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Superior Hiking Trail FKT - Part 1 - Steps on the Trail

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Superior Hiking Trail FKT - Part 1 - Steps on the Trail

Having never thru-hiked and being on my first Fastest Known Time (FKT) attempt, I set the lofty goal of breaking an FKT on the 310 mile Superior Hiking Trail (SHT).  With an expectation of failure, I embarked on an unsupported FKT attempt of the SHT.  I expected to learn a lot through this failure and set me up for another FKT attempt in the spring.  Starting with only a 24 pound backpack, my stuffed pockets of food and gear, and a head full of big ideas, I emerged after six nights and 310 miles at the Northern Terminus .  At any point God could end my quest with a single misstep, heat exhaustion, or lack of water.  However, He allowed me to conquer this goal and I am incredibly thankful for the privilege I had to take a week away from worldly responsibilities to spend seven days enjoying His creation.  I’m also grateful to all those that were praying for my safety!

First steps

I carried my 24 pound pack, as tempting as it was to just leave it at my car and pick it up, to be an unsupported FKT attempt. 

When I pulled into the trailhead parking lot to start the FKT attempt, there was a single vehicle parked.  I crammed down my last fruits and veggies for the next week and thoroughly brushed and flossed.  It was the coldest temperature I’d see on the attempt, 47F.  I made the two mile hike to the Wisconsin / Minnesota border to the Southern Terminus at first light.  Exactly when I arrived to the Southern Terminus, a train roared by blasting its horn…not the serenity in the woods I had expected!  Then with exactly myself, I signed the registry, snapped some photos, started my watch and I was off. 

The Duluth section included lots of parks, including Spirit Mountain.

I had scouted this 30 mile section in the same direction in June and was holding the same pace despite a significantly heavier pack and longer journey ahead, a pleasant surprise.  Unfortunately, within a few miles the weight of my pack began chafing my back but there was nothing I could do other than eat my food to lighten my pack and continue on.  Additionally, I had stuffed my pants pockets full and they were falling down constantly, adding to the chafing.  Nonetheless, the miles clicked away with several 12-13 minute miles through Jay Cooke State Park, the first of eight state parks on the SHT.  I went as light as possible, and only brought 15 electrolyte pills, so I decided it was best that I let my running nose drop into my mouth as an additional electrolyte source. 

Although the SHT weaves through Duluth, rarely do you fill the presence of the biggest metropolitan area on Lake Superior.  One of my favorite parts of scouting was scrambling up rocks to Ely’s Peak with views of Lake Superior and Duluth.  During a scouting trip, I was amazed when I passed the Lake Superior Zoo which was only ½ mile away on a spur trail without realizing it!   Near Enger Park, a golf ball fell within feet of me, then a second ball even closer…wouldn’t that be an unique DNF for an FKT!

Downtown Duluth’s Lakewalk offered great views of Lake Superior.

I had never run with my pack this loaded down, so I had no expectations on the pace I’d be able to maintain. I was pleasantly surprised when I had made it through Duluth before nightfall.  I repeatedly reminded myself of the Bible verse Matthew 11:30, “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  Despite there being a huge sacrifice to give up ourselves to follow Jesus, in the scheme of eternity the cost is small.

Another juxtaposition were the tourists on the Lakewalk in downtown Duluth while I shuffled with a week’s worth of food, which amused me as I passed oodles of restaurants and bars.  I was happy to make it through Chester Park just before needing a headlamp since I had missed markings during my scouting trip and wound up on the wrong side of the river.  After passing the University of Duluth campus, I reached an overlook just as the full moon was rising.  Several students were enjoying the view and I chuckled as a half dozen students paraded by with their cell phones as their flashlights.  These were the only hikers I’d see in the darkness over the next six nights.  (Due to the thick canopy, the full moon wasn’t helpful to provide any additional light.)

