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Going to be wrapping my head around this one for a while. Incredibly stout line, just feel grateful that we were able to pull it off, setbacks and all. Kate is the only person I could imagine doing this with—a special thing to have had this experience together, from all our Green laps and Flatiron outings, to reconning each crux section then finally giving it a go. What a daaaayyyyy+.  Be warned, a granular trip report follows—mostly for me but there if anyone's interested. 

We'd originally hoped to start on Friday (8/5) as Kate had pacing duty the previous Saturday for a friend running the Crazy Mountain 100 in MT but with the forecast calling for clear skies Wed-Thur and then storms through the weekend, we decided to rally a couple days early. 

We left the TH ~3:40pm,  just as an afternoon shower finished blowing through. We'd originally hoped to complete the route in 24-30hrs and therefore knew up front that we would have to strategically plan when and where to pass 8-9hrs of darkness. The (mostly) tundra stretch after Chiefs Head through Algonquin seemed like the most logical and least stressful stretch to tackle without daylight. We budgeted 3hrs to get up Longs at an easy pace, and an additional hour for each Pagoda and CH, meaning we would have about 5hr15min to start descending CH before nightfall. 

After our farewells with Tony and Nick, we started up the trail in what felt like a very businesslike manner—no talking, just the sound of poles clicking on rocks and soft footsteps. Admittedly, I was relieved when we hit Goblins and we started to casually chat—I already had a headache, which I attributed to pent up nerves, and the easy conversation helped me relax, while acting as an intensity barometer. Being able to talk without labored breathing also meant we were going the right pace for this kind of effort. Cloud cover kept us cool all the way up to the summit and, looking back east, mist hung in the bowl carved by the East Face. 

We rolled through the summit at 2hr38min, well ahead of schedule. I wasn’t feeling great, my head was still throbbing and my lungs didn’t feel appropriately fresh for having rested the past week, but I tried not to think about it too much. We scurried down The Homestretch and efficiently made our way to the summit of Pagoda (3hr33min). The West Ridge Bypass off of Pagoda to reach Chiefs Head was our main navigational priority to hit before dark and, even with the slick rock thanks to the recent rain, we made our way through this first crux with little trouble. Atop Chiefs Head, we made a quick transition to prep for the impending darkness, donning pants, readying headlamps, and transferring some snacks from our packs to more accessible spots. After a few minutes we kept rolling (~4hr55min?) towards Alice. 

Over the course of our five dedicated scouting missions, we’d come to the happy realization that there would be plenty of water on route—the past few summers have been remarkably dry and smokey in Colorado and we indeed got lucky with the return of a real monsoon season this year. As such, our effort was unsupported—we carried all our food from the start and planned to resupply water along the way. The section from CH to Alice was one we hadn’t seen though and we were surprised to find a spring running steady down CH’s southern slope and we quickly stopped to top off water here. 

We clicked on our headlamps shortly after and made our way up Alice (6hr15min?). V steep. I feared we were either pushing a little hard here, or that my body just wasn’t planning on coming around, and I was relieved when we finished the steep push to the summit. I knew more moderate terrain would follow during the long tundra stretch. From Tanima’s rocky outcropping (7hr10min), we saw distant city lights bathing the night sky in a warm glow. I suddenly felt how lonely this could be as a solo endeavor and was glad to have Kate’s company. Although we share a similar comfort level on technical terrain, our experience with solo endurance pursuits has been quite different (mine being confined to the bike, while Kate is an actual runner), but I think this variety of experience and fitness also makes us ideal partners. We can share long stretches of silence just as easily as extended conversation, a crucial part of the dynamic during a long outing. 

From the Cleaver, the ridge to gain Isolation peak feels long. We botched this section during our recon outing (a day where dense fog on the Divide almost mirrored the lack of visibility we now faced) and we botched it again now. Basically, our intended route dropped from the ridge shortly after the Cleaver to bypass the most technical terrain, with a third class gully bringing us back up the ridge. In both instances, we dropped too soon and too low. This felt like the first hurdle of our LAF effort and we lost at least 30min (not to mention adding vert and distance) reversing and correcting our error. Once in the right gully, we found the trickle from a few weeks prior was now a veritable river and we stopped to fully refill our water bladders and all flasks. The summit of Iso (10hr08min/ 1:48am) felt like the first chapter closed in completing the LAF—6 peaks down and many more still to go.  

I’ve never been happier to spend hours walking across tundra as I was while tagging Ouzel, Ogalalla, Ooh La La, Pt. 1227, and Red Deer. It felt good to be able to turn the brain off for a while and just follow the bread crumb track on my watch (thanks Kyle!) as we covered the next 7mi. I could feel our pace was definitely flagging through this section though and somewhere along the way Kate shared that she thought the altitude was getting to her. As the sun rose on our way up Red Deer (actually v nice ridge between 1227 and RD) it became more and more apparent that she wasn’t feeling like herself. With a spiking HR and quick, shallow breaths she, understandably, needed to take a moment to reset. At this point—over 15hrs in—it seemed quite unlikely that we would make a 30hr window as we were slightly under halfway in terms of distance and our pace would need to be significantly adjusted so that hopefully Kate could bounce back. Still, I knew that it could just as easily be me suffering from altitude—these unlucky days feel like such an unpredictable roll of the dice and, as a team, it didn’t matter who was feeling bad, just that we were both able to get through it. 

