snowball effect

Anticipation was high for this morning's run. Perhaps a little too high. I fed the dogs breakfast as soon as I got home, and had the sled, hot water, snacks & huskies loaded for the Wickersham trail head just after the sun rose at 10:30. I was hoping that the groomed trails, excellent snow and good day's rest would set us up for a long run, and push our max mileage up over last weeks' 12. The sky was clear, and sun was beautiful and temperatures were quickly rising towards zero from a brisk -20 before dawn.

Ever since my first Wilderness First Responder class, I have struggled with balancing packing what I actually need for a given venture and what I might possibly need in a worse-case-scenario situation. For months after I took that class, I would pack enough gear to stay comfortably stranded overnight in inclement weather for every day hike. It was overkill, and I have since refined my ways but I still over-pack more for the outdoors than I ever have for a vacation.

Although this trail is about an hour from home, it is a well-used BLM recreational area with lots of weekend traffic on its hundreds of miles of groomed trails. The parking lot was full when we arrived. Two snow machine groups and one snow-bike party were unloading as I pulled the sled off the car and started clipping dogs in. There were several iced-over cars that had been left by folks using the many cabins available for weekend getaways deep in the trail system. Despite this, and despite the fact that I was only planning on heading about seven miles down trail, I threw my winter emergency bag onto the sled and strapped it down. I ignored its heft (extra clothes & socks & mittens, a small med kit, a thick winter sleeping bag & mat) and this was mistake number one.

Mistake number two was a rookie mistake that I should never have made: New Boots. I had gotten a spectacular pair of new, super thick winter boots through the supply division of my new job. I hadn't worn them yet, but they felt like standing in a cloud when I tried them on the first time. Why not? Crazy thick winter boots don't count as new boots, right? Especially when you are riding on runners? No break-in period needed, right? Right?

No. Very wrong.

The third component of our run that I didn't account for wasn't my fault, exactly, but simply a misjudgment from my lack of experience. The snow. The snow was spectacular. It was thick and powdery and there was no indication of the awful melt we had over Thanksgiving. I sank to my knees when I accidentally stepped off the trail at a stop early in the run. The trails were well packed, but I had gotten so used to running on what is essentially ice with a thin layer of snow that I had forgotten just how much drag real snow gives a sled.

All of this added up to a disappointing run on a spectacularly beautiful day. I could see Denali from the trail. The sun was out. Once the snow machines passed us, we had the whole world to ourselves.

But the sled was significantly heavier than the dogs have been used to pulling. I don't know how much gear weight I actually added, but it was too much. With the tacky snow and the ever more deeply rolling hills, I spent most of the run with one hand on the handlebars and both feet on the trail running to keep up with Leo's pace. Which is where the boot mistake comes in. The boots are wonderful. For standing. Not for running uphill for two miles worth of a four-mile out-trail. At the top of the third major hill, I gave up and turned around. The dogs were having trouble pulling even on the flat. Their pace was markedly slower than usual and they would stop to turn around and look at me to get off and contribute at the slightest incline.

Part of the problem with running behind the sled is that although this team doesn't have enough power to pull me up steep hills (or, with a loaded sled, anything resembling an incline) with my weight off the back, they want to run faster than I can. Especially in new winter boots that are starting to rub blisters under my socks. So I end up running as fast as I can maintain and holding the sled back at the same time - a combination upper-and-lower body workout that I was not anticipating at all for this idyllic run I had planned out in my head. By the end of the first hill, I had stripped down to my shirt and was considering running in socks. By the fourth mile, I was done with the beauty and torture of this perfect winter day and we headed back.

I was fighting sharp disappointment all the way back (when I could breathe slowly enough to think.) I wanted so badly to go further, but I knew this was not the day. The dogs were running well, but frustrated by my slowing them up on hills and by the added weight in the sled. I managed to overcome my tendency towards inertia, and I'm glad. It was a beautiful day, but I was spent when we got back to the car after only eight miles of trail under us. Friday's nine miles took us about fifty minutes. Today's eight took an hour and a half.

I was buoyed a bit when we ran into a sixteen dog team hooking up in the parking lot as we returned. Before I could say anything to the musher (after lots of mutual hollering to keep the teams apart while was passed by them at the trail head) the team whipped out of the parking lot like a flock of third-graders headed for the playground at recess and we were alone again. The musher was European, and I got a good look at his dog truck while I snacked my dogs & loaded the sled back onto the Subaru. I'm looking forward to some investigative work to see who it might have been.

In the mean time, I am sticking to the old boots for the next few runs and I'm going to do some good hard thinking about what I really need to take on longer outings far from home.