The Year of Alabama Trails (and my first FKT)
I’ve been in Alabama for over two weeks now, meeting with people responsible for the vibrant outdoor recreation scene here. I've concentrated my efforts–for now–on the Birmingham metro area. There's an amazing story here, and I'm looking forward to editing all of the interviews into a video-forward podcast that I will launch on YouTube and podcasting platforms during Q2 of this year. And, somewhere along the journey to where I am now, I thought to myself, “why not bag a FKT before I have to spend a ton of time editing?”
The Sipsey Wilderness FKT route travels every part of the Sipsey Wilderness Area and exposes the runner to all the beauty of that magical place–and the challenges that go along with it. I really wasn't in the right kind of shape to be attempting a FKT this past weekend, but winging it is sometimes my thing. Yeah, I'm an ultramarathon runner and I've done several races of that distance or longer in recent years. But that's why I know I wasn't quite ready.
Ironically, I've sacrificed trail running hours to lean into my trail-running related business. I'm registered for the Broken Arrow Triple Crown in June, so I know I need to get in some heavy mileage days between now and then. My training has been way, way down compared to a normal cycle. Usually, a big part of my training strategy to build up mileage is to register for progressively longer races leading up to The Main Event. But–this time–I didn't register for anything else.
Instead, I've gotten curious about self-supported efforts to tackle 50+ miles of trail running. The 50 mile to 100k distance range is my happy place. 100 milers, for me, are just an exercise in pain management past those distances in my sweet spot. It might shock you to discover that, as an ultra runner, I'm not into pain. I'm very good at managing pain, but I don't enjoy it. I run long distances in the wilderness because it takes me to beautiful places, allowing me to experience them in a way that makes me appreciate my abilities and responsibilities as a human.
Last week, the State of Alabama launched its two-year campaign to promote the incredible trail systems found throughout the state. The Year of Alabama Trails campaign kicked off at Vulcan, an indescribably massive statue that overlooks the city of Birmingham, who apparently now has an equally massive pair of hiking boots and a backpack. The Sipsey Wilderness is located between Birmingham, Alabama–home of the Birmingham Ultra Trail Society, the Birmingham Urban Mountain Pedalers, and a vast array of urban trail systems that don't feel urban at all–and Huntsville–a fast-growing city recognized as one of America's best trail running towns. So Sipsey Wilderness seemed like a great place for me to get out of the city to experience the real, wild Alabama. So, I returned to Sipsey Wilderness with over three-decade old knowledge of the area, thinking I was prepared to navigate it with no problem. Boy, was I wrong.
I had a good nutrition and hydration strategy. I was carrying a reasonable quantity of single-serve unflavored Tailwind, a good array of Huma chia-based gels, a couple of candy bars, and some other goodies that I knew would be good enough to get me through 24 hours of slogging if that is what it turned into. And it did.
The river and canyon area of Sipsey Wilderness, during wet seasons, has more waterfalls than any other place on earth that I’ve ever experienced. It had been a bit dry before this trip, but there were still many, many waterfalls along the trails. I carried a 500ml flask, a 600ml flask fitted with a filter, and a 2-liter bladder that a friend insisted I should take. During the daylight hours spent constantly criss-crossing waterways, I had no problem simply using the 600ml flask to fill the 500ml flask for liquid nutrition, and I left the bladder dry.
I had a great time taking in all the majestic beauty of the stone formations and the magical-looking boulders with trees growing out of them. I had such a great time that I blew past the extremely subtle trail junction sign telling me I needed to make a river crossing to stay on track. That sort of thing happened a few times. So I added a few bonus miles to my trip. Like more than 8 of them.
Before heading up into the hills and away from the river, I filled the bladder at a convenient place under the bridge leading from trailhead parking toward the horse trail & White Oak Hollow. I didn’t need to stop for water again for the rest of the trip. That was a good thing, because I discovered that navigating barely-traveled wilderness trail at night by yourself is no small feat.
Trails at wilderness areas are unmarked. There’s no reflective blazes to show you the way. There’s no subtle notches in trees either. It’s just wilderness, and whatever hint of a path that foot traffic and occasional trail work to keep the path clear might do to the land to suggest where the trail is. On March 1, there was plenty of leaf litter covering the trail. The second half of this route isn’t traveled nearly as much as the first half, because there’s not as much to see. Which means that, at night, you had better be able to recognize a very subtle path if you want to attempt this as an unsupported solo effort.
This made for very, very slow going for me during the night section. But I enjoyed the challenge of it, even as I cursed the way the trail was playing hide & seek with me. It certainly kept me on my toes. But it made what otherwise would be a very runnable trail into a very long must-hike section. Which led so very temptingly close to the place where my car was parked. Like within a quarter mile. But I had another big loop to travel before completing the route.
And then, near the end of that seemingly endless loop, the sun began to appear. The morning glow illuminated the edges of the stone grottoes and moss-covered boulders as I approached the end of the journey. And it all became glorious and totally worth it again, especially as I tossed my nearly-empty bag into the back of my rented SUV and slept the sleep of a satisfied solo slogger.