Some Pitchell Pics

October 7, 2006
Pitchell 67 Mile Fun Run

I'm not that strong a runner. So why would I subject myself to the demands placed on me by this event? I guess I like the challenge of it. I'm not the brightest fish in the drawer. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, "90% of running is half mental".

Pitchell is an innocuous enough sounding name. It doesn't sound like Hellgate, with which it has much in common. It's also billed as a "fun run", which it is in part but that monicker belies the truly grueling and exasperating nature of the event. This run has also been described as "Pitchellicious". There is simply no arguing with that assessment.

We arrived at the Pisgah parking lot with high expectations for the night and the following day. Just five of us would attempt the entire 67 miles. Adam, the only previous finisher, Kevin, Matt, his dog Uwharrie and myself. Uwharrie found Matt during a Uwharrie ultramarathon and followed for ten miles so she adopted Matt as owner. Uwharrie was also the site of my first ultra and the previous longest run I'd ever done at 41 miles.

We hiked to the summit of Mt. Pisgah so we could leave the summit at midnight. The fog was so thick that we couldn't see the full moon or the higher lights on the radio tower. When 12:00 rolled around we descended. I was moving well but could not keep up with the others. The trail is almost solid rock and incredibly steep for a quarter mile then eases up a bit but is still full of rocks. This would be my first ever night run and sunrise wasn't until 7:30.

It was a lonely descent down the Shut-in trail. This is the site of the Shut-in Ridge Trail Run in November, but that runs upward and takes place in the daylight hours. It's also the next race on my agenda. The trail is steep in many parts especially at the top. It's a virtual freefall where all you can do is slow yourself enough to avoid a head over heels tumble down the mountain.

Running at night is an entirely different experience. Flowers and leaves look different under a full moon and LED headlamps. Purple flowers look like they're under blacklight. Leaves glisten and apper to be made of plastic. Grades affect you differently at night. Not seeing very far ahead of you affects your perception of how steep the trail is. Time actually seems to go by quicker because you're focused on a small patch right in front of you. Psychologically, you shut out everything else around you. You hear noises but they blend in with the landscape. Eventually, you do tend to hallucinate. I heard voices on many occasions. They were just a word at a time. Some sounded like children's voices.

The time continued to pass quickly. A positive mental attitude kept me sane amidst the solitude and darkness. The trail kept coming and going. Focusing on the dirt and rock is meditative. The vibrations of the forest blend into the background. I was in the zone and transferred my hand held light and took my eyes off the trail. I hit the dirt and fell part way off the trail. It was a wake up call to never ignore the trail, even when it's relatively flat.

I finally reached the French Broad river at 4:45. The portion ahead was my usual running terrain so I was relieved to be on it. I didn't expect to have any issues staying on the trail but it's different at night. I constantly got off a bit but quickly found my way back each time. It was pretty uneventful until I heard a noise off to my left and a bear scurried up a tree. It was about ten feet off to the left near Otoolay road between 26 and Hendersonville road. I didn't stop to commiserate with the ursa minor just in case mama bear was eating porridge nearby.

I viewed the distance to the Folk Art Center as one ultra and beyond as another. It became light as I crossed 74A, and the first ultra was nearly finished. I got some looks from the cows under the Parkway bridge and moseyed on up to the Folk Art Center, where my wife Annette, Mrs. Kirk and the shut-in trainees greeted me.

I refueled and headed up the trail. The shut-in runners soon caught me. Their presence helped immensely. I had nobody to run with for nearly eight hours but for the next hour and a half I would have company. They made me pick up the pace a bit and I made the best time of the entire trek. I arrived at Ox Creek in high spirits. The next section is an epic eight mile stretch which passes over several peaks, including Lane Pinnacle. I ate a fair amount and cruised up toward Rattlesnake Lodge. The first few miles weren't bad but then the trail became steep and rocky. This terrain was relentless and took nearly three hours to traverse. At Bee Tree Gap, I was greeted by Annette and Keri, a friend and running partner.

Craggy picnic area provided facilities to change and take care of nature. Fresh, dry clothes can really add a little zip to your step. Unfortunately, the trail shot straight uphill so the zip got zapped. I got numerous looks and comments from tourists. This section is the most popular on the MTS. They didn't see the enormity of the undertaking and I received comments about how I didn't have to work so hard. Little did they know.

Just before Craggy visitor center, the trail veers off into a rocky abyss. For the next three miles it's nothing but boulder hopping. It's actually difficult to even find dirt on the trail. I wanted to run but the stabilizing muscles in my legs were exhausted and I still had a long way to go so it was mostly hiking here.

