Escarpment Trail Run 2013 race report

This was my second go at Escarpment Trail, a 30k trail race in the Catskills with about 5000 feet each of altitude gain and descent.  What a difference a year can make!  Escarpment was one of my favorite races last year, and it was just as great this year even though half the field was comprised of first-timers - including Nathan.  I also have the privilege of running two rainy Escarpments in a row.

Did you know that running in the rain is one of my favorite past-times?  Magic happens in the rain.  Meditative, calming, purposeful magic.  I've had quite a string of races in the rain or inclimate weather.  I hope they continue.

The start was slow, since the crowd of 200 has to wait their turn to enter the singletrack and cross the footbridge before ascending the first hill of the day.  I took the time to say hello to Heather, who was last year's female winner.  She flew down the steep and technical decline off of Blackhead, passed me as if she were a freight train and I were standing still.  I told her I expected no less this year.

With a few more ultras under my belt and a lot more regular mileage this year, my ascent up the first hill was significantly more power hiking.  Nathan told me the night before that I am always very conservative in races and that this time I should go for it.  Knowing the climbs that awaited, and with my big goal race only a month and a half away, I couldn't help but fall into my usual ascending gear.  As the switch-backs became more directly steep I was able to begin passing those who jogged their way past their anaerobic threshold.  The few times I checked over my shoulder found Nathan within fifty yards each time.

We hit the first aid station at the top of the climb, a giant bolder with a three foot drop to the trail before winding back down.  People were already falling and tripping over the endless rocks that make east coast trails so technical.  The line of runners had slowed, especially as people took aid, so when three fells teetered toward the water and gatorade I crossed oblique to the continuing trail.  Just at the edge I slipped.  Both feet went at once, and I simply landed on the trail standing on my feet, with one hand on the shoulder of Green Singlet Guy.  I thanked him, and started our way down.

The line of runners greatly compacted so that any technical drop meant waiting an extra 10-15 seconds before taking your turn.  I started getting frustrated, though I reminded myself that I probably was not descending much faster over those same spots.  I have improved with my descents though I don't have much access to this level of technical training, so granny-gear it was.

While squashed in yet another queue on a ledge I met Mr. Blue Tank as elbowed me to the side, claiming "Passing left."  Seriously, where are you doing to go?  He was bigger than me and so got past before I had a chance to knock some sense into him about maintaining safety and courtesy while passing.  He tried the same crap with Green Singlet Guy who held ground, "Dude, you gotta wait until there's some place to go."  Mr. Blue obliged with a petty "Aw, sorry man.  Okay."  F***er.

The traverse over the next two "smaller" ups/downs was a bit tedious thanks to Mr. Blue, whose Salomon Speedcross did no good for his stability.  He kept running (well, more like when aerobics class routine rests while marching in place) uphill and slipped every fifth step, a handful of them falls.  I just wanted to get away from him, but there wasn't much chance.  Plus, in order to pass him I'd have to run the gauntlet that was Mr. Wobbly Blue.  I prefer to stay positive during races, and he was most definitely detracting from the magic.  A guy behind me murmured "He's gotta slow down.  He's really gonna hurt himself."

As one of he climbs leveled off a volunteer/race supported was up in a tree counting off our current place.  70... 71... 72... 73... 5th female... 75... 76....  Wobble Poop and another guy exchanged huffy commends about four women being in front of them.  They obviously wanted to sound macho like they could avoid getting "chicked."  Too bad, f***ckers, they've already smoked you royally.

Suddenly from up ahead we heard yelling.  "Bees!  Bees!  Ah!  Bees!"  The guys ahead slowed as they reached that point.  My sentiments were echoed by the same guy behind me, "Just go through fast and leave them alone."  Finally my turn, and I'm behind Weeble Wobble who, like clockwork, fell splat onto his side half way through the bee run and nearly took me out with him.  He also managed to get stung along the way.  I was at a standstill waiting for him to get up, opted to give a half hearted, "You okay?  Got all your stuff still?"  He mumbled "Yea..." and off we trotted again. 