A lot of the night miles were on snowmobile trail my first night.  Although less technical, the dew on the grass quickly permeated my shoes, despite being recently mowed.  I had scouted all these trails so I paid attention for occasional singletrack sections.  I was focused and kept clicking away, covering 67 miles in the first 24 hours with only a handful of yawns just before dawn.  My plan was to not sleep at all the first night, similar to the strategy of adventure racers, so I built up a cushion. 

By mid-morning, my feet had been wet for about 12 hours.  Although I had dried and relubed my feet at night, I was a bit worried since I couldn’t do anything else until my shoes dried out.  During a scouting trip, this is where I met a hiker completely covered except for his or her eyes.  A bug net, long pants/sleeves, and hands wrapped up in sleeves were used to stay sane from the mosquitos.  Plus a mask was donned due to poor air quality from Canadian wildfires.  Unlike then, the air quality was excellent with no haze or smell of smoke and I had seen exactly one mosquito so far. 

I passed up refilling my water at a pond that looked like a beaver pond.  I smirked as I passed “Beaver Pond Campsite.”  I was 85 miles in and on the first section of trail I had not scouted.  A few miles later, I reached McCarthy Creek campsite, one of the seventeen trail registries I signed.  There was little flowing water and this was the only water that I drank that tasted like stagnant water, even the protein powder wouldn’t mask the stank.  It was only a five mile section and then I was on the first segment I had scouted in the spring near the Lake County Demonstration Forest.  When I had scouted this section, I had counted 13 downed trees in the first 1/10 mile.  Now the trail was tree-free and much drier.  I soon donned my bug net and was constantly swatting at mosquitos.  Although I usually can out-hike mosquitos, these turbo-charged mosquitos kept up even while I was running.  I was happy to make it through that section without misstepping as I swatted mosquitoes off my legs.  I tried to stay aggressive and run the flats but decided it was a wash for speed and much more stressful on my body with the heavy pack.  Luckily, the mosquitos had waned when I realized I had hot spots on the balls of my feet.  I found a log to sit on to take off my shoes and had a moment of panic when the entire ball of each foot was white.  I immediately dried out my feet, relubed, and put on my second pair of socks.  This was one of the few things I’d change.  In hindsight, I should have taken more time off my feet, but instead, I pushed on with only a couple more hours of daylight left in the day. 

Every step was uncomfortable.  I hit a road detour and opted to walk it instead of gaining a few minutes running to save the stress on my feet.  Now I was on a 40 mile section that I hadn’t scouted and had no idea what to expect.  I also wasn’t thrilled about adding 2.5 miles to my 310 mile trail to do the out-and-back to Silver Creek campsite (due to a trail closure), but it was more important to stay true to the trail. Night fell and I was bummed to see three cars parked at the Fors Road Trailhead.  I assumed they would all be camping at Silver Creek since it was dark and there were no campsites in the other direction until passing another trailhead.  I hoped they wouldn’t be loud and awake for several hours.  Conversely, I hoped I wouldn’t disturb them when I packed up a couple hours later.  The second I stepped back on the trail my feet screamed with every step.  I wondered if these fresh socks were too slippery for my sized up shoes.  I had no idea how I’d be able to keep going on the rugged trails for several more days.  The dew on the long grass would surely soak my shoes when I backtracked out in the morning hours.  The mile walk to the campsite seemed to take an eternity, but I was astonished to see the campsite unoccupied.  I refilled my water, began a cold soak for a freeze dried meal, hoisted up my pack, washed my bottles so they wouldn’t mold, and began to set up my camp. I was frustrated that the ziploc on the freeze dried meal was defective.  I had to be extremely careful hoisting my pack into the tree to not spill the contents.  My plan to run down the trail with my cold soaks would not work going forward either. 

