It‘s funny reflecting back on one of the biggest and most memorable days of the summer and a top bucket-list item of the year. In a way, the memory seems faint and abrupt, as if it was simply an off-the-cuff outing in the backyard playground. But undoubtedly, this was so much more. 

This objective– the Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Link-Up (WURL) has danced through my mind for years. It’s a line that, if you’re like me, you don’t truly forget about until you nail it. That sentiment was fully realized after my first attempt of the WURL on August 17, where I was pinned down on the third-to-last peak during a lightning storm and had to bail right before my finish. I was defeated, humbled and ready for a second chance. Two weeks later, I found redemption. 

So, I guess that’s what this little blurb is all about. What the fuck is the WURL and why did I care so much? The short answer - it’s perfection.

Let’s start with the basics

What: A 36 mile hike that links up 21+ named peaks over 21,000 vertical climbed. Mostly off trail. First created by mountain-GOAT Jared Campbell, described and memorialized, here.
When: Attempt 1: August 17 // Attempt 2: August 31
Where: The route makes a horseshoe around the entirety of Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah, linking up some the largest peaks by holding the rocky, relentless, established ridge.
Why: Besides being a legendary test of physical fitness, it crosses the most aesthetically pleasing terrain on some of the most majestic peaks around. And, because (as the adage goes), it’s there.
How: 26.5 hours of pain and pleasure, featuring some running, some walking, some scrambling, some climbing and some emotions.

There are a myriad of reasons something like this makes me excited. It’s the culmination of several different skills I’m attempting to hone with an application that’s second to none. I think that this adventure, and many others out there like it, capture the essence of why I run trails, train, and go to the gym. Whether skiing, mountain biking or running, the goal is to move quickly and enjoyably through the high alpine, where few others venture, respect gets respect, and character traits are defined.

The WURL has also been attractive due to it’s position in the fringes of the trail community. Certainly, it’s no secret, and each year awareness increases exponentially. Still, it’s seen only 40 documented completions since it’s inception. This year there were only eight finishers. These numbers make it even more elusive and mysterious.

Why do runners give it the hard pass when so many are easily capable and qualified for the distance and elevation gain? Because it’s kind of brutal. Runners like to run on trails, move fast, keep the rhythm. This route is a hybrid of climbing, walking and a little running. Over half of the distance requires three points of contact on rock, there’s tough route finding and a few mandatory climbing moves. These basic rock skills are why you see names like Alex Honnold on the legendary list of successful completions. 

After debating my athleticism the summer prior, this year I made it a priority to finish the WURL, and added it to my ambitious summer hit list. I ran my first ultra in June (Broken Arrow 50k), came home and got right to work in the Wasatch, breaking the WURL into a few large chunks to find the routes, develop the mandatory muscle groups, and get comfortable and mentally prepared for a big day. 

On August 12, I began personally committing to an upcoming WURL attempt. I tapered off from running, I checked the forecast religiously, and I went through a checklist to see if it could make sense. With a busy summer work schedule, I didn’t have many opportunities, and I was nervous that another September snowstorm would shut down the high alpine, as had happened the year prior. Two days before my attempt, I walked up Pole Line Pass, stashed a cache with snacks, clean socks, water and Gatorade, and knew this was really going to happen. The weather warned of a 20% chance of thunderstorms the night I would be finishing, but those odds had been present all week, and most never materialized. 

Still unsure if I was truly going to commit (I hadn’t told anyone yet), I went to work on Thursday, hydrated, ate a a few lunches, and floated the idea past a couple coworkers. “I might go do this really big hike in a few hours”, I told a few. As I heard the words leave my mouth, it sounded like a fine time, and I couldn’t shake the idea. Game on.

As the sun set, I packed my silly running bag, drank a sports beer, and drove to the trailhead at Ferguson canyon. After hitting start on the watch, I began the steep hike up to the Twins, acquiring 6,400 vertIcal feet in 5 miles. The city slowly shrank, as lights faded in the distance and the stars came out to play. Moving creatures kept me on edge, and sketchy headlamp climbing literally kept me further on edge. After what felt like 300 false summits, I finally made it up to the top of the Twins. I was about 3.5 hours in and feeling damn good. I even romanticized about the thought of snagging the FKT of the route. Damn, how adorable.

The rest of the night flew by as I scrambled up and over the Twins, Sunrise, Dromedary and a few additional unnamed peaks. I’d explored this part of the trek before during the idyllic Cottonwood Traverse, and felt confident navigating the knife edge and crux of Monte Cristo, even in the dark. As I climbed up and past Monte Cristo, the pink skies gave way to a gorgeous sunrise, and a wave of excitement and energy swept over, reinvigorated by the new day and thrilled to hop on the Mt. Superior trail that would carry me gently down to the cache at pole line. 

CLIF bars, gels, candy, and snacks were added to the pack, and I marched onward, happy to successfully obtain nutrients but acutely aware that this bag’s weight would not allow for fast motion. During this realization, I tried to remind myself that the goal was not fast and quick, but simply a finish. After all, I had dropped out of a 50-mile race in Squamish this weekend due to IT band issues. Life’s funny that way. 

Rolling across the peaks of Solitude, Brighton and Alta, familiar lakes and peaks put me at ease, providing a calming reminder that I was never more than a couple miles from civilization or rescue.  This part of the day was fast moving, but it was still demanding. The hardest part was knowing that I hadn’t even reached the halfway point.

