The End of the Adventure
How one pro backcountry skier fell in love with adventure running, then learned to let it go
After a hard series of injuries and setbacks, it can be tough to bounce back and get out on the trails. How a pro backcountry skier-turnedtrail runner fell in love with adventure running, and had to learn to let it go.
Adventure partners are key to successful excursions in the backcountry. One of my favourites is Br uno Long. Long is a world-renowned photographer with a knack for looking at t he world different ly and capturing incredible photos. He loves shadows and layers, and brings out nature’s magic.
Me, well, I am a professional backcountry skier, who has pushed the limits of ski mountaineering for years. I have always run as a way to train for climbing mountains and running races in high school. Lately, though, running has become a passion, as I realize where it can take me. I ran in Revelstoke B.C.’s Kill The Banker Race, a vertical 900 m race, and came second overall, yet more importantly, shared in an alpine adventure with friends.
Bruno and I began running around Revelstoke in 2016, and recognized that we ran well together. We imagined capturing some great photos while running in the area’s beautiful terrain. At the time, we had no idea where these spots were, exactly, but we knew that if we trained properly, eventually we’d be able to run them. Also, Bruno was able to carry a camera and capture incredible images while running long distances.
I’m perpetually psyched by nature and love challenging adventures, which made us a perfect pair of fools. However, when I told Bruno that I couldn’t join him on our second summer of alpine runs, I did so with a heavy heart and a lot of fomo.
Let’s rewind to 2018. That summer we lived a trail runner’s dream. We’d planned to push our limits and run longer, more audacious trails than we ever had before. Up to that point, neither of us had run more than 30 kilometres. Our dream was to run much further, on the most challenging alpine trails in the Canadian Rockies. We were excited but apprehensive. Although I had a lot of big ski days under my belt (years ago I climbed and skied 15,2 40 metres in 2 4 hours) I was worried about running great distances. How hard was a 55-kilometre run on the body?
Neither of us knew.
Alpine Adventure
We decided to jump right in and tackle our most challenging run first, The Rockwall in Kootenay National Park: a 55-kilometre trail that coursed under an impressive limestone wall and over three alpine passes, climbing and descending over 2,700 metres. We also brought along some of Revelstoke’s best longdistance runners and utilized their skills and knowledge to teach us how to tackle the route and challenging vertical.
7 A.M. ON JULY 13 We started off, full of apprehension for the first 15 km, letting Rory Luxmore and Justin Nicholas set the pace. Rory and Justin were both training for Fat Dog, a 193k race later that September. Naturally, their experience dictated the f low of the day. The trail surged up and into the alpine, with massive waterfalls cascading off 300-metre cliffs. The guides kept a slow pace and the beautiful views motivated us onward. We ran under a hanging glacier, down into lush forests and back up past crystal-clear lakes. Looking back at the passes we had run through, we were blown away with delight . The f inal 10 kilometres finished in a massive burnt forest, then down to the trail head, where river-cooled beers awaited.
Alpine Adventure THE ICELINE
Having finished the longest run first, the others seemed less intimidating. Our second run ( July 2018), The Iceline in Yoho National Park near Lake Louise, Alberta, presented less of a challenge at 22 kilometres and 800 metres of elevation, but definitely awe inspiring. After a relatively short vertical climb, the trail wove its way underneath a glacier, along some narrow moraines and past an azure lake, where we enjoyed an alpine dip. The immaculate trail ran over rock slabs, small creeks and through Mars-like terrain, backed by Takakkaw Falls; at 373 metres, it is Canada’s secondtallest waterfall.
“I’m perpetually psyched by nature, which made us a perfect pair of fools… so, when I told Bruno that I couldn’t join him on our second summer of alpine runs, I did so with a heavy heart and a lot of FOMO.”
NEXT STOP: Jasper Alpine Adventure THE SKYLINE
Bruno and I then drove up to Jasper and ran the Skyline Trail, which turned out to be the best of the best. We started up the trail early in the morning on July 30. The trail rambled through the forest for seven kilometres, which led to 25 kilometres of alpine f lowers and erratic boulders, with incredible views in every direction. While running along the crest at 2,500 metres, the clouds started building, and, soon enough, nearby lancing lightning and reverberating booms had us running quicker than ever, counting the seconds between earth-shattering crashes. One to three seconds between lightning and thunder meant how far away? Finally, the storm moved on, leaving us wet and giddy along the final nine kilometres downhill run for a total of 45 kilometres.
