Running the Badlands

Badlands National Park. 

There I stood. Desert in every direction. Nothing looked remotely like a trail. The only reason I knew where I had come from was that I have a good sense of direction and I still had the heading set on my compass. Otherwise there was nothing that showed the way back. I looked down at my topographic map and back up at the thousand shades of brown and grey that lay before me. I picked a physical feature in the distance that I should be able to keep in sight for at least a mile or so and took a heading. I would run toward that until I spotted the next red stake trying hard not to let the stake by which I was now standing out of my sight. I would be able to back-track from the heading I took, but having at least one stake in sight at all times was comforting.

This was the scenario more times that I can remember in the almost 10 hours it took me to make the 40+ mile run across the Badlands. I had planned on the run taking 10 hours and hoped that I could do it in under 8 hours because it was relatively flat. I thought I was prepared for everything and anything, but I wasn't prepared for there not being a distinguishable trail. The wind would blow the sand and ultra-fine silt across any foot prints or path. On the return leg there was no evidence that I had been there only hours before.  I had trained hard for this and so pushed on. The whole idea of the exercise was three-fold: (1) meet the challenge, (2) enjoy the wilderness, and (3) enjoy being alive.  It was more than a bit scary at times, it definitely kept my adrenaline pumping and senses alert, and was an absolutely phenomenal experience. Wow, what a rush!!!

Weighing in at just over 25 pounds
this pack is with me whenever
I'm on the trail or in the wilderness.

Preparation for this adventure consisted of running at least 80 miles a week carrying my 25 pound backpack that is always with me when I'm in the wilderness or on the trail.  (Actually it rides right behind the drivers seat the rest of the time.)  The pack contains a complete survival kit, appropriate food and snacks, a minimum of 5 liters of water, as many small bottles of water as I can find place for, along with safety-navigation equipment.  I have a ResQLink that my children got me the Christmas before my first big solo adventure. It is a GPS rescue beacon that is monitored by 200 countries around the world.  I have a steri-pen to sterilize water. The Ranger at the Badlands told me not to try using it. He said the silt at the Badlands can go through any filter and it would kill me. So much for the steri-pen. Of course I had extra shoes and socks, a couple of topo maps, three different types of compasses and my wilderness watch which does everything but breathe for me.

I trained running each day until running all day long was easy, natural and comfortable. On the way to the Badlands I would travel to a campground on day 1, run 10-20 miles on day 2, and 20-30 miles on day 3, then repeat the cycle. I stopped at two campgrounds on the trip to the Badlands. The first was in western Missouri near the Katy State Park. The park is 280 miles long and about 200 yards wide. It's a Rails-to-Trails project. My second stop on the way out was at Stone State Park just outside of Sioux City, Iowa. I could actually see three states but I couldn't run in them without finding a way across the rivers. In the week it took me to get to the Badlands I did almost 100 miles. I felt good and I felt ready.

A selfie on the table run. 

The day before the big run I ran a trail across a table to a butte that a Ranger had told me about. I wanted to get acclimated.  He was also a runner. When I asked about anything I should watch for he said "chiggers, ticks and rattle snakes."  "Are we in southern Indiana?" I asked.

The trailhead for my big run was about 4-5 miles from the visitor's center and 3-4 miles from where I was camped. There was a big sign "Do not go beyond this point without water, a map and compass!"

It was already in the low 90s when I started at 7am but I was comfortable. I was accustomed to high heat and humidity. Having done the table the day before, I had a feel for running in the desert. It is a very different feel from mountain trails. Being a minimalist my shoes weighed only 4 ounces and had only a 4mm rise at the heel. It was as close as I could get to running bare footed and it felt good.

A little over a mile from the parking lot I ran into a family - a mother and three children. Of course the first thing I noticed was that there was no sign of water, maps, compass or anything else to help them in the wilderness. I was blunt enough to ask them if they had water. "No," came the reply. "You shouldn't be out here without water," I said. "Oh, we're just parked over there."  They pointed in almost the opposite direction from the parking lot.  "That direction," I said as calmly as possible, "takes you away from the parking lot." Finally I said "I can't leave you in good conscience. I don't want to scare you but you are in a fair amount of danger right now if you don't know the way back and don't have any water."  I walked them about a quarter of a mile toward the parking lot and picked out a physical feature that they would be able to see the entire distance. "Do you see that peak?" They said they did. "Walk toward it. The parking lot is right there. Don't take your eyes off that peak."  They promised. I gave them one of my small 12oz bottles of water (this type of situation being why I carry them) and headed off on my run.