Three peaks and several hours later we found ourselves (finally!) atop Paiute after another costly navigational mishap. Again, divining our way through 3rd class ledges on the west side of Paiute before the final summit push had been a challenge during our recon and it felt like we just repeated the same mistakes today. We were both frustrated at the situation. On the summit, just before noon, was the first time I concretely thought out what the rest of the outing would look like. Kate was putting on a brave face but I could tell the altitude was continuing to take its toll. I was very worried at this point about how little calories I had left and, more so, about getting benighted before the final technical crux of North Arapaho and I raised my concerns as Pawnee Pass—just two peaks away—was in reality the last best place to pull the plug before being too committed. We were both exhausted but also were both fully aware that this would, in all likelihood, be the one chance we’d have to pull this thing off together. We talked it through, convinced ourselves that we could at least make it up the ridge before the summit of NA in daylight (laughable, in retrospect) and at the very least we’d have the track to follow. So we got up and kept going. This, I thought, is why I’d brought a second headlamp.

Toll and Pawnee were relatively quick (I was SO ready to grab water on the saddle between), and heading down Pawnee Pass felt again like a new chapter on the route. We had spent what felt like a long day scouting Pawnee Pass to the finish a few weeks prior and I tried to put the fact that we’d be just starting that big day at 2pm out of my mind. We hit Shoshoni, bumbled our way through the Kasparov traverse (another complicated section) and elatedly reached Apache. For hours now, my quads and knees had been protesting taking any descent at more than a hobble. In my head, I kept repeating to myself all the peaks we had behind us then naming the few we had left—just Navajo, Arikaree, (12,887; barely counts), Deshawa, and North Arapaho/ South Arapaho (counted these two as one) We were getting there. 

The chimney scramble and quick summit of Navajo felt like a gift before the punishing blown-up talus/scree descent. Truly heinous and painfully slow through here down to the tarn. Quick water top-off (although, I made the mistake of chugging one flask and only filling one to go, and would later be out of water for hours) then the trudge up Arikaree. I could tell that my mental armor was waning as I kept thinking about how loose and unstable the “sidewalk in the sky” up this peak felt underfoot, when I’d barely given it any thought during our recon.

Darkness found us, for the second time, around the airplane gully on Deshawa, and then time just started evaporating. Navigating this section in the dark was unbelievably slow. We both somehow barely remembered Deshawa from our scouting trip and moved through the third class ledges at a snail's pace—with one of us going in front and the other following behind, calling out if we were too high or too low based on the track. I can’t describe how hard it felt to not give into despair on this section and was grateful that Kate largely took the lead on navigating. 

One more peak: we moved at a moderately faster pace to the steep part of the ridge on NA before doing our little airy step-around to the west side to reach some modest scrambling that brought us back up to the ridge. The scrambling felt more heads up in the dark than I’d remembered and I was keenly aware that we couldn’t make any mistakes. We fumbled around on the ridge for a ways before dropping off to climber’s left where we thought we’d taken (yet another) system of ledges to gain the *final* third class gully to the summit. We contoured for what felt like an eternity, both our minds and eyes playing tricks on us (until I finally went to sleep hours later, my brain continued to make up things that weren’t actually there).

We found our gully which, in actuality, was the loosest scree chute we’d encountered thus far. My strategy was to quickly paddle through the loose stuff between islands of more concrete slabs of embedded rock, while remaining staggered out of the way of Kate’s line as she did the same above. At long last, we reached a shallow saddle and the final talus pitch to the summit. I thought about crying but fatigue kept the tears from coming. 

Nick met us on the summit of NA (we’d spotted his headlamp waaaaayyyy back from the top of Deshawa; very motivating to see signs of life ahead) and the three of us made our way through the traverse. Following a perfunctory pass over the SA summit, I couldn’t believe how long the steep section of trail down to the saddle felt. From there we literally just walked all the way down the trail. I tried to hobble/ shuffle a couple times but the legs just wouldn’t abide any unnecessary impact and I was heavily weighting the poles. Since the tarn, some 7 hours earlier, I’d only eaten about 400 calories and all my senses felt glazed over. I’d banged up my left ankle somewhere and the cuff of my Mutant on that foot was killing me. Kate also stopped to dry heave a few times on the way down so it felt like we were very much on the same page. Even though I know he was freezing (in shorts!) Nick was upbeat and patient and let us do our (slow) thing. TK found us somewhere about halfway down after spending a worried and sleepless night at the TH (where there is no service) and I was immensely glad to have his company for the remaining 1.5-2mi down. Got to the parking lot at 5:48AM—38hr08min after starting—just as the sun was rising for a second time. 

Still kind of can't believe we were able to see this through—lots of learning along the way and an experience I can honestly say I'll never forget. 

A few disjointed notes/ thoughts:

•started with 6500cal—I think I ate ~6200? I made the mistake of loading my bladder with liquid calories but sometime mid-morning Thursday grew very tired of the taste. No matter the mix, I also find that liquid calories are not thirst quenching, even though I think the slow drip is helpful to maintain energy. If I could do it again, I would reserve liquid calories to flasks and keep untainted water in the bladder. If I had known we would be out for more than 30hrs, I also definitely would have brought additional calories. 

•3L of H20 capacity—maybe could have gotten away with 2.5L.

•Watch died only 16hr in (on Red Deer) even though I thought the battery life was good for 28hr. I attribute this to running navigation and the screen being lit up so frequently throughout the night. As a result, our track is a little effed. Started Strava on my phone on RD but it looks like it inexplicably auto-paused between Shoshoni-Pawnee. Oh well. We definitely didn’t helicopter over this stretch. 

•The route: this is a highly complicated route. For a chance at an optimized run, I do think at least two seasons becoming familiar with the route would have been more ideal. For me, everything in between Longs and North Arapaho was unknown terrain before June and it was a lot to take it/ remember having seen each crux section just one time. Still, this was an ideal weather year, so I suppose that was a fair trade-off. And, with Kate moving in September, it felt necessary to just make it happen.

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