Rockwall Trail (Kootenay National Park)

Posted on October 12, 2025 by evejakubowski

Maybe skip the prose and just look at the pics, my writing is rusty and rambly. I have had some other trips this year, like Japan for a week to ski, several backcountry trips in SLC, one in Seattle, but between April and now I was mostly open water swimming with a dash of surfing here and there. But here we are! Summer is over and we are back to landlocked activities.

TL;DR don’t panic, there will be larches every day. For us personas estadounidenses, it’s like the PCT, it’s pretty gradual, you really can’t get lost because everything is very well signed, camp at designated campsites, and you should learn to convert kilometers to miles.

Distance: 33ish miles
Elevation Gain: 6k total? Elevation gain is easier in meters
Weather: Mostly raining but I’ve forgotten about that at this point
Commute from Seattle: 10+hr drive or $$$ flight
Did I Trip: No but I dropped Brad’s hiking poles on the regular because they don’t have straps and apparently I never actually hold my trekking poles

Nearly everything went wrong leading up to this trip. We had permits for four days in September, so that was our only window. Now let’s see:

I had to move back to Seattle for work (don’t get me started) literally that week
Surafel’s now wife got laid off so he bailed
Brad twisted his ankle
I had cold/cough/etc. Miserable.
Flight to Calgary was USD$612 ONE WAY! ONE. WAY. !!!!
Weather called for rain for like 70% of the trip
Westjet had IT issues and couldn’t check anyone in at JFK for over half an hour
Plane was delayed 3hrs on the tarmac. Turns out for international flights you’re allowed 4hrs, with a 45min extension if “there’s a reasonable chance you take off soon,” so we weren’t turned around. But let me tell you I was rooting for them to let us off after 90min in that seat, trip be damned

How Surafel was able to still join us. I don’t know why he decided to wear Ethiopian wedding garb the whole time

But my plane took off, I got to Calgary at 1am, “slept,” and slogged through the worst continental breakfast I’ve ever had (featuring maybe the best breakfast potatoes I’ve ever had?), neglected to consider Banff NP traffic or lines to get into the park, and then illegally parked to finally meet Brad at the hilariously overpriced IGA in Banff where I don’t want to know how much money I spent buying snacks for the four day trip. I forgot that some mountains are touristy, not stop-at-a-gas-station-and-find-a-remote-trailhead-where-your-car-might-be-burgled.

Our itinerary was amusing, booked under duress in January via Facebook Messenger after being let out of the virtual waiting room at 7am Pacific Time to take out shot at getting permits upon opening. I nearly booked the campsites in the wrong order (think A -> C -> B instead of ABC of CBA) but caught my error at the last minute. We couldn’t get the ever popular Floe Lake, so we settled for this:

Day 1: 12 miles, Floe Lake trailhead to Numa Creek. 12mi. Partly cloudy in the morning, rain in the evening.
Day 2: 4.5mi (hahahahaha) Numa Creek to Tumbling Creek. Rain in the morning, partly cloudy in the afternoon, rain in the evening. Also it did end up being just over 5mi somehow which felt more legit.
Day 3: 8.5mi, the money day, Tumbling Creek to Helmet Falls. Rain in the morning, partly cloudy rest of day.
Day 4: ~9mi, cry and leave and car shuttle from Paint Pot(s) to Floe Lake and cry more and get on a plane to Seattle forevermore. Weather doesn’t matter.

The only way to enjoy the views was to make your sleeping bag burrito portable

The hike up to Floe Lake was pleasant, a gradual gain for 6 miles through a wide open old burn zone. Most of the elevation gain was close to the lake. I looked up and said “that’s gotta be only like, 300ft” and Brad goes “yeah.. actually it’s like 300m, you’re only off by a factor of 3x.” Ah yes my uncalibrated city eyes complementing my tired city legs. Let’s just skip to the larches.

The lake itself was a mix of larches and evergreens, and by the time we got there it was cold, cloudy, and windy. There’s a warden’s cabin there (jealous). Unclear status of fish. We didn’t break for very long since it was cold and it was already 5pm and we wanted to get to the next camp 6mi away before dark. My legs were burning and I wanted to get the rest of the elevation out of the way. On to the larches! Larches, Legs, Lac Floe.

The larches got denser and denser as we climbed and suddenly we were on top of a wide open plateau with baby larches all around us and Floe Lake laid out below us beneath insane towering rock walls. This is where we started to realize maybe we were hiking the trail backwards because the views were always behind us. But anxious about getting to camp, and cold, we didn’t take much time to enjoy the views. Crazily enough, the elevation gain was pretty minimal, I think under 3kft for the whole day despite 12mi. But my city legs were tired.

Floe Lake below the first larch grove. You can HIKE (not climb!) those peaks from the other side. Insane

And we crested the pass and what did we see?! Was it more larches?? You bet your ass it was more larches. The trail snaked along the gravelly hillside (tease!) before turning straight into the next grove of larches. Trail optimized for larches.

Tease of blue sky but no sun. Doesn’t matter, found larch carpet

Once the larch grove was past us, losing that 3k elevation gain was kind of brutal. Switchbacks forever, and steep, and I had done a pretty good job of keeping my cardio up but nothing had prepared my legs for jarring downhill. But we saw a porcupine booty bobbing through the trees, I’ve only seen a porcupine once before. As it got darker outside I started bugging out about bears. Every switchback, every bend in the trail, every tree out of the corner of my eye, bears everywhere. Everybody had me psyched out. I felt like a dork carrying bear spray but everyone kept telling me ohhhh no the bears are the real deal there. I was guaranteed to run into a bear. But soon enough it finally flattened out, my legs relaxed, my brain relaxed, and we stumbled into camp. Far below treeline right next to a river. With no larches. And no views. Just trees and darkness and probably bears.