A new day

This was night two, my first attempt to sleep, and I accessed the scant number of items I had to set up camp – my borrowed bivy, a garbage bag as my ground cover, a spare pair of underwear, dirty socks, a beanie, a tiny washcloth, a lightweight waterproof jacket, the small pad from my Fastpackher pack, a bug net, and my sweaty clothes I had worn for the past 103 miles.  I set my alarm for 3 hours but woke up after 2 hours shivering.  Initially, I thought I was cold from my lack of insulation from the ground but the following night I realized the problem was that my rain jacket wasn’t breathable enough.  I attempted to fall back asleep as I cowered in the fetal position.  Finally, I got up dreading the cold I’d feel as my hands and feet would go numb from my Raynaud’s as I packed up.  I felt God’s hand and although my core was cold, my hands and feet stayed toasty as I packed up, filtered water, and ate a freeze dried meal.  My spoon handle broke so I ended up using my hands to scoop out the food from the pouch.  By the time I hit the trail an hour had passed and it was 1:15 am…where did the time go? 

As I backtracked a mile from Silver Creek campsite back to the road detour, I couldn’t believe I was suddenly back to the road…and my shoes were dry.  Maybe today wouldn’t be the sufferfest I had dreaded the night before.

I hadn’t reviewed the topo map for this section, but I should have.  I had made the mistake that with several straight sections of trail on the map, this section of trail would be boring.  Wrong.  I wish I would have had daylight to take a photo of the Encampment River crossing with perfectly flat rocks to step across. From there, the trail climbed and I felt there was probably a really cool view, but all I could see is darkness.  I found myself wandering off trail a few times due to downed trees or the lack of undergrowth to force me on the trail. 

As dawn approached, I opted to take a dirt nap between coniferous trees on one of the few public land sections.  I made sure to point my trekking poles each time I slept in my direction of travel and verify with my phone so I wouldn’t have to go through the frustration of wasted travel in the wrong direction.  After an hour I woke up again before my alarm, refreshed.  Within steps, I froze as I saw what I thought was a bear cub scurry down the trail and climb a tree. I looked around for mama, but then relaxed when I realized it was a porcupine.  Later, I realized that there’s no way a bear cub would be that small this late in the summer.  I continued as the sun rose.  I was 48 hours into my journey covering about 110 miles.

I hit an area near Mike’s Rock where there were a significant number of trees across the trail.  At one point I got confused and would have been in big trouble had I not had a phone to consult since a tree caused a trail to deviate at an intersection.  I crossed the Gooseberry River and in the 45 minutes it took me to filter water, dry out my feet, relube, and eat a Ramen cold soak (squeezing out the noodles from the bag since my spoon was broken), the thermometer on the bridge had risen 5F.  Before the trail diverged from the Gooseberry River, I filled up all my water bottles for the first time, totaling 64 ounces of water. I had been warned that water was scarce until Split Rock River, about 8 miles ahead.  I expected the Gooseberry reroute to be lackluster and was a bit bummed the trail no longer traveled by the beautiful Gooseberry Falls; however, this turned into one of my favorite sections of the SHT.  This four mile section was 100% machine built, with hardly a rock or root to be seen.  The ribbon of smooth dirt was candy for my feet and my mojo bolstered as I flew on the non-technical trail.  This purpose-built trail was a stark contrast to the old school rock and root footpath that I had been following.  The entire trail was elevated to ensure proper water drainage off the trail and the amount of boardwalk was staggering.  I determined that there were more feet of boardwalk on this section alone than Lake Superior frontage thus far! 

Stopping to smell the roses!

After flying through the Gooseberry reroute, I was at Split Rock Lighthouse State Park where I saw someone for the first time since the day before.  The park was pretty busy being Friday of Labor Day weekend.  As I ran along the river, I looked for a shady alcove for me to filter water, eat, wash up, dry my feet, and relube near a sunny place to dry my gear.  The river crossing was the perfect place.  The only problem was I forgot I wanted to keep my feet dry when I departed and ended up having to move my stuff three times after I had exploded my pack.  Not the most efficient stop, but it was the highlight of the hike.  I tried not to gasp as I submerged myself in the cool water.  It was about noon, so the day was heating up and this stop was well-timed. 