Two short sections lay ahead. The first is among the most scenic parts with open balds and exposed granite. The views were incredible and the skies were clear. It was tempting to camp out on a rock for a spell but I kept moving. The toughest section, after Balsam Gap, would take an awfully long time so I was anxious to get started on it.

Why I was anxious I have no idea. This is the most god forsaken bit of trail there is. I'll have nightmares about it for months. It begins with 19 switchbacks that simply never end. The spruce-fir forest is gorgeous but after 57 miles the climbing dulls your senses, exhausts your legs and breaks your spirit. My thigh muscles felt like they'd been shredded through a cheese grater. I had a positive attitude the entire way until this bit. For the first time on the entire trek I considered throwing in the towel. I knew if I just made it through the switchbacks I'd be okay. I had to convince myself many times that this was the proper course of action. An iron will took over. The insane terrain caused much pain but it would not be in vain.

The switchbacks finally ended and I reached the top of the ridge. The trail became more runnable until Blackstock Knob and its 25% grade. The other side was a steep downhill but leveled out after a while. The entire ridge was enshrouded in clouds. The field of vision looked more like a dreamscape under the dark, thick canopy and milky white fog. A figure appeared ahead...a ghostly apparition hovering over the trail. The white figure approached me and spoke. This wasn't a hallucination. A tall hiker in a flowing white jacket passed me. Two grouse startled me. If you've never heard them take off before, hope it doesn't happen with a full bladder.

The rock outcroppings popped up in every direction. This section was a beast with enormous granite fangs sucking the lifeforce of all who attempted passage. None shall pass without losing a bit of one's soul. It takes more than a shrubbery to appease the gods of Blackstock Knob.

The trail writhed and slithered through mini canyons of granite. I wondered when it would head over to the north side of the mountain. It kept heading south, away from the destination. The boulder jumping increased, adding stress to weary legs. It was like a rollercoaster without wheels. I had to balance on the rails and risk falling off the edge. It just didn't end. The descent simply went on and on and on and on ad infinitum.

It did end eventually and I exited the dark, dank spruce-fir forest. My spirits brightened with the sunny sky. The clouds had parted and I was elated. Unfortunately, there still were boulders and I let my guard down, ramming my knee on one of them. I'm not the sharpest bulb in the ocean. I let out a few @$#&%&%'s and continued. You simply cannot take boulders for granite, or feldspar.

The rock hopping continued. I swore I'd traversed six miles already but the trail continued. It finally got runnable but the duration of this section was highly disconcerting. After more than two hours, I finally completed the five mile section. I again was greeted by Annette and we had a dilemma to solve. The gate at Mt. Mitchell State Park closed at 7:00. There was no possible way that I'd finish by seven. She asked the rangers to let her stay up after 7:00 to meet me. I didn't know if she'd be there or if I'd have to walk back three more miles to the gate. I left on my way.

The Buncombe Horse trail is the only flat section on the Mountains-to-Sea trail. It tends to be extremely muddy with a dozen springs originating along the edge of the trail. This time of year it's not too wet so I kept my feet fairly dry. Although the section was level, I could only run about half of it. I still needed a bit for the final ascent. Commissary Ridge and the Camp Alice trail finally came into view. It was now dark again and the forest was thick. Just one final push awaited me. Rangers were there to meet me since Annette was not allowed to wait for me. I didn't complain. I couldn't summit, since the old tower was being replaced, so the last third of a mile didn't happen. Next year, the new tower will be in place so it will truly be a summit to summit experience.

Pitchell was a piece of cake-a great big piece of stoneground boulder cake with shards of glass and razors and arsenic & strichnine. It's most certainly a test of will and fortitude.

The feeling of accomplishment is intense after something of this magnitude. This was the longest run I'd ever done. It's the first ever night run for me and it's both the greatest climb and descent I'd ever accomplished by a great margin. Previous highs were 8,000 feet and 41 miles. Other runners also set new personal records on the Folk Art Center run. I became just the second runner, after Adam, to complete the full Pitchell run. 67 miles is quite a long way to run/hike. Nearly 20 hours is a long time to be on the trail. It hasn't really set in yet but I think I'll look at this as one of my greatest accomplishments. Kudos to Adam for setting up such an absurdly insane event for idiots like me to try to finish.

The ride back down the Parkway led us through some of the thickest fog imaginable. We had to hug the yellow line for several miles because the edge of the road blended into the fog. A fox greeted us along the way. Thanks to Annette for doing an outstanding job of support.

Raging Bull