For the record, me: no actual falls, zero stings.  Mr. Wobbly Blue Poophead Magic Killer: a dozen falls, at least one bee sting.

Just saying.

We survived the long, steep, technical descend and landed at the base of Blackhead.  Wobble was, mercifully, somewhere out of my face.  I realized now that Nathan was still within reach behind me.  Way to go!  That was a much nicer sentiment with which to begin the climb.  Last year I had my hands on my knees the entire time, my pace slowed to a crawl, and I had to stop a few times briefly so as to exert a laborious sigh (because that helps in such times, right?).  This year was dramatically different.  I was itching to pass the guy in front of me, but his pace was steady enough for the first half that I kept right on his heels.  Once his cadence started slowing I asked to sneak by when had a chance (politely!) and kept on trucking.  By then I had lost Nathan.  I felt it, but not like before.  I felt steady.  I wasn't speed climbing like the leaders, but my ascent was probably only 3/4 the time it took last year.  Magic, salvaged from the doom of wobbleness.

This is what the top chunk of Blackhead's climb looks like, to give you an idea.  The video is of Ben Nephew, the same Naked Bald Guy from Traprock and Escarpment last year.  He has won Escarpment some 7 (or more?) times and still holds the course record.

The descent similarly required, for me, use of both hands on trees and to slide down on my butt for some of the drops.  My wedding band kept catching along the way, so I removed it and tucked it inside the magnetically closed mini pocket on my hydration bag.  (UltrAspire bags?  Awesome.)  I push myself to descend faster than usual, but it probably only qualifies as granny gear-gear-in-a-rush.  I found myself nicely in pace with guys in blue and white tank who was running Escarpment for the 21st time.  Should he run next year, that'll put him into the 400 mile club (enough races to accumulate 400 miles of this race).  He's an awfully nice fellow to everyone, the type one often encounters at trail ultras.  I now feel renewed hope for the human race.  I also find out he lived in Auburn, NY for a bit, and he gets excited to hear than Nathan is from there too.  We found out while chatting after the race that they had the same cross country coach, albeit many years between their tenures.

Out of nowhere came a female voice asking to pass.  "It's about time!" I yelled.  "Go for it!"  Heather squealed with delight as she bombed past.  Deja vu.  Couldn't be happier to have anyone else pass me.  Well, only were it Nathan, but that goes without saying.

Eventually we get to the bottom.  I still felt some pep, and took off on my power hike to catch Heather on the ascent.  This last climb has two false top-outs with runnable though rocky sections.  You just have to assume continued climbing until you see the crashed plane.  First timers, including myself last year, want to anticipate how they are doing and thus anticipate their progress toward the top.  In this kind of race it leads to frustration more than anything else.  Just assume up, and be pleasantly surprised when you suddenly top out and can course down.  I passed a handful of guys on this climb, their pace slowed to a walk/hike from having lost their steam.  I wondered how Nathan was doing.  A few of the guys reported one or two females within the next couple hundred feet ahead.  I lost my sprinting overdrive when I left high school track, but I started hoofing it on all terrain to the most I could sustain.

At what turned out to be about 100 yards before the plane I happily powered past Wobble for what would be the last time, so focused that the internal wobble-woes were gone and I simply smiled as I passed, and then found Heather.  We exchanged supportive words, and I left her with "I gotta get as big of a buffer as I can.  I know I'll see you soon!"  The rest of the course was a handful of flat sections breaking up the one long descent to the finish.  If flat or inclined I had definite advantage, but for declined Heather was guaranteed to catch up fast.  She also reported the third female was just ahead and catchable.  I don't think I've ever been so close to so many women vying for that third podium spot in a trail race before.  Thankfully the needed effort is easier on an 18 mile race than with my usual distances. 