Uninspiring start to second day. This photo doesn’t even deserve to be here except to convey my disappointment

We set up camp pretty quickly and ate, finishing just before it got fully dark outside. Turns out every campsite has a designated camping spot and separate eating spot, complete with bear lockers. I just left my whole pack in there and crawled into my tent where I burrito-down in my sleeping bag and lay freezing and congested for the next 9 hours. At one point I stuck my head outside to blow my nose and was greeted with the first time I’ve seen the Milky Way in over a year. I lay with my head hanging out the door for a solid half hour marveling at every shooting star that passed. Crazy to go from counting planes in the sky to counting not just stars, but shooting stars in a span of 24hrs.

Ah yes if heaven were rainy this would be it

At 6am, it hadn’t started raining yet. I was optimistic. I started to get ready for the day. Contacts, change of clothes, oh you’ve gotta be kidding me is that rain? The rain had started. I went back to sleep. I finally got up around 8ish and had breakfast, paced around restlessly, gave up and sat beneath a tree that was thick enough to cast a dry spot for a few hours. Didn’t have a book or anything because luxuries aren’t part of my trip planning. I remarked to Brad that the pit toilet was phenomenal, could barely even smell it. “Or maybe you’re still sick.” Oh, yeah. Or that. Around noon we figured it wasn’t going to really clear up, we might as well move.

Crazy glacial moraine, lake out of frame

It had backed off to a drizzle. I strapped my soaking wet tent to the outside of my pack to spare everything on the inside and we took off. The first mile or two was stupid, generic slopes in the mist. And then we crested the next pass and hit larches and holy crap the glimpses we got were such teases. Toes of glaciers hanging down rock walls between larches! A huge moraine, with a lake I’d have demanded we hike to if it hadn’t been raining. The rolling slope to the east that we could have hiked up easily for better views, if we hadn’t been socked in by clouds. Oh man. But at least we only had to go four miles. Four miles of +2000ft and then -2000ft. Because of these below-treeline-only-campsites.

We got to camp around 3pm and did basically what we had done that morning, set up tents and sat in dry spots for as long as we could tolerate. 5pm was dinnertime, we huddled in a dry grove between trees. Nobody was using the official picnic tables, which were in clearings fully exposed to rain. I think I was in my sleeping bag by 6:30pm where I slept for 12 hours because there was nothing else to do in the rain and the cold and this was another campsite below tree line with no larches and no views and only trees and probably bears. I peeked my head out occasionally to see if clouds were moving. The one pro of camping below tree line is some of the trees are dense enough that they maintain dry spots so you can at least sit outside briefly. I barely survived the pit toilet. It smelled horrible. My head cold must finally be passing.

I woke up at 6am, truly believing in my deepest of hearts that it would. be. sunny. Narrator: it was not sunny. It’s amazing that you can believe so hard in something and have it not be true. Whatever. I guess free will doesn’t exist. Love isn’t real. Karma doesn’t actually come around. We’re helpless. Nothing matters. It started to dawn on me that the next day I’d be getting on a plane in soggy clothes with a pack full of soaking wet gear after four days in soaking wet weather that I busted my ASS to make happen. What can you do but laugh? We dined on stroop waffles heated over the steam from the water we boiled to drink, to various name-that-tunes: stroop, there it is. stroop, stroop ba doop, stroop ba doop. Like everything else, my existential crisis also doesn’t matter, not when faced with Costco snacks. We packed up once again and started off.

Great Jesus ray. That’s the father, the son, and the holy spirit telling me personally hey, we got some sun headed your way

When we were close to the first pass, which was only a couple hundred feet of elevation gain from camp (phew) the sun started making moves. Suddenly the larches were backlit and we were in a cocoon of yellow and IT WAS FINALLY HAPPENING our pace slowed to like 1/10th of a mile per hour and we started basking. This was what we had been hoping for. A trail above 6000ft that just clung to the side of a valley covered in larches, maintained elevation rather than going up 2,000ft and then down 2,000ft, just a beautiful traverse on a warm sunny yellow day. There was another warden’s cabin up there too, which isn’t even fair. I always joked I wanted to retire and be a park ranger but maybe now I want to specifically be a Canadian park ranger if that’s where they’re patrolling.

These peaks are absolutely giant. Totally different feel from the Cascades. We saw another moraine with a bright green lake behind it and looked at each other. Uhhh we need to go to this right? We need to go directly to this lake? We trotted off giggling through dense larches. Thank you, larches, for being so soft and not stubborn stiff evergreens that clothesline you when you try to rush through them. After some rambling we were able to get to the toe of the (very dirty) glacier and took a great lunch break in what felt like a foreign land. It’s truly like the rock walls of Moab meets North Cascades rock, with yellow aspen traded for yellow larches and the bonus of glaciers right next to you. Pictures will never do it justice, and I have to winder what this will look like in another 20 years of glacial recession and brush growth. It’s absolutely spectacular, will it be surrounded by trees in 50 years?

Straight from the toe of the glacier to feed future larches. Our cross country trail rejoined the real train in the largest to the left.

