Quicksilver 50M Race Report

“Now hush little baby, don't you cry –
Everything's gonna be alright.”
- Eminem, “Mockingbird” (video after post)

Yes, it’s a strange tune to introduce an ultra report, but Eminem’s surprisingly tender love song to his daughter was bouncing through my head for the better part of 50 miles last weekend. It even played a role in my thought process at the end of the day, influencing a decision that was equally surprising to me in light of my pre-race plans. Hopefully this will all make better sense at the end of the post – but for now, let’s just get to the report.

I had known about the Quicksilver 50M race for years, but never really considered it in the same category as some higher-profile Northern California ultras. Maybe because the race takes place only one week after the Miwok 100K, Quicksilver always struck me as a younger sibling struggling in the shadow of an older one. Truthfully, if I hadn’t been bounced from the Miwok lottery, I would have bypassed Quicksilver again this year.

In that regard, Quicksilver is like Nicky Hilton to Miwok’s Paris: while the older sister enjoys huge name recognition for being crazy/sexy and wildly popular, the younger one is still pretty attractive – and still fairly crazy. Even though this race is 12 miles shorter than Miwok, it’s still an awful lot to handle.

This year, little sister Quicksilver enjoyed two advantages that weren’t present in years past: 1) it’s publicity-hogging older sister went to a lottery system and turned away dozens of runners, and 2) Miwok was rainy, cold, and muddy (with about 50 no-shows on race morning) while Quicksilver saw perfect sunny and breezy conditions. The course features 50 tough miles in a beautiful setting, with generous aid station support and great organization. The timing makes it an excellent tune-up for a summer 100-miler. Best of all, it’s less than a 90-minute drive from my house.

So … why hadn’t I ever done this race before? Oh, that’s right - I’m an idiot. On to the pictures:

The speedsters all seemed to be in great spirits prior to the race – maybe they knew about the ideal conditions we’d enjoy. Or perhaps they just felt confident: Chikara Omine (in blue) would go on to take 20 minutes off the course record, and Jean Pommier (in black) would shatter the masters course record by the end of the day. I took this picture, then quickly moved out of their way.

(By the way, the name of this start/finish area is Mockingbird … which immediately triggered the permanent mental loop of the Eminem song I mentioned above. Still more on this later.)



One noticeable difference between Quicksilver and other NorCal ultras like Firetrails, Miwok, and Diablo is that the climbing doesn’t punch you in the nose right away. The first mile is fairly gentle, allowing folks to spread out without being bottlenecked by a steep hill or narrow single track.



Of course, the hills are out there, and it’s not long before everybody’s walking up a major climb.



The sun was starting to peek over the hills, but wouldn’t be a huge factor for a little while yet ...



… because we soon headed into the shade of a beautiful single track. This was one of the prettiest sections of the course …


… complete with some unique challenges.


Towards the end of the single track section, the sun was starting to burn through the shadows …


… and by mile 9, we were back out in the open.


The remainder of the race was almost exclusively fire roads, beginning with a climb to the Dam Overlook aid station. It’s tucked in a bend in the road here, so you can’t see it in this photo – but don’t worry, we’ll be back here later on.


Most of the climbs during the first 50K were very gradual, and almost entirely runable. Although this 50M course has 8500’ of elevation gain (even more than Firetrails), much of it is condensed to a stretch within a few miles of the start/finish area. The rest is fairly tame.


The fire road passes by an old Quicksilver mine, which was the first of several historical remnants we’d end up visiting during our 50-mile journey. This land was a lucrative mining area from the 1840s to the 1970s, whose history lives on in the name of the park and the race.


Here’s the story in a nutshell: Ohlone Indians harvested cinnabar from these hills to use for painting or religious ceremonies. They introduced it to European settlers, who discovered that the cinnabar could be heated to release mercury (nicknamed Quicksilver for its liquid property at room temperature), and made mines like this one to extract large quantities of cinnabar from the hills. The industry boomed, and at one point nearly 2000 people lived in settlements - complete with their own schools and churches and stores - in this park.

