Shepparton Marathon 2017

I went to the Shepparton Marathon wanting to run the fastest time I could, and I had the opportunity to show myself that I have fully absorbed the lesson that you can only control a certain amount about a race; there are things you cannot control that can upset your plans. Like the weather.

Race day in Shepparton was cold. That was great. It had been cold in Wagga for the marathon the previous weekend and I had loved that. But it was still in Wagga and very windy in Shep. That wasn't so good. Much of the Shep course was sheltered from the wind but some of it wasn't. I worked out pretty quickly that the wind might be a factor in my running not quite such a good time as I intended.

It was a good race. I tried hard from the start, because I think I often start out too slowly and I can't make up for this later on. (I don't seem to be able to get my legs to move as fast as I would like; that's because I don't do any speed work and I must get working on that.) I latched onto one runner and then onto a small group and they pulled me along. Then I ran alone for a while and I may have slowed down because at 30 km I found I was some way off my target time. I dug in and luckily I was able to speed up without too much hardship. 

I had wanted to go sub 4 but at this point I could see this was no longer physically possible, so I focussed on finishing as well as I could. At other times when I have found myself far from my target time I have mentally given up, but I wasn't doing that here. I persisted, it was uncomfortable, and I honestly gave it all I could. I finished in 4:05 and that was the best I could do on the day. 

When I got home I found out I had come fourth overall - not too shabby at my age. Also, I'm a past winner of this marathon (2003) and I noted that my time that year was seven minutes faster than the winning time this year. So if I deduct seven minutes from my time this year I get ..........

Perth Marathon 2017

I did this marathon before my trip to Colorado but I only just got around to writing about it.

I've always had a soft spot for the Perth Marathon and this year I particularly enjoyed the race. I've run the marathon through several course changes and in very varied weather.

I first ran this marathon in 2002. I was running a marathon in every capital city in Australia and this was the last capital city I did. I ran the Alice Springs Marathon two months later, to do a marathon in the Northern Territory for the sake of completeness, but there was (and is) no marathon in Darwin. Shame about that, Darwin people. But I might not like the heat.

Then I had a big hiatus from WA before returning in 2009 for this race. The marathon took place on the most beautiful sunny day. I reckoned that marathon had the best weather I have ever had for a marathon. Oops, I forgot to mention that we had a wet day for the 2002 marathon, wet and windy. It was not Perth's day to showcase the city. The folks at the marathon registration told me that the weather is often like this in Perth in winter so I was somewhat consoled. But I have to say that in most of my more recent winter time visits to the West the weather has been great.

I think the marathon course was the same in 2002 and 2009, and also when I returned in 2011. In 2011 I set myself the task of running a marathon each weekend for ten successive weekends and Perth was weekend number six. I'm not proud of my finishing time that year but I had tiredness as an excuse. 

I had a problem getting home to Melbourne after the marathon as that was the time when planes couldn't fly on a proper schedule because of a Chilean volcano spewing too much ash into the atmosphere. I was worried about getting home to Melbourne and then on to South Australia for the next race in my series, and I spent an unexpected extra day in the West.

In 2014 I was back again, to run on a different course. This was a double out and back, not my favourite design of route because I don't like arriving at the finish only to be told I have to do the same thing over again before I can put my feet up and drink beer. But the race turned out well for me. I ran with Chris Gamble who had driven to Perth from Canberra to run his 101st marathon.

And so to this year. This marathon came at the tail end of a heavy training block where I had run over 100 kilometres every week for six weeks with only two rest days and several ultras at the weekends. In order to make up my week's mileage on Perth Marathon weekend I even ran three kilometres from my hotel to the start line. Believe me, I never do that. I would call it poor planning.

The course was new this year; it was one loop as it had been years ago but the loop was different at the western end, taking us out towards the university and then turning into Matilda Bay. The day looked like it was going to be warm, and I worried about that as I'm not good in the heat, but during the marathon I never gave the temperature a single thought. I took the first part slowly; well, actually I take everything slowly these days of course, but comfortably. So when I got to twenty kilometres I was able to tell myself that I felt better than I usually did on my twenty kilometre runs at home.

