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Mount St Helens is perhaps the most infamous volcano in the Pacific Northwest. I remember studying it in elementary school. The incredible power of nature is an insane reminder of how small we are. I’d heard rumors about the Loowit trail; a beautiful and relentless route taking trekkers through the lava flows, creek bed washouts, and the blast zone of the Mount St Helens eruption. It felt like a natural progression to continue the summer with runs around volcanoes. After preparing for and running the 3 Sisters Loop FKT, I set my eyes on other similar challenges that both inspired my curiosity and challenged what I thought my limits were. It was time to take on the route.
Having never been to the area, any kind of success would heavily weigh on mental preparation. Evenings were spent watching hiker videos, memorizing the elevation profile, studying maps of the route, and reading blogs of clockwise/counterclockwise experiences. One of the wildland firefighter “watch-out situations” references the dangers of entering country not seen in daylight. The thought of not knowing what the route personally feels like was a concern, but I wanted to be as prepared as possible for the unknown. This felt especially relevant while I was focused on chasing a stout record with very little room for error.
Kristen, Emma and I set out on Monday evening after work to cover as much of the 4.5-hour drive in the daylight as possible. While we still had service I reviewed the maps and turns before taking my turn behind the wheel for the final hour. Pulling into the Climbers’ Bivouac, I threw together some sautéed veggies on top of quinoa to fuel me for the evening before climbing into bed in the van. Sleeping in a bed that feels so much like home is always incredibly comforting, especially with a challenge lingering just out the door. Before falling asleep we chatted about what a special opportunity it is to be able to consider taking on an FKT in the first place. Two seconds under or two seconds over the record and I’d still be thankful for so much.
Sleep before a race is never great, but I woke up full of energy about 15 minutes before the 4:45am alarm. New adventures are always enough to get a smile on my face no matter the hour. An open-faced bagel with 4 eggs chased by a few sips of water. The rabbit Elite Trail kit and Nike Wildhorse 6s stared up at me as the challenge came into focus. A little congestion at the trailhead delayed the start a few minutes, but showing up on time isn’t my forte to begin with so it’s the mildest thing to stress on a solo effort.
My right foot drew a line in the dirt that would act as a start and finish. Hopefully less than 5 hours until I see it again. Kristen reminded me to be patient and have fun. That most of all, it’s an adventure. With a few additional words, I set off up the trail with a smile and a head of steam. One of the things I knew I’d have to do to have a shot was run a little faster on easier sections because navigating boulder fields would be slower than someone who knows the route. Up the first climb it was evident that 7200’ of climb would really take its toll if I planned to hammer the first bit, so I relaxed into stride and danced up through the roots and turns. A slight left began my clockwise navigation of the mountain. Immediately the technicality began with loose rocks and a steep drop off the side. This route is neither for the faint of heart nor the absent minded. It’ll punish you for not paying attention to the details.
It was surprising how tight the turns are, how loose sand primarily covers the trail, and how overgrown the trees on either side are. It looked as if the route was traveled only a handful of times each year, rather than a handful of times each weekend! Even before the first really technical boulder field, I tried to groove my way through the narrow and winding single track. While I still adjust to the cadence and rhythm, some of the tighter turns nearly sent me down a few hundred foot sandy slide. Once in fact I did misstep enough to take a few sidehilling strides and catch a toe on a root. It sent my face-first a few feet down the hill, my same foot catching another root to slow the momentum. When I scrambled up, I looked at my hands. A few rock punctures from breaking my fall on the Superman dive and a couple abrasions from the rough terrain. It encouraged me to check my watch: mile 2.7. Quite the wakeup call.
The boulder fields are no joke either. The trail largely disappears and the only thing to guide the way is a series of PVC pipes sticking straight up out of cracks between rocks, each of them spaced nearly 50 yards away. “Relax and don’t stop moving. Patience and focus.” I reminded myself of Kristen’s words while dancing through the jagged rocks. Wind gusts picked up as I traversed the southern portion and headed to the western side of the trail. The Northeastern crosswind blew sand and dust down from the higher portions of the washouts. It caused near whiteout conditions while crossing sandy drops in the trail. Only a couple times did it affect my ability to physically stay on the trail, but seeing the route ahead became challenging at times. The debris that latched onto my contacts was irritating but didn’t blur vision at all, so onward I trudged while rubbing my eyes to free them from the dust.
The low point on the course comes around mile 9 after a long, flowing, steep, wooded drop to a lower portion of a stream crossing. Since it was still early I didn’t need to filter out of the silt water or cool off. But for some instinctual reason found myself thigh-deep in the rushing lukewarm water. It all happened so fast. Then pretty wet and obviously distracted by what had just happened, the trail seemed to disappear while climbing back up to the altitude that most of the rest of the trail was at. Bushwhacking for 50 yards wasn’t in the plan but if it gets me there, it gets me there. It felt like a weird start to a speed attempt on a new route.
