest of them pointed out the line I should take, told me I was awesome and could do it, and guided me down the line and it worked!  (Thanks riders, that was awesome!)  Then I watched the three of them pedal all the way up that section, including one in snow boots.  Good thing badassery isn’t a zero-sum game. 

Acid Drops below, they were scarier than this picture captures

After that everything was awesome and also mildly ridiculous.  The rest of the Bearclaw Poppy trail just flows. Up and down but mostly down.  I actually “whooped” with joy.  It was the happiest I’d been in a long time, so when the trail ended I opted to continue on the Stucki Springs loop.  This trail climbed and climbed and climbed for four miles, and I love climbing!  I saw cacti and great views and few people.  At the highest point the most wonderful thing happened, the trail ahead was straight and clear: rolling, hard packed trails.  I felt lucky to be there. 

This is what true happiness looks lie

It felt rewarded for my work.  I was fast and strong and truly happy in a way that only happens in the mountains.  Turning around and heading back down I hit my fastest speeds and accidentally let my blood sugar drop, but I was deliriously happy.  I’d spent the last few months feeling incompetent and questioning every decision, but here on my bike I felt capable and wise!  At peak happiness I ran into the steepest hill of the whole thing with a group of four at the top.  I tried to wave them down, right of way and all, but they adamantly waved me on up.  The trail had a 15% grade (steep) for a few hundred feet, strong legs could have pedaled up it but it would be difficult and the rock was loose.

After a good effort that got me half way up the hill I opted to walk up the finish, because that was not the time for pride. I un-clipped my right pedal and leaned toward the… left. 

People were watching, this is so uncool.  I was going to crash because I un-clipped the wrong pedal. 

So I went with it, tipped on my side and then rolled over on my back like a turtle, still stuck to one of my pedals.   

Rolling onto my back, while undignified, allowed me to free my left foot instead of trying to crank my ankle with my bike on top of it (basically the definition of panic).  Then I walked my bike up the hill to meet my new friends. 

They were totally cool, saying things like, “Glad to see someone else does that, too.”  And it’s true, everyone who uses clip-less pedals has crashed at least once because they forgot their shoes were clipped into their pedals.  Such low-speed crashes it’s just tipping over.  I do it at least once a year.  Humbled again, I got back on my bike laughing and pedaled away.  I heard one of the group saying, “Oh, look at that hard-tail, we’ve got a professional.”  It was so confusing, a hard-tail is an older form of suspension and I had just crashed in front of them very un-professionally, but he sounded so sincere.  Turns out some hardcore bikers opt for hard-tails, probably because they’re great bikes; I didn’t learn this until later but he might have been sincere. 

Flow

The joy stayed with me well past the junction of the two trails, so I opted to do the fun part of the Bearclaw Poppy again, and it was fun but perhaps unwise.  Hours after my first ride through there were so many more people, I had to wait for some and allow others to pass me.  Nearing the eastern-most end of the trail, where things were really fun, I enthusiastically jumped the top of a short hill only to discover (mid-air) that there was a second short hill behind that, which I hit like a wall.  I went over the end of my handlebars (an end-o), which cannot be done gracefully.  I grunted, cursed and quickly got on my bike pretending nothing happened.  Except something had and I had bruises for weeks to remind me.  Even better, as I started riding again I looked to my right and there was a teenager with a terrier riding in a handlebar basket, just like Dorothy and Toto.    

I wasn’t prepared to climb back up the Acid Drops so I tried to find a path through the Green Valley Gap.  There is one, but you can’t ride through it, so I hiked my bike through the last ¾ mile and ended up back at my car as the sun was beginning to set.  Adventure and misadventure combined are really what makes for a memorable experience.  With every mountain bike ride I find both parts: the sections where I have to remind myself to stay on my bike when the going gets hard and the parts where I must sing because my heart is so happy.  

Racing Jitters

June 26, 2016

This was the year I finally did the Logan Peak Trail Run, which has intrigued me for years.  It covers a strenuous route (7,000 feet of elevation gain), over a respectable but sane distance (28 miles), all on trails in Cache Valley.  And it was good, but also really tough. 