As the race was by the Swan River pretty much all the way it was scenic and mostly flat, except for the bridges we had to climb onto. There were increasing numbers of walkers and sightseers about  and who could blame them: marathon runners are a great sight. Even lots of cyclists came out to show us how slow we were.

The thing about my day was that I felt good. I looked around, I drank plenty and I was happy. The crowd support was better than I remembered. When I got to the last five kilometres I realised I had something left in the tank and I managed to pick up the pace. That always feels nice at the end of a race. 

My younger daughter had come to Perth with me and I was so far ahead of my anticipated finish time that I thought she would miss my finish. But I was delighted to see her as I approached the finish chute. She clearly ignores instructions. She was with a Perth friend who had never been to a marathon finish before so he probably learned something that day. Mainly about how much runners eat after a marathon. He also learned how willing they can be to sit in an air conditioned car after a race and be driven back to their hotel.

Never Summer 100 kilometre race

Where to begin? The lovely name, maybe, Never Summer 100 kilometres. I'm a 'never summer' person, always chasing a winter somewhere, so the race had my name all over it. I knew it was going to be hard and I suspected it was going to be awe inspiringly beautiful. I love a loop course. 

Even though I read the info on the website carefully I was caught unawares by just how difficult and just how beautiful it was. But I had come here for beauty and I had done the training; I kept reminding myself that I had done the training.

Not that I was able to train for the specific demands of this high altitude, midsummer Colorado race in the Australian winter, living at sea level, with a distinct shortage of talus, snow and mountains near my house. Downed trees are unusual at home. Bog dries out. Shade is plentiful. But you prepare as best you can.

In running well over six hundred kilometres in a six week period before I left for the US I had already outdone any previous burst of training in my entire life. In my Colorado four week lead up to the race I ran two half marathons and two trail races (10 km and 9.5 miles) followed by a fifty miler (Leadville Silver Rush) just two weeks before my goal race. During this same period I hiked up eight mountains over fourteen thousand feet, so called fourteeners, and hiked to numerous mountain lakes. I slept as high as I could. I should have been exhausted come race day; I told myself that I wasn't exhausted, I was prepared.

Because I hate getting up early, as ever my major challenge was to get to the race start, 5.30am, feeling at least half human. I left my accommodation decision too late and had to stay twenty something miles from the Gould race start, in Walden, where I think I was lucky to snag a hotel room. I gathered there was plenty of opportunity for camping nearer to the race start and I seriously contemplated either sleeping in my car the night before the race or buying camping gear; I spent a long time at Walmart surveying the sleeping bags and tents and for days I could not make a decision either way. Then I convinced myself that it would be silly to sabotage my race by having a bad night's sleep the night before, and as I have only camped out once this century and not slept all night in a car since 1981, now was not the time for experimenting.

The historic hotel in Walden was lovely, I think, but after getting ticked off by a police officer for doing a U-turn in the main street in front of a 'no U-turn' sign I slunk into my room and spent the remainder of the day trying to take myself out of the nerve-riddled present and into a place of calm. The weather that day was atrocious: wet, thunderstorms and very hot.

I made it to the race start on what looked like the dawning of a beautiful day. I felt calm and hopeful, with just a lingering fear that I would never be able to find my car again (a fear which proved to be justified, as I would find out the next day). 

We set out and did some climbing. People were chatty and in the first half hour I managed to practise some French, German and even English. I ran at a relaxed pace and took the climb to Seven Utes in my stride. 

The sun was not yet out and it was pleasantly cool. The descent from Seven Utes (what's a Ute?) was rough and I was passed by lots of runners, but instead of getting despondent I was pleased to have some scalps to aim for later on. We rounded a corner and there was Agnes Lake; it was spectacular, a word that came to mind all day long. 