(See? Ultras aren’t just good for your health – they’re educational! Meanwhile, back at the race … )


Mile 17 begins a long descent towards the dam again. It starts as a fairly gentle slope, but it’s hard to get too excited about doing two straight miles downhill, because …


See those arrows? They mean that we’ll be coming back up this trail later. Kinda takes some of the fun out of it.


As the trail gets steeper, you get some pretty cool views of the dam. The aid station we’re headed toward is a tiny dot on the right here …


… and a slightly bigger dot here.


Eventually we reach the Dam station again which is a beehive of activity, as 50K and 50-mile runners all pass through here three times. 25K runners also use this station before heading for home – so before long, it’s especially tricky to tell who’s going where. In other words, it’s a busy dam aid station. Thankfully, they have great dam volunteers to keep everybody happy.


Leaving the station, you continue descending to the base of the reservoir, and start a 4.5-mile loop to bring you back to the same spot.


The loop is a popular place for hikers and joggers, and the hills aren’t terrible – but with 20 miles on our legs, every incline presents a challenge. It felt strange to see little kids going up and down these trails, while at the same time wondering why I couldn’t run very well anymore.

Before long, I made it back to the Dam aid station. I was really glad to see that dam place again. Have I mentioned that they have fine dam people there?

One of them even took my dam picture.

(Is that enough dam jokes for one report? I could keep going – but for brevity’s sake, let’s just move on.)


The initial climb away from the station isn’t too dam steep (sorry, that’s one more – it was easy), but the real fun of the course is yet to come.


Beginning at about mile 28, the course gets crazy steep in both directions – you go up and over hills like this one …


… only to plunge down the backside. It’s hard to appreciate the slope in this picture, until you see that the hikers are taking it sideways.


The final descent brings you back to the Mockingbird station, which is the 50K finish line. See what’s happening in the background there?


It’s a barbecue. I don’t know about you, but I have a really hard time walking away from a good barbecue on a beautiful day after I’ve run 31 miles. A REALLY hard time.


Sometime back around mile 20, I ran alongside a guy who had done this race before, and he gave me this warning: “There is a hill after the 50K … it will take something from you. It will not even say please or thank you. It will not even ask for a tip.” I have no idea what the heck that even means … but this hill was pretty long and steep. I’m assuming that’s what he meant.


The views from this section of the course were quite nice, and the trail led us back into quicksilver history …


This is English Camp, which used to be one of the largest settlements. At one point, almost 1000 people lived in this area. Now it’s the site of an aid station. Whether that represents progress is debatable, I guess.


Further along the road is a dilapidated rotary furnace. 37 miles into the race, I felt about the same way this place looks.


The final checkpoint on the course lies 4 miles into the Sierra Azul open space, after which point you’ll retrace your steps back to the start.


Almost the entire 4-mile stretch looked exactly like this: wide, smooth, intermittently shady fire road, with an uphill grade on the way out that was so gradual that it’s hard to see. Your legs sure feel it, though, and this road seemed to go on forever.


That’s Mount Umunhum. Apparently it’s a forbidden place. Good thing – otherwise I’m sure we’d be climbing it.


I don’t know who was happier: me, for finally reaching the turnaround point, or these enthusiastic volunteers stationed at this remote outpost.


One of them offered to take my picture – he’s as nice as those other dam people!


Since the turnaround is the highest point of the course, most of the return trip to Mockingbird is fairly runable – and because I could sense the finish line off in the distance, I caught a second wind of sorts during the final 8 miles. However, while aimlessly pondering the views on my way to the finish, I was contemplating another decision I had been kicking around all week.


Basically, I wanted to keep running after I crossed the finish line. Even though this was a challenging race on its own merit, I was mentally hung up on the idea of “only” doing 50 miles instead of the 62 I could have done at Miwok, and whether missing those miles would be a big factor in my Western States buildup. So my plan coming into this race was to take it easy for 50 miles, then refuel and head back out for another 10 or 12.

