Light floods my bedroom before the alarm. The sun is hot when it breaks through the clouds and despite some late winter storms the snow line is creeping up the mountains. Flowers carpet the bike lane and the trees are leafing out. It's springtime in the pacific northwest.

Each season has its mood. Summer is bright and alive, perfect for going long and hard. Fall is for freeform adventure, winter is dark and subdued; a time for rest, relaxation, and resetting. Spring is a time of elevation and lightening. The darkness of winter shifts to the brightness of new beginnings.

Most winters, I take a step back from running to rest, recover, and ski. I've found that I enjoy an extended break each year and that time away rejuvenates my enthusiasm for the sport. In the last six months my focus has been on rebuilding my latent engineering career, a new relationship, and exploring other adventures that have helped me uncover what I love about being outside.

Top of the Wy’East face on Mount Hood, OR

On the East flank of Mt Hood atop a steep snow ramp called the Wy'East face the mountain tapers to a narrow ridge of snow and ice. 'Upper Devil's Kitchen Headwall' is a short, steep section of rime that protects the summit. Phil and I climbed the Wy'East face only to let tired legs and firm snow dissuade us. This year marked my fourth (or fifth?) failed attempt at Upper DKH. Perhaps I'll get it someday.

With a nagging hamstring injury and generally low motivation I ran little through the fall. But when Susie snagged a permit to the Napali coast trail before our trip to Kauai in January, I wasn't about to be dissuaded by poor fitness. The trail explores 11 miles (22 miles roundtrip) of rugged, rooted coastline above breaking waves, tour boats, and expansive ferrel goat herds.

The early miles of the trail are popular but before long the crowd dispersed and we had the coastal jungle mostly to ourselves. Years of putting in the miles paid off and I enjoyed the long day out despite my lack of training.

March found me in a cluster of cabins perched on a mountainside in Canadian Rockies outside Banff, Alberta. Miles from the nearest road. Water came straight from the creek, showers were drawn from a pot atop the woodstove, and access to the huts came via a thirty by forty foot helipad built on wood pilings out front.

Karl throwing a backie while John gets some reading in

It was the best week of skiing I've ever experienced. The terrain offered options from tree runs to the high alpine. The snow was light, bottomless, and kept piling up. Each morning after coffee and a briefing from our guides we broke into two groups and clicked into our skis. We moved at what I started calling 'guide pace', slow enough to last all day, fast enough to cover ground. For the six full days we spent skiing, we averaged over 5,000' of touring per day.

Of our group of 18, I'd met only two people before the trip. I had my doubts about spending a precious week of vacation off the grid with a group of strangers. But a warm welcome to the email thread, pre-trip talk of a mustache competition, and good humor on the helipad reassured me. I came away with new friends and some great memories, happy to have taken a risk on a new experience.

Skiing the Elkhorns, eastern Oregon - photo Nick Danielson

Van camping in the Elkhorns, eastern Oregon - photo Nick Danielson

Learning to nordic skate ski had me alternating between bambi discovering his legs for the first time and a drunk staggering out of a downtown bar on Saturday night. It's been a while since I picked up a new sport and things didn't look good starting out. But I saw enough potential to stick with it. By my third ski, I felt the flow of the movement on short sections. By my fourth or fifth time, I was skiing over 20 miles in an outing, enjoying the movement and thrilled to be able to put in a full day of work in the mountains.

Grand Canyon in fall - Photo Nick Danielson

Leaving my trail running sponsor offered the chance to reflect on what I love about adventuring in the mountains. Sponsorship was a fun way to connect with incredible athletes and get some free gear. But I decided that the offer I got in January wasn't worth the obligation of being tied to a race calendar and a corporate marketing budget.

For now, I'm enjoying the freedom and perspective of taking running in whichever direction I choose. At the end of the day I don't want running to feel like a job. It sure doesn't pay like one, and I'd rather do it for love anyway. I'm not especially competitive, racing has never been a huge motivator for me. Long days in the mountains on foot and pushing hard every now and again is more my style.

Bryce Canyon National Park in fall - photo Nick Danielson

This summer I'm focused on doing what I enjoy in the mountains. Spring volcano skis, long exploratory runs, some bikepacking, and a long fastpack or two. The last few months have given me a chance to step back, reset, and focus on what's important. Here's to turning winter's insights into summer action.

I'll leave you with a note on Alpenflo. I'm pouring all of my guiding energy into one trip at the end of the summer. It will be a new format that combines what I've learned from the last few years with some fresh experimentation into what I think our community would enjoy. Save the date for Labor Day Weekend, 2022. I'll post more details in the next couple of weeks, shoot me an email if you're interested in getting signed up early.

Journal

Flowing with the Seasons