There was still a little snow to navigate, maybe intended as a reminder of how high we were (around 11,000 feet). Then came the only boring section of the day, a long dirt road seemingly traversing the hillsides for ever.

I spent minimal time at the first aid station and embarked on the jaunt towards American Lakes. How beautiful was the mountain landscape, and the lakes were, as they say, like jewels in the green cloth. 

There was a treat waiting at the second aid station: freshly grilled bacon. I've seen many foods at race aid stations in my time but never bacon. Never even thought of it. It was so delicious I gobbled a whole handful and was endlessly thankful to the volunteers, who I don't think understood that I had never seen this foodstuff during a race; ten hours later on when I encountered another consumable I had not seen before I left the volunteers in no doubt about this fact, but I'll get to that. So I scoffed a lot of bacon and spent the rest of the race trying to get bits of bacon out of my teeth.

The third section offered up the hardest climb of the day. Was I glad I had not read about this on the website. Who wants to have their fun spoilt? After a brief bit of skirting around the mountain, North Diamond Peak, we hit the above tree line mountainside and went straight up. Straight up. No trail, just up. In the extreme distance were what looked like a line of ants, but were actually runners who had achieved the summit. I paced on up, slipping at one point and rotating 360 degrees before regaining my poise. 

This is where I benefitted from hiking all those fourteeners; I held a picture of Mt Quandary in my mind, where the ascent is similarly steep although there is a well defined trail, and went for it. It sounded like there was a party on the summit and I badly wanted to be a part of it. A Coloradan runner complimented me on crushing the mountain, and when we saw each other subsequently she called me the mountain crusher. I'll take that nickname any day.

Beyond the summit there followed a delightful several miles of ridgeline running with fabulous views and easiness underfoot. I could have continued forever but I suspected there were more mountains to climb. Before that were miles of rough ground with a lot of creek crossings and boggy terrain, and another aid station with bacon, but I declined this time as I was still sorting out my teeth from the earlier dose.

I went the wrong way once during this section. The course was well marked; good marking was essential really as there was no defined trail much of the way.  But I managed to cross a creek unnecessarily and I was very lucky that a group of runners saw me do this and yelled out to me that I had gone against the flow of the route markers.

On a day of beautiful lakes, Kelly Lake was the best, in the next section, maybe in part because it was totally unexpected; it just appeared out of nowhere in all its azure blueness. The beauty compensated greatly for the deterioration of underfoot conditions - the trail was by now just talus, and wobbly talus at that. And snow, slippery snow.

Conditions were to return to mountainous as we embarked on the infamous Yurt Trail. I say infamous because the description of this trail was something I remembered very clearly from the race description. I had read that the ten miles could take four hours. By now it was really hot and seemingly no shade.

The climb lived up to its promise, all five miles of it. Light relief came when I spied a runner dressed as Santa Claus ahead of me. I was dying to catch up to him and ask why he felt a need to be dressed this way well out of the Christmas season. Unfortunately he was chatting to a runner who was injured and had decided to turn back when I reached him so I couldn't butt in. Probably a good thing as my question might have been inappropriate. I mean, I wouldn't be making the fashion headlines myself in my calf sleeves and clashing colours. 

At the top was a small campsite with a group of llamas relaxing; I presume they had packed in the gear of their human companions. And then the five mile downhill was most welcome. The field had spread out a lot and I passed much time alone. The whole area had an amazing wilderness feel. For the record I was happy that this section took me way less than four hours. For the last mile there were many crew members and pacers out on the trail, hiking or running in to the trailhead where they would be commencing duties, and it was funny to see a bunch of fresh seeming runners.

