Getting Lucky (Peak)

Ambrose asked me the other day where I got the idea to explore the trails leading up to Lucky Peak. He thought that perhaps it was something that my boss mentioned. I couldn't recall exactly, but I think it was some web search I conducted. I was looking for trails in the Boise area, hoping that there might be some miraculously free of mud where I could practice my sport.

The trails are actually part of the Ridge to Rivers trail system, but I hadn't even seen them mentioned in connection with Foothills trails. Once I found that there were trails leading to an actual peak in a relatively short distance (5 and a half miles up on a short route), I wanted to do it. I admit, there was a certain romance to the idea of actually hiking to the top of a mountain.

The conditions were not ideal. When we checked out the trailhead around noon on Saturday, it was fairly soft. However, I had a plan to deal with the soft conditions.

And my plan was something that I would never have thought to suggest in any other year of my life. I told my husband, we'll just get up really early and hike while the trail is still frozen. I'll set the alarm for 5:30, we can be at the trailhead by 7.

To give a little background, I have always loved sleeping in. I used to sleep in so much, any chance that I got. For me to suggest getting up at 5:30am on a Sunday was, to me, an mark of dedication. To my husband and to myself, I was proving how important backpacking is to me.

We did get up at 5:30, and only hit the snooze button once. We left the house around 6:30, and, after changing into boots at the trailhead, hit the trail in the dark at 7am.

I haven't done a lot of hiking in the dark, but when Ambrose and I go to the coast this summer, there will be mornings we will need to start by 3:30 to beat the tides. It's something that I want to get used to well before then.

And I knew that the sun would be up soon. I turned back to see if I could see Ambrose's light behind me a few times. Our plan was that I would hike to the peak and turn back, and he would turn back when I caught him. I passed the first intersection without a problem, but when I got to the spur that would take me to Shaw Mountain road, I needed to pull out my Map My Run app to verify which trail I was taking. On the map at home, it looked like I would be taking a left, but the trail actually jigged a bit - I had to take a right and then a left.

I stopped and debated with myself. Should I press on and hope that Ambrose figured out the route for himself, with no map and no app? Should I wait until he caught up so I could show him the right trail? I didn't want a repeat of the Snowslide Lakes incident...

In the end, I was too cold to stay still and wait, and too paranoid to just press on. I turned back instead and quickly found Ambrose, who was quite surprised to see me. I explained about the trail and how to find the correct one. Then I turned back and headed on.

As the sky lightened, I began to see deer, first in pairs, and then, after I had reached Shaw Mountain Road, over a dozen in a group. Next time I hike that trail, I'll be bringing my Pentax camera, but the phone managed to capture a few nice images.

There are deer in the picture, I swear. 

And in this one...

I wouldn't take pictures of just landscapes - the deer are there. 

Shortly after getting onto Shaw Mountain Road, I encountered the last intersection of the hike. Straight, on a trail that headed down, or right, staying on Shaw and heading up. I conferred with my app, but knew I was sticking with Shaw. Ambrose told me later that he went down the other trail for half an hour before realizing his error and turning back.

I think half an hour is probably an exaggeration, but I was chagrined that I hadn't explained the trail more clearly, since I was leading this trip.

As the sun came up, I couldn't help but admire the view. 

It's hard to believe there's a city in sight in the other direction.

When the sun came up, it made the clouds laying in the valleys east of Boise glow. In the direction of the sun, the wild landscape seemed to suggest that I was miles from civilization, if not hundreds of miles, in a fantastical land untouched by the hand of man. A glance to the west disabused me of that fancy quickly, displaying the city sprawl under a thin layer of gray fog. Even the peak was marked by towers and solar panels.

Objectively, I knew that I would be experiencing a lot of gain on the hike. Subjectively, the actual process of seeing the road go up at every turn, just up and up and UP, was at times discouraging. I do prefer hiking up, but even I like to take a break now and then.

The trail goes up.

And then it goes up some more. 

And I did see more deer.

At the top of Hornet Loop, the trail settled into being snow covered. I stopped and put on my Yaktrax. The non-snow covered ground was frozen so hard that I wasn't making any footprints, but once I got into the snow I began to leave tracks.