We took our sweet time from the lake up to the final pass. The land transitioned abruptly from glacial moraine to grassy meadow as if the moraine had been pushed onto the meadow just yesterday. The meadow travel was easy, small springs and bright red fireweed and yellow larches and blue skies. Brad has also developed a rare talent: the ability to sniff blueberries from miles away. I’d be walking a trail with seemingly no vegetation and I’d hear “wait. I smell them. blueberries.” and two minutes later “found them!!” and we’d have a small feast. Alpine super sniffer. I couldn’t believe there even were still blueberries.

I have never been so in love with fireweed

It is insane to me that you can’t camp here. I get it, it impacts a fragile environment, and I would hate to see this place get overrun like some places in Washington, but oof the individualist and explorer in me is tortured knowing I can’t just do what I want up there (I mean… who’s there to find me?). This was easily one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been and I want it to stay pristine, but I also want to see every inch, and doing that with a base camp several miles away and thousands of feet lower is tough. But in the meantime… kudos to you, Canada. OOOOO Caaaaa na daaaaa. If ooonly iii knnneeeeww moooore wooooords

The gradual hill to the pass was hell on my trashed city legs, it went forever gaining one foot per minute or something stupid like that. It was smoky, you could smell it, but the views were still elite. I’m used to cramped steep valleys in the Cascades, not these huge broad ridges and wide open valleys with massive mountains on either side. I was almost depressed rolling into camp knowing that was our one day of glory. Helmet falls took me by surprise – it’s hundreds of feet long. Not just a cute little thing in the forest. But yes, the campsite was yet another campsite well below treeline next to a river with no views. Only bears.

1ft per minute to the pass I was dying in the most beautiful land

Naturally, the last day was perfectly sunny, but we were just hiking 9mi out gradually in the woods. Paint Pots was really only one pot and it wasn’t very painted but everything pales in comparison to brilliant yellow larches. Brad beta sprayed me with all of the nearby community centers I could shower at before getting on the plane, I made the mistake of checking email and slack while still being on PTO thinking I’d feel better if it did, and soon enough I was in dark rainy Seattle as if nothing had changed over the last 12 months.

This larch march powered by Costco Brookies

Bonus pics I couldn’t resist adding

Somehow on top of the world but dwarfed at the same time. Valley 7,200ft~, peaks ~10,000ft

That awkward moment when you have 75 of the same image

Moab Trail Marathon: “I ran 6.8 miles, that’s enough training right?”

Posted on November 13, 2017 by evejakubowski

Top of mile 15 baby!

Every year, I fly out to Moab to run a trail marathon with my father. I know, we’re adorable. You can tell from the title (and our past races) that we’ve never managed to quite take it seriously and this year was no different. Well, Year One I took it very seriously, but I lived in Chicago and was destroyed by mile 15, the notorious 1400+ft climb. That’s taller than the highest point in Illinois, and I drove like 2hrs from Chicago just to find a hill that gained like 100ft to attempt to train. So naturally, I didn’t take it seriously the next few years, because I knew I’d always be walking that section. Year Two I was actually in pretty good shape because I was working part time at REI Seattle and hiking to fill the void in my life, but we got stuck at a terrible freezing cold bottleneck for 30+ minutes and my father ended up with some bad muscle spasms. Year Three was a hilarious “how to fake like you can run 26 miles when neither of you have run more than 10 miles in the past year” that was surprisingly pleasant, and this was Year Four. As usual, the entire weekend was forecasted to be cloudy. The only cloudy weekend in Moab is the weekend I’m there. I love you too mother nature.

Distance: 26.2 miles ~~but it was definitely longer~~
Elevation: 3,000ft ish net
Weather: 60’s and cloudy/sunny/dust stormy
Commute from Seattle: ha! 18hrs if you drive. Don’t drive. 1hr by plane, 6hrs if SeaTac forgot how to de-ice planes, and then runs out of de-icing fluid shortly after they remember how to work the trucks because “this never happens” (IT HAPPENS EVERY YEAR SEATAC GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER)
Did I Trip: I did not, but my father took a nice flying wipeout followed by a ninja-like recovery around mile 22

And we’re off!

We started pretty similarly to the past few years. I stocked up on peanut butter, electrolytes, salty snacks and caffeinated gu for my father’s inevitable bonk (spoiler alert: he didn’t need it) while my father ran into a gas station at 7am to buy a Gatorade bottle to carry right before the race. So there we found ourselves at the starting line laughing at the lack of preparation. My parents made fun of my running pack, which was not light considering I was carrying 3 liters of water and enough protein bars and peanut butter for a small village. And a jacket I probably wouldn’t need. And gloves. And a camera. And my phone. And my 2lb wallet. Oh, and in classic Jakubowski fashion, my father had gone for a single 6.8 mile run a few weeks ago, and decided that was enough to run a marathon.

No one else is taking pics

The start this year was weird. No one around us was snapping pictures, but I still made sure to get some good ones at the turns where you can see the trail of runners wrapping around the canyons. It was cloudy, but that was a good thing. Heat is brutal when you’re out there jogging for hours. We figured out that pounding salt tabs (Hammer endurolytes, like 2-4 pills every 5ish miles) was the secret to avoiding muscle cramps. My calves didn’t hurt for the first time in a race literally ever, which was awesome. The course was sandier than usual, which is a pain in the ass to run through. We repeatedly slowed down to take pictures, walked all the uphills and deep sand, trying to take it as slow as possible, but it still felt like we were going too fast. We didn’t hit as many bottlenecks as the previous years, which had always forced us to walk. And people were less chatty than prior years! It was weird. We’re supposed to be the fun wave with neon and cameras and laughs and stories, why are you all so serious?! Luckily, it turns out there was beer at every rest stop. But again, no one wanted it!! Guys! What is this?! Who are you?!? Yes I’ll have a Bud Light please. Good for hydration.

