My connection to the land is the most treasured part of my habit of running. I am immensely drawn to, almost addicted to, exploring wild and remote places on foot. Running up onto a mountain ridge while looking out to the view in the distance is one of the most simple and yet substantial joys that one can experience. I run primarily for these experiences.
Another nuanced aspect of this connectedness to the land that I have been noticing a lot more lately is just how much the subtle changes of the landscapes around me change who I am as a runner at a given time. I can run the same trail, with just one small change in the natural world around that trail, and the energy of the entire run can be completely different than it was a week, a day, or even an hour previous.
Perhaps it’s the first buds forming on the trees in the spring; or a first thin sheet of ice on puddles in the fall; or a herd of mountain goats along a ridge that had previously felt lifeless – these simple, and in many cases predictable things, can have a shockingly large and definitive effect on my energy, mood, and overall experience of a particular run.
Essentially every time I go and run through the outdoor world my experience of that run is subtly carved and influenced by all these various nuances. For this reason no run is exactly the same, even if I have done a particular trail 100 times, it will feel definitively different the 101st time.
These past few weeks in the mountains around Juneau we have begun to receive our first dusting of snow for the season. For much of my past this “termination dust” has always been a dark, ominous, and almost depressing feeling for me as a runner.
In a place like Juneau where the mountains rise 3,000-4,000 feet up straight from the edge of town, once you start to see the first bits of snow on the highest peaks it’s only a matter of time before everything is going to be buried in snow. Every time a storm rolls through, the snow comes down a bit lower, and eventually you are stepping in a few inches of white fluffiness right outside your front door.
For me this has traditionally created an anxiety and dread, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before the trails are going to disappear under several feet of snow, not to be seen again for 6 or 8 months. Because of this I have always felt frustrated, desperate, and even angry as a runner when I start to see these first dustings of snow in the mountains.
The past couple years I’ve stopped feeling this way though. Seeing this “termination dust” doesn’t have the old feeling of desperation tied to it. The first day last month that I noticed a bit of snow on the peaks up above 5,000 feet I was instantly energized and excited. I now think of it in my mind as “activation dust” instead of “termination dust”. The beginning of something new and exciting, rather than an end of something.
About a week later when the snow came even lower (down to about 3,500 feet) I felt a need to get up in this snow. I headed out that morning and couldn’t wait to get above the snowline on The Mt. Roberts Trail. As soon as I got to Gold Ridge I was instantly put into a completely different mindset and mood. It had been several weeks since I had been on that trail, and this time the new snow made it feel like I was in an entirely new place altogether.
This first snowfall which has historically felt like an end to me now feels like a beginning. A beginning to a whole new season of exciting runs, many with snowshoes strapped to my feet.
I think this shift is rooted in my excitement for the changes that this first dusting of snow brings with it, and my ability to see any change in the landscape as an exciting thing. Everything looks and feels so different buried in an inch of snow, and this becomes a sure sign of much more snow, and thus much more change, to come.
As a runner it’s easy to think a lot about missing the trails that this snow buries, but I’ve come to learn the value of putting my attention on appreciating all the opportunity that this snow opens up: skiing, snowshoeing, or simply trudging through snow on foot. More than anything though I like to put my attention on the fascinating changes that are out in the mountains every time I venture out.
I have been up The Mt. Roberts Trail well over 100 times, and it is a route that I have enjoyed immensely every time I do it. This last time around though, as a result of the subtle change of having an inch or two of new snow on Gold Ridge I had a hugely different feeling and experience of being there. To me these kinds of surprises and nuances are the biggest reasons why I run, and why I use my fitness and ability as a runner as a way to get out into wild, scenic, and remote places as often as possible.
All of the sun last week has melted the snow back up to around 5,000 feet, but it’s only a matter of days before it begins to creep back down, and each time it does it will present us with an opportunity to experience the mountains in a slightly different way. I couldn’t be more excited about the changes I’ll find as this “activation dust” continues to fly.
• Geoff Roes lives and runs trails in Juneau. He has run more than 40 mountain, ultra, and trail running races all over the world – winning the majority of them. He is the founder and director of the Juneau based Alaska Mountain Ultrarunning Camp. He can be reached at grroes@yahoo.com and more of his insights can be found on his personal website www.akrunning.blogspot.com. He is also a regular contributor at www.irunfar.com. “Running Wild” will appear in the Juneau Empire every other Friday.
Guy Thibodeau, Jeff Machakos and Geoff Roes prepare to enter a valley beyond Sheep Mountain and access ridges with “activation dust” in late October of last year.
