“I’d been riding my unicycle for miles in the middle of the desert. My legs were on fire. I had no water. I couldn’t see anyone ahead of or behind me. And I was like, ‘this is the greatest moment of my life’.” Phil Sanders, a competitive unicyclist who lives in Spokane, is a glutton for physical punishment. That’s what I concluded after he told this story and several others about his adventures in unicycling. The 30-year-old has ridden unicycles for more than half of his lifetime, and he’s racked up several medals at every competitive level.

When we spoke, Sanders had just returned from the North American Unicycling Convention and Championships (NAUCC), an annual, weeklong event, where he served as director of the trials events. He also competed, winning a gold medal in the flatland trick competition.

NAUCC is a place for unicycle enthusiasts and athletes to get together and hang out, but it’s also a place for them to compete. “It’s pretty much the Olympics of unicycling,” Sanders says. “Every event in the unicycling world is represented there.”

He’s not exaggerating. Unicyclists compete in track and field events including sprints, relays, one-footed races (where riders use only one pedal), backward races, long jump, and high jump. Freestyle events are similar to figure skating: costumed riders compete as singles, doubles, and teams and perform choreographed routines for nine-judge panels. Trials events require riders to clear several obstacles, or lines, within a specific time block, all while being judged. Trials riders have a scorecard and get one point for every line they clear. Cyclocross athletes ride as many laps around an obstacle-ridden course as they can in a given amount of time, dismounting and carrying their unicycles over unrideable obstacles. Flatland unicyclists ride in an urban setting, executing tricks and competing in battle format: two riders take turns doing tricks, one-upping each other as they go. Unicycling even embraces team sports: hockey, basketball, and an unofficial game of “flaming hockey,” where athletes wait until the sun goes down before they set a puck on fire and proceed with their game.

Before his trials events began at this year’s championships, Sanders and his team spent two days building obstacles and marking courses. Around 400 riders participated in the event this year, which was in Seattle, but other years have attracted more than 700 riders. “Big events like this are by and for unicyclists— they take a lot of grassroots effort and passion,” Sanders says.

Sanders, however, was not born with this passion. Seventeen years ago, he was a distractible seventh-grader when his gym class teacher at Glover Middle School taught a two-week unit on unicycling. “I was right in the middle of that childhood phase where I’d pick something up, try it once, and never try it again. I had a guitar, a keyboard, a pogo stick, and juggling stuff, so when I asked for a unicycle for Christmas, my parents were like, ‘uh, what else do you want?’ I said, ‘Nothing. A unicycle is all I want.’ So they got me one and to their surprise, I just never stopped. I don’t know what it was—but I just got addicted to it.”

A few years later, a friend gave Sanders a VHS of the movie “Universe I,” a movie about extreme unicycling tricks in urban and off-road environments. “I lost my mind,” he recounts. “The first year after I watched that move, I ruined 10 unicycles trying to take them off drops, going down stairs, everything. But I haven’t broken a single bone yet!”

Sanders went to his first unicycling event, the Moab Mountain Unicycle Festival, in 2006. There, he met dozens of unicyclists, including Kris Holm, a rock star in the unicycling community. “One day, on the Porcupine Rim Trail, I ran into Kris Holm, who’d just stumbled on an obstacle in the trail. I rode past him and hit it just right, and I couldn’t believe it. Two seconds later I crashed. He picked my unicycle up, sat down next to me, and we had a nice little chat. When I got home from that trip, everything took a back seat to unicycling.”

Finally, Sanders decided to compete. In 2008, he went to the national championships for the first time and promptly won a medal: third place in his age group in the trials events. Since then, he’s won several bronze, silver, and gold medals at state, national, and world championships. At the 2012 world championships in Italy, Sanders won a bronze medal in his age group for the high jump, which involved jumping his unicycle over a bar 90 centimeters high—a half-inch shy of a yard.

“I like the pressure of competition, but I don’t really like the competitiveness,” Sanders reflects. “When I’m out trying to do tricks and obstacles, I’m really just competing with myself and my own abilities.”