That never happened.

A few things foiled my harebrained scheme: first, I had anticipated crossing the 50M finish line prior to the 50K cutoff time – but with my conservative pace, by the time I got to Mockingbird, the aid station there had been broken down. I was hoping to refuel there, but there was no race fuel to be found. However …


Did I mention that there was a barbecue? And if you think I had a hard time walking away from a barbecue on a perfect day after running 31 miles, imagine how tough it would be for me to do it after 50 miles. I feel like I could have done it, though – I ran a steady pace all day long, and my legs were still in decent shape. It wasn’t a deficit of ability or confidence that kept me at the finish line – it was one of desire.

Honestly, I just didn’t want to do it. In part, I blame that dang Eminem song.

Throughout the day, I had been contrasting the wonderful experience of doing this race with what was going on without me at home. More specifically, on the day before Mother’s Day, my wife was at home doing yardwork that was my responsibility, and taking care of two sick kids while trying to prevent a third one from getting ill as well. At the rate I was running, 12 more miles would have taken me three hours – which would be the difference between whether or not I even saw my kids before they went to sleep.

It would just be a day … but on the other hand, it would be another day that I wasn’t there. And on this day, I just wanted to hang with my family - and slogging through three more selfish hours seemed kind of greedy. So I grabbed a burger and some strawberries, and pointed the car towards home. I made it back in time for dinner, inspected my son’s brand new snakebite (a whole separate story) and tucked in both of my girls at bedtime.

Of course, in hindsight, I’m already second guessing the decision. I don’t know what I feel more foolish about: hatching such a crazy scheme in the first place, walking away from the opportunity when it was there, or the little pangs of regret I’m now feeling for placing family interests over being a mileage junkie.

I’ve explained before that I’m an idiot, haven’t I? Of course, to succeed in this sport, I imagine that a little bit of idiocy helps.
**

“Now hush little baby, don't you cry –
Everything's gonna be alright –
Stiffen that upper lip up little lady, i told ya –
Daddy's here to hold ya through the night.”
- Eminem, “Mockingbird” (click to play)

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Gear Review: Hydration Packs

If you’re in the market for a hydration pack and have a few weeks to think it over, I think I can be a big help to you.

Several weeks ago I was contacted by not one, but two companies to field test their hydration packs, which seemed like a stroke of very good luck. You know the old saying about making lemonade when life gives you lemons? Well … what do you do when life gives you lemonade to start with?

The answer I came up with was that I’d try to collect as much lemonade as I could, and share my good fortune with as many people as possible. So I contacted a few other companies to pitch my idea, and found each of them remarkably supportive.

Consequently, over the next few weeks I’ll be posting reviews of six hydration packs, from six different companies. Here’s the lineup:

CamelBak: Octane XC (sorry, the pack doesn't have it's own page on the CamelBak site)

Inov-8: RacePro 4

GoLite: Rush

Nathan: HPL 020

Ultimate Direction: Wasp

North Face: style TBA (probably this one or this one)

Some of these are established models, and others are newcomers. All of them target a similar demographic: trail runners or adventure seekers who want a lightweight hydration system to fuel their activity, with minimal weight and maximal comfort.

As you’d imagine, there are some similarities between the packs. Each one listed above holds approximately 70 oz of fluid - which is a nice middle ground between carrying 2 or 3 bottles and the bulky 100-oz (or more) beasts that are used by wilderness trekkers. From an ultrarunner’s standpoint, it’s the perfect volume of fluid to allow a few hours of running before refueling - either on a long training day or between aid stations at an ultra. They all have storage areas to carry gear like clothing, food, or cameras, and they have all been strategically designed – in both material and shape – for comfort and convenience of use.

What struck me most about trying these models, though, was the ways they are different. Within the same category of packs, each company has come up with at least one (and in many cases, two or three) element that distinguishes it from its competitors. If you think that every hydration pack is the same, you’re probably in for a big surprise.