Whatever guys, I’ll document everything, you just keep running

The trail travels through the bottom of a canyon at first before climbing halfway up the canyon wall and winding the edge for a few miles, and then drops down a short scramble to the road below. At the scramble section, there was a volunteer directing runners to the left, which was easy, or the right, which was “a technical crack.” I laughed and under my breath (or so I thought) muttered “like 5.7 technical or like 3rd class technical” to which she replied (shit! she heard me!) “eh, like two fourth class moves.” I cracked up and told her I hadn’t expected an actual response. Of course being a Moab dweller she was more than familiar with rock climbing. Moab is like rock climbing mecca. So I took the 4th class route, and then realized it didn’t make a difference because I still had to wait 5min for my father to get down the nontechnical route anyway (he would have been fine on the 4th class).

The out and back had some color at least

At the bottom of that scramble is where the half marathon heads back up a road (uphill! suckers!) to the finish, and the marathon runners continue on to the dreaded “out and back” (okay, we’re the suckers). We ran past a bunch of climbers and I couldn’t even watch, the FOMO is like physically painful. My father took a bathroom break and I refused to let him take a 150ft shortcut back to the course. We didn’t come here to run 21.15 miles. Also everyone’s watching.

The out and back was never too bad in the past, but for some reason this year it was BRUTAL. All sand, and running in soft sand blows. And I swear, I SWEAR, they extended it by like a mile. We passed the place where we had turned around in prior years, and ran for what felt like another 20 minutes. In sand. Stopping like every 150ft to let other runners pass, because it’s single track. Which I usually love, but why would you have an out-and-back on single track?! That just means everyone has to stop in both directions to let everyone pass, and if you get stuck behind a polite runner, then you’ll be stopping for everyone else instead of running. So we spent a lot of time waiting and grumbling about it here. I am not a patient person. And did I mention we were slogging through sand? And somehow no one in front of us knows we want to pass??

Grumble grumble

Luckily right when I was about to throw a bitch fit a nice woman studying sociology and public health started chatting with us. We asked what she’d do with graduate degrees in those, and she said either social worker or something related to ecopsychology, which I had never heard of. It’s a totally cool concept that you’ve all probably thought about (basically, how the outdoors can be used for mental health) but I never knew it had a name. Apparently in several other countries doctors will literally prescribe outdoor activity. Like once a week you need to go to this state park for two hours, and sometimes that will even include a wilderness therapist. It’s even an acceptable reason to leave work. That’s amazing. And she was one of those people that was so passionate that then you start to get excited about it too, and she totally carried us through the twilight zone that was the (definitely extended) out and back.

Looking at the steep mile

We took a legitimate break back on the gravel road to dump sand out of our shoes. It just kept coming. My father took off his socks and dumped another cup of sand out of his socks. No wonder my shoes felt two sizes too small, sand took up more space in my shoes than my freaking feet did. Maybe I was being a princess (ok, a little) but soon enough we were back up and running. The next stretch is a pleasant, level mile through fall foliage that leads to the base of the behemoth climb at mile 15. And right then, the sun came out. To shine on us during the sweatiest part of the marathon. Mother nature, what are you doing. Can I get some shade and a tailwind?

~~Almost there!!~~ No, you’re halfway

The climb gains something like 1,300ft in a mile, and it shattered me the first year. Mostly because I tried to run it. Be patient, young grasshopper. The second year was slightly better since I was living in Seattle and hiking, and was not so prideful that I had to jog it. The third time was similar. And this year was spectacular! We actually cruised right up it, power hiking, no breaks, neither of us dying. Maybe it was a slower pace, but we felt strong, and were catching up to people left and right. It’s amazing because halfway up you remember to turn around and look behind you and suddenly the entire canyon is laid out below you with mountains in the distance and the river winding below and it’s just spectacular. We snapped our annual pic at the top of the climb (the sky looked rad) and started the long jog that we thought was all downhill to the finish ( AHAHA hahaha.. ah… “downhill”).

Time to fly!

This is my favorite part of the race every year. You just finished the steep section, endorphins are high, you worked your ass off for that view, you’re on top of the world, you’re in the middle of nowhere, you’re cruising along flat terrain with open sky and meadows and towers in the distance, it’s the coolest part of the race.

And it just gets better, because then you hit the slickrock. Which is like another planet. My father lamented his tired legs. I was talking about how badly my body wanted a post race steak. “My body wants a hot tub and whiskey.” followed by “I am gingerly stepping downhill like an old lady because my legs are so weak and tired.” I laughed. “To be fair, we are 10 miles past the longest run you’ve done since this day last year.” Of course those legs are tired. And that ridiculous climb. And running through miles of sand. Yuck. Oh, and it wasn’t all downhill after mile 15, who said that?! Every corner led to a new uphill. But there we were, flying (crawling? hobbling?) along bright red rolling Moab rock, admiring the views and laughing at how odd it is to be whining about things while surrounded by such beauty.

Slickrock! Less flying more tiptoeing

Suck it in!

Oh, and the best part? We were 1) barely surrounded by people and 2) the few people we did see, we were constantly passing. We were in the back of the pack for sure (“why is there no one around us?!” “Well… we’re not exactly going fast…”), but the bright side of that was consistently reeling the runners ahead of us in. I don’t think anyone in the slow running pack has been so happy and energetic. We hit the long 4×4 road that led us to the singletrack by the river, where we could see the finish line. This sections is genuinely mostly downhill. Finally.