Sanders doesn’t sugar-coat it: unicycling is hard. It’s not the initial learning that’s hard, he says, but everything beyond that. “If you’re not looking for an activity that’s pretty much hard all the time, unicycling might not be for you. I’ve been doing this for 17 years, and I’m still learning new skills and tricks, but that’s what I love about it—I like that it’s always hard, always challenging, and I never feel like I’ve maxed out my skills.” Unicycling works your legs and core, and that’s exactly why many regular cyclists and other athletes use a unicycle to cross-train.

Age is not a limiting factor. “I’ve met kids as young as three who could ride unicycles,” Sanders says, “and several riders in their seventies. I’ve met families where every member could ride. I have also met men and women who started riding in their fifties and sixties, and now I see them at every event I go to. You really can’t be too young or too old to start.”

Entry-level unicycles are available for $70-100, and Sanders says they’re sufficient for learning basic skills. He recommends Spoke ‘N Sport in downtown Spokane. “At their shop, Justin does all the work on my wheels, and he does an amazing job. He even got a specialized unicycle truing stand adapter to work on my wheels so he can make them perfect every time.” For unicyclists looking for a more specialized ride, Sanders recommends unicycle.com.

Equally as important as the unicycle is the protective gear, and Sanders’ voice grows emphatic when he describes the importance of shin pads and plastic pedals. “When you’re learning to ride,” he says, “your shoe often slips off the pedal, and you hit either the front of your shin or the back of your calf on the pedal. If you aren’t wearing shin pads, you’ll have as many scars and bruises as I do.” And of course, gloves and a helmet are a no-brainer. Sanders also wears ankle braces and elbow pads.

The Unicycling Society of America has established 10 skill levels that progress from mounting and dismounting to riding backward and one-footed to completing a 180-degree spin. Sanders agrees that beginning unicyclists should first learn to mount without assistance, and then add skills like turning in both directions, hopping in place, and idling (rocking back and forth in place).

“Everything clicks eventually,” Sanders insists. If you’re struggling, keep practicing. It’s going to click. Every unicyclist has had that struggle where you try and try and try a new skill, and then one day, you get it. And then you move on to the next challenge.” //

Janelle McCabe is the former managing editor for OTM. She wrote about the Leavenworth Half Marathon and the Spokane Marathon Relay in August.

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The four legs of the relay range in distance from 5.5 to 7.3 miles, and the course takes runners through Browne’s Addition, down the Centennial Trail, along the Spokane River, up Doomsday Hill, through Kendall Yards, and past the falls before ending in Riverfront Park. “Our out-of-town athletes are pleasantly surprised by the beauty and vibe of Spokane,” says race organizer Dori Whitford. “There’s a reason the Spokane slogan is ‘Near nature. Near perfect.’ And I think all the finishers are delighted with our race medal every year.” Whitford says that though the hilly course is challenging, it is less hard on the body than a race that is totally flat. “Working different muscles is a good thing! The secret is to train for the hills,” she says.

This is a hometown race. Twenty area high school cross-country teams volunteer for the event, helping with everything from bag check to finish line medals. They dress in costumes, line the course, and staff aid stations as they compete with each other to be voted Best Supporters by the runners. Spectator signs and chants are a fun part of any race, but fall races offer spectators the additional fodder of political campaigns and government missteps to fuel their sign-making creativity.

Runners have other distance options to choose from: a 10K (which is now an official qualifier for Bloomsday Second Seed), a half marathon (which is the most popular distance), and a full marathon (which takes the same course as the marathon relay). This year the Bloomsday Road Runners Club is partnering with Fleet Feet to put on a marathon training clinic. Thespokanemarathon.com. //

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The half marathon begins and ends at the fish hatchery south of town. Distance runners can tend toward seriousness when it comes to their races, but this crowd is decidedly here for the party. Many participants run in the same costumes they wore in the beer halls the night before, and a few others are visibly feeling the effects of last night’s barley and hops. Most runners, though, just adopt a lighthearted approach to the race.

After 3.5 miles on a pretty country road, the course takes runners across the Wenatchee River and onto the trails of Waterfront Park. During the 2-mile trail stretch, which runs alongside the river and through groves of deciduous trees, the wind just might stir enough to shower you with gorgeous orange and yellow leaves through the mottled sunshine and blue skies beyond. The trail is soft and wide. It deposits runners on the other end of town, and the next segment is on residential streets. The two out-and-backs in this segment occur right about the time you’re ready to be done, but it’s heartening to get a different view of your fellow runners and cheer each other on. The final segment again goes off-road. The course teases runners by taking them near enough to the finish line to hear the cheering spectators, and then right back out into the trees for another 2 miles. In the last few meters in the trees, the trail winds around and narrows to singletrack, forcing a single-file line until it opens to a field and the finish line.

