2016 in Photos

Moments and days, weeks and months, it's exciting to imagine where each new year will take me and what new challenges I will face. For every moment of frustration, an equal amount of contentment and bliss followed. It's often difficult to see the big picture and that is why I treasure this yearly recap post. Although I didn't end up in the place I imagined, everything worked out well and I wouldn't trade those memories for anything.

January 

My scariest goal of 2016 was to run a 50 mile race. I made it three weeks into training before I decided that it was too much outside time for my allergy load to handle. It was disappointing and a relief to abandon this goal in the first month of the year, but I have never regretted that decision. One day, I'll get there, but the timing wasn't right for a springtime 50 miler.

Sterling Mine Ditch Trail, Applegate Valley, OR.

February

With the pressure of ultra training off my shoulders, I spent most of February extending my off season. I ran whenever, wherever, and as far as I wanted. Even more importantly, I rested when I wanted. It was liberating. I began to feel like myself again about mid-month, just in time to run my second sub-100 minute half marathon ever.

Unusually warm and sunny weekend on the coast. Ft. Bragg city trails, CA.

March

On this particularly soggy day in March, Matt and I took to the redwoods for a trail run. One portion of the trail jumps onto the road and local marathon's race course. After two months of no goal, I finally decided on my springtime race. I left my expectations low and decided that even if race day was a complete disaster, I'd be spending the day with my favorite running club and favorite trees. 

Avenue of the Giants Marathon course, mile 3.

April

Training buildup for the marathon was going well. Contrary to most other years, I struck a nice balance between speed workouts and mountain adventures. This hike was brutal and was substituted for a fourteen mile run. It's worth it every time.

Shasta Bally, Whiskeytown, CA.

May

Since I began running in 2003, I have purchased only three race photos: my first marathon, my first Boston, and this one. Avenue of the Giants was my dream marathon. Everything went perfectly and I achieved a goal I was certain I could never complete. This photo was taken the moment I spotted the finish clock. I was going to break 3:30 and you can see that happiness painted all over my face. A copy of this photograph sits in a frame on my desk and I smile every time I see it.

Avenue of the Giants Marathon, Weott, CA.

June

Piggybacking off my spring fitness and training volume, summertime brought six fantastic weeks of ultra training. Timing was perfect for us to spend peak week running in Bend. Mornings were spent taking sweaty trail dust baths, afternoons were for hammocks, and evenings were for sharing adventure stories with friends.

Lava Butte, Sunriver, OR.

July

Summertime adventures abound, I had numerous mountain adventures to choose from for July including a 50K run through the Siksiyous of southern Oregon. But my most treasured moments were those spent with family. With all of us scattered around the country, family visits are fragmented, but this trip to Wisconsin in July joined us all together for the first time in nearly a decade. Next summer, one day after Matt's and my ten year anniversary, we'll gather again right there on the dock to watch my brother, Chris and his fiancee, Monica, officially begin their married life together.

The Island, northern Wisconsin.

August

If there's one place that tugs hardest on my heart, it's Alaska. Our relationship is complicated and tumultuous and everything you want in a torrid love affair you just can't quit. It was an honor to introduce two of my mountain-loving buddies to the places that helped shape me into the runner and outdoorsy person I am today.

Gulkana Glacier, AK.

September

It takes zero arm-twisting to get Lanore on an adventure with me. All I have to say is trails and she packs her bags! This was our Labor Day excursion. Four lakes, almost twenty miles, and about the most perfect weather imaginable in the Trinity Alps.

Diamond Lake, Trinity Alps, CA

October

As is the case with most relationships, the level of closeness ebbs and flows. Even though Matt and I spend most of our time together, this fall felt different, more distant. We took a quick overnight backpacking trip to the mountains to help with that. It was a chilly night (woke up to snow on the tent) and we spent the evening talking, telling stories, and reconnecting in a way we're unable to do with all the distractions and obligations of home.

Canyon Creek, Trinity Alps, CA

November

Fall marathon training peaked in November and what a beautiful month it was to be outside! Between dry days and light winds, it made for some lovely miles with my two training partners. We were lured inland by the promise of a seventy degree day, full display of fall colors, and a 22 mile run free of traffic lights. Then we stuffed our faces with tacos. It was incredible!

Sacramento River Trail, Redding, CA.

December

I'm a hardcore introvert. I like my alone time served with a side of even more alone time. So when I was looking through all of my photos, it finally occurred to me that running is one are of my life where I'm actually outgoing. It takes me forever to make friends, but I think I've finally found my people. They get me in a way that most others don't. This photo, taken before our holiday outfit and cookie run, is special because it includes all but one or two of my regular running buddies.

McKay Tract, CA.