Snow on the higher elevations, painted with sunshine. 

The snow portion started out a bit easier with a slight downhill slope, but then resumed the interminable climbing. The snow got deeper the higher I climbed, leaving me susceptible to post-holing. I told myself that post-holing burns more calories even as I cursed and dug my boot out of the snow.

I could see the tower atop the peak now, and I was pretty sure that the 5.5 mile estimate that I'd mapped for my route was an overestimate. And I saw a curious structure, one that looked like the tiniest of houses. It couldn't be a bathroom, I thought. No way they'd have a bathroom way out here. It's probably some sort of tool shed for the tower or a substation or -

It's a toilet!

This toilet has a halo and a soundtrack (Hallelujah!). 

After confirming its toilet nature, and the fact that the door was unlocked, I kept on to the peak. I took a couple pictures of the benchmark and ate a peanut bar. Then I headed back down, because I wanted to get down before the trail thawed too much. I'd made it before 10am, which was my bare minimum goal.

Lucky Peak

The city of Boise below Lucky Peak

More city in the distance and the foothills to the north

The trail back down

The benchmark!

Obligatory selfie!

On the way back, I made use of the miraculous facilities, and then continued my way down the snow. Just before the snow ended, I caught sight of Ambrose coming up the trail. I was surprised that he had come so close to the peak. We paused when we met and chatted. He gave me the car key since I hadn't brought mine.

I found Ambrose on the trail. 

Then I headed down, knowing he was behind me, chasing me. I must admit, I went as fast as I could. And not just to beat Ambrose, but also to try and beat the thawing which was already beginning around me.

Clouds seeping through the mountains

At one point, I walked through a cloud and thought about how I always think being in a cloud will be more romantic than it actually is. My imagination is this misty world of enchantment and reality is cold and damp. And cold.

Cloud over the trail

The deer were no longer in evidence, and I didn't see any other forms of life either as I tore down the trail. The ground was beginning to mud in sections and I tried to walk through it when possible and step lightly. At this point, there was nothing else I could do but get off as soon as possible.

Going this direction, I could see cars driving on Highway 21 in the distance. 

I made it to the car by noon, giving me an official time of 5 hours, though my app had the time a little under 5 since I paused it when I debated about waiting for or going back to Ambrose. I took off my boots and spent the next 25 minutes relaxing in the driver's seat with my feet up on the dash.

Since Ambrose still hadn't appeared by then, I spent the next 15 minutes after that thinking about how long I'd wait before I went back out after him.

I decided on an hour and got back to relaxing.

He showed up 47 minutes after I arrived. He got his boots off and thanked me for being ready to drive home.

For perspective, a shot of Lucky Peak from street level. It's the tiny high spot in the distance, and I've been there. 

Next week's plan is to get off the trail before the thaw begins in earnest.

And that has almost nothing to do with the Superbowl.

The Advantages of Hiking Indoors

Last week, I did a speed hike on pavement instead of risking the muddy Foothills. This week, the rainy weather forced me away from the Foothills again, but I didn't want to pound the pavement. Pavement pounding is not a part of what I'll be doing when I backpack, so I don't consider it ideal practice. Plus, the pavement route is very flat. So I came up with another alternative.

I would pack up my weekend pack with a middling amount of weight, and bring it to the gym for a treadmill hike.

Now, I'm not planning on doing any hiking on treadmills as part of my backpacking this year, you don't really get anywhere walking on them, and there's nowhere to camp (gyms frown upon tents set up in the weight room - true story). However, for the sake of training, hiking on the treadmill has several advantages over pavement, or even the Foothills.

