An Ultra "Day Hike"

I still struggle to find the right words when friends ask how that 'big hike' went. I have to stop myself from saying, “I failed” even though I do feel like that at times.

The hike I’m referring to is the Desolate Peaks event I only discovered two weeks before toeing the start line. I’ve wanted to do something extraordinary like this (not race) since I first laid my eyes on the peaks surrounding the Tahoe basin. This not-trail race had all the makings of a perfect day in the mountains including aid stations, timed splits, a very rough course guide, and all the most insane people the greater Tahoe area had to offer up.

Technically, I did fail even though I also had the time of my life out there. I decided to give in to the pain of my body and the thought of a warm sleeping bag after standing on top of 11 summits. I did achieve my goal of the day, which was to complete the biggest hike I’ve ever done. Somehow I still feel unsatisfied when looking back on this adventure, even though I had the biggest smile on my face while moving through the wilderness for a continuous 19 hours with the best new and old friends I could’ve asked for.

“I’ve never spent such a short time on top of a peak before,” as I thought to myself coming down from Mt.Price (1 of 17) and I barely had time to admire the beauty around me as I ran down a talus field trying not to break an ankle. I loved it though, the insane pace, the super focus required, going deeper into the pain cave than I had ever gone before, and the logistics of fueling your body to be able to continue on.

As we left the fallen leaf aid station at 10pm, we packed everything we needed to be able to complete the last 6 peaks. At the same time though, I knew in the back of my mind how much my body hurt and I had no idea where the limit was going to be.

That nighttime stretch would have likely been the most difficult and transformative part of the entire experience. I now have more motivation to train and prepare my body than I’ve found in the past few years. Racing is a blast, but I find myself far more inspired to be able to explore further, to see more mountains, and discover where my body can take me.

I believe Desolate Peaks should be declared a national holiday—if only so I can spend all of Monday doing nothing on the couch. But now that I’ve discovered this deranged event and its equally crazy participants, I cannot wait for my redemption story next August.

Hidden Treaures

I stand in the middle of an art gallery far away from any wilderness and I ask myself again, “why do I venture into the unknown?”  

Why do I yearn to stand on top of peaks and ride my bike for countless hours until I can barley go on? As I stare into a mesmerizing piece of art that may have taken weeks or months to complete, I understand. I’ve found my escape. The problems of my life can’t find me at the top of a mountain, only the clear air and nature surrounding me.

The same way an artist can lose all sense of time getting lost in each brush stroke, my problems seem to fade away the farther I get from my door. There is so much excitement on the other side of the unknown. Will I hate myself or thank myself in just a few hours? Will I experience something new that will have me chasing a sensation for the rest of my life?

Exploration is always free in so many ways, just like carving something from your imagination into a plank of wood is free. We each have these primitive desires, but so many choose to ignore and suppress them. There are an infinite number of rich stories hiding in the details of the world around you. It is your job as a human being to uncover and tell those stories, even if only to yourself. 

I don’t know why it took walking through an art gallery around the work of so many creatives to piece these thoughts together in my head, even though they had been driving my motives for years. I am glad we decided to step into that world that day though, and I’ve discovered that the art I cherish exists at the limit of where my body can take me.

 

To Be a Local

Tahoe locals seem to be able to identify each other with a single glance. This has been one of my favorite experiences about living in Lake Tahoe for the short time I have so far.

I stop at 7-11 to acquire caffeine for a moonlight hike at 1am. Another pollen painted car pulls up in the same moment as me and sees me wearing shorts, tights, and a sun hoody in the middle of the night. The only words spoken between us are complementing each-other on the amount of pollen covering our cars, somewhat of a secret handshake between locals.

That moment lives in my head every single day since, because only in a mountain town in the middle of the night could that interaction take place. We part ways and I never even got his name, but I’ll remember him forever.

I arrive at the trailhead 5 minutes before my friends and realize Ive forgotten to pack my Solomon Ultra Glides in the car, big yikes. I've spent the entire afternoon going over my checklist and barely slept out of excitement but managed to forget the most important piece of gear. The answer was simple, to hike in sandals or go home. Luckily my friends instilled all the confidence in the world for me to go for it anyway.

All of the sudden, a brand new challenge was introduced and I impressed not only myself but everyone we passed on the way up thinking to themselves, “is that guy running in fucking sandals?” My self-presented challenge became even more exciting when a hiking partner asked if we wanted to try turning our headlamps off to let our eyes adjust to the moonlight. Holy pile of rocks, what a surreal experience that was.

We reached the peak and discovered another party had gotten there about an hour before us, and none of them were wearing any bit of “hiking attire.” It appeared they had just come from some banquet dinner and made last minute drunk plans to climb a mountain. I’ve found my people.

Throughout the hike, I felt frustrated with myself that I did not have proper footwear to hike, only to make new friends on the summit who seemingly went out of their way to be less prepared.

I now felt intense gratitude for the challenge I presented myself with on accident, and I promised myself I would plan some type of adventure every time the full moon comes around again. For some reason I was happy it worked out the way it did, and I discovered new things about myself during this adventure.

I am falling in love with this place one day at a time, and I will continue to become the Tahoe Local I’ve fantasized about my entire life.

Why We Rise

Why do I bounce out of bed like I've got springs in my ass at 3 AM when gearing up for a mountain ascent? Yet, when it comes to dragging myself out for work, the cold air feels unbearable? These questions, that have perplexed me for years, resurface. As the coffee brews, I layer up and shove pre-made pancakes in my mouth just to get the chance to stare at the sun illuminating the sky as it peaks over the mountaintops.

Watching the sky change colors on top of a big pile of rocks is incredible but there is more unexplainable motivation than just watching a sunrise. Get up for priceless views, get up for fresh tracks, get up to chase a sensation you might never attain. Get up because that little voice in the back of your head will pester you forever about what could've been. Paint memories that stretch beyond your imagination.