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Now that we've recapped my year, I'd like to say something to all of you: It has been wonderful sharing my experiences here and I truly appreciate each and every comment I've received. I hope you've enjoyed hearing about my adventures as much as I have sharing them all with you and would love if you continue following along in 2017.

Love, Karen and Matthew

oh, and Zoey too. ;)

Finding Snow

Wintertime on the coast is pretty dull. The year-round blanket of clouds thickens to an opaqueness that makes it feel like dusk all day long as sheets of rain pour down. I peer out the window, clutching my teacup, wishing and praying and hoping that the temperature will drop just a little bit more so it all turns to snow.

Of course this never happens.

Instead of waiting for snow to come to me, I have to go looking for it myself. This year, I decided to take a trip inland in search of skiing weather. Zoey and I packed up our bags and headed inland. Since the main highway, a three hour trip, is completely closed due to a rockslide (and will be until at least January 8th), Zoey and I take the more southern route. I've only taken this road once before, but I remember it's slow going so I plan for it to take five hours. Not thirty miles into the trip, I smell a familiar odor from the back seat. Moments later, poor Zoey is meowing loudly. I pull over to find that she's not only puked but pooped in her cage too. Poor girl.

This is the first time in ten years that she's gotten carsick. Highway 36 is not for the weak of stomach.  I harness her up and let her roam at my feet while I clean up her carrier. I worry about the rest of the drive, another four hours, but shortly after I get back on the road, we hit a patch of road construction. Then we wait. Forty-five minutes. I have enough time for a snack and five chapters of my book. Zoey appreciates the break as she settles in for a brief snooze. We arrive to Anderson shortly after dark and are both happy to stretch out and sleep for the night.

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The next morning, I wake to a kitty dancing across my pillow. At home, she's locked out of the bedroom at night, but when we're in a hotel room, she attempts to make up for lost time. It gets me out of bed early and I'm headed out for my day's adventure by eight o'clock.

The drive is fast, simple, and pleasant. I'm always surprised by how flat everything is when I escape from behind the redwood curtain and its nauseatingly twisting roads. After a quick stop for supplies (coffee and cookies), I'm the first to arrive at the north entrance to Lassen National Park. Much to my disappointment, the snow is patchy. Very patchy.

Not pleased.

What remains is a mixture of glare ice and ice covered snow. I walk up to the gate and peer onto the closed park road. There appears to be very little snow and what I can see is bumpy from all the snowshoe tracks. But since I've made the long trip here, I resolve to give skiing a try.

It's a good thing these are already beat up skis because this trip trashes them even more.

As I pack up my gear, another car pulls up. They watch as I pull on my boots. They murmur while I pull my skis from the car, "Where does she think she's going to ski?" Sigh. I feel like an idiot, but I'm determined to find something I can ski on.

Chaos Crags

Then I carry my skis until I find something. A mile goes by. The road is so icy that my boots slip and slide every which way. My ice spikes would have been a better choice for today. Once I'm far enough from the parking lot, the snow conditions improve. They're still plenty icy, but few tracks remain. I put on my skis and give it a try. I'm moving! Yay! I struggle to stay upright while classic skiing, so I break into skate style instead. It's so fast! Effortless! Of all the days I remember learning to skate ski on groomed trails, I can never remember it feeling so good.

Lassen Peak

I zoom on by Lassen Peak, down the gentle grade as the trail plunges deep into the forest. Snow is a bit deeper here, but is still very icy. After an almost fall when I lose traction, I resolve to climb in my boots, skis strapped to my pack.  I've been skiing in one form or another since I was a small child. I learned to ski the same year I learned to ride a bike. I really do know what I'm doing. Except it never quite feels like it. After six miles of the worst ski conditions I've ever seen, I return to the car. That's enough torture for the day.

Back at the car, picking up what's left of my dignity, I pull on my winter boots and set off on foot. The trail around Manzanita Lake is icy and I fall. Twice. Okay, I'm done.

At least the view is pretty!

I hop in the car and head back to the valley. When I get out, it's almost seventy degrees. I hit the pool and hot tub. It feels weird to feel an icy cold chill and the warmth of the sun all in one day. California is fun like that.

Practicing my flip turns away from the judging stares of the real swimmers at the lap pool.

When I return to my room, ready to head to the airport and pick up Matt, I get a text. His flight has been cancelled. He's staying home. Zoey could have stayed there with him. Sorry kitty. I enjoy her company so I guess there's that?

Zoey loved that we had a patio door, but since we were right next to Interstate 5, it was a little too noisy for her.

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Day two, I decide to go ahead with the plans Matt and I had made together: the south entrance. One more try at finding snow in Lassen Park. Sitting five hundred feet higher than the north end of the road and in a cluster of mountain peaks, I hope my luck is better here. And it is!