The Route - sign up for it here

I enjoy running, it makes me feel light, strong, and fast.  But I LOVE trail running.  When I hit a section of single track trail something stirs inside my soul.  I start composing songs about my love of trail running and usually start singing whatever is on my iPod (classics include “If I Could Turn Back Time” by Cher and “Shake It Off” by Florence and the Machine).  It’s like a spiritual revelation every time: THIS IS WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING WITH MY LIFE!  You know how every time you have cheesecake you’re reminded that it is the best possible option for desert?  Trail running is just like cheesecake: rich, interesting, worth savoring, good for your mental health, and so much better than regular cake (or road running, in this metaphor).   

I’ve got a history with Logan Peak, mostly a history of striving and failing to reach it.  I tried twice in 2009 but always started too late to make very far past 8,500 feet.  The first time I tried it I saw a bobcat, which was really cool.  The second time up I ran into moose, which was just scary.  Both times I ended up in Dry Canyon after dark, scared of being cougar bait, running as fast as I could, in order to minimize my time in the canyon, while singing and clapping so I didn’t surprise potential cougars.  (Side note: the only songs I can remember when I’m are church hymns, and based on my experience cougars are scared away by “The Spirit of God.”)  I reached the peak on my third try, having started early with my cranky pants on because of dating drama the night before.  Reaching the top felt great, I could still complete difficult hikes, even if I made poor dating choices.  But the summit also felt silly because I interrupted the prayer at a family picnic, turns out you can drive to Logan Peak. 

Lesson from attempt Number 2: act bigger and braver than you feel

The same week I conquered Logan Peak I started training for my first half marathon and six years later I’ve gotten to be alright at running long distances in the mountains.  I do as much of my training as possible on trails; they’re more interesting than roads and have shady places to sit and regret the life choices that led me spending my weekends on un-fun training runs.    

The weekend before the Logan Peak Trail Run I ran Ragnar Wasatch Back; I don’t think there are two more different races I could experience back to back.  Eight-hundred teams registered for Ragnar, which means there were more than 9,000 runners and 2,400 volunteers gathered for that event in thousands of vans with a quarter-million cowbells.  After months of pre-race preparations, you’re literally herded through pens to view a slickly produced safety film, sign a second waiver, and prove you’ve got the appropriate nighttime gear before you can begin running.  I had a lot of fun running with my team, who happen to be 11 of the best people you could ever pay to suffer with, but I feel a bit out of place with all that structured running.  The Logan Peak Trail Run, on the other hand was preceded by a few emails noting how to avoid getting lost on the trail.  Saturday morning 140 runners gathered for a pre-run meeting at 5:55 a.m. and then we were off at 6:00 a.m. 

Team Kabooti - Van 2.  Such great humans!

Sunrise at the base of Mount Logan - so un-Ragnar they don't even use Honey Buckets

As quickly as everything got started, and as excited as I was, I’ve never felt more in-over-my-head than I did during the first 4.5 miles.  Sure, we were all hiking up the hill together, but I thought I might get to run a little.  Nope, I just settled into my dorky uphill speed-walk and remembered that Dry Canyon is very steep for miles.  At my most nervous I passed a couple as one asked the other, “Feeling better?  Got all your racing jitters out?”  It made me smile because Racing Jitters is the perfect name for the tummy troubles I had that morning.  Everythingcomes down to poo, especially in running.  It took an hour to stomp to the first aide station, I was cold and seriously doubted my ability to make good choices.  Why did I sign up to hike Logan Peak the long way at a stressed out pace?

South Syncline Trail views - living the good life

Life got infinitely better at the first aide station.  The sun came out, I got trail mix, the grade eased from 13% to 6%.  I tightened up my shoelaces and finally started running up the South Syncline Trail, a beautiful and new-to-me trail.  The route wound through the forest south of Logan Peak from Miles 4.5 to 12 and I was so happy by the time I reached the aide station below the peak there was no doubt I was going to put in the full 28 miles and go tag the tower.  I was making friends with the others who were trotting/hiking at my pace, the sunshine felt delightful, I believed my legs were strong enough to carry me back down the mountain, and I found the snow.  Life was great and reaching the tower did not feel silly this time, even though I did it the hard way (on foot as fast as I could). 