My plan is to discuss each pack in a stand-alone post like I typically do with product reviews. They won’t all be in succession, but I’m hoping to crank out two per week in addition to whatever else I’ve got on my mind between now and the end of May. Afterwards, I’ll do a post that compares all of the models together, with some “Best in Category” designations for things like comfort, ease of use, etc. By that time, you’ll have more than enough material to make an informed decision when you’re shopping for packs.

Since some of these are well-established packs, many readers might already be using one of the models I’m reviewing. If that’s the case, I’d love to get your opinion as well. At the end of each post, I’ll ask for feedback from anybody who has used that particular pack; feel free to confirm or disagree with anything I’ve mentioned in the review.

The first review will be up sometime next week – but first, there’s a race report I’ll have to take care of. The Quicksilver 50M is this Saturday in San Jose; if all goes according to plan, it will be the culmination of a 100-mile training week for me (things are definitely getting crazy – but at this time of year, crazy is good). I’ll try to have a race report here early next week, and kickoff the gear review shortly thereafter.


*See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you'd like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.

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Yosemite Falls Hike

Like many ultrarunners, I’ve always been reluctant to embrace the concept of hiking.

Given that most hiking takes place on the same terrain that I spend hours running up and down, purposely walking on trails seems awfully pedestrian, in both senses of the word. Like a track runner who wouldn’t get satisfaction out of merely walking around the oval, I can’t honestly claim to enjoy strolling through the wilderness more than I’d love running through it.

That’s why it takes a special trail to make me slow down and appreciate a good hike; a trail that is so challenging and scenic that you can’t help but take it easy and enjoy the journey at a slower pace than usual. Coincidentally, that’s also why I love hiking in Yosemite National Park.

In mid-April (three days before the Diablo 50-miler, to be exact), my wife and I spent two days in the park, with our main objective being a hike from the valley floor to Yosemite Point. It was scheduled to be a 10-mile round trip, with almost 3000’ of elevation gain. As luck would have it, our “schedule” was a little bit off – as I'll explain later.

Before we proceed, however, there’s one more note to address. When I first reported on this hike, I called Yosemite Falls the tallest waterfall in North America, as the park's own website claims, as well as this site and this site. However, one of my Canuck friends reported that the James Bruce Falls in British Columbia is taller – and sure enough, a different wiki page confirms this.

Actually, the more websites I found, the more confused the “tallest in North America” issue became. For example, Colonial Creek Falls in Washington is at the top of a few lists. Two waterfalls in Hawaii are even taller, but are apparently not properly in North America – which might come as news to most Hawaiians. Some waterfalls don’t run year-round. Some (like Yosemite) are split into separate cascades. The tallest waterfall may vary depending on what criteria you use.

The lessons, I guess, are twofold: 1) measuring waterfalls is not nearly as simple as it would seem, and – most importantly – 2) none of this really matters. Whether it’s the tallest or sixth tallest, Yosemite Falls is completely awesome – as you’ll soon see. Oh, and 3) You shouldn’t believe anything you read on the Internet. But you already knew that.

(One other fun waterfall fact: among the list of Canadian waterfalls is one in Newfoundland named Pissing Mare. I mean … I don’t even have to come up with a joke for that one, right? Canadians crack me up sometimes.)

On a random note, our first picture doesn’t have anything to do with the hike, but I wanted to share it anyway …

… because it’s a bear. And it’s Yosemite. Enjoying the outdoors doesn’t get much cooler than this.


So here we go - our objective for the day: Yosemite Falls (elev. 6526’) at left, with Yosemite Point (6936’) rising to the upper right.


We stayed at Yosemite Lodge (elev. 3900’) and walked about a half-mile to the trailhead for Yosemite Falls. The sign says it’s 3.4 miles to the top of the Falls; our Garmin eTrex Vista had it closer to 4. However, there were several spots where the signal was pretty shaky, and our gadget might have done a lot of extrapolation to make up for it. Either that, or the sign’s wrong. File this point under “doesn’t matter” as well.


