Field Notes: The Ranger Marathon (Part 2)
July 28, 2017
Philmont Scout Ranch, New Mexico
Rachel started to grab an extra layer from her pack and I made my way to a porch on the side of the warehouse. Crouching, I moved under the structure. I could hear voices and footsteps above my head. Making my way inside, I found myself in the trading post section of the warehouse. One staffer, the Camp Director named Riggs, worked behind the counter. There were several scouts from a crew taking shelter inside. Riggs shot me a glance, but focused on the participant buying something at the counter before him. A large bowl sat on the counter next to the register, slowly filling with water dripping from the ceiling.
“What brings you to the Gulch?” Riggs said after the participant left the counter.
“Me and another RT are attempting the Marathon,” I said.
A moment passed and what I said registered with Riggs, and for a moment he may have thought that I was joking. “When did you even start?” he said.
“We started at a brisk 8:54am,” I said.
“You…no…you’re a bunch a…no,” Riggs replied, letting the full ridiculousness or our situation take form. Most rangers started the Marathon at 2 or 3am. Our late start and our sudden run-in with a massive storm seemed like it would cause our luck to run dry.
“I know,” I said. “We are trying to do it in the most unorthodox way we can imagine.”
“We’ll that’s the only way to do it,” Riggs replied. “Can we help you with anything?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a quick look into your alls swap boxes for some food,” I said. A swap box is what crews use to get rid of food they don’t want. Typically, a swap box is just a small crate at staff camps in the backcountry that’s full of Larabars and oatmeal. However, the fact that we were at a commissary meant that their swap box would be so much more.
“Sure. Follow him,” Riggs said as he turned and pointed to one of his staff. The staffer nodded, and turned to take me through the warehouse. I passed through a doorway into the main storeroom. The room was an organized chaos of boxes filled with food and supplies. Around the room, a jar, can, or bowl caught water from the ceiling. The staffer took me to the counter that crews came up to for getting more food. On the other side was a covered porch.
“Just hop over this. The boxes are on the other side and this way you can stay out of the rain,” the staffer said, and then turned and left.
I realized that he was right. The counter window was the only option that involved me staying out of the rain. The other options to get onto the second porch was a door that led out into the air. I awkwardly crawled over, and stepped onto the porch. What I found were two large, plastic boxes packed to the brim with all sorts of food. I happily sat down on a nearby bench and began rummaging. A few moments later, Rachel found and joined me. Together we both went through the boxes, finding things we’d eat now and some we’d save for later. By this time, we’d been at Ute Gulch for about ten minutes, and the rain seemed persistent. It had not changed its constant downpour since we had arrived. We sat, and listened. Thunder boomed around us, but not close enough for worry.
“How much longer do you think we should stay here?” Rachel said after a while.
“Let’s give it some more time. When it clears, we’ll make our move,” I said.
So we waited. The storm went on for what felt like the rest of our day. I kept checking the watch, keeping track of how much time we had lost. While we waited, I ate and grabbed some extra snacks to stock up. If we were going to stop, we may need extra food to hunker down. At one moment, the rain lulled. The constant downpour turned into a light drizzle, and our eyes lit up with opportunity. We agreed to get moving and went straight for our gear. I thanked the Ute Gulch staff for the food and shelter and made my way to my pack.
We got things settled quickly, and within a few minutes we had our packs down and were continuing down the road. We had lost thirty minutes waiting at Ute Gulch. We were not worried. Rachel had put on rain pants to help shield herself from the drizzle. I realized then that I had no rain pants and had forgotten the gaiters I usually bring for walks in the rain and mud. I figured I would just tough it out.
The mud we walked through, at this point, had become worse. We made our way down the road from Ute Gulch, occasionally taking a slight slide in the mud, but never falling. We kept going until we came across an intersection to the right. Our route involved us going towards Cathedral Rock Camp, a location visited by crews most often on their early days of the their trek. As we moved from the road to the trail, the rain intensified once more. Each step I took down the trail was met with a puddle or run-off of water. My pants began to soak and I felt the water go into my boots. After a few more minutes of the rainfall on the trail, every step I took ended with an uncomfortable squish. Water began to ooze out of the seams and sides of my boots. I could do nothing except what I decided upon ealier. I toughed it out.
At sudden moment, flash came through the air, followed seconds later by a resounding boom. Rachel and I both stopped and looked at each other. After a moment, we shrugged and tried to keep moving. After a few more steps, another flash came through the air. This time, the boom was quick and loud. We shielded our ears and crouched by reflex.
“Let’s wait this one out and hunker down!” Rachel yelled to me.
I nodded in agreement and began to put an estimated thirty feet between us. If a strike hit near us, we would have better survivability if we were not right next to eachother. A strike usually sends electricity all around it when it hits. We both found a little shelter under trees that weren’t too big, and squatted down, feet together. As I squatted, I decided to also grab a quick snack. I had stored a granola bar in my hip belt pocket. Now was as good a time as ever to eat something. Nature had forced us to take a quick break, although we were maybe a mile away from Cathedral Rock Camp. Another flash occurred, followed by a more distant boom. The rain had begun to suck motivation out of me. I began to despise the weather, and chewed my food in some sort of spite towards the rain. I wanted nothing more than to be warm and dry at that instant. However, this wasn’t the first time I’d had similar thoughts. I quickly convinced myself to make it to Clarks Fork, a staff camp at the base of Shaefers Pass.