Pushing through mile 19

Around mile 22, I heard a THUMP followed by a whumpft and a spray of sand and a gatorade bottle flying past my head. I turned around to see my father picking himself up and dusting himself off. “Still in one piece?” “It was a very elegant fall” he claimed. “Very nijna-like, really.” And we kept running. I didn’t witness it, but it must have been graceful if no weird muscles had been pulled or sent into cramps and spasms. After 4+ hours of running, grand wipeouts usually aren’t so pretty.

Ropes on one of the scrambles

Oh, and that finish line that you can see from mile 21? Yeah, you run past it and then go on a 5k “adventure course” to top off the run. So don’t get your hopes up. You hear everyone cheering, you run past other marathoners finishing, and you head back out into the desert to wander (“like Jesus”). I was still deep in runner’s high (“can you shut her up?” my father said as we passed another dying runner). But the 5k is a neat course, you go through caves and massive drainage pipes and another two scramble sections, this time with ropes (it’s more 4th class stuff) so you don’t have to downclimb unless you’re impatient like me, because downclimbing means you can pass whoever’s on the ropes. I did utilize the alpine-butt-scoot at one point though. Taking a large step down and landing on my legs at mile 25.7 or whatever just sounded too jarring for my poor legs. We skipped the last aid station in favor of “getting this shit over with as soon as possible,” ducked through the last drainage pipe, and emerged into a dust storm that relentlessly stuffed grains of sand in my eyes until I gave up and closed them. Holy shit, nothing better than headwinds and dust in the last quarter mile. But it blocks out the fact you’re running through a parking lot. “Give me a few more minutes and then I’ll be done counting my steps and I’ll talk to you again.” Ok, dad.

Preparing to enter the dust bowl (running though a storm drain)

We reached the finish line. “Ready to pretend like you feel great?!” I shouted. We sprinted across, or what felt like sprinting. The pics look more like slow jogging, but who cares. I grabbed my participation mug. Mugs >>> medals. We found my mother, who had been volunteering. “You’re late!” she exclaimed. “And you smell terrible, and now I have to sit in the car with both of you. Ask me how many bananas and oranges I have sliced today.” Sorry mom. You knew what you were getting into. Also can you carry dad to the car? He’s currently lying on a tarp groaning trying to kick sand out of his shoes.

We made it back to the hot tub at the lodge, where we joined a few other runners (varying levels of tiredness, based upon how successfully everyone entered and exited the hot tub) and some vacationers who were impressed with our feat. I had a killer steak for dinner and probably could have finished two more. And the next morning, we went to Arches National Park! But I’m going to save that for the next post, because this one is already wicked long. So here’s to a fourth marathon in Moab, and to finally bringing my mother out there so we could share the scenery! Everyone who knows me knows how noncommittal I am. Well, Moab is the single weekend in the past few years that I commit to months in advance. That’s how awesome it is.

Blue skies, desert, and towers. Toss me a rare steak and I’ll call it heaven.

Ixtaccihuatl and Orizaba

Posted on December 1, 2015 by evejakubowski

Popocatepetl over Ixta’s ridges

A week full of sunshine, limericks, guacamole, and a little bit of climbing. What more can you ask for? Well for starters, the guac-to-chip ratio in Mexico seems to be much lower than it is in my kitchen. And the sunshine was a pleasant surprise. Even Mountain Forecast, the notoriously optimistic mountain weather predictor, was calling for snow up high every. Single. Day. Psych! We had perfect weather windows for both climbs. Man, I almost don’t want to write this entry, because once I’m done with it, the trip will officially be over.

Well let’s start with getting to Mexico. I’m not a traveler. I have left the country once in the past eight years, and it was with family, so I mostly ignored everything that was going on. I woke up on the plane to some vague Spanish forms sitting in my lap. Okay, these must be for customs. Got those filled out. Passed out all of my extra pens to needy travelers in the customs line (I was politely reprimanded by my boss for not having a pen at a meeting, and now there are like 15+ in my purse at any given moment in time) like a Customs Hero, and picked up my absurdly large canvas duffle bag that my boss lent me before running into Angie (yay!), Erin, and Kali, who had all planned to meet at the airport. We swapped dollars for pesos, hopped into a cab, and headed to the hotel.

How weather was much of the time (featuring Angie’s Bottom)

The first night was quiet. Everyone was just getting to know each other. Erin was from Seattle, Dave was from Evanston (where I went to college), so there were a few connections. A few climbers already knew the guides, Dallas and Austin. Dallas knew our guide from our ridiculously fun trip up Shuksan well and had some funny stories about the two of them. Everyone was talking about their experiences: Denali, China, Aconcagua, treks well above 13,000ft, Ecuador volcanoes. And what did I have? I, uhhh, well, I climbed Rainier a few times, and some smaller peaks in the Cascades? And one time I ran 10 miles at 10,000ft in Colorado while looking at mountains, does that count? I passed out that time though, so maybe not. What does diamox feel like? When should I take it? Does 20 degrees feel colder at 17,000ft than it does at 14,000ft? Maybe I should have asked Angie’s dad if I could borrow puffy pants in addition to his soft shell pants. I glanced down, concerned at the number of chips left without guac on my plate. The other end of the table doesn’t like guac, maybe I can get theirs. They don’t know I’m a human garbage disposal yet.

We headed up for a light day hike at the base of Ixta the next day. Light packs, short mellow terrain. It’s crazy that there are trees and roads up to 13,000ft in Mexico. To reach that in Washington, you’re either on a glacier or a plane. I put Angie’s fancy Suunto in my bag, because I realized I didn’t notice the altitude until someone else pointed it out. Maybe if I just didn’t know what we were at, I’d never notice.