Before I reach the south entrance, snow appears. Small patches at first and then great banks of plowed snow feet high! Yippee!

I get out of the car, hauling my snowshoes this time. I know this end of the road is steeper and I'm not ready to fall down on icy snow again. I carry my snowshoes under one arm as I wait for the moment I'll actually need them. I pass several people plodding along on snowshoes, a loud scraping noise following them with each step as they drag along the ice.

Outhouse snowman.

Sulfur Works, one mile up the road, is where most people turn around. The posthole tracks end. Now I'm following a single set of snowshoe tracks up and around the corner. It's a beautiful sunny day and at long last, I've got the park to myself.

I continue up the road and notice it's unlikely I'll need snowshoes at all. I stop to strap them to my pack and keep going. "I love taking my snowshoes out for a hike in the sun," I say aloud to myself. Contrary to yesterday, the views are amazing. Snow clings to every peak and hillside. Lassen Peak comes into view. Mesmerized by the landscape up ahead, I march skyward.

It's not until I climb over two very icy avalanches that I decide to turn back. Avalanche risk is almost non-existent today, but climbing over these icy slides is a pretty big risk when I'm alone.

Nevertheless, I have a wonderful day, smiling into the sunshine. The temperatures have warmed up enough that I'm able to peel off most of my layers. California might not have the best snow right now, but nothing beats staring at a gorgeous winterscape while it's forty degrees outside! :)

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The next morning, I check the road conditions. I'm supposed to go home. My shortest route is once again through the curvy mountains. And now it's actually snowing. Chain restrictions are already in place. Of course. The day I need to go home, the weather turns to Christmas.

I get an early start, hoping that even if the conditions deteriorate as predicted, at least there will be fewer people driving on the road who don't know how to slow down. I cruise along for about an hour, a heavy rain coming down. As the highway climbs to over 2,000 feet, the drops hitting my windshield grow larger. Then they turn to snow. Nothing sticks to the roadway until I hit Platina, a small town at the foot of the mountains.

My Chain-Up spot.

I pass the sign announcing level 2 chain restrictions. I pull over in front of the general store and grab my bag of cable chains. I've never put them on all alone before and I second guess myself far too much. I know what kind of damage they can do if I haven't fastened them tight enough. Zoey is no help. A few other cars have pulled up next to me to put their chains on so I ask an older man driving the mail truck for his opinion. "Do these look tight enough to you?" I ask. He says they look good to him, but he hasn't had to chain up in forty years so he might be wrong. Oh well. I drive a few miles, then pull over again to check. Yup, everything is good.

From here, the world moves slowly as I creep along at thirty-five miles per hour. It feels silly to need chains when there are only a few inches of snow on the ground, but I know it's for the best. This road is so curvy with steep drops, no guard rails, and no services for so long that if my car goes off the road, death is waiting a very long way down there.

Not a dangerous spot, but good for taking a quick photo.

To distract myself from the slow travel, I turn on the radio and sing. The only station that comes in is country and it's playing all the best holiday tunes. Snow clinging to the roadway, Let It Snow playing on the radio, and the heater blowing full blast, I'm taken to a different place. Warm memories of my childhood Christmases come flooding back. Rainy Christmas isn't the same and even though I'll eventually drive through this wintry landscape back into the rain, it is perfect in the moment. All sixty miles and two hours of snow warm my heart. I get my snowy Christmas. It isn't in the way I had hoped, but it's perfect.

I get my snowy Christmas.

Wintertime on Grasshopper

Ribbons of sunlight are woven between the trees, yet little warmth reaches the ground. We huddle close for a group photo, clearly overdressed for our day. It seems I'm physically incapable of dressing properly for early morning adventures. I want to retain the warmth of my cozy bed and so I keep piling on the layers until it feels the same. This is the main reason I'm toting around a larger pack: to store the excessive amount of clothing I'm sure to shed before we're to the top.

Rachel C. photo.

Our day begins with a steep uphill. There's never a gradual warmup when it comes to Grasshopper. An unrelenting fifteen to twenty-five percent grade begins immediately. To my surprise, it takes several miles before I shed my first layer. Maybe I did do something right this time?

For being a lifelong local, it's surprising that Rachel has been to the top only once. It's a grueling fourteen mile hike, but she's never been afraid of mileage. After months of describing the breathtaking view to the top, I finally convinced her to go in January. It was wet and cold. The views were nonexistent. I didn't think she'd want to go again in the wintertime and risk all that climbing for more clouds. But today was finally the day. The crisp winter day promised few clouds and sunshine.

The view on our visit in January.

After Lanore heard that we were going on an adventure without her, she asked her boss about taking the day off, then called in for a work sub. I love it!