“We offer a unique experience in terms of being a stunningly beautiful course,” says race organizer Ian Crossland. “Runners begin near the Alpine Lakes Wilderness and pass through rolling farmland and forest trails along the banks of Icicle Creek and the Wenatchee River. And Oktoberfest in Leavenworth is a great, festive experience.” There is also a full marathon option, which has a 10-mile downhill start before joining the half marathon course. Teddriven.com/leavenworth-marathon. //

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Burning Man

At the end of every summer, 70,000 people from all over the world descend upon the desolate salt flats of the Black Rock Desert in northeastern Nevada. They create Black Rock City, a temporary civilization that, for the eight days of Burning Man, becomes Nevada’s third-largest city. Burning Man attracts a decidedly counterculture, nontraditional, free-spirited personality type, the kind who finds the event’s “10 Principles” (radical inclusion, gifting, decommodification, radical self-reliance, radical self-expression, communal effort, civic responsibility, leaving no trace, participation, and immediacy) pretty natural to practice and preach – at least for a week.

Running at Burning Man

Running on the playa is like running on the set of Mad Max. Fine playa dust covers everything, thanks in part to the frequent desert winds, so that no matter what one’s skin or hair color is, everyone ends up the same shade of head-to-toe taupe. In addition, the enthusiastic costume culture at Burning Man creates a post-apocalyptic-steampunk meets Halloween-costume-stash aesthetic, which just adds to the creative and logistical challenge of running in the desert. Once you’ve run long enough to raise your heart rate, breathing on the playa is similar to when you accidentally inhale powdered sugar, except it’s not tasty.

In the “default world” (i.e., where burners spend the other 51 weeks each year), lube is a runner’s best friend. At Burning Man, vinegar replaces lube as the go-to substance, neutralizing the alkaline dust and preventing “playa foot,” the chemical burn that can turn skin into cracked leather within hours.

Pink Lightning, Hash House Harriers, and Lake Lahontan

I’m camping with Pink Lightning, the folks who put on the ultramarathon and other running events. Early in the week, I ride the course on my bike alongside Cherie Yanek, founder and race director of the Burning Man 50K Ultramarathon. She talks about her experiences as a race director. She’s not reluctant exactly, but I get the idea that the exposure she’s received as a result of the race – her gift to the Burning Man community – has caused her to become wary of interviews. Yanek is a spunky little firecracker. Unsurprisingly, she’s always wearing pink, including as a hair color. She’s increasingly flighty and spontaneous and entertaining as the 50K approaches.

In addition to the ultramarathon, Pink Lightning hosts an easy 5K run, a yoga session, a 5K race, and a beer mile throughout the week. Participants in the beer mile alternate pounding a can of beer and running a quarter mile until they either pass out or complete a full mile. Being gluten free and averse to public puking, I help record finish times. One of my campmates commandeers the mic and heckles runners as they stumble into and out of the staging area.  Finishing times range from eight to 35 minutes, and it’s amusing to see perfectly sober people get completely sloshed within just a few minutes, and all before noon.

Other groups facilitate running events at Burning Man, too. The Hash House Harriers host one of their infamous Red Dress Runs. I show up ready to run along with 200 other burners in red, and it soon becomes evident that they are more interested in bar hopping than running. This is Burning Man, after all.

Another group hosts the Burning Man Triathlon, an event that welcomes 75-200 participants every year, “depending on the number of random first timers [we] entice to join in with the bullhorn,” says race co-director Ron Lane. The triathlon includes all three traditional events: “The ‘swim’ takes place in historic Lake Lahontan [which has been dry for the past 8,000 years]. The bike ride is a loop around The Man, and the run is an out-and-back around some art and cones on the playa. Each year the distances vary depending on the hangover status and ambition status of those setting up the course,” Lane says.