1. Pit Stops. The bathroom is always the same distance from the treadmill no matter how long I walk on it. It also does not close. Well, it might close for cleaning, but then there are alternate bathrooms that are not prohibitively distant in an emergency. Last weekend when I was hiking on pavement, I was absolutely counting on a park bathroom to be open. It was not. It turns out that those bathrooms are closed for the winter, but they were no signs, so I might have cried a bit at finding the doors locked. I had to keep hiking another mile to get to a gas station. It was NOT fun (but I did walk really fast). 
2. Vertical Gain. Unlike the flat pavement, I can simulate an incline on the treadmill. And, unlike in the Foothills, I can go uphill for my entire hike. In the foothills, I might gain 2000 feet. On Saturday, with a combination of the treadmill and the stair climber, I almost hit 5000 feet of gain (if I had known I was only 11 feet short, I would have kept going!). 
3. Multitasking. Not only did I do a much better job of hydrating myself while hiking on the treadmill, I also did my reading for the class I'm taking. Twice. I hardly manage to snack and drink sufficiently while I'm hiking outside with my trekking poles - reading a book would be impossible.  
4. Visibility. This is a pro and a con. On the one hand, it's nice to see people I know or chat with people I don't know who are intrigued by the fact that I have a pack on while walking on the treadmill. On the other hand, I don't like to be stared at and I know I look silly in my boots and wearing that big pack indoors. On the other-other hand, on Monday when I was lifting weights in the gym with my husband two guys asked me if I was "the lady with the backpack" and told me they planned on backpacking too. I liked that. 
5. Hot Tub. Not much more that needs to be written there. The gym has a hot tub. 
6. Scale. Without the scale at the gym, I wouldn't have bothered to figure out that my pack weighed between 21 and 24 pounds (depending on how much water I was carrying and whether or not I put my textbook up). 

Ambrose suggested that I do 4 hours on the treadmill, but I wanted to mix things up. Our gym has what we call "skywalkers" but what are actually stair master type things. I always think of the machines that have the two steps that move up and down as a stair master, but some research informs me that those are stair steppers. At any rate, the machine I used is like an exercise escalator with variable speed. (This article calls it a stepmill and has a picture.)

I started out with 30 minutes on that, while reading, which was much more difficult than I thought it would be. I mean, I hike, and I hike up steep inclines. But I also rest. I choose a spot and push myself to get there before I take a break. This machine gave me no breaks. Oh, sure, I could have paused it, but I was too macho for that. Except when I accidentally hit the pause button when I almost dropped my book. It was totally an accident. 

After I got through that, I made a pit stop and then got onto a treadmill. I stuck resolutely to 3 miles per hour and an incline of 6. For two hours. Which was a little less boring since I was reading, but perhaps not as less boring as watching TV might have been. The reading was absorbing enough that I jumped whenever anyone spoke to me though. 

Then I got Ambrose to put my textbook into my pack so that I could leave it there on the next skywalker segment. It was hard enough to do that machine - holding a book just made it more difficult. Getting through that 30 minutes without the distraction of a book took a lot of will power. Climbing stairs at a steady pace with no breaks is just this insane combination of boring and painful. The only bonus was that my feet didn't hurt on that machine, or not enough that I noticed over the aching of my calves and thighs. 

Finally, 3 more miles on the treadmill - the first mile at incline 6, the second at 7 and the third at 8. I only did the first at 6 because I had turned the machine off before recording my stats after the two hour stint, so I wanted to do the first mile at the same incline as before in order to get an estimate. My feet resumed aching, but I made it through the hour and managed to drag myself to the hot tub. 

I'm not sure if it was easier on my body to do the treadmill and skywalker or if I'm just getting used to this hiking thing, but I recovered more quickly from this than I did from the pavement hike. It's supposed to be dry this week, so I'm looking to hike up to Lucky Peak next weekend. Unless it rains... 

A Spring in My Squat

At CrossFit, I’ve heard of this phenomenon wherein when one performs a squat, at the bottom, there’s this kind of springy moment. Supposedly, the knees reach a point where they naturally rebound a bit, which helps one get back up while holding large amounts of weight.

For a long time, I thought that was a cruel joke, or another one of those things that are experienced by “real” athletes and not me. Because whenever I went down in a squat, my knees would collapse inward and require Herculean efforts on my part simply to keep from crashing together. They hindered my ability to push back to standing. They didn’t help.

For a long time I thought it was a myth.

But then I started focusing on keeping my knees from collapsing not just when I was actively trying to do squats, but when I stood and walked and hiked.