The three of us climb through the never-ending forest, made of small groves of upland redwood trees scattered throughout a mountainside of tan oak. Since all three of us are nursing sore spots, we took the mileage slowly and visit along the way, talking about holiday plans.

One thing I like about winter in the park is how different it sounds. One would expect winter to be quiet, as if the land were sleeping, but not here. Winter in this area is loud. Rushing streams pour from every gully, every little dip in the land. Summertime sees no rain, so the land slurps the water in through huge gulps in the winter to make up for it. The year round streams are few, swelling into great rivers and change from clear to gray as massive amounts of silt travel downstream.

My tummy begins to rumble about a mile from the top. I must not be alone because our conversation has turned to favorite local restaurants. We share our lists and make notes of places we haven't tried, but apparently should.

The canopy grows shorter and as we pass through a break in the trees, we receive the first sunshine of the day! Yippee! Soon the lookout tower comes into view. Rachel spots it first and is surprised by  how far away it is visible. The panoramic views are a treat to us all.

No matter how many times I come up here (my fifth this year?), I never tire of it. Today, we can spot the weather radar on a hilltop thirty miles away and can almost make out the ocean, again thirty miles away, but in another direction.

We huddle next to the tower to avoid the wind, pulling out snacks as we settle in. Each of us has brought something different and by the time everything is set out, we've got quite the spread. I brought an Epic Bar and some of the homemade Seven Layer Bars my mom sent me. Lanore has cheese and crackers. Rachel brought salted edamame. Summit snacks always taste the best. It must be the views that season them so well!

Snacktime! Rachel C. photo.

After we've devoured our feast, we head back down the way we came. To warm up a bit, we begin jogging. Three miles down the mountain and we're warmed up again and at a trail junction. We debate adding a couple miles by taking the longer, more scenic route back. Just as the words leave my lips, they're nodding in agreement. It never takes much arm twisting with these two ladies.

The trail descends at a very gentle grade as it weaves back and forth down the mountainside. I love watching the forest change as the trail gets closer to the flats. The forest transitions back to redwoods, small ones at first, until it is entirely comprised of old growth trees. The canopy towering some three hundred feet over us, the forest floor is once again dark and cold. Just as a chill sets in, we are back at the car, where warm booties, snacks, and the car heater await.

Now that it's Christmas vacation, I hope there will be more trail adventures with my favorite running buddies.

16 miles, 5:13, 3,695 ft. gain.

Frosty Mornings

Fluctuating within the same twenty degree range all year long, the maritime city where I live has an extremely moderate climate. Just as it's unusual to break seventy degrees, a wintertime frost is equally rare. Lately, it has been the latter. Glorious frost on those crisp mornings, I know that this is as close as I'll get to snow. Since the lack of cloud cover is to blame for the sub-freezing temperatures, these days are also sunny. Perfect. If I'm going to have a snow-free winter, sunshine and sweater weather is an acceptable substitute.

When it rains, I retreat to the shelter of the forest. I run through the trees, splash through the mud, and revel in the fact that I'm guarded from the elements. On sunny days, it's the opposite. I head for the coast, for the sunshine, and soak it up while it lasts. My mood lifts instantly.

Daily Runs:

Many of my runs this week have been on the coastal trail. While I'm still in recovery mode, I've begun adding more mileage but keeping the pace gentle as my body rebuilds. My hip has been quieting down since the marathon.

During the off season, I like to experiment with cross training. Most often this means hiking.

Hiking:
Lost Coast Headlands was the perfect short hike. We had only two hours free on Saturday morning, so Matt and I chose to do a quick hike down from the coastal bluffs to the beach.

With recent King Tides earlier in the week, the water was especially high even though we weren't out at high tide. Down the south-facing hillside, it was both warm and protected from that persistent north wind. Mooing cows on the opposite hillside provided a unique accompaniment to our coastal hike.

Crossing Fleener Creek is always an adventure. Each time I visit, the arrangement of logs is a little different. New trees had been added since my last visit, which is typical in the winter.

Then we hit the beach. The sand was more compact in the winter and I spent less time sinking in and taking careful steps to avoid sand in my shoes. The Humboldt coastline really is the best on a sunny winter day.

I dress pretty much the same way when I go to the beach in the summer too.

After retracing our steps back up to the car, it was time for lunch. Firing up the stove, we enjoyed a bit of homemade baguette and mushroom soup. Delicious food always pairs well with a good view.

Could there be anything better than a chilly hike in the sunshine? There is! A cozy night by the fire with tea and a good book is pretty great.

Or sub the tea for a kitty.

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Are you more likely to go outside on sunny days in the winter even though they're often chillier than normal? What do you like to do on the shortest, coldest days of the year?