Moving along, there were the expected ups and downs. I got lost on Devil’s Castle after successfully scouting it and planning my line a few weeks prior. The planned food resupply at Snowbird was foiled because it had coincidentally closed for a wedding. I made it to the top of the AF Twins in record time, only to get completely off route, furious, and screwed on White Baldy. I’d traversed White Baldy before, but knew it would be one of the biggest challenges of the day. It was horrendous, and I made sure to remind it that it was a no-good garbage mountain that I truly despised. As I worked my way down it’s boulder-strewn north ridge, I went to a dark place, questioning my intentions and contemplating an exit strategy. 

After departing from the summit of the Pfeifferhorn, I was worn down, low on water, and dreaming of a warm bed. But I was also excited, having completely The Beatout (this section of trail) three weeks prior with a very competitive time. Looking ahead, I noticed dark clouds forming in the distance, reflective of the forecasted thunderstorm chance. I didn’t have service to check my phone, but felt confident that those 20% odds had increased.

As I ran up and over Upwop peak, the clouds grew darker and I began to scan the route for potential shelters from the impending storm. Faint bolts appeared in the distance over Utah Lake, then grew brighter, became more frequent, and joined forces with thunder claps that quickly and fiercely made their way across the valley and into the mountains. 

Running for cover, I found salvation and hid beneath a tiny boulder in a poor excuse for a cave, barely large enough to hide my body. For the next two hours, lightning and thunder crashed in concert, terrifying and massive. In the days that followed, friends from Salt Lake would tell me that it was one of the worst lightning storms they’d seen in the valley, and “hoped there wasn’t anyone up in the mountains”. I sat in my shitty cave, scared and wishing I’d be granted safe exit from the mountains.

With a bar of cell service, I was able to check the weather, where I learned this storm would supposedly pass within the hour. Grabbing an emergency blanket out of the pack, I zipped up my Smartwool jacket, pulled down my beanie, rolled myself into a blanket burrito, and hunkered down. Despite burrito best practices, 60+ mph winds grabbed at the blanket’s edges and began to shred the thin mylar material. Reflective pieces were ripped off and tossed into the darkness, decreasing comfort and odds of survival with each gust. 

The winds altered the rain’s trajectory and soon I was drenched. Shivers increased as the lightening moved along, and while the storm’s end was in sight, I couldn’t hold out much longer. I was so close to success. But I was also close to hypothermia. As I waited, I knew that walking away from this objective would allow me to see another day and get another chance to complete this goal. Survival instincts kicked in and I rerouted my brain, planning my exit and assured safety. I found a trail to the south on the Gaia phone app by way of Lake Hardy, and called my roommate Zeppelin to let him know of my new plans and pick-up location. 

Several hours of bushwhacking later, I dropped 5,000 feet and arrived at the trailhead in Alpine, UT. I was defeated and frustrated, but knew I’d made the right call. I was in bed by 3:00 am, warm and safe. 

The following morning welcomed a groggy brain and sore legs. Recapping the previous 36 hours, I reflected on what the hell had just happened. Not one to easily give up, I struggled with accepting the outcome of my endeavor. That evening, I was back on the computer with google calendar open and a score to settle. The next available day off was August 31, and I promptly added “Redemption” to the week’s schedule.

Over the next 10 days I tried to rest and recover. My body felt reasonably good (all things considered) and I treated it to frequent foam rolling and stretching. Before I knew it, it was a few days before the 31st and I had to get back into it. I revisited my cache on pole line pass with my good friend Amanda (contributor of all these wonderful film photos), filling it with a new bounty of snacks and treats. 

And then it was time to do it again! It was mostly the same, with a few small differences. I was more efficient this time around, and made it all the way to Tuscarora before the sun made its way to the horizon. I still struggled in the usual spots, still cursed White Baldy, and still wished my legs were 6x stronger than they were. There was also a zero percent chance of precipitation. I made sure of that. The morning flew by and the mountains stood just as beautiful as ever, constant reminders of the underlying motivation to be here in the first place. 

In the afternoon, I was treated to an 11,000-foot visit by Amanda. She arrived on the Pfeiff with a bag full of snacks, water and a thermos of iced coffee. As if the company, conversation and nutrition weren’t enough, she even packed out a nasty pair of used socks. That’s true friendship.

Once again I departed from the Pfeiff, waved goodbye and ventured onward. Upwop was easy, South Thunder was never ending, Bighorn was confusing, and Lone Peak was perfect. Lone entered my sights just as the sun began setting, glowing red and beckoning my summit bid. On top, I let out a loud, emotional YEEEEIIIIIIPPP and looked back on the ridiculous route. Celebrations were short lived as I quickly made my way to Bells notch and began the ultra-sketchy downclimb into the basin below. Crashing through trees and brush, I headed straight toward the Upper Bells Canyon trail. I could have cried when I found singletrack and knew that I just had to keep one foot in front of the other for the final five miles. 

Moving quickly down the track, I jogged when possible and soon found myself past the reservoir. A few moments later, the trailhead appeared and I was overjoyed to see Zeppelin, Lauren and Huxley in the parking lot, filled with cheer, congratulations and bottles to be popped. 

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Looking back, it was definitely an interesting ride. I’m glad I gave it another go and am damn proud of the results. I wouldn’t recommend it to many, but for those that are ready, prepared and looking to hang out in the mountains for 24 hours or so, you really can’t beat the experience. A big thank you goes out to those that helped with route finding, training, resupplying, and encouragement along the way. I’m looking forward to a big 2019, filled with arbitrary goals and long jaunts that make you question everything, take you to tough places, and allow you to come out on the other side, bigger and better than before.