See the red stake? That was all I had to tell
me if I was on the "trail". 

The other thing which became immediately evident was that there was no place to get out of the sun. I have to admit that I kept thinking about whether or not I had enough hydration. In the entire 40+ miles I saw three places that I could have crawled into to get out of the sun. I didn't because I figured that I'd probably be sharing the space with a creature that wouldn't appreciate my intrusion. There were a few clouds in the sky.  I really strongly dislike wearing sunglasses. In the desert you don't go without sunglasses if you have them.  On those occasions that the sun went behind one of the few clouds I would stop and take off my sunglasses just to enjoy the sensation.

Just short of half-way into the run I came across another trail runner. (See. I'm not the only crazy one.)  We did find it ironic that two of us would meet this way. I was running from northeast to southwest and he was running southwest to northeast. He had done Leadville - the famous 100 mile ultra in Colorado.  We shared a couple of trail stories and wished each other good luck. I only wish that we hadn't met on the trail because it would have been fun to get to know him better, but we both had to get going.  I didn't see him on the return leg so he either took a different route or stopped at the turn point.

The "trail"

I learned a great deal about myself and the desert on that run. I learned that what I thought was my limit wasn't even close. I was accustomed to pushing my body to the max. Just 12 months before I had done the 45 mile Eagle Rock Loop in Arkansas. There I had 12 hours to run up the Little Missouri River, cross three mountains and return by another river. There was tremendous climbing in that run. Nevertheless the Badlands pushed me further. The heat and stress of keeping track of my location were the primary challenges. I didn't encounter any rattle snakes. They were smart enough to stay out of the heat.  The terrain was very uneven. Not that trails are like running roads, but as you can see from the pictures footing was always a challenge. I did have the better part of 10 miles crossing a large flat plateau, but otherwise it was uneven and rugged.  I learned that I was stronger and more resilient that I had thought. I learned that I could trust my skills. That is important.

Maps and map skills have always been a passion of mine. Pamela teases me because I'm always studying a topo map of any area in which we are camping or hiking.  I've studied topographic maps for so many years that I can identify a mountain that I've never seen because the topographic map tells me what it should look like. If you are going to go on adventures in the wilderness, I would highly recommend becoming proficient in using a compass and topographic map. In the Ozarks and other solo adventures that I had done the trails were all very easy to see. My map skills had never really been tested. Here they were severely tested and it gave me a sense of satisfaction and pride that they lead me right back to where I started.

Actually what looks like a trail isn't. There is
no trail in that direction at all.

Looking at what has been dubbed "badlands" I saw unbelievable beauty. Trying to comprehend the time and the forces of nature required to carve the tables, buttes and ridges was mind boggling. The beauty of nature's carving was breath-taking. I saw plants and flowers thriving in a harsh environment.  If I had been with Pamela, she'd have had me down on the ground taking pictures, but this was before we met and I only had my phone. By the time I arrived back at my car I understood the Badlands as a magnificent living eco-system. It has a unique beauty where a blend of a seemingly limited number of colors produces unlimited variety of scene and sensation.

The first definition of beauty that I came across on the internet was  "a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight" (1)   That isn't a bad definition. My experience in the Badlands pleased the aesthetic senses.  Having spent so many hours with only the desert wilderness around me I came to understand the Ann Lamott (2) quote. 

"If you don't die of thirst, there are blessings in the desert. You can be pulled into limitlessness, which we all yearn for, or you can do the beauty of minutiae, the scrimshaw of tiny and precise. The sky is your ocean, and the crystal silence will uplift you like great gospel music, or Neil Young."

Running the Badlands was more than a challenge or an adventure, it was a means of self-discovery. It was not only an activity through which I enjoyed being alive but it helped me know that I was alive. More than that, it was confirmation. It was acclamation. It was proclamation.  Getting out into the wild is a sure way of awakening that primordial being inside such that we more than sense, we live and know our oneness with the world around us.  

FOOTNOTES:

(1) https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=definition+of+beauty
(2) Ann Lemott. American novelist.