I felt I had not been eating enough and decided to remedy this at the next aid station, at the base of the Clear Lake climb. But first a drink. I had been drinking a yellow soft drink all day and I eagerly grabbed a cup at this aid station. Oh my God! What was that? It was revolting, the likes of which I have never tasted. Apparently it was pickle juice. It was just horrible. I told the volunteer what I thought. I'm ashamed to say I asked if they were trying to poison us! She told me that people have asked for it. What kind of people are these? To be fair, I'm not an American and I don't share their love of pickles. I rarely eat those long green things that seem to be as essential to a burger as the bun. Non Australians probably react like this to Vegemite. But Vegemite is tasty. (This aid station was at either end of an out and back section and when I returned there a few hours later that same volunteer carefully directed my hands away from the pickle juice. I hope she has forgiven me for my reaction.) 

I grabbed cookies and started out on the climb up to the lake. This was another section of the course I had not anticipated. The climb was hot, narrow and steep. A big struggle. And a double whammy because I couldn't swallow down the cookies either. Runners were descending as we climbed so the trail was congested, and I felt that the descending runners were unjustifiably cheerful. This was mentally the low point of my day. I grunted as runners said 'good job' and I never reciprocated until I started to descend myself. I soon realised how they managed to be so cheerful. Descending with a fabulous memory in your head is fun. Clear Lake was lovely, when I finally got there after the endless ascent. I asked the volunteers to take my picture by the lake because I need to remember times like this when the going seems really tough but all turns out well.

This was the day's hardest part over. After avoiding the pickle juice I headed out on the descent to the so called Cowtown. I soon found out why this area had that name. The trail traversed the hillsides above meadows and aspen copses filled with cows; cows who were loudly indicating they had recently been separated from their calves. They were almost deafening, and it was quite an eerie experience in the fading daylight. Also there was a lot of waste product on the ground. I use this term because a runner had politely explained to me what a cow pat was! I'm pleased to say I only stepped into one, and almost immediately I had a stream to wade through so my shoe did not stay dirty for long.

The light was almost gone as I came into the fifty mile aid station. I still wasn't eating enough but I couldn't swallow anything solid and they didn't have those usual packets of gels or chews. This isn't a criticism: packets are bad and I can never open them anyway. I scooped the soft stuff off the top of a slice of pumpkin pie. I was keeping up the fluids well. I had been to the bathroom twice in fifteen hours, and I was satisfied with that. (At the Leadville race it had been fourteen hours between visits.) 

I didn't want to travel - I can hardly use the word 'run' - alone in the dark so I latched onto a runner and his pacer who left the aid station at the same time as me. I soon worked out that they were moving quite fast, especially the pacer, who incidentally had done the Leadville race I had just done, but in ten hours to my twelve. I was pleased with myself for keeping up with them on the rough and boggy trail almost seven miles to the next aid station. Mostly at a walk. 

For me this is the biggest challenge of these longer ultras: the walking. The races I do at home rarely involve much walking, and if they do then it's only for ten minutes or so. I find this sustained walking difficult, mainly mentally. The distance passes so slowly. I have to accept the prospect of hours and hours of walking. That's why I did so much hiking when I came to Colorado, to practise for hiking during races. I think it paid off.

After the next aid station we had another long climb. Aren't we there yet? Part of the time I was alone and it was spooky. Sometimes I stopped and waited until other runners caught up to me. I summited this last peak in a big group, which was nice, and the descent was wonderful. It was possible to run most of it. I came into the penultimate aid station, at right on one hundred kilometres, feeling good. And I was actually ahead of the pair of runners with whom I had recently failed to keep up! But they soon passed me. Guys twenty years younger than me, of course they passed me.

I would have blown through this aid station two miles before the finish, as everyone else did, but they had quesadillas. That's one of my favourite foods. I wanted to enter into the spirit of this thing. So I grabbed a wedge, and then two more. I managed, for the first time in about ten hours, to chew and swallow. This was heaven.

I was a new person for the final push. Almost. It still seemed a very long two miles. I swore aloud (honestly, if you need to swear then doing it after midnight in a forest with nobody around is probably not a hanging offence) as the trail went on and on, around bend after  bend and I could not see the finish line. A runner yelled out 'I see it!'. Never have I been so pleased to hear this. Within several heartbeats I was there. It was just past 1am. I have to say it was a bit of an anticlimax as nobody called out names, but at least I had made it, in 19 hours 32 minutes, which was fairly in line with my hopes, bearing in mind that I had expected the course to be easier than it turned out to be.