The trail starts with a series of about 60 switchbacks under tree cover, where you gain elevation very quickly. About halfway up the switchbacks, you get your first glimpse of Half Dome through the trees.

The views of Half Dome will get better all day long. Approximately one mile up the trail, there’s an observation point with a great unobstructed view. However, you’ve barely started the climb, so don’t worry about spending too much time here.


A little further ahead, you get your first glimpse of the falls up close. See that white stuff all around it? That would be ice. The overnight temperature before this hike was 22 degrees – which makes for one very frosty waterfall. Also …


The mist spraying from the Falls was still freezing in the cool morning air, creating a shell of ice on several trees near the base.


Yosemite Falls on the left, Half Dome on the right. No other words necessary.


On the top third of the trail, the Falls disappear out of sight as you work your way around a ridge that blocks it from view. Near the top, the terrain takes on that distinctive Sierra Nevada look – and if you look closely, you’ll start to see snow here, at just below 6000’.


A little higher up, the snow’s much easier to see. From this point, the Falls are in one direction, and the trail to Yosemite Point is in another.


At the Falls overlook area, there’s a rocky staircase that leads down to the observation point. If you get squeamish about heights and narrow places, this might be a good stopping point.


The observation area is down by the railing. You don’t get as close to this fall as you can at the top of Nevada Fall or Vernal Fall, but the vantage point is still pretty impressive.


Even in early spring, the water was bombing down this rock face. Note all the ice on the side of the column.


Above the observation area, there are lots of rocky outcroppings with great views of the valley. Our second destination of the day, Yosemite Point, is here on the left, with Half Dome curving into it.


But first, we found a nice little perch for a lunch break.


Later, it was time to continue along the snowy trail towards Yosemite Point. It’s only supposed to be one mile from this turnoff point – but the snow temporarily wrecked havoc on our plans.

Starting towards the Point, you cross Yosemite Creek, which (obviously) is the water source for the Falls. The trail is still easy to follow at this point.


I love this sign for two reasons: one for the goofy look that some clever vandal drew on the dude’s face, and also for the “How can we make this any clearer?” warning (click to enlarge) that there are no second chances. In case you were wondering.


Looking downstream from the bridge, to where the water tumbles over. Remember – no second chances!


Upstream, you can see the trail off to the right hand side after crossing the river. Unfortunately, this was the last clear portion of the trail until we reached Yosemite Point.


Here’s how you know you’re lost: when your only sense of direction comes from following sets of footprints in the snow, and you suddenly realize that there are no tracks anywhere around you. This was a ridgeline that we bushwhacked our way up to, which turned out to be 300’ higher than the destination we were seeking. This little detour cost us an extra hour or more, as well as another couple of tricky miles that we weren’t bargaining for.


Eventually we made our way down to Yosemite Point, which features killer views across the valley. This is where I took the photo that concludes this post.

We relaxed a bit at the Point, grateful that we were back on the map, with all of our climbing for the day completed. We tiptoed our way back down to Yosemite Falls, double-checking and retracing our steps about every 50 yards or so to make sure we were still close to the consensus path down the rock.


On the way down, with the sunlight spilling in from a different direction than the morning, we found some rainbows to go with our ice. Nature's snow cone.


There’s one short side trail from the middle cascade area you can take on the way up or down, where you’ll find a great vantage point of both the middle and lower falls. It’s definitely worth a few extra minutes of walking.


Finally, about 7 hours and 12 miles after we left, we returned to our room at the lodge, which happened to have a great vantage point of the rock we had spent all day climbing on. It was the perfect end to an amazingly beautiful, rewardingly strenuous day. The feeling of satisfaction afterwards felt nearly as good as any long trail run I’ve done lately. In other words, it’s an ultrarunner’s kind of hike.

Yosemite Park is chock full of excursions like this – and I can’t wait to return here for another one. In fact, next time, I might try to tackle this guy:

I'll be sure to bring my camera.