The 50K Ultramarathon

The big race starts at 5 a.m. on Tuesday — Tutu Tuesday, as it’s celebrated by burners, so many of the runners arrive dressed with various amounts of frill around their waists. It’s totally dark, but the high cloud cover overnight has kept the temps relatively warm for a pleasant 55-degree start. More than 300 runners show up with a more noticeable level of body odor than your typically starting line. Most runners wear some sort of costume befitting the host city, including their birthday suits. I’ve run the Bare Buns Fun Run enough times to know that 3 miles naked is one thing; 31 miles naked is another. That doesn’t stop at least one man from not only running nude but also covering himself entirely in silver body paint, anchoring his race bib to his nipple rings.

The race comprises four 7-mile loops plus an out-and-back at the end to bring the mileage to 31 miles, or 50 kilometers. The first loop is in the dark, so we wear headlamps. There are lots of people still out partying from the night before, and they shout in bewilderment, encouragement, and disdain as we run by. The playa surface ranges from hard, cracked, and bumpy to fine dust dunes several inches deep. The harder surfaces are preferable, because the dust does to our shoes (or in the case of some runners, bare feet) what it does to every other interior and exterior surface: It completely engulfs them. When it rains on the playa, the dust turns to clay and then hardens into crumbly rocks. When sweat mixes with playa dust, the same phenomenon occurs, which is what takes place inside my shoes. So before I start the second loop, I drop off my headlamp and pick up my gaiters after shaking the crumbles and scraping the mud out of my shoes and socks.

The sun has just risen at the start of my second loop, and it makes the whole desert floor glow a soft pink-orange. The race organizers provide two official aid stations that runners encounter every 3.5 miles on the loop course. However, pop-up aid stations begin appearing where other burners offer us drinks — sometimes water but more often booze — to help or hinder us in the Burning Man spirit. After several runners drop out, the course is noticeably less populated on the third loop, making the miles out in the deep playa especially quiet. During the fourth loop, runners’ facial expressions harden from excitement and playfulness to grit and determination. Latent running injuries become more obvious and visible, and we exchange words of encouragement as we pass each other. We’ve been spoiled by cool temps and a calm breeze throughout the race, but during the final 2.5-mile out-and-back, the temps rise and a white-out sandstorm ensues, reducing visibility to 10 feet and giving us a mighty headwind for the last mile.

The finish line is celebratory, if a bit dazed. I’m one of 160 burners who finish, with final times ranging from three and a half hours to almost 12. Since this is my first 50K, I get an automatic PR. But Burning Man ultrarunners seem to apply the same rule to their race results as the Burning Man Triathlon folks do: “All event results should be considered inaccurate, completely wrong, and purely for entertainment purposes.” I take a shot and then a solar shower and then a nap.

The Black Rock Desert is surrounded by tall, spiny hills that rise a couple thousand feet from the desert floor. As the evening sun shines its last before slipping behind the hills, coloring everything fluorescent pink and orange, the entire city breaks out in howls. The temperature immediately drops, and there’s a lull in the action as burners rest, eat dinner, and start dressing for the nighttime festivities. This moment is a great time to take your bike out on the town, which is exactly how I begin my post-race celebration. //

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Beginning in Sandpoint and ending near the Canada border, our quest was to find as many Idaho Panhandle waterfalls as we could in a long holiday weekend. Here are some of our favorites.

Grouse Creek Falls

Grouse Creek Valley is 20 miles northeast of Sandpoint on the edge of the Panhandle National Forest. After parking in a pullout off Grouse Creek Road, we hiked a half mile on sometimes rocky and steep trail until the path terminated at a series of overlooks that revealed several broad cascades, each several feet high, and as many large eddying pools below. Grouse Creek is more of a little river than a creek, and the steep rock walls that surround it make it seem even bigger. The several large rock outcroppings make a good place to sit and eat a sandwich as your legs dangle over the rushing water below. This may not be the hike to take small children on due to the rougher trail and lack of guardrails, but adults and older children will feel as if they’ve discovered liquid gold after negotiating the trail and boulders to get as close to the falls as possible.

Snow Creek Falls

By volume and associated din, Snow Creek Falls was the Amazon River of our waterfall adventure. Ten miles north of Naples, Idaho, we drove up the gravel Snow Creek Road and parked near the large roadside sign. The well-maintained trail includes directional signs that ironically proved most helpful when they disappeared at a major crossroads, forcing us to explore both upstream and downstream waterfalls. The payoff is grand: huge, deafening cascades and pools that are easy to access up close. The giant fallen logs across the water make great photo ops, if you can keep the spray off your lens.