For a moment, I stood in defiance to the rain. Sqauting made me feel as though I were giving up. Another flash. This time, the boom had been over five seconds away. A good sign that it was going past us.
“It’s moving on!” I called out to Rachel. “Let’s hoof it to Clarks!”
In an instant, we both stepped back onto the soaked trail and began to move. My feet were soaked in their boots, continuing the trend of squishy steps. However, my sudden burst of enthusiasm helped me ignore the annoyance of it all. We moved quickly and soon passed by the campsite sign for Cathedral Rock Camp. Our trail dipped down, towards a small valley with a creek in it. Originally, Cathedral Rock Camp had been in this little valley. However, the sites were flooded during the 2015 flood. In order to make sure those at Cathedral Rock Camp would be safe in the future, the sites were relocated to the hillside just north of the original area.
We hustled down the hill. It opened up from the tree line, revealing meadows. We felt exposed with the storm clouds nearby, so we jogged into the trees on the other side of the meadow. We had to find a way across the Cimarroncito Creek. It was no doubt flooded, as the reservoir that sourced it would likely be overflowing with the amount of rain happening in the area. For a moment, Rachel lead the way, moving us slightly west along the Northside of the creek. We had thought that there was a quicker way across, but the flooded Cimarroncito Creek offered no safe passage where we looked. The traditional route seemed unnecessary as it went east for a short time when we needed to head south and slightly west. We wondered up the side of the bank for about ten minutes until we decided to head east and look farther down the creek.
Going east, we eventually found where a trail met the creek and another trail began on the other side. However, the water submerged most of the good rocks that would have been used as stepping stones. Instead, the narrow tops of a few rocks stubbornly protruded out of the water. We quickly but carefully stepped across the top of the exposed rocks, taking care to not fall into the rushing, brown water, and continued up the hill. Our trail slowly crawled up the hill through a series of switchbacks until it final emerged onto a road. We took a quick moment to drink some water and check the map. The trail went across the road, but ran parallel to it. Only difference in the two was that the road was exposed and the trail was in the trees. The trail also bent and curved with the contours of the hillside. Both lead to an intersecting road that would put us on the trail to Clarks Fork.
Rachel wanted to take the trail. I offered no contest, but secretly wanted to stay on the road. The road was flat. We both made our way up the trail. Almost immediately there was a sudden climb. It wasn’t high, but Rachel immediately changed her mind.
“Nevermind. This goes uphill. Screw that,” she said as we both made our way back down to the road.
“My thoughts exactly,” I replied.
The road was also a little more scenic. Along the way we got an unobstructed view of Cathedral Rock, the formation by which the area is named. Massive spires of red stone discolored by blue and green lichen reached towards the sky. Almost directly below it, the dam for the Cito reservoir, as it is casually called, could be seen. Water poured and raced over its spillway. We walked along the side of the reservoir, taking in the sight and the breeze that came with it. At this time, we noticed the rain had finally stopped. There was a slight mist, but we were drenched enough to not feel it.
Eventually, we found our intersection. Another road branched off, up the hill to our left. Without discussion, we began climbing it. It was steep, but short. A year ago, I had ridden up the road on horseback with a wrangler and horseman. The climb was steep, but quick. The road flattened out into a meadow at the top and met the trail to Clarks Fork. As we neared the top, we found something odd. Packs and gear were scattered to the right, amongst some trees. A set of trekking poles and a cooking pot full of packaged trail food had been thrown about in the road. At first, we immediately assumed the worse. A crew had ditched their gear for some reason and a bear got ahold of it. We stopped to inspect the scene and gather what information we could. Typically, bears that create a taste for human food must be put down. They cannot be simply relocated as they will still rely on human sources for food. This way, they can endanger campers and hikers. The best way to avoid this is to take care of your food and gear. Don’t let a bear get it.
Upon further inspection, and to our relief, we saw that a bear had not gotten the food. Instead, the crew had just left their gear here. Still, not a good situation. We couldn’t just leave the gear sitting here, but we also wanted to keep moving to stay on our own task. However, duty called.
“Hello!” Rachel yelled, trying to get the attention of anyone nearby that wasn’t us.
We stood for a moment, listening. Soon, I heard voices down the road we had just came from.
“They might be coming up behind us,” I said.
The voices drew closer, and soon red t-shirts appeared. We looked towards them. The crew stumbled up the muddy hill, talking among themselves. Several young men were in the front of the group. Some older men, the crew adivsors, followed close behind. Not a one of them had a pack on. This was their gear.
“Hey there!” I called out.
Crew members in the front of their group looked up and waved. Some smiled, some looked like they didn’t have any notice at all.