I finally got back on the trail about 75 minutes later, but I felt as “fresh as a daisy”, not at all like having 125 miles under my feet.  I definitely want to come back to this section of the trail with my family.  Loaded with another 64 ounces of water to ensure I had enough water until Beaver River, 13 miles ahead, I began climbing to several vistas where the strong breeze counteracted the full sun.  Nonetheless, I was feeling the heat in these exposed areas.  I rationed my electrolytes since the next day would be warmer.  I hit an area south of Chapins Ridge where there were a ton of downed trees, slowing progress.  I had only popped one caffeine pill to stay alert so far. With the temperatures rising, I mixed up Tailwind, but forgot I had only brought caffeinated Tailwind.  I didn’t feel I needed the caffeine, but I needed the electrolytes.  The heat was starting to get to me, so when I reached a small lake, I made sure to dunk my head.  

Halfway hump

Getting distracted by the cascades of the Beaver River, I forgot to restart my Strava and had to backtrack.

I had looked forward to the section along the Beaver River, which I had scouted all the way to Section 13, 27 miles ahead.  For the first time, my pack had lightened enough that I felt like I could run more than shuffle.  My confidence was soaring as I reached the halfway point.  Barring any unexpected circumstances, I could do this.  I had exactly what I needed in my pack, with the exception of my broken spoon.

In my euphoria of being refreshed at the scenic cascades of the Beaver River, I had forgotten to restart Strava after saving my current section.  Just as I was patting myself on the back for not having forgotten anything at any of the stops, I made this realization.  I bolted back ½ mile to ensure my FKT attempt could be official.  This was my only chance to ditch my pack and I remembered just as I arrived to the turnaround point, so I wouldn’t even get the silver lining of running without my pack.  I knew I wouldn’t be flawless in my attempt, but admittedly I did lose a little bit of mojo as darkness fell and I ascended the vistas above Beaver Bay.  I was grateful that I had scouted this section in the daylight back in May where I enjoyed the views since now I needed to be completely focused on staying on the trail and upright. 

My sleep strategy for nights 3 and 4 were to sleep sometime during dark hours to maximize my moving time during daylight hours.  I wasn’t falling asleep on my feet, but felt I needed to stop to dry and give my feet a rest.  A lot of this section is pretty exposed, so when I found a nice mossy rock in an area with less wind, I thought I found a great spot.  I used duct tape to adhere a stick handle onto my spoon and proudly texted it to my engineer husband.  I planned to only stop for a couple of hours and trees were scarce, so I slept on my pack.  It was windy, but I could swear I could hear raccoons or skunks scampering nearby ready to devour the contents of my pack, leaving me restless.  Between the phantom coons and skunks plus the afternoon caffeine, I wasted several hours without a moment of sleep.  I also discovered that my rain jacket wasn’t breathable enough but my shirt was too damp and nothing was too chilly, my only options.  My spoon snapped again as I ate another freeze dried meal so I squeezed the contents out the best I could since there was nothing salvageable of the spoon.  I rolled up the bag with the remaining contents in my cargo pocket to finish later on, hoping the failed ziploc wouldn’t result in food running down my leg. 

I recreated the view of Bear Lake from my scouting trip to replace the black chasm before me during the FKT.

Within a mile I was already too hot, and stopped to unzip my pants legs, not a good start to the day.  This section had taken me several hours longer than planned this past spring due to the number of downed trees.  So I was pleased to reach the overlooks for Bean & Bear Lakes about 3 am.  I imagined the vibrant blue, alpine-looking lakes below me instead of the black chasm.  I turned my headlamp on the brightest setting a couple of times in hope of seeing anything, but it may have been a garbage dump since I couldn’t see a thing.  As I hit some areas that had snow remnants during my scouting trip, I fantasized about them despite it being the coolest part of the day. 