You'll be in awe at just how foreign a place, you thought you knew so well, can look in the moonlight. It's quite humbling to re-explore somewhere you've already fallen in love with all over again. I’ve found myself walking alongside drunk tourists in the pre-dawn, yet they’re wandering out of casinos and I’m wandering to a mountain, which adds to the absurdity of it all. Ascend a familiar trail under the stars or skin up a resort with a fortunate open uphill policy, and appreciate that gift of a moment of pure presence.

Venture into the silence of the night, where encounters with critters, both small and menacing (always be prepared), become part of your narrative. Cherish the encounters with like-minded souls who also enjoy sacrificing sleep for experience. Recently, I made a friend who was also skinning up Heavenly Ski Resort at 7 PM, and he taught me how to drag my toes on the ground instead of picking up my feet to be more efficient. He transitioned not long after, and we parted ways before I decided on seeing just how far I could make it that night.

As I continue my climb, jamming out to tunes of the nostalgic “dad music” I grew up on, a kid in a snowmaking uniform pulls up next to me on a snowmobile and asks if I want a ride to the top. I scream in his face, “ARE YOU F***ING KIDDING ME BRO?” I immediately hop on, and this 22-year-old kid begins telling me about what seems like the most amazing job in the world — ripping the snowmobile around the resort under the stars every single night. Ten minutes later, I am standing alone at the top of the tallest chair on the resort, staring down at the twinkling lights of South Lake Tahoe’s nightlife.

Do this once, and all of a sudden your brain begins to cook up all kinds of outrageous adventures you could put together under the stars… or maybe just my brain? The question arises repeatedly—why does the idea of venturing into the dark or planning grand multi-day expeditions appeal to me while it may be another's worst nightmare? I've only ever been able to come to the conclusion that there's just something different about the way my brain works, but I’m ok being different and will enjoy a lifetime finding out what that something is. I believe you only start to relish this feeling of planning absurd challenges after having experienced lonely mornings in the forest, meeting strangers and trail angels, or the sense of accomplishment of looking down from the summit at the hours it took you to reach that point.

I rise, because even as I type this with one hand after breaking my arm in a skiing accident, something inside nudges me to strap into my snowshoes at midnight and explore the unknown. I rise to witness the miracle that is a sunrise in one of the most breathtaking places on the planet, Lake Tahoe. I rise to have an experience many people will never know. I rise because I fear living in regret.

Pause for a brief moment to reflect on the last sunrise you experienced and recall the emotions it stirred within you. Awe, inspiration, gratitude, tranquility—this list could go on forever. Nobody I know has ever wished they stayed in bed instead of watching a sunrise, no matter how many times they might've already seen it before. Each day, the sky paints itself a brand new masterpiece, and I want to be one of the lucky ones who catches as many as I can.

Embark on solo adventures, engage in conversations with friends and strangers alike—seek as many perspectives as the stars in the night sky, and you may uncover the profound reasons behind your own dawn ascent. If, like me, you find the question lingering in the recesses of your thoughts, consider planning a grander adventure. Give yourself the chance to unveil the answers waiting in the vast expanse of exploration. Do yourself a favor, rise early and witness the sunrise tomorrow.

Winds That Will Rip You Off The Mountain

Why is it so magical to see a place you’ve been to a thousand times before from a new perspective? It’s the same exact place, nothing about it has changed except for your point of view, and that is exactly what my backcountry partner, Cooper and I had experienced at Little Round Top in Kirkwood, CA.

Every backcountry adventure begins days, weeks, or sometimes months before you click into your skis. This episode began three days prior staring at maps on computer screens all night. We make decisions in advance so that the decisions we make during our trek are greatly simplified for us. Of course, we still keep an eye out for changing conditions and any other red flags, but we have our uphill route picked out and three potential routes to ski out, all of which never exceeded 28 degrees gradient to protect ourselves from the ever looming presence of the white wall of snow.

We also made it clear to each other that if we didn’t start skinning by at least 5:00AM, we would have to abandon any hope of reaching the Little Round Top ridge line as 100mph winds were supposed to ramp up at 10:00AM.

As we set off from my apartment sipping coffee in heated seats, my stomach reminded me of the pancakes I had made the night before….but where were they?

I left them on top of the car as we were packing and by some miracle, THEY WERE STILL THERE after driving for five minutes! We happily gnawed on ice brick pancakes on our way to the trailhead.

As we set off under headlamp, tunes of Aerosmith and AC/DC kept us company in the silent loneliness of the starry morning light. Don’t worry, we also made sure to click it off every once in a while so we could take in the sounds of the beauty surrounding us.

Skinning higher and higher as the snow gets brighter and brighter is an awe-inspiring experience I encourage you to seek out for yourself. We joke, tell stories, and lend an ear to the landscape around us as we make our way closer to our goal.

What is the goal though? Is it just to reach the top and ski down on fresh tracks? For some it is, but for Cooper and I, the goal is to see. As I turn my head and observe this mythical environment around me, I know my goal has been achieved that day. Everything beyond that moment is a bonus.

Continuing on climbing and meditating simultaneously until we find ourselves standing on top of the ridge line, we are greeted with the most pleasant surprise of being able to see Lake Tahoe from where we stand almost 15 miles away. We only admire the scene for a brief moment before we realize the winds don’t have to be 100mph to rip you right off the ridge.

We transition and head down on some of the best snow I’ve had the joy of experiencing this season. As we conclude our mission at nearly 9:30AM, Cooper and I both cannot contain our excitement, euphoria, and stoke for the adventure we just experienced, all packed into 5 hours.

We scream into the sky, hug each other, and reminisce over the incredible snow conditions we had just glided over.