Myrtle Creek Falls

If you prefer to view waterfalls from above but don’t need to get too close, check this one out. Adjacent to the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge west of Bonners Ferry, Myrtle Creek tumbles down from the same hills as Snow Creek to the south. The trail to the waterfall is well-maintained, with periodic interpretive signs targeting kids who may or may not be distracted from the incline, which is noticeable, if brief. About a quarter-mile up, an overlook provides a pretty view of the thundering waterfall 200 feet below. That’s where families with young kids should turn around and head back, but I wondered if I could scamper higher and closer to the water source. This was the sole trail we encountered on our road trip that wasn’t dog-friendly, so I hiked alone while my husband and dog napped in the sun at the trailhead. I made my way up an increasingly less-maintained and less-marked trail until arriving at a more level section of the creek above the waterfall. Large boulders and fallen trees crisscross the noisy, rushing creek, and they brought out the wannabe Parkour practitioner in me as I edged as near as I dared to the place where the water disappears over the edge.

Copper Creek Falls

If Snow Creek Falls was our Amazon, Copper Creek Falls was our Nile. Just two miles from the Canada border, we drove on Forest Service road #2517 for a couple of miles and parked at the Copper Falls Trail #20. A short nature trail with signs that identify vegetation along the way crisscrosses the creek and leads to a towering, relatively narrow funnel of water 170 feet high. The trail provides a view near the bottom of the falls. Get as close to the cascade as trail etiquette and your nerves will allow, and the scale of its height will become evident. When it finally shatters on a large, rocky footbed, the water seems to disappear, emerging several yards away as a creek that rushes downhill. //

Janelle McCabe wrote about long-distance running with kids in April.

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The Bear Bowl is made of food-grade PTFE-coated fiberglass that expands into action with a couple of snaps. The aluminum base keeps it durable and light-weight, and nylon cord wraps around the handle, keeping it cool to the touch. I brought a full bowl of water to a boil in fewer than five minutes over a small camp stove burner. (You’ll want to save the open campfire for hotdogs and marshmallows.) No leaks here: I tested a bowl full of water overnight with nary an errant drop. It also passes the kid test: Three of my nephews easily assembled and disassembled it without a scratch to kid or bowl.

Still in its prototype stage, the Bear Bowl is available for preorder on the Bear Minimum website for $25. Bear Minimum Founder Cory Santiago states that his company “will soon complete the family with a Mama Bear and Papa Bear,” which will hold up to a gallon. Bearminimum.org. //

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Kole and I started running Bloomsday together in 2015. After finishing Bloomsday 2016 with a six-minute PR, Kole asked, “Can we train for a fall race? A longer one this time?” We chose the Trail Maniacs Riverside State Park Half Marathon. Before registering, I spoke with race director Dave Dutro about the suitability of the course for younger legs. “The RSP Half will be great for Kole,” Dutro said. “It’s less hilly than some of our other races and quite kid-friendly.”

Our training plan included three runs per week. Since Kole and I live on opposite sides of the city, we only ran the long runs together, while he ran the short runs on the treadmill or with another adult. During our runs, we’d practice nutrition and hydration by slowing our pace at each mile mark and taking in some food or water. We’d talk about pacing, stretching, and rest. We’d talk about the mammals and birds and bugs we spied (or hoped to) as we ran past their habitats. After our midsummer runs, we’d reward ourselves by sprinting straight into the lake without even changing out of our sweaty clothes. The progression from summer to fall stimulated all five senses in a new way each week.

Race day morning was 50 degrees and damp – perfect running weather. We intentionally started at the back of the crowd, knowing that that placement would make it easier to avoid going out too fast. I soon realized that during our training runs, we’d neglected to discuss trail etiquette, so after awkwardly passing a couple of patient fellow runners, we talked about giving people their space on the trail. Kole put this new knowledge to work right away on one of the rocky inclines that he bounded up like a billy goat, while we adults wheezed our way up behind him.