Nassella Tenuissima (mountain grass!)

The hike was pleasant. A jeep engine overheated (not our group, just a Mexican family who kept honking the horn as if that’d fix it – turn the heat on full blast, that helps at least a little), a few runners were getting in some high altitude training, and the grasses were amazing. I asked what the grass was called, and got “mountain grass?” in response. Of course immediately after I post pictures on Facebook, my horticulturalist mother jumps in – “Nassella Tenuissima!! I just planted this in breezy!” Well, I’ll have a little taste of Ixtaccihuatl in Queens, NY next summer. Sweet.

We went back down to the town of Amecameca (~8000ft) to sleep low, climb high. We almost got nailed by cars crossing the street to get to dinner, but made it. Dramatic 20ft run. I ordered paella, which I knew had shrimp in it, but i wasn’t expecting it to also be stuffed with seashells with a whole fucking crab on top. For those who don’t know me, even the smell of seafood is enough to send me running to the nearest vomit receptacle (bathroom doesn’t convey the urgency involved). It was a brutal dinner. Luckily we had ordered an outrageous amount of appetizers, so I was pretty full anyway.

The next morning, we carried gear to high camp. I’m a chatty hiker, and frequently need to find ways to entertain myself. Like a 5 year old. But as a wise man once said (okay, dad) “only boring people get bored.” So I started writing limericks, and got Angie to try her hand at it too. The first one was about Angie getting sunburned. Spoiler alert: It was me who ended up sunburned.

Poor Angie is already burned
You’d think that by now she’d have learned
She’s whiter than flour
And fries in an hour
And soon the outdoors she’ll have spurned.

The hut on Ixta

Those last lines are damn hard, every time. Soon enough I got Barb talking about lizards (she’s done all sorts of cool research in Baja) and that kept me occupied for a bit, and then Kali told us about some of her military training. I soon realized I would need a belt for the pants I had borrowed from Angie’s dad, and spent the rest of the hike mentally sorting through the few belongings I had brought to Mexico. Eventually I settled on a prussik and a runner, neither of which would be necessary on the climbs. I girth hitched them together to fit around my waist. I’ll refrain from making a fat joke.

We spent that night in a hut around 13,000ft. Dinner was quesadillas, more guac (enough guac this time), tortillas, man I don’t even remember at this point but it’s 7am and I’d freaking love that meal all over again. Popocatepetl poked out from the clouds a few times, and Kali pointed out a few constellations and navigational stars, which was pretty neat. We’ll see if I remember them. I think I’ll be relying on an app (I’m sure there’s an app for that) like the pleb that I am.

The next day was back up to high camp, where we relaxed for the afternoon and went to bed early. I suck at sitting around without something to distract me (a book, netflix, music, you get the idea), so I wrote another limerick as I demolished an entire 12oz box of Wheat Thins. Appetite: 1, altitude: 0.

No one is hungry up high

No cravings when you touch the sky

Just headaches and pee

Unless you are me

And could devour a whole goddamn pie.

High camp on Ixta

Apple pie sounded amazing right then and there. But alas, no pie. Angie wrote a few hilarious haikus (you can read her full poetry collection on her blog here) which were ten times as funny because she made herself laugh so hard she couldn’t even recite them, she had to write them down and have me read them. Here’s a great example when I suggested we write limericks about “I dunno, rocks, we’re surrounded by rocks?”

Writing about rocks is hard
When you don’t give a damn about rocks
Shit that doesn’t rhyme
I guess I just need some time
To have an opinion on rocks.

Once she decided to nap, I just dozed in the sun and listened to some trance until it was time for dinner and an early bedtime.

Halfway through the night I realized my face was sunburned. It was burning against my warm zero degree sleeping bag. God dammit. I didn’t sleep much. You could hear Popo grumbling in the distance, which was oddly unsettling and fascinating both at once. I had taken a half dose of diamox for the first time and was dealing with all the tingliness that comes along with it. Luckily it didn’t make me have to pee constantly, which is apparently the other main side effect.

Popocatepetl from high camp on Ixta

We got up around midnight, had a quick breakfast, and started off. Kali suggested playing “the country game” which goes like this: name every country that starts with A, then every country that starts with B, etc. I was fifth, and it was my turn. “Albania!” Already said. Hmm, Australia! That was said too. Armenia? Yup. AZERBAIJAN! No one knows that one, I thought proudly. Except everyone laughed, because Angie had just said it. Fine, uhh, Argentina. Fuckers. The morning was off to a great start. I suck at geography. We gave up at C.

Ixta is mostly a kitty litter filled scramble full of ups and downs and it would be pretty miserable if it didn’t have so many ridges to walk. There was snow for maybe a quarter mile if that, and the rest was just rock. Apparently the glacier used to be a large, crevassed beast, but what’s left of it is small and mellow. It was still damn cold, and Fozzy’s hot gatorade (it’s better than it sounds) was an awesome treat at every break. Much nicer to drink than ice cold water. I have a hard time drinking fluids, so I had made all my water bottle into raspberry lemonade hoping it’d make hydrating more fun. Should have made them all hot gatorade.

There’s a false summit, too, so don’t get your hopes up. Fozzy had warned us, so I was ready. He probably only mentioned it because I’m like a little kid in a car. Except instead of “are we there yet?” it’s “is that the summit?” I was trying to figure out how the body parts of Ixta worked and couldn’t just ask “where are the boobies?!” We weren’t on that level yet.

