Saturday, October 7, 2017

Day 31 - Sept. 19

Russian House #1, Russian River State Marine Conservation Area to Salt Point State Park (38.5991, -123.35258)

My alarm went off at 5:30am and I gathered my things.  Luckily my movement woke Elliot, he wanted to have breakfast with me before I left.  Unfortunately the cafe was closed, so we got a coffee at the gas station.  I looked at the upcoming section in my book, Elliot was curious where I would be going and I told him and the gas station attendant.  The attendant seemed alarmed and said that that section was dangerous.  I scanned my book.  Sure enough, it warned that this section should only be done in calm weather, with a tide less than three feet, and should never be done solo.  This was the first time the book had specifically warned the reader not to go solo.  The gas station attendant seemed to be pleading with me not to go.  I reasoned that since I was the first person to aim for an FKT on the route I could set the standard, and decided to take the alternate route.  Elliot remarked that the two of them might just have saved my life.  Certainly, if I had tried to do the route the night before -- what I had wanted to do -- I would have run into trouble.  Elliot had wanted me to stay the night at the Russian House and take advantage of their heat and blankets, even offering that I could set my alarm for 5:30am.  I had agreed on that condition.

Before I headed out for the day Elliot wanted to do one more exercise.  We stared into each other's eyes for thirty seconds.  Then he said with a smile, "I appreciate you."  "You're a beautiful person and I'm glad that I met you."

With Elliot's blessing I headed out.  Up ahead, a long highway section, albeit with gorgeous views of the ocean below.  I was glad for Elliot but a little sad.  One of the workers at the restaurant didn't like me, for some reason, and had made this clear.  "What is your purpose?!" she asked me.  I tried to tell her that I was doing this for personal fulfillment and possibly a record.  Her attitude made me feel like the journey was completely selfish, and I felt bad for her, having to work all day while I was out running.  The interaction with her sobered me, brought me down from the clouds, and ushered in cold sores, my only illness during the trip.

The trail climbed high, then wound around mountains.  There was construction work and I had to wait for a string of cars to pass, I talked with the workers and told them about my trek.  They were excited for me and my mood began to brighten.  When I got to the other end I said hello to the construction worker there.  He was cheering for me and gave me a bottle of water.

A few miles up the road I ran into a group who had pulled over to take photos.  When I told them what I was doing they wanted a photo with me.  And on my way out they handed me another bottle of water.

I passed the historic Fort Ross, a wooden settlement built in 1812 that was once a Russian trading hub.  A few miles down I arrived at the Fort Ross Store and gas station, complete with a deli and fresh produce.  I charged my phone while I ate a lunch of hummus, red peppers, and romaine.  While I was eating a construction worker -- Noah, approached me to say he had seen me running over the past couple of days and wanted to know what I was doing.  He was impressed by my trek.  A mountain biker himself, he told me how he would stay up all night watching the results of an ultra distance self-supported mountain biking race.

Also while at the shop I got a call about my job, they wanted to schedule the interview.  I told them that I thought I might be done around October 4th and the woman on the other end said she would pencil me in for the second week of October.  The pressure was on.  Meanwhile, my parents had also been trying to figure out when I might finish, so they could come out to meet me.  I had told them to contact my ex boyfriend, a German computer science researcher working in Norway, who had been following my progress and also trying to predict when I might be done.  He gave them a number of miles and a date range that sounded too optimistic to me, so I sent them the PDF of my guidebook, which I knew had miles marked for each 5-10 mile segment.  The book turned out to have mileage for each county, as well, and my mom calculated that I had even fewer miles to go than Johannes predicted.  A few days later, without double checking with me, she booked plane tickets for herself and my dad.  They would stay in Oregon one week, waiting.

A few miles down the road I tried to use the Wi-Fi at the Timber Cover Resort, from the road.  I had some luck, but wanted to keep moving.  Just before the Ocean Cove Campground a man in a parked truck said hello to me, and that he had also seen me running over the last couple of days.  I told him about my journey.

The small Ocean Cove General Store was open when I arrived, hooray!  I bought snacks to get me through the night and next morning.  I was going to get Oreos, but a local made a comment about diabetes and I opted for a protein bar instead.  I told him I was tired and he said, "well can't you just quit?"  Haha, quitting was out of the question.  Besides, I wasn't injured or sore.

I put on "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck" book on tape.  It recommended standing on a cliff, recognizing your own fragility and contemplating your death.  The author notes his own experience: “My body shudders, the fear becoming euphoric and blinding. I focus my mind and clear my thoughts in a kind of meditation. Nothing makes you present and mindful like being mere inches away from your death."  I could relate.

The 122 year old Stewart's Point Store would be the next outpost, some 15 miles away, through Salt Point State Park.  It was sometimes difficult to calculate exactly how long it would take to reach a particular destination as the trail could be hard to follow through parks.  The trail would branch and require backtracking to find the right path.  Salt Point State Park was one such instance.

Just after the park's visitor center waves began smashing forcefully into rocks in the ocean, creating massive sprays.  I tried to capture the experience with a video.  The salt from the water dried in cracks in the rocks, Native Americans had once collected it there.

It was soon dark and I used my headlamp to follow the trail, which turned away from the ocean and through a forest.  The trail would occasionally return to the ocean in order to cross a gully and I always found this a little scary.  The ocean waves rolled in close by and mountain streams sometimes made the rocks slippery.  In the forest I had to backtrack multiple times.  The trail would split, I would choose a path to follow, and it would disappear into weeds or turn out to be just an overlook.  At the final such juncture I was unable to find a way out.  I must have tried for half an hour to figure out how to move forward, but I couldn't see a way, I found myself going over the same paths.  I didn't want to get lost at night.  So I decided to camp right there, and hoped no wildlife would bother me.  I laid out my bivy in a small clearing, making sure I was far enough away from the cliff edge in case I moved around while sleeping.  I remember that I slept very well that night in the clean air under the stars, and looking back at my GPS data I spent ten hours in that location.

Trail Notes:
Took alternate route around Russian Gulch, locals and guide book said not to go solo, dangerous segment unless perfect weather and tide




Wild fennel and black berries were all along the route, from here to Oregon.  Here you could smell the fennel running past.

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A post shared by Natalie Larson (@arationallens) on

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