When we ran single file, I watched the mud accumulate on the back of Kole’s legs as he picked nimbly over rock gardens and around mud puddles. We discovered that when the race director had claimed that this race wasn’t particularly hilly, he must have forgotten about the four significant inclines and more than 1,300 feet of elevation gain. None of that climbing fazed Kole, however. The only times he slowed to a walk were during our planned water breaks (a couple of which he ran right through).

The race started and finished at the suspension bridge at Bowl and Pitcher, traveling in a counter-clockwise loop. As the bridge came into view in the final mile, Kole surged with reserved energy, but I felt a twinge of wistfulness. We’d run alongside each other for 17 hours throughout the summer and fall, and my heart was now doing double duty, trying to keep up with Kole in these last yards while struggling to keep my emotions from destroying my cool aunt reputation. When we crossed the finish line at mile 13.78 (trail races are rarely a round number), our family was there to cheer for Kole’s incredible accomplishment. For this first half marathon, he’d made it his goal to finish with a smile. I’d made it my secret goal to finish without a tear. Kole succeeded.

Kole’s Training Tips for Kids

• Road running is easier than trail running because it’s paved all the way. With trail running, the elevation changes a lot, and there are big rocks and hills.
• Start with small distances and then work your way up to longer distances. If you push your body too much, it will be out of service for a while. And then when you start running again, you’ll feel sore and like you’re limping.
• Run with a buddy, especially for the long distances.
• During the first couple miles, you’re sweating a lot, and you feel like you’re already tired, but you’re actually not. Your body can handle more. //

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I had solid excuses to bandit races: I didn’t care about official finish times. I didn’t want another t-shirt or medal. I wasn’t going to use the aid stations or porta potties. I was just pacing a friend. I wasn’t trying to make it to the podium. And of course, it saved me money. So what did it matter if I poached a race here and there?

Over and over, race directors agree that people have no idea how much time, effort, and expense go into organizing an athletic event. “It can be a misconception that the only expenses a race fee goes toward are a shirt and a finisher medal,” says Ken Eldore, race director for Priest Lake Multisports. “Overhead like electronic timing, traffic control, sanitation, and course set-up can be expensive. There is a great deal of time and expense by staff members months before race day. A race bandit is cheating the organizers, who have worked in good faith to produce a quality race. Bandits also cheat the registered participants who paid a fair fee, as well as any charity beneficiaries of the race.”

Dave Dutro, Trail Maniacs founder and race director, agrees about the behind-the-scenes efforts at races. “Safety and liability are my biggest concerns. If a runner just shows up and poaches the run, the race director has no idea who they are or who to contact if they are hurt or lost. This strains our search-and-rescue efforts and could raise our insurance costs. These are issues that could make race entries skyrocket – or end the events forever,” Dutro warns.

The hidden expenses of city and county permits as well as police support and traffic control are a serious consideration for Scott Ward, race director for Troika Triathlon. Those expenses increase his frustration with bandits, who take advantage of race-day benefits meant for paying participants. “Some have even tried to get t-shirts at the end. It is stealing in every fashion,” Ward says.

Paying for and supporting local races is an investment in our unique region. Many of the local organizations that host races give their proceeds to worthy charities, educational programs, and nonprofit organizations in our immediate community. Holly Weiler directs the Foothills Scenic Five run. “Our fun run serves as community gathering and fundraiser,” Weiler explains. “It supports the Foothills Rural Association, a 501c4. We’re satisfied if the fun run and associated pancake breakfast break even, but any profits help support community events and an annual scholarship awarded to college students who live within the Foothills boundaries. Potential bandits should understand that this is the type of organization they’d be stealing from.”

Weiler goes on to praise the Bloomsday Road Runners Club. “Something that most folks don’t know about BRRC is how much they support the local high school cross-country programs. If any local coach knows of a high school kid who cannot afford good running shoes, they can contact BRRC, which will make sure the kid receives shoes for free. In a BRRC race, all of the money stays local and a good portion of it supports local high school runners. A race bandit at a BRRC event like the Spokane Marathon would be stealing from both a great local non-profit and from local high school kids.”

I’m glad to report that my life as a bandit was short-lived. Sure, my registration fees pay for a shirt, an orange slice, and a timing chip. But there are far better, intangible benefits: the cheers of spectators, the help from volunteers, the competition with fellow athletes, and the adrenalin of the moment – all things that I simply can’t replicate on a long, solitary training run.