A few flats and downs, and I saw the woman currently holding third place.  She seemed to have faded.  We exchanged a few nice words, and I took off knowing my position was nowhere near guaranteed.  Still booking it on the flats, catching a few more guys in the process.  Trying my best concerted effort on the technical drops but just not capable of doing nearly what is needed.  The flat sections became narrow overlooks or ledges with twenty-plus foot drops off one side.  Last year I walked these, opting for calm and steady progress to finish whole in lieu of speed.  This year I went for it, Nathan's words echoing in my head.  I slipped on one ledge, my left leg sliding off the edge and dangling as I landed - graciously - on bulky soft tissue areas instead of on my knees.  Glad the ledge had no sideways slant, or else I'd have flown off course and would be stuck in the brush way down below.  As I got up the guy ahead yelled "That just happened to me too!" and he wished me luck as I passed in continued fervor.

As expected, Heather caught me again while I was using both hands to help slide down on some four-plus foot drops.  She was still encouraging, "You have lots more left than me.  Go for it!"  "I'm trying, really I am!  You go for it, Miss Downhill!"  I still tried, yo-yo-ing up on flats and falling back on declines, managing to stay within 50 feet.  A supporter reported we were a tenth of a mile from the finish.  I gave it my best "sprint," which is quite the comical scene these days.

I closed in was only about five seconds behind Heather, but ultimately finished fourth female and 49th overall in 4:20:44.  That bested my time from last year by about seven and a half minutes, so cannot argue with that. 

Nathan finished in just over 4:33, and had a bloody knee and elbow from taking four falls along the way. 

Escarpment Trail Run race report

While having my start date at NYP pushed back an extra two weeks means a certain amount of headaches and two more weeks of twiddling my thumbs, it does have a two-fold silver lining.  I'm using this week to visit family in KC, including my now five-month old niece, grandparents, and three particular friends from high school and college.  (Hence the delay in posting.)  But it also meant that the planning around the Escarpment Trail Run was at my leisure.  Considering the massive increase in difficulty compared to my race history, I used the prep time for all it was worth.

The race takes place on the Escarpment Trail in the Catskills of greater New York.  The course is 30k (~18 miles) with a cumulative elevation gain of 10,000 feet.  For perspective, Bear Mountain was ~6500 feet climbed across 50 miles, or an average of 130 feet of elevation gain per mile. Traprock was ~7000 feet across ~32 miles, or about 218 feet/mile.  Escarpment comes to about 555 feet/mile.  And keep in mind that is an average.  In reality you have hand-over-foot steep ascents followed by descending the other side of the mountain, which means the actual climbing portions could be 1000 feet/mile. 

The rain started a few days before, with occasional derechos to make sure the course was loosened up.  Continuous rain started the day before while Nathan and I made the drive from NYC.  It meant I slept like a log.  It also meant that the so called 30% chance predicted by weather.com was not gonna happen.  I packed a shirt that would handle sweat/rain well, but I forgot arm warmers or a running jacket, items that you may not need until you take the one wrong stumble, break a bone, and have to death march (death slog?) your way to the nearest aid station for safety and medical help.  Hypothermia strikes during warm rain when you may not expect, 70 degrees be damned.  Nathan brought his running jacket by chance, and though it was oversized I was glad to have it.  Nathan also suggested the vest to have two free hands for ascent/descent assistance.  That turned out to be a solid piece of advice.  Not the first time (and not the last, either) that I've been grateful to have his support at a race.

And so I found myself at the side of Route 23 by the trailhead with 200+ other runners, jumping into the woods for one last pre-performance pee, and waiting around in the rain for the start.  Everyone was calm, joking, chatty.  I love the small race vibe.  It welcomes all.

I had no idea what the elevation would feel like, so I had only one goal - finish without injury.  The trail went up almost immediately.  I didn't survey others, but finding myself in a quiet group of power hikers always makes me smile.  The forest canopy was dense enough to control the rain, enough to help keep you cool but not enough to oversaturate clothes or thermal equilibrium so long as you were moving.  The trail was a different story.  Lots of smooth rock, the type where most shoe rubber does no good, alternating with an equal amount of puddles/streams.  So, in keeping with my ultimate goal of non-injury, I let the speedsters pass on technical downhills.  I had no quams against sliding down via my butt and hands rather than jumping down like some of the guys.  I like my ACLs, and many of the guys were taller than me anyways.  Once given some time on the "flatter" or ascending stretches and I could catch back up to a handful of them.