Thanks to the runner who took a picture for me

All my friend’s well wishes and good juju came in when I switched my phone out of airplane mode at the top and I headed down feeling accomplished.  I hadn’t just run 14 miles, I climbed a mountain!  I MAKE GREAT CHOICES!  Now I just had to run downhill for 14 miles. Downhill running isn’t my strength, but gravity was going to start helping me.  Miles 14-18 were nice times, Type I fun: good while it was happening, easy to forget.  The runners were all in a good mood, the aide station people were on top of getting us hydrated, my iPod was making alright choices. 

Around Mile 18 we moved onto the North Syncline Trail, real nice single track running after all the dirt roads.  My heart swelled as I rounded corners and hopped over roots, but my brain was tired of negotiating the terrain and slipping into paranoia.  Someone has to fall on a trail run, sometimes it’s me.  About half a mile in I tripped hard on a rock and caught myself in a way that really hurt my left ankle.  OHMYGOSH, it hurt so much and there was nothing I could do but keep moving.  I had 10 miles to go, so I proceeded to tiptoe-run through the forest like I imagine Princess Trailrunner would (if she were real), convinced I had sprained my ankle.  I tripped a few more times, but tried focusing on how pretty the trail was.  It was Type II fun for sure, and consistent with my marathon experience, where Mile 18 is Peak Suffering. 

Happy on my way down

Miles 18-23 were spectacularly beautiful and rolling and almost enough to take my mind off my ankle.  The route swings by Logan Canyon and then over Cache Valley.  It’s easy to see why they choose that trail for this race, it was meant to be run and I made a great choice by signing up for the run.  The pre-race instructions even pointed out the springs located along this section, the water tasted amazing and felt great on my face and neck.  I was going to come in an hour over what I’d hoped for, but I wasn’t sad about it because the running was so good.  The hardest part of that section was not stopping to smell and identify the flowers, they were totally popping.

There is nothing redeeming about the last 4.5 miles, but it’s nice there is an aide station beforehand with Nutella sandwiches and Sprite.  Most of my racing jitters were driven by the descent through Dry Canyon.  I was discouraged by how slowly I was running downhill, scared of falling, and hurt because I kept catching my right toe on rocks (seriously, Right Leg, you are terrible).  I felt like the pug that can’t run and imagined myself “…bouncin’, flouncin’, fallin’all around the show.  Rollin’, bowlin’, I just can’t get it right.” I got passed by more people on this section than in the entire previous 23 miles, and I was trying to be quick.  Around Mile 25 I felt a really sharp pain in my right big toe, like a biting insect was in my shoe, so I had to scrunch my toes while also tiptoeing and trying not to fall.  Then a different but equally sharp pain started in my left toes.  I was convinced my shoes would be filled with blood and renegade toenails when I took them off.  The trail offered no shade but lots of loose gravel; it was my punishment for making terrible life decisions. Type III fun - suffering.  

The only thing that kept me going through the last miles was the prospect of collapsing on Brent once I reached the finish line.  At the mouth of Dry Canyon I actually spotted Brent pulling up on his motorcycle (he looks good on his bike) so I stopped tripping for a few seconds, grabbed a hug and told him I was hurting. 

Many thanks to Brent for always being there to capture my finish line moments

A mile or so later I finished at 6:35:54.  I got my finisher’s mug, made a great sandwich and sat in the shade with a Sprite.  I really love Sprite right now.  I took my shoes off and my feet were dirty but there were no blood or blisters, so I think I was actually hallucinating those last few miles, which is weird and frightening.  Days later it appears my toenails are all committed to staying in place.

I can't overstate how important and motivating it is to have my person or my people waiting for me

The Logan Peak Trail Run is fantastic.  It’s so well organized, covers a beautiful route, and feels like a real accomplishment.  It’s not the longest run I’ve done, but is the hardest.  I highly recommend it!  But be prepared for the emotional rollercoaster that comes along with long, difficult routes.  

(Note: Strava stole >1 mile and 500 feet of elevation, but it tracked most of the route)