Somehow the rest of the climb went smoothly and the following handful of miles was just plain old Type 2, mountain-running fun. The freedom of moving well across new, tough trails only made the sunshine feel more magnificent as it peeked over a sandy ridge. I entered the blast zone on the north side hopeful, positive, and within +/-2 minutes of the pace I needed to be on to have a chance at setting the record. But in a matter of about 4 steps, that thought was gone. A pinching, stabbing pain in the ball of my right foot caused a few strides of limping and it was clear this wasn’t just a quick step on a sharp rock that would shake out. I checked my watch: mile 14.6 in 2:25:30. The absolute far point on the loop in exactly half the time.
The first thought that came to mind was a pinched nerve. A reoccurrence of the Morton’s Neuroma I’d experienced last fall. Loosening up the forefoot of the shoe helped relieve pressure only briefly before the pain came back to stay. Rapid swelling in the foot gave it that fat-lip feeling. My cadence shifted from running with some hard hiking to walking with some slower walking and a short jogging shuffle mixed in. I tried to text Kristen with limited service, “8:44 14.6, ball of right foot is f*cked up. Damage control mode. Future of effort tbd. But I’ll get there.”
The 8-9 minute miles turned into 15-19 minute miles. Limp hiking became the only way to move forward. Her voice kept echoing in my head “Relax and don’t stop moving. Patience and focus.” Getting back around to Kristen was the focus, but it would take a lot to get there. Finally a slight downhill I rallied and trotted past a few hikers, giving a wave and pained smile. Not that it was fast, but running downhill meant that more of the distance was done. Or so I thought. At the bottom of the hill was the end of a dirt road that’s not supposed to be there. There was no dirt road junction on any of the maps I’d studied. I had gotten so caught up in the foot pain and joy of downhill that I missed a hard right turn to stay on the Loowit Trail #216 and instead, accidentally dropped down onto the Windy Trail #216E. The intersection provided an interesting option to take a route further down junction to join back up with the Loowit Trail two miles down. Despite the frustrations of a mental error when already suffering, it only felt right to retrace my steps back up to the missed turn.
Reality set in. I was mentally broken, recalling other races and runs that got the better of me. This time I was soon to be running low on water and fuel with no bailout plan. The big picture perspective was daunting and it became unclear how long I’d be in the pain cave before making it to safety.
The heat of the day intensified and the tree coverage was few and far between. Resting in the shade (which wasn’t very refreshing) also meant being that much closer to peak sun. Spotty service allowed me to get off a few more texts to Kristen. Quick messages like “Mission aborted. Totally dry. Just trying to make it back. Slow but still moving.” were all I could muster while not tripping on stones.
From my research, there’s mention of viable water sources being more or less likely during different times of day, but plan for the route to be dry. Just in case, I packed a filter bottle. And good thing I did because it may have saved my life. A sandy stream trickled down some rocks across the trail and I lunged at the opportunity to take swigs of it. After 2 or 3 pretty warm, silty (but filtered!) bottle-fulls and a grimy soak of my hat and bandanna I trudged on. Shortly thereafter hikers traveling counter-clockwise kept informing me of varying distances they thought I was from the trailhead. With a slight case of delirium, an inaccurate GPS track, and differing hikers’ opinions there was no real indicator of how much longer I’d be in the heat.
A little lower altitude and cover from below treeline indicated that the end was only a couple miles away. I sent Kristen a text to see if she would meet me for the final descent of the route, a 1.5 mile technical downhill to the car. Knowing she’d be at the top of the final climb meant the world. It meant I would be safe and that all I had to do was climb 1000 feet to see her. Easier said than done. Depleted on all supplies, especially energy, the trudge took longer than it should have and the sun roasted my shoulders. But finally, from across a meadow, I saw a waving figure at the edge of the trees. The run wasn’t done yet, but I had made it back to safety. If my body wasn’t so depleted of salt and water I probably would have cried.
Feeling the energy from the best company I could have to end my run, plus the bite of food and bottle of water Kristen provided me with, we trotted down the hill to the car. It was some of the best running I’d done in hours. My right foot still throbbing in pain, I hobbled across the line that same foot had drawn in the dirt over seven hours prior.
As crazy as it sounds, I’ll be back. Maybe to take another shot at the record, maybe not. But the Loowit Trail is incredibly beautiful and relentlessly challenging. With a different preparation of gear and supplies, I’ll be happy to be infinitely more prepared next time.
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