Times like that also remind me of the difference between men's and women's sports.  The way endurance is utilized, the way planning and strategy are integrated in lieu of blatant power plays.  It is absolutely hysterical the amount that some men freak out at the premise of being passed by a woman.  I don't catch many, but I do catch a small handful.  Sorry, fellas.  Hazzah.

I don't remember exact splits, but 6.5 miles took somewhere between 1:15 and 1:30.  By then I was second female.  Thanks to the hydration vest I didn't need to stop but for a quick extra sip of fluids at each aid station.  I had all the salt pills and gels I might need.  The middle climb was the steepest, reducing the power hike to a mere hike with lots of arm use and a certain amount of labored breath.  The views were completely obscured by clouds.  Many returning veterans joked that it was better to not see the view since inevitably that means taking your eyes off the trail for at least a second and, more likely than not, taking a fall.  My eyes rarely came off the trail, particularly because the canopy obscured what little light the downpour allowed, at times so much that I wondered if a headlamp would have been helpful.  So you keep going up, and up, and up.  Eventually you pass a sign demarcating 3500 feet (above which you are not allowed to camp unless in an emergency situation).  That kind of elevation does not mean much in the scope of things, considering what races like Leadville and Hardrock offer.  But this is the highest above sea level that I have ever run before, so it's a little personal landmark.  So goes a life in the city at sea level....

Amid all the physical clamor that accompanies such an ascent (grunting, growling, blowing raspberries, I realized just how much fun I was having.  I could hear another woman behind/below me, slowly closing the distance to inevitably pass me on the descent on the other side.  I didn't dare take my eyes off the trail for fear of slipping on a smooth rock and breaking something.  It was the steepest climb I've endured in a race before - this race was something of a tester for how the knees respond, to know if the Old Ladies can handle more mountainous ultras in the future.  But it was SO MUCH FUN!  And I felt good enough that I decided to fight to maintain third place for the simple quaintness of getting a podium spot.  In reality no podium exists for this race.  The pride of finishing is your reward, and third place was just in a figure in a line of finishers.  But to me it was a nice idea to make a third place finish my goal.

The rest of the race was more of the same: up up up, down down down, arms and core of high relevance.  Mud and rain, splash and slosh, chug along, remember to drink fluids and down salt pills and gels/food.  At the next to last aid station a woman, wearing full length warm gear and boots and poncho like the other volunteers, was shaking as she handed me cups of water and gatorade.  Volunteering is no small act, especially when the crews have to hike in all the water and sustenance offered to runners as they fleetingly go by.  Their presence and dedication and thermal sacrifice means that we 200+ fools can run through the sloshy woods more comfortably and safely.  It is no small deed.  They are there for whatever duration the runners are on the course, which could be longer than it takes one person to complete the race.  No small deed.

Eventually I made it to the last climb, which has multiple false top outs before cresting alongside a small plane that crashed many years ago and was left atop the mountain.  The plane remained the only visual payoff since the clouds/fog/rain was holding strong.  Hit the last aid station, and down we went.

The last few miles were the slickest by far, what with an entire morning of feet and rain disassembling the trail in between an increased number of smooth, slick rocks.  Even on flat sections I had to be extra careful about foot placement and how I pushed off with my back foot.  I hit four hours, figured I had about 30 or 40 minutes left to go.  I started seeing hikers.  The guys would cheer you on, saying "You're almost there!"  The women would get super excited to see a female racer.  I never tire of that.  Were it not for the possibility of falling I'd have reached for high-fives from them all.  A smile and midget fist pump had to suffice.  Minutes ticked by.  The "almost there" touted by all the hikers seemed like the longest "almost" possible.  I was smelling the barn, big time.  Minutes from what would be the end came a huge overlook, and the ridge dropped straight down from the edge of the trail.  The rain had finally stopped and the clouds were starting to burn off.  The view was HUGE, the dropoff so severe (straight 90 degrees down) I opted to walk that stretch of ~30 feet.  I had not fallen yet, and that was not the place I wanted change that...