“My greatest motivation for being a race director,” says Eldore, “is that it allows me to see many other participants’ stories on race day unfold. I have yet to produce a race in which I did not reach for Kleenex as someone met (or failed to meet) something bigger than themselves. When we watch people bandit a race, they take away part of the dignity and value the rest of us are trying to achieve.” //

Janelle McCabe wrote about Scottish Lakes High Camp in January.

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Half the fun of Scottish Lakes High Camp is getting there. Employees of the camp meet you at a secure parking lot about 20 miles west of Leavenworth, where you load your packs, coolers, and winter gear onto Suburbans from decades past, fully reworked to handle the snowy incline you’re about to experience. Four miles later and 1,300 feet higher, you disembark yourself, your gear, and your dog and then load everything back up on a snowmobile for another four-mile ride into camp. If this sounds like a lot of work, it’s overshadowed by the beauty of the area, the friendliness of the camp staff, and the decidedly adventurous means of getting guests and gear up a mountain.

Rounding the final turn of the snowmobile trail, you happen upon a mini-Santaland village. Nine small cabins with steeply pitched A-frame rooflines are situated throughout the 20-acre camp, which also includes a day lodge, a cedar sauna building, a wood-fired hot tub, and several outhouses (aka “mountain comfort stations”). Here, snow is measured in feet rather than inches, and the camp hosts clear paths throughout the village daily. When indoors, guests feel as if they’re inside igloos as they peer out the snow-framed and jack-frosted windows. These igloos just happen to be very tall (several cabins are on stilts, a detail that you might miss until the snow melts) and feature the warmest wood stoves you ever huddled around.

Christine Hanson has owned Scottish Lakes High Camp since 1994. “We bought High Camp for the recreation, both winter and summer,” she says. “We loved the idea of a total life change and working in the backcountry.” If “corporate” culture starts at the top, Hanson’s operation reflects her kind spirit and deep love of the natural area that surrounds High Camp. She employs six camp hosts who do everything from transporting guests and gear to repairing, maintaining, and cleaning the camp buildings and vehicles, to chopping and stacking wood, to clearing and marking trails. But the most visible responsibility of the camp hosts is to welcome guests, providing a familial community. “Saturday night potluck dinners are a huge hit for most of our guests and a great opportunity for staff and guests to know each other a little better,” says camp host Rich McConnell. He’s right; our group of 14 felt enough at home to break out an old acoustic guitar for a post-potluck singalong. Rich and his co-host, Zeke, just encouraged us with what I suspect was not altogether reverent laughter.

Familial community aside, guests initially visit for the trails, miles of them, that lead through meadows and woods to lakes and vistas that take (the rest of) your breath away. High Camp literally functions as the trailhead to several of the trails, so the only thing delaying your first hike is your morning coffee. There are enough trails to keep you out all day for several days in a row. And there is enough variety in the terrain to satisfy aggressive hikers as well as amiable amblers. One morning, we snowshoed the McCue Ridge trails to an overlook called High Point, on the way almost tripping over the Inspiration Lookout trail sign, now at snowshoe level. Some of our group brought skis and snowboards, and after a snowball fight, they took off back down the trail while the rest of us followed on toboggans and snowshoes with two dogs in tow.

Back at camp, some took advantage of the wood-fired hot tub, which the camp hosts drain and refill daily, and the cedar sauna. Others lounged in the main lodge, which is well-stocked with decades-old National Geographics and regional hiking guidebooks and board games on shelves made of old skis. The main lodge also features the only running water in the camp (we’re in the backcountry, so this is an extravagance) and a full kitchen. “I want guests to feel free to do whatever needs to happen for them on vacation,” says Hanson. “They should not feel pressured to hike or ski when they need to relax in their cabin!”

Mission accomplished. Indeed, only a couple hours after our group arrived, we were already fantasizing about pooling our money to purchase the operation, which is for sale. Notably, not one of us expressed a desire to change a thing – no installing a professional kitchen or high-speed cable or updating the rustic cabins with plumbing or homogenous décor. Scottish Lakes High Camp isn’t fancy, but I’ll take charming over fancy any day. //

Janelle McCabe wrote in December about the experiences of a Spokane-based Team USA staff member at the Rio Paralympic games.

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