I hadn't even put on warmer clothes for the final hours of darkness, when the hot summer day turned chilly, so when I finished I was really cold. And I couldn't find my car. I sheepishly asked for help. I told the guy my car was blue. Like, really useful info in the pitch black. 

But we did find it. I know that because I slept in it that night. I got so cold and I was so squashed but I managed to sleep about two hours. I woke up with daybreak (no curtains in that car) and I felt so uncomfortable I had to get up. I wanted to stay around for the awards ceremony at 10am, and I wanted to know how I had fared in my age group, but I also wanted to get to Denver without falling asleep at the wheel, so I left. A truly remarkable experience.

Mt Sherman

I got up early for my hike up Mt Sherman, left the hotel before 6am and was parked at 7am. In between I drove 11 miles on the worst dirt road of this trip, it was horrible and scary with so many obstacles sticking up and loose rocks.

The first part of the hike was on the continuation of this same road, and with so many mountains ahead of me I didn't know which was Mt Sherman, and as it turned out none of them were. It was freezing cold and this is the first hike I've done where I wore my fleece right from the start and only took it off half an hour before I finished. The road passed several derelict mining buildings and climbed steadily. I was already above the tree line and there was plenty of patchy snow.

Once I left the road there were two snowfields to cross and then a long section of talus and dirt leading up onto a ridge. It was bitterly cold on the ridge with a strong wind but sometimes the trail went below the ridge and that was great as it was protected. The condition of the ridge deteriorated and became loose talus. The climbing was not too steep and I felt so much better than yesterday, even at the same altitude.

At the top of the ridge were several hundred metres of flattish walking to the summit. There was a nice surprise for me at the summit. On the way up I had noticed a town far off to my left. On the summit some hikers told me it was Leadville. But what was really great about this was that I was looking down on the very trails and road I had been on during the race; I recognised the area easily as it was the section between the 7 mile and 14 mile aid stations. It didn't look as hot as it had been when I was there!

The day was warming up as I descended, but clouds were appearing. I walked slowly back down the valley and was pleased with the scenic parking spot I had chosen for the car.

I think this will be my final hike for this trip, and final dirt road; yay!

Mt Belford fourteener

I thought about hiking Mt Belford in the Collegiate range several times but the weather hadn't cooperated. Today it was sunny and clear in Gunnison so I took the plunge and drove the hundred or so miles to the Missouri Gulch trailhead near Buena Vista. On the way I had to stop unexpectedly for a herd of cows to cross the road. 

The road to the trailhead was, of course, a dirt road and the last four miles were very rough. I'm sick of these dirt roads, and the ones I dare to drive on are regarded as the better ones. The trailhead car park was, of course, busy and I think I was the last person for today to embark on this hike.

The hike started in forest around ten thousand feet and climbed sharply right from the gun. There were a couple of creek crossings (on logs) and then after a while I came out of the forest into the Missouri Gulch which was lovely. It was a broad valley with the creek running through the middle and green mountain slopes all around, isolated conifers dotting the landscape and lots of columbines. I don't think Mt Belford summit could be seen at this point, or indeed for the next two hours.

This climb is known for the 105 switchbacks on the trail to the summit. People complain about these but I found the stretches of trail that went straight up to be even more irritating. For some reason I wasn't feeling the best and I struggled at several points along the climb, stopping more than usual. Looking up I could see where I had to go and it was daunting, although I made height relatively fast. There was a frozen waterfall in the gully next to the trail and the views into Missouri Gulch continued to be awesome. For a long time I could look back and see where I had come from. Parts were steep and parts were more gradual, but I knew I had to make four thousand feet of elevation gain (including the forest bit) so it wasn't going to be easy.