Eventually the trail came to a finish, everyone clustered around to see runners as they literally pop out from the woods.  It was very sudden.  Chug chug chug chug, done.  I managed to keep third female, 12 minutes behind second place and about a half hour behind first.  That converted to 65th overall.  I had enough fun that Dick Vincent, the race director, said they should knock my legs out from under me because I was smiling too much.  The finish area had tons of food for runners, including huge stacks of watermelon.  We hung around a bit, eventually had to leave to get my friend's car back to Brooklyn (thanks, Myriah!), take the subway home to Harlem, feed the beasts, shower, have dinner, pack for my 8am flight to KC, and attempt to get to bed on time.

If I were to stay in the northeast I'd definitely want to do this race again.  Numerous veterans return year after year, working their way towards the 100/200/300/400/etc clubs (add 18 miles for every year you finish and it makes your total mileage on the course).  Hopefully we'll land somewhere that has a slew of similar races available throughout the year.  Ultimately, for me, Escarpment was a great introduction to a new level of elevation.  The amount of fun I had, mixed with a little extra excitement and inspiration from the Olympics, leaves me very much looking forward to the next one.

Sugarloaf Mtn day hike.

Last Sunday was spent day hiking in the Catskills.  John was able to borrow a friend's car, Nathan had the day off from work (hark!), it was my last day before starting affiliation 3 -- 'twas set to be a magnificent day spent outdoors on rock stairwells going up and down and up and down.  Just my kind of time away.

We had a three hour car ride to ponder the day.  With about an hour to go John crooned that we could expect "thirty degrees and not a cloud in the sky."  Hmm.  My assessments before packing made it look like a 40 degree day, which is much different.  My pack held a ball cap and a beanie, down sweater, agile gloves, wool long underwear, extra socks, lunch, a full 2-liter Camelbak, my point and shoot digital camera, headlamp with working batteries, toiletry back-ups and necessary wallet items.  I thought about this a little longer, realizing I was already a little chilled in the car.  Cue wool long johns added to my person.  (Learning to change quickly and efficiently in the backseat of a car in high school through all the sports/dance/activity changes still comes in quite handy.)  As we rolled into the park area and wound through the roads to our trail head the temperature dropped another ten degrees.  Add beanie and gloves, prep bag so that we can get moving fast to build body heat.

After about ten minutes the trail finally starts climbing for real, fingers are still a bit cold but my circulation is building.  We came across an overlook where slate pieces were stacked into a structures such as a stairwell (to where we could not tell) and a "room" with multiple chairs.  You can see it in the YouTube video.  Not too much longer we hear cracking ice as we near a pond.  I slowed thinking it was a large animal on the other side of the pond dipping a paw or hoof repeatedly.  Turned out to be the ice cracking from the sun.  A beaver presence was nonetheless heavily present.  John noted the craftsmanship and resulting texture of the wood from the beavers' work, handing Nathan a long stick as an example. 

A frozen beaver pond, and Nathan's new stick friend.

Pretty sure these beavers are better organized that many humans could ever be.

Nathan and the stick became fast friends, so much so that he brought it with for the rest of the hike.  Reminded me of my brother Sam when he was a little tyke.  If he was into a new toy he'd end up cradling in his sleep for half the week. 

From there the trail curved around the lake and led upwards.  Small bits of ice were evident between rocks here and there, but nothing seemed all that significant.  I may have grown up in Missouri's ice filled winters and attended undergrad at Iowa (which, admittedly, is more powder than ice), but I sure as hell do *not* get along with ice.  Get that?  That's N-O-T.  At all.  I am on fall precautions around ice, quadruply so if its black ice.  I made a joke referring to this to explain my odd trajectory choices to John, and Nathan proclaimed he never worries about ice after growing up in the Syracuse area.