Ixta summit selfie!

We actually beat sunrise to the top, so Angie and I took a great summit selfie in the dark. We were at the top I swear. Angie hilariously couldn’t get her goretex pants to fit over harness, and laughing kept me almost warm in the pre dawn morning at 17,000ft.

Dallas and Austin’s rope teams coming down the ridge

The way back took longer than expected. We flew down the first section and paused to wait while I snapped more pictures of sunrise and the rest of our team coming down the ridge. Orizaba poked out in the distance. That’s where we were headed next! Clouds rolled in as we descended. Back to high camp to pack everything up and then to the vans down below, where beer, fresh sandwiches (mayo, avocado, cheese, turkey… oh man, amazing), and coke with real sugar(!) waited for us. Yeah, I ate the extra sandwiches.

Sunrise on the way down from the summit

We shipped our gear off to Tlachichuca, the town we were staying at below Orizaba, and hopped into the vans with our casual wear. “It’ll take 2 hours to get to town” we were told. And by 2 hours, they meant 3 and a half hours down bumpy dirt roads, so don’t expect to sleep in the car. Austin sniffed his clothes and announced that he “had a certain stench about him,” so I took the liberty of writing a limerick. Anything to stay entertained on that damn dirt road.

Our guide smells like sweat and B.O.

We wonder “oh when will it go?!”

But we can’t give him shit

Cause we have to admit

Do we smell like roses? Hell no!

Two climbers along one of the few icy sections

We spent the night in Puebla, which is a major city, not a small town like I expected. We checked out a few cathedrals, and got an amazing dinner followed by desserts on the house. Desserts were delicious, and so eloquently described by Erin – “sugary and the crust is just delicious!” Okay Erin, that’s about what we expect from a cookie, care to elaborate? You have such a way with words. The restaurant was also where we suffered the only injury of our entire trip: Barb tripped over a flower pot and got a sweet bruise. Orizaba and Ixta dealt no damage, but man those damn flowers were a hazard.

The hut on Orizaba

The next day we went up to the hut around 14,000ft on Orizaba. This was one of the coolest parts of the climb. I’ve never climbed outside the Cascades. The hut on Orizaba had so many climbers from so many different countries! Spanish, English, Italian, and German were all being spoken, and probably a few others that I’m forgetting. It had been foggy all day, and we only got a glimpse of the peak for 15 minutes but everyone ran outside to look at it and was chattering in whatever language came to mind first (English because I’m a true gringo).

Rainbow! Yeah baby!

There was even a rainbow! I had gone outside to use the bathroom and nearly fell over when I realized there was a rainbow and whipped around to go tell everyone. The Armenian team (I think) laughed at me but let’s be real they were just as excited about it. But besides those few brief moments, we were socked in by clouds.

Given the weather, we expected to leave camp in full goretex for the climb. Ugh. Just wait until I’m out the door. Even if it’s five minutes after we leave, just let me leave the hut in dry weather. I scurried up to my top shelf bunk (like the fine liquor right), popped another half diamox (please don’t have to pee please don’t make me have to pee) crawled into my sleeping bag and watched Fozzy, Dallas, and Austin cook. Angie and I narrated it like it was Iron Chef. That was hands down the best dinner we had the entire trip, in my opinion. Better than the place in Puebla, better than the steak restaurant we went to the last night. Orizaba Hut Kitchen was the best.

Fozzy’s team (I think) with Orizaba’s shadow

After dinner I drifted in and out of sleep listening to a few other guides and teams chat. We woke up around midnight again, to clear, starry skies! Yes! And it wasn’t even that cold! Fuck yes! I had brought overboots for my Nepal Evos because I couldn’t track down plastics quickly enough (or cheaply enough) and I was hoping to not have to use them. What I didn’t say is that my crampons were so damn old and rusty that they’re almost impossible to adjust, and that’s the real reason I didn’t want to deal with overboots. I tossed them in my pack and hoped for the best.

I actually felt pretty crappy starting out. Dehydration, probably, knowing me. Just sluggish and unmotivated. I was a little psyched out for the climb since I had only heard how tired/dehydrated/destroyed I’d be on the way down, and how long/tedious/cold the glacier was. I mean seriously guys, the bar was on the ground at that point. My expectations could not have been lower. During the first break Steve asked why no limericks, and I recited the most recent one about Austin being smelly to a few chuckles. It actually made me feel way better. Everything is a mental game, I guess.

Team above us on the way down, just before middle man tripped

Aaaaaand my feet were fine. As I was warned before the trip, they were uncomfortably cold, but they were fine. The rest of me was uncomfortably cold too, because we never really got moving fast enough for me to completely warm up, and breaks were miserably long and cold. And once we hit the glacier, the rope teams got a bit separated and I didn’t have Fozzy to pamper me with hot gatorade. I reverted back to my old distraction – taking photos. I suck at photography, but it kills time. So I have 50 pictures of the other two teams below with the mountain shadow in the background, and a team climbing above us. The team above us had one picture come out great, but what you don’t know is that the middle person is about to trip. He saw me taking pictures. He knows I documented it.

We took a long break just below the summit. Kali and I were bitching about being cold. “Put on your goretex pants!” Austin suggested. “Or just go faster…” Kali muttered, to which I perked up and added “or shorter breaks!” A few second later we saw something black tumbling down the glacier from one of our other rope teams. “That looks important…” Austin said. He was right. RIP Dave’s Camera. ~~Hope we didn’t lose any awesome photos of me. I mean,~~ hope you didn’t lose any great photos. Hopefully we took enough to make up for it!