“Where were you guys?” Rachel asked as they drew near.
“We were at the Demonstration Forrest,” one of the boys in the crew replied, a smile creating an innocent and unaware look about his face. The Demonstration Forest was an area with a shelter on the northeast side of the reservoir. Crews usually went there to meet with Foresters and Conservationist who would teach them about forest ecology.
“And why didn’t you have your gear with you?” I finally asked.
“Well,” started the boy, taken off-guard by the question. The smile left his face. “The storm was really bad and-“
“I think they know there was a storm,” another boy in the crew added in.
The first boy looked at his crewmate, shrugged annoyingly, and turned back to me. It had not occurred to Rachel or me that we probably looked miserable after hiking through the storms.
“We dropped our gear and made a run for the shelter cause of the lighting,” he finally finished.
At this point, the adults of the crew had caught up. One of them decided to explain a similar story, but directed his speech towards Rachel. We both explained to the crew that they shouldn’t have just ditched their gear and that they should’ve broken out in lightning position, just we like we had before Cathedral Rock Camp. Soon, they admitted to their mistake. I reminded them to not worry, as they were not really in trouble. Rachel and I encouraged them to be more careful in the future.
After a few more words with the crew, we felt like they received the right message. We began making our way to Clarks Fork. We left the crew, one of the crew members yelled a familiar question at us.
“Where are you all headed?”
“South!”
We quickened our pace. We’d reached the top of the hill and it was an easy walk through the meadow. Soon, the road met the trail, and we took the trail towards Clarks. We knew the trail would be short and within twenty minutes of walking, we found ourselves at Clarks Fork. As we approached the main cabin, I could see what the Clarks staff were dealing with. The porch was swarmed with participants. Backcountry cabins often boil water and hand out cocoa or cider powder to help participants stay warm during storms. The nearby branding station, small shelter next to the cabin, was roaring. A staffer was stoking the brands in their torch. We approached the side of the cabin and set out packs down near a fence.
“Let’s keep it less than thirty,” I said.
“I agree, Rachel replied. “We should eat real quick and change the batteries in our headlamps real quick too.”
The rain and mist had all but stopped at this point. The sky was a gloomy gray. It was almost 6pm now. As we messed with our gear, another staffer approached us from the cabin. I knew her as Carly, the Camp Director of Clarks Fork.
“Welcome to Clarks,” Carly said. “Are you all staying the night?”
“Afraid we’re just passing through,” I replied.
“We’re Marathoning,” Rachel added.
As expected, Carly was surprised and we had to explain our late start and how we didn’t think we’d even go past Highway 64. However the fact we weren’t staying may have been some relief to Carly. Her camp was already working hard enough to keep everyone warm and healthy. Not having to worry about two more mouths to feed would be helpful to Clarks. But hey, here we were more than halfway with plenty of time to spare.
“Well help yourselves to some of our snacks if you all need something to eat,” Carly said as she pointed towards the kitchen in the cabin. I could see a shelf loaded down with an assortment of packaged food.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “You all seem busy so we won’t be in your hair for long.”
Carly nodded, and vanished into the cabin. Rachel and I made our way into the cabin and took a quick pick at the snacks on the shelf. As we entered, I hanged my damp rain jacket on a doorknob near a stove. The warmth of the stove might help dry out my jacket. We mostly ate some granola bars, but I found some packaged cinnamon rolls. I ate one and stuffed another into my pocket. A snack for later. After eating for a moment, I decided to wring the water out of my boots. I took them off, removed the soles and socks, and wrung them out on the steps leading into the side of the cabin. Grayish water poured out of the socks as I wrung them on.
After I tended to my boots and feet, I looked to my headlight. It was a Black Diamond headlight that had always been reliable. I had only had it for about a year, but had gotten a lot of use out of it. I knew the batteries were running low and as we would run out on a nighthike. I had planned ahead for this and packed out an extra set. After I changed the batteries, I hit the power button. The light came on, a burning bright white. The battery light on the side blazed a bright green, then glowed into a strong white, and then the whole thing went out. I thumbed the button again. Nothing.
“Are you kidding me?” I said aloud.
Rachel heard me and came over to investigate. I tried the button a few more times. The light would sometimes come on, but then go out. I did find that if I held down the button, the red light setting would come on and stay on. However, it wouldn’t be bright enough to hike with. Seeing the situation of the malfunctioning headlight, we both thought of what to do. Eventually the Clarks staff saw my situation and were kind enough to help. They gave me an extra flashlight that none of them had wanted, and for good reason. It was small, LED, and red. Both the end and the head of the light were magnetic. You could place the face of the light on a metal table, turn it on, and as it was magnetically hanging onto the table, it would light up nothing. It wasn’t better than my headlamp, but it was better than nothing.
Our thirty minutes were about up. I grabbed my somewhat warm and dry jacket, my “new” flashlight, thanked the Clarks Fork staff, and went to my pack. Within minutes, Rachel and I threw our packs on and began to make our way up to Shaefers Pass.