And then the comedic gods aligned.

*Slip*shuffle*boom*, Nathan was on his butt.  I had the pleasure of witnessing the entire event without a blink.  Legs slipped forward and to the right, landing semi-mermaid on the outside of his left thigh after bonking a knee on the way down.  But the stick?  Held aloft so that it never hit the ground.  "Don't worry, guys, the stick is okay."

Nathan used the stick the entire time, alternating between a substitute for Stretch Armstrong arms and taking it for a walk like the habit of many a cane user.  (Insert finger wag for those who know they should use their assistive device properly but do not.)  John and I preferred bilateral hand grabs on the trees and rocks.  The vertical had become quite fun, more a hand-over-foot stairwell.  We were gaining elevation fast, and yet so was the amount of ice around us.  There's one shot in the video of where the ice was enough that I pulled out the camera.  After that it continued to thicken into solid ice around us, though with plenty of rocks or brush sticking out for foot holds.  The temperature felt like it was dropping, and using my hands on so many cold boulders took them from chilly to cold to burning very quickly.

I don't know if the true peak was marked or if it was on a slightly different route, but we did pass a sign once things flattened out that was quite satisfying (for an east coaster with proximity issues, that is):

Atop Sugarloaf Mountain.

And at 3500 feet, this was the view of the neighboring hills:

Scenic view from 3500 feet.

The temperature dropped further, in part from the elevation but in part due to quick-collecting cloud cover.  We saw one or two snow flakes, wondered if it was from the air dealing with moisture content more than true precipitation.  The ice underfoot, however, became a steady path that swathed the entire trail.  The surrounding vegetation was thick enough that we could not move through anywhere aside from the trail, so we forced ourselves through pine branches and sought whatever bits of snow may have existed atop the ice.  I think we covered a half mile in thirty minutes to get to our intended scenic view on the other side of Sugarloaf.  My hands were on fire from the cold.  I stopped and pulled out the down sweater.  It's hard enough to hike with your hands tucked into your pockets, let alone when you are on fall precaution and atop a lobular, multi-inch thick ice slab.

Here's where the "Aha!" moment struck.  Multiple warm days into the 50s and 60s, lots of melting, followed by 24 hours that went sub-freezing.  Ooooh, right, it is January and we are winter hiking.  Another blonde moment of genius added to the list.  But to my credit, all three of us were fooled by the previous week to a certain degree -- no Microspikes, no emergency blankets, only one stove between us (John's), only two headlamps between us (John's and mine), no extra warm descent mittens. 

And then that damn stick.  Nathan would wait for me to catch up, as I had transformed from the quickest to the weakest link, then walk behind me for a bit, probably assessing for mental changes.  Then I'd see the stick sliding along the ice, creeping past me from behind.  If Nathan were to have fallen again, he'd need a twelve foot radius for that damn stick.  So having it pull a classless pass -- think those who call "LEFT!" on a public track for no other reason than to gloat over their speed -- made me even less at ease.  I told him to keep clear of me with that stick, so he'd shuffle and hop along the ice like it was nothing until he was out of sight (meaning about 40 feet ahead).

For those of you familiar with the swishy sound of synthetic outerwear when moving really fast, you may substitute this for the forthcoming onomatopoeia: *swish*swish*shweee*shploop*, then silence....  John: "You okay?"  Nathan: "Yea, I landed on my abdomen."  John: "How's the stick?"  Nathan: "It's fine.  I think I bruised my elbow..."  Kinda sad I missed seeing that one, but I was just fine with my slow and cautious pace.

The top of Sugarloaf is worn into a soft curve, much like the tops of nearby mountains you can see from the pictures.  Our route would make one big loop, and at this point we were traversing the top of Sugarloaf from a southern-ish to northern-ish exposure, simultaneously doubling the amount of ice and adding a strong, cold wind and some flurries to the equation.  Just when I was about to get despondent we found the teenie path to the overlook marking the midway point of our route. 