I made it up to a saddle and from here it wasn't so painful, even though I had some talus to scramble over. The summit ridge was short and pleasant (the summit was out of sight for a long time but it wasn't a big distance from where you could see it to where you reached it, unlike some of the other peaks I've climbed). 

There was only one other person on top and he was making a phone call so I couldn't ask for a photo. The views were great in all directions: mountains. I still can't get over the volume of mountains here in Colorado.

There were a few clouds already when I was on top and I only stayed fifteen minutes. On the descent I slipped several times but I came down fast. As I left the Gulch there were a few raindrops and also sounds of thunder. A group of hikers were discussing thunderstorms and I wanted to get off the mountain. The thunder claps, not loud, continued as I descended and I saw one streak of lightning. The rain was only light. I was relieved to get back to the car, and even more relieved to have the dirt road driving over and done. By the time I got onto the highway it was raining heavily so I think I was very lucky with my hike.

Crested Butte

Grin and Bear It 9.7 mile trail race yesterday at Crested Butte. It was on the Green Lake Trail and I did wonder why I was paying $30 to do a trail painfully (running) when I could have done the same trail at my leisure for free, and the race only started at 9 so I was going to get rather hot out there.

However, it was a fun trail if rather hard work and there was an abundance of food for runners at the finish. The trail started in forest, after a nasty climb up from the race start line and although mostly uphill, there were a few undulations. There was only one really steep pitch in the stretch before the 2.5 mile aid station, but I found running quite uncomfortable. I tried to run as much as I could but my breathing became a problem quite soon. I persevered but had to do a fair bit of walking.

After the aid station the trail was intermittently across meadows and on open hillsides, my perfect kind of trail. There was a big mountain right there and it was all very beautiful under the blue sky. I didn't feel too hot. I was near the back of the field but even going slowly back there I had moments of heaving breath. The lake was nice (and green) but there wasn't time to linger.

Once I started on the downhill I felt, as I would have expected, a million dollars. I took the trail at a steady comfortable pace and the distance passed easily. I was surprised how soon I reached the aid station and turned back into the forest. This last stretch passed quickly too. From about half way down I could hear the noise on the finish line, and a gap in the trees gave a welcome view of downtown Crested Butte. As I was arriving at the finish the announcer said "seems like we have a race on". I knew thee was a guy who was close behind me but I thought I had dropped him so I was surprised. I raced to the finish, looked around and saw that the race was between two runners behind me!

At the finish there was beer, soft drinks, French toast, burritos, yoghurt but no spoons and bananas. A real feast! I sneaked my beer out of the race venue illegally for consumption later, and had my burrito later for a picnic lunch sitting by the river on the way back to Gunnison.

The weather was beautiful today when I got up at 6 and I headed excitedly to Crested Butte to do the Copper Lake trail. Even the drive to the trailhead, past the tiny hamlet of Gothic, was spectacular: lots of green mountainsides and wildflowers by the roadside. I parked at the trailhead, chatted briefly to a couple of women who were heading out on the same trail and was on my way.

The first stop on the trail was at Judd Falls, a narrow waterfall of impressive power. From here the Copper Lake trail was well signed, to my surprise. I continued on until I came to another sign and a place to get wilderness permits. 

Here my fortunes changed. The sign had no arrows on it but behind it a trail led down towards the creek (Copper Creek). It seemed to me a no-brainer that this was the trail I needed, and when I came almost immediately to a roaring creek with obvious signs of having been crossed by hikers I crossed it, getting wet feet and legs. I had read that there were creek crossings without bridges or logs on the trail. The trail became sketchy after this but I could follow it, until I came to a T junction with no indication of which way to go. I opted to turn left and the trail, now much improved, crossed an open mountainside then went into an aspen forest. It was lovely but I wasn't sure if it was the right trail. I paused, walked on, paused again and after maybe half a mile I decided to turn back to the T junction. I figured I would either see the women I had met at the car park coming towards me or deduce that I should have turned right at that junction. (And it was Sunday so I knew the trails would be busy.) But I sailed past the junction and next thing I knew I saw a sign saying I was on Deer Creek trail. I knew this wasn't right so I backtracked to the T junction and went back on the rough trail, recrossing the rushing creek, to the sign that had caused all the problems.