“The freedom of running through alpine terrain, with minimal gear and an endless trail ahead was so energizing.”
Alpine Adventure THE END
Although crushed from the Skyline Trail, we still had to run Berg Lake. This trail winds its way underneath the highest mountain i n the Canadian Rockies: Mt. Robson (3,954 metres), and is 22 kilometres in and out (we cheated by e-biking the first seven kilometres). It seems like every trail has its own character and rewards. There is so much variety on this trail. We ran beside an alluvial fan – a wide valley with creeks braided between glacially-deposited limestone rocks. Then, through a valley of a thousand waterfalls, across suspension bridges over cold blue water, always under the towering mass of Mt. Robson. Eventually, we made it to Berg Lake, where we swam and watched some girls f loating on a donut as the glacier calved in the background. Turning around, we slowed our pace for the final 14 kilometres, with seven kilometres of e-biking back to the car.
Let’s be honest, there were lots of dark moments pushing through to get to these places. However, the freedom of running through alpine terrain, with minimal gear and an endless trail ahead was so energizing. Bruno and I were elated with our success.
Throughout the winter of 2018–19, we frequently discussed what new trails we would run, and were constantly hatching plans. As summer approached, I started running again. I’m now 44, with a long history of injuries under my belt, including a broken tibia and fibula while caught in an
avalanche in Pakistan in 2014. (I like to walk a fine line when it comes to risk.) Afterward, I eased into running again, planning physio visits every couple of weeks while gradually testing longer distances. It all started off smoothly a nd t he idea of a lpine r uns kept me motivated.
Then it happened: a quick, painful stab around my ankle while running up a small incline. It worried me, but was gone so quickly that I wasn’t too concerned. Then I started to feel it on every run: a micro-collapse of my ankle and the sharp stab of pain. My physiotherapist and I worked hard at determining the issue. I was given exercises, and stabbed my ankle with needles. Ideally, t he intramuscular stimulation would solve my ghost pain.
My naive optimism kept me going, but I didn’t want to tell Bruno my fears. I ran a few longer runs from 1,500 to 2,200 metres of vertical, which felt great for most of the run, but still with moments of pain. The fear of missing out on our summer runs grew in my mind. I hate letting people down or missing out on new trails.
My career depended on my physical health, but finally the reality of the situation broke through my optimism and I had to admit to Bruno that I would not be his partner come summer. Letting friends down is one of the hardest things for me. Plus, the potential fomo of not experiencing new alpine trail runs felt crushing.
Yet what could I do? I had to be mature and listen to my body. During all of my challenges, I learned acceptance. If you want to run great distances or climb a big mountain, accepting the negative with the positive is essential. I’d fully accepted that I couldn’t participate in these runs any more.
Obviously, Bruno was bummed that I could not join him, but he also understood. Luckily for him, there is an endless pool of passionate runners, and he went on without me. I stayed in Revelstoke and watched from the sidelines via social and streaming media. Bruno’s feed was gorgeous. Instead of sharing in the grueling ups and downs, I saw beautiful photos of ridges and shale slopes.
He was going to these places that I have dreamed of visiting forever. When he went to Alberta’s Lake O’Hara in Yoho National Park, I was awed by the colour of the water and yearned to be there with him. His photos showed how beautiful it was. Talking to Bruno on the phone helped me sense the weather conditions and hear the backstories that his photos didn’t tell.
I was obviously missing out. Sadly, there was nothing I could do, so instead, I got motivated. Bruno’s photos and text messages got me excited for next year and determined to overcome my injuries. I will keep my rose-tinted glasses on, accepting the negative when it happens but always believing in the positive, which will make my runs more rewarding when I once again leave my own footprints.
“Letting friends down is one of the hardest things for me. Yet what could I do? I had to be mature and listen to my body.”