From the halfway point across the top of Sugarloaf Mtn., >3500 feet.

The wind removed most niceties about the view.  Not quite enough pine in the right growth pattern to make a wall against the wind unless you were small enough, i.e. the size of a little terrier, to squeeze through the inner forest.  John make quick tea so we'd have something warm to drink while we ate.  I wasn't even hungry, but if I was going to stay warm then adding calories would be pinnacle.  It would only take one more shift towards true winter conditions for our fun day hike to turn into straight up survival mode.  I also added my second layer of socks, tucked in my shirts, and marched in place until we were able to get moving.

We picked up the main trail and continued to crawl along the route as planned.  Temperature dropped more, wind picked up more.  Eventually we struck a natural boulder stairwell where the trail starts a long and steep descent.  Aside from the large boulder obstructing our view beyond the first drop-off, it was ice about a foot thick with few trees to assist us.  In the forest to each side offered a similar drop-off with ice layered atop the snow.  Nathan thinks we can make it down.  I think it is imminent death since we are without crampons and ropes.  Cue muttering about the damn stick and cavalier invincibility.  John pulls out the map to see if distance is a factor at this point.  We had to factor in the remaining daylight, which was just enough to backtrack our ascent route but only if we left immediately.  My mind was now in full on survival mode -- I am going to be at my clinic at 6:45 a.m. come hell or high water, f***ers.  I hurled myself to the other side of the trail to get a view beyond the first boulder, and I saw at least 30 feet of an ice climbing route in place of the trail.  No way in hell.  I called made the executive decision, and if my voice didn't somehow convey it then my face surely did.

The hike back across the top of Sugarloaf to the southern-ish exposure was pretty much like the first pass, though we crawled at perhaps .1mph faster since we were more determined.  The little elevation changes were down this time, so the trees became our friends while we got onto our butts to ease and/or slide our way down various passes.  It all looked incredibly different from this direction, so we didn't remember what obstacles we'd have to tackle in reverse -- though we knew everything was guaranteed to be better than that potential reverse ice climb sans tools.  Nathan still -- still! -- used his stick while grabbing trees with the other hand.  My hands finally stopped burning since they got to participate for an hour on mostly trees rather than cold rock.

I did not realize I had no photo or video documentation of the Sugarloaf ice flows until we made it back to the true descent.  What passed as tricky before was now downgraded to a pretty decoration, and only then did my camera even occur to me.  Probably better off that way, lest I'd have dropped it down the ice flow of doom due to painfully frozen and clumsy hands.  We were now out of the wind and into "warmer" temperatures, and we estimated that matching our ascension pace would give a 15 minute leeway before it was dark.  Off we went.  I was in a much better mood and no longer fearing for my life.  Nathan let us talk about things other than the stick, though we still teased him about it.

When we got back to the beaver pond, it looked like true winter returned while we were nearly getting stuck atop a mountain. 

Beaver pond, late afternoon. 

We passed the slate cliff-side modular hang out and were nearly back to the car when we spotted a gnome, face pointing towards Sugarloaf, body en route with the trail towards the car.  It was not there on the hike in.  A local may have a sense of humor, but really I think he's smiling that we didn't get our asses handed to us in a self-induced emergency situation.  Plus, the slightly underprepared blonde on fall precautions did not, in fact, have any fall or any threat of a fall.  So there.

Mr. Gnome.

We made it to the car with no problems.  After the few minutes needed to pack up and roll out we already needed headlights.  Luuuucky....

I left out the video I took of Nathan putting the stick into the car to bring home, largely because you couldn't tell the significance of the stick unless you heard the story.  And the only video of the way down was a small shot from when I noted my hands had warmed up again and I no longer felt like death was imminent.  John's reaction had been "This?  You're videoing this???"  Quite the understatement.