I then stayed on the rough road/ track I had originally been on and within a minute a trail runner came towards me. I asked her if I was on the Copper Creek trail and she said yes. So I knew where to go. All in all I had wasted at least an hour.

The real trail was wonderful. It was easy going until the last mile and passed through the best scenery. It wasn't much in the forest and there were high peaks all around. Everything was so green. The wild flowers were abundant and fairly tall (though not as tall as I had seen them on my previous visit to Crested Butte five years ago). There were five creek crossings in all, all ankle deep but I just walked through the water with not a care in the world. Other hikers had brought spare shoes, towels and other luxuries!

The final mile was steep and rougher, and in the forest so less enjoyable. I kept hoping to see the lake around the next switchback but it took its time. Eventually I reached it and it was one of the nicer ones of this trip. High mountains descended to the lake shores and there was a large grassy area for hikers to sit. Jutting into the lake was a promontory with a path to its highest point so that was the obvious place to rest and take in the sights. From here the lake appeared to be a horseshoe shape. The view was different in each direction: green mountainsides, talus slopes and a snow bowl.

I decided to run back down since the descent would be mostly gradual after the initial steep part. This was fun. I felt some drops of rain about ten minutes into the descent; that stopped, then half an hour later a real shower started. The rain felt nice and cooled me down. This also meant that I was wet all over rather than just my feet.

When I got to the sign where I had gone wrong I decided to write a note on one of the wilderness permit forms, just so the parks people would know about what I thought of their badly positioned sign. It was raining so I had difficulty writing. As I was trying to post the paper in the box some hikers came by needing permits. I explained what I was doing and one of them thought I was clearly nuts to think the trail behind the sign could be the Copper Lake trail; the other one was sympathetic. I had the impression they felt a lot better about me when they realised I had done the correct trail already.

Then I had a piece of good fortune. As I was getting back to the car park a dog rushed up behind me and then turned down a side trail I had not noticed before. This was a short cut to the car park. 

Black Canyon of the Gunnison

Very odd day for weather. I drove a long way from Gunnison to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison River and did a hot hike above the canyon. Not long after I got back to Gunnison it was pouring rain and ten degrees colder.

The drive out to the canyon was almost as impressive as the canyon itself, with several reservoirs, mountains everywhere - many with buttes and high craggy rock faces. But it took a long time and what with six miles of dirt road at the end, I was glad to arrive. I had chosen to go to the north rim and it was pretty quiet there. 

I set out on the trail up Green Mountain, stopping at the cutely named Exclamation Point lookout on the way. This was my first chance to see what makes this place special: the amazing steep, high canyon walls and tiny ribbon of river at the base. I was surprised at the absence of guard rails or warning signs, because the drop off was sudden.

The trail didn't allow for any more views into the canyon and it was a bit of a slog in the heat. There was no shade. As I got higher there were good views over the top of the canyon and the upper parts of the canyon walls. I could see cars on the south rim, not far away at all. From the very top you could see a long way in all directions, but what I really wanted to see was the inside of the canyon so I rushed back down.

I drove to several lookouts to check out the canyon. I couldn't see any signs of people going down into it. I was fed up with the oppressive heat so I left.

Yesterday by contrast wasn't particularly warm in the morning when I hiked to a couple of lakes near Monarch Mountain. I hiked up a terrible dirt road in the forest for over a mile to the trailhead, noticing well hidden cabins on the way. From the trailhead I hiked up to Boss Lake where several people were fishing; I saw fish in the shallow water. It was a big lake. Then I continued up to Hunts Lake which was smaller and prettier. There were snowbanks not far from the lake and the surrounding meadow was swampy. The mozzies were unbelievable in their numbers and in the din they made. This made me reluctant to linger. Even here in this out of the way place I was surprised how many other hikers I saw.