*see other photo tours in sidebar at right

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Picture Me Runnin'

Well, then … that was interesting, wasn’t it?

Thanks to everybody who weighed in on my little squabble last week. I knew that posting it would light a powder keg of sorts between me and the person involved, but for some reason it was hard for me to let the matter go unaddressed. However, it felt very much out of character for me to have a spat like that with someone, and even stranger still to have the whole thing play out publicly. So in an effort to drag myself out of the ditch and back onto the moral high road, I’ll probably delete that post very soon.

(Note that I said probably; it’s much easier to say “I’m taking the high road” than to actually do it. But on a related note: if you have no idea what the heck I’m talking about, or if you wanted to go back and see everyone else’s comments, you’d better hurry. I’ll give you 24 hours.)

As far as whether or not to recommend the Big Sur Marathon anymore, that’s a tough call. I respect the proposed idea of boycotting races to protest the conduct of one or more board members, but I also know (and have stated here repeatedly) that Big Sur is a one-of-a-kind marathon experience. There are certainly plenty of other events where you can spend your time and money – but if you do Big Sur, you’ll be certain that you’re getting the best the sport has to offer.

So if you ever decide to do it, have a blast. Just DON’T make any comments about the race shirt – or you’ll suffer the wrath of the board.

For today’s post, I’m moving forward by looking back: specifically, at a couple of photos from my last two races before closing the books on those events for good, and turning my focus to the races still to come.

**
“Can you see me now?
Move to the side a little bit so you can get a clear picture -
Can you see it?
Picture me rollin’ … “
- Tupac, “Picture Me Rollin’” (link after post)

In my Big Sur Marathon report, I mentioned that I often take pictures of the Marathon Foto people and send them to the company in hopes that they’ll purchase them. It’s clearly a ridiculous plan on my part, but it’s not too much further fetched than the idea that runners will pay $19.95 for a 5x7” photo of themselves. I'm continually amazed that race photography somehow remains a sustainable business model.

Anyway … nobody has sent me money yet, but there’s another goofy fringe benefit of my little practice: the “photos of me taking a photo” that get posted online after each event.

Here’s one from last weekend:

Obviously, this eliminates the possibility of my ever receiving an action shot that I’d fall in love with and want to purchase – but it’s not like this was going to happen anyway. And if my looking like an idiot makes one of the minimum wage photo reviewers smile sometime, I guess that’s reward enough for me.

The next picture is from the Diablo 50-miler, but allow me to set the stage a bit.

Most of us have been in this situation: barely hanging on during a tough stretch of a race, struggling through fatigue or cramping or severe heat or a giant climb that makes the thought of continued forward progress almost unbearable. Maybe you’ve slowed to a walk or slumped over to one side to compensate for pain on the other. Your confidence is shattered; if there were some place to hide away from it all, you’d gladly seek it out.

Then you glance a little further up the road or trail and see a photographer waiting to snap your picture, and you think, “Crap! Where were they earlier, when I felt better?”

You trudge along a bit, and finally say to yourself, “All right - I guess I’ll straighten up and jog a few steps so I don’t look like a complete loser.”

Sometimes, the results can be pretty sweet:

This was taken at some point on the climb to the Mt Diablo summit – I honestly have no idea where – and it was posted in a gallery shortly after the race. Special props to Calvin, who takes race photos, creates galleries, allows downloads and apparently does all of this for free - vaulting him to the top of my list of extremely cool people who I had no idea existed prior to this year (seriously, he’s right up there with Big B now).

With that, Diablo and Big Sur are in the rearview mirror. The Quicksilver 50M is this Saturday, and Western States is a mere seven weeks later. Training-wise, everything is right where I want it to be – and at this point, I just need to keep moving forward by any means necessary.

**
As for the musical portion of this post … it’s Tupac’s rap classic mentioned above, but since the language is completely gangsta, I’m linking to it outside my blog instead of embedding it here. Feel free to get your thug on here.

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