After we got started again, I was laughing at how many switchbacks we had made and heard Kali exclaim behind me “What are we taking, the scenic route?!” and I burst out laughing and from there on out we were Team Scenic Route.

Team Scenic Route on top!

We finally made it to the ridge along the summit, and holy. Shit. That crater is awesome. I was expecting a Rainier type crater, but this was way more dramatic. Deep enough you couldn’t see the bottom, and surrounded by jagged, icy alpine edges. Totally neat. We spent almost an hour up there, I think. Pictures, snacks, frozen goldfish, frozen maple butter, crystal light (it is more fun than water). Apparently it was a surprisingly warm day for Orizaba, and thank god it was. No complaints here.

The awesome crater. Yeah yeah I know I need to fix the sun

Austin with Kali about to do a handstand on the edge of the world

We went back down the glacier at a moderate pace with Kali leading the charge, and that was the only time I was warm that whole day. We got to the bottom and waited another half hour (at least, that’s how it felt) for everyone to regroup and have some snacks and water. By the time we were moving, I was cold again. Man. The rest of the way back down the rock (and through the labyrinth, which I still have no idea how anyone knows where they’re going) the clouds were closing in, and we heard a bit of thunder. By the time we were nearing the hut, it was completely foggy again. We had gotten the perfect weather window for climbing.

Small section of the labyrinth

Back at the hut we packed everything up and loaded into vans to head back to the Reyes compound for the night. Their food is SO good. I mean I stand by my earlier statement (Orizaba Hut Kitchen was best kitchen), but the Reyes’s have some awesome food. And background music. We made a fire thanks to Austin’s boy scout skills, and sat around it figuring out what the hell to write in the guest book. We wanted a limerick, but I had to sleep on that one.

Bedtime was glorious. I slept so freaking well that night. The next morning we had a quick breakfast and piled back into the vans to return to Mexico City. I scrawled a limerick (okay, I made Angie write it because my handwriting is so bad) in the guest book. Barb had written a beautiful description about everyone’s efforts, the amazing weather windows we had on each peak, and the generosity of the Reyes family for hosting us in such a lovely place. And I followed that up with this:

Glaciers will stubbornly test

Whether you can get by with no rest

Put showers on hold

Just deal with the cold

And shitting in bags is the best!

Perfect contrast.

The way back to Mexico City was uneventful besides 1) the coffee place was out of the oreo mocha milkshake which was a bummer, so we got ice cream next door at 10am and 2) we thought the car’s air conditioning was broken until we were like 15 minutes from the hotel in Mexico City. We finally all joked about baking in the car and the driver was like “why didn’t you say anything?!” I just assumed the AC was broken! Jeez, it had gotten to the point where I got excited every time the car had to curve slightly right because it meant air from the front windows (back windows didn’t open) would reach the back row and blow in my face.

Orizaba summit selfie!

We got there in the early afternoon, and us ladies went out to explore a nearby plaza. Instead we ended up with tacos, margaritas, and mojitos at a bar. And it was great. Round 2? Why the hell not? It was warm, sunny, and finally felt like a vacation! I have no idea what the guys did, but there’s no way they had as much fun as we did. We had a quick siesta back at the hotel before meeting up with everyone for dinner.

The lovely bathroom accomodations on Orizaba (photo credit Steve)

That night was full of wine, steak, tequila (“…We… we need more!” was the immediate response to the waiter when he brought the first few glasses of tequila over) and general hilarity. At this point, everyone knew each other much better than the first night, and with a few drinks to fuel the fire, I think I almost cried laughing at several points. On the way back to the hotel we stopped off so everyone could get nice mescal with Fozzy’s advice, and back at the hotel… we decided to go to a bar instead. One last hurrah.

Sunday morning was a gloomy, sad-to-be-leaving affair. Angie and I ran into Dallas and Austin at breakfast, and later saw Barb with her friend Georgie as well. I was busy being mopey. The flights back were lame. Everything was lame. I got a crappy bag of cheesy chips that were overall disappointing. The security agent in the Mexico airport didn’t believe I didn’t have a laptop or tablet. I forgot to buy cheez its for my flight. I had a layover in Atlanta. The Entourage Movie was underwhelming. I had to pay to watch Amy, so I didn’t watch it. But I did get to watch Fast & Furious 5, 6, and 7 all in a row, which was nice I guess. And I got a huge beautiful SUV cab back to my apartment for the same cost as a regular cab because there were no regular cabs. Small miracles.

Oh, and then upon my return I threw everything into the wash, including my ipod. RIP tiny nano, you have served me well. Mexico was a great last hurrah.

Group summit photo on Orizaba! Stolen from IMG’s blog, no idea who took it since it isn’t in our shared folder 😦

Seriously, awesome trip. Great people, great location, unbelievably well organized. That Orizaba Hut Kitchen meal will never be repeated but it’ll be in my top 5 meals for a while (with Ruth’s Chris in Seattle once, the big mac I had the other night, this restaurant I can’t remember in Barcelona that was near our apartment, and New Park Pizza after Hurricane Sandy). Everyone in our group was easygoing with a great sense of humor, and I couldn’t have asked for better company. Team Scenic Route, it’ll be a dream if I get to climb with you guys again! Congrats on two spectacular summits and a fantastic trip.

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout

Category Archives: International

Rockwall Trail (Kootenay National Park)

Moab Trail Marathon: “I ran 6.8 miles, that’s enough training right?”

Ixtaccihuatl and Orizaba