And the other day, when I was doing landmine squats, showing off on the only apparatus that my husband and I both do that I lift more weight on, I felt it.

At the bottom of my squat my knees felt … springy.

I squatted down and it felt natural to push back up.

My knees were no longer collapsing inward, and it surprised me, because I’d thought that that was what they naturally did and would continue to do. Even though I’d been working on keeping them from collapsing, I didn’t believe that my mechanics would actually change.

And, to be honest, I'd forgotten all about the bounce that I might experience once my mechanics changed. I wasn't thinking about it, wasn't looking for it. It just happened.

Kind of like my increase in running speed, which was a surprise, because I'd just about given up on ever running much faster.

I guess I'll have to stop having such low expectations for myself.

Winter Hikes Are Cold

Not all winter hikes are cold. I was fooled by my two hikes in December, on the 25th and 28th. I wore a big puffy down coat and sweated as I climbed steep hills and the temperature crept up to the low 40s. Enough of this, I thought. The puffy coat is simply too much insulation.

I decided to take the puffy coat in my backpack as a back-up, and wear my heavy raincoat instead.

Which would have been a great idea if the outside temperature had been at all similar to the previous 2 hikes.

Instead, on Saturday morning I started out early enough that the temperature was in the teens and the sun had only begun to brighten the sky without yet making an appearance. And I had to make a beeline for the primitive toilet at the Foothills Learning Center.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love that toilet. I'm grateful that it's open even though it's winter. But that seat is so cold! After using it, my upper thighs and butt felt numb. I thought that I would get some life into them by hiking, but it was so cold outside that I couldn't build up enough heat to counteract how cold my legs were.

And the worst part was I didn't realize just how cold it was outside. I thought that the air temperature would quickly approach freezing or above, just like it had before. By the time I turned on my altimeter/barometer, which has a temperature gauge, I saw that it was 16 degrees. I had already hiked over 2 miles, and it was only then that I realized I needed to get more layers on.

I added my husband's fleece balaclava that he was nice enough to let me use. My balaclava is designed to go under my bike helmet. It just isn't as warm as his. Getting that on my sweaty head immediately made me feel warmer, even if only a little bit.

The first few miles passed quickly. I saw a few runners, and a couple of walkers. Even a biker or two braving the snow, which bemuses me. I like riding, but I don't do it in the snow. I had a nice figure 8 loop planned out for this hike, but then I decided to go looking for the yak-trax that I had lost on the 28th. To do that, I would have to head up to my nemesis, Femrite's Patrol trail.

When I lost the yak-trax (which is a rubber and metal contraption that fastens onto a shoe or boot and helps give traction on ice and snow), I was breaking trail, somewhere between Fat Tire Traverse and Watchman. I suspect Femrite's Patrol, because it was a slog. I was breaking through fresh snow and tired. I couldn't believe how steep the trail was and I hated how it went down and up and down and up. I noticed it was gone after I got off of Femrite's but I couldn't say exactly when I noticed it was gone.

So that's the way I went, even though it wasn't likely that I would find it. I wanted to do a shorter hike this week, and getting to the end of Femrite's would be a long hike. I guess I hoped that I would find it before I got to the end.

I kept that hope up until I got to Freestone Ridge. What had been pristine snow less than a week ago now showed signs of both fresh snow and recent tracks. Either the thrown yak-trax were buried or someone had walked by and picked them up.

I did one of Femrite's up and downs before stopping for a break. I need to learn how to handle my breaks in the cold a little bit better. After staying still for a time, my fingers felt frozen and I felt like I was too cold. I ate some food and tried to walk extra fast back up the hill to Freestone Ridge to heat myself up. It worked eventually, but it was uncomfortable.

The rest of the hike was hard. It hadn't warmed up all that much, and my right leg was complaining with every step. I had to remind myself over and over that this physical game was mostly mental. My body was doing the work, but my mind was the part of me that needed to stay strong. Pushing through the pain of my body while focusing on the next step, the terrain, what I was going to eat when I got home and the hope that my body would get used to this exercise sooner rather than later.