With the failed sleep at the beginning of the night, I figured it was now or never to attempt another nap.  I looked for a place poison-ivy free and took a dirt nap and awoke to daylight. I had accumulated about four hours of sleep since I had started 72 hours prior.  A few water sources were dried up, but I found one to refill before hitting the road reroute around the Baptism River at Tettegouche State Park.  I had looked forward to seeing views of the waterfalls, but barely saw the river at all.  When I had scouted, I had taken all the spur trails to see the waterfalls, and this reroute was disappointing.  Although the SHT encapsulates the beauty of several of the trails at Tettegouche State Park including Bean and Bear Lakes and the Drainpipe, it completely missed the essence of the Baptism River and Lake Superior.  Ironically, our visit with our family on a day trip was a completely different experience and I was glad we were able to experience those things as well. 

Where is Sawmill Dome?

Leaves had begun changing color by Labor Day weekend.

Since my water was nearly full, I only took a few swigs from the water fountain as I passed it at the campground.  Had I known that both Crystal and Kennedy Creeks would be dry, I would have topped off.  I began rationing my water and worried if Sawmill Creek would have any water.  I knew there was no water source at the Section 13 campsite and didn’t have another water source marked on my map for another ten miles.  Although I had scouted this section, I couldn’t recall the size of Sawmill Creek.  I was hopeful that since the trail followed the road for a few hundred meters that the creek was big enough to warrant a bridge.  I decided even if there was no water, I wouldn’t let this end my journey.  I could pee into my water bottles if needed.  I ran out of water prior to Sawmill Dome.  From Sawmill Dome I still had about a mile to Sawmill Creek.  But where was Sawmill Dome?  It seemed to take forever, but eventually I made it to Sawmill Dome where I began to notice the leaves changing.  I had never seen this much color by Labor Day weekend, but the dry summer was taking its toll.  I was too worried about water to fully enjoy the colors and had a sigh of relief when I could see water in Sawmill Creek below.  Despite mainly descending, the final mile took an eternity. 

When I got to Sawmill Creek, both sides of the road were in full sun, not what I needed to cool off.  I quickly filled my water bottle and guzzled and opted to gamble and head further down the SHT where a smaller branch of Sawmill Creek crossed the trail.  My gamble worked and I had the perfect flow of water to lie in.  But within a minute of arriving another hiker came, which squelched my plans to strip down and dunk in at the oasis.  He asked if I was hiking for a few days and I replied with a dazed single word.  It was obvious he and his friend would be there awhile, so after a few minutes I felt I had been too curt and I began a conversation.  After lying in the water for several minutes guzzling and filtering water, I felt much better.  Unfortunately this area was so shaded, there was no where I could lay out my shoes to dry from my sweaty feet.  I was shocked again as I looked at my watch and saw another hour had passed while I was stopped.  But it was much needed, I now was rehydrated, refueled, and cooled.  As I hoisted on my pack, my dry bag slipped off and I groaned.  One of the hikers offered to give me a hand to resecure it so I wouldn’t need to doff and don my pack again.  I thanked him for the offer and said I’d take him up in any other circumstance except that I couldn’t for my unsupported FKT attempt.  I headed out and made good time to the Section 13 campsite where my family had backpacked for the first time back in early June. 

Priority water

The next 29 miles would be a mystery of what to expect, since this was another unscouted section.  I was pleasantly surprised to reach a bog where I carefully dunked my head without getting any of my gear wet.  Then I got on the sketchiest bridge – wobbly, at a camber, and elevated.  I breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the other end.  The next boardwalk had just been built and it went on forever, what a contrast to the bridge I had just past!  Again, the heat was getting to me, so I switched to Tailwind, took regular electrolytes, and cooled in water whenever possible.  The next water source was my top priority.  I gave each lake a new adjective: “refreshing” when I could cool off, “tantalizing” when it was inaccessible hundreds of feet below, and “tempting” when it was located a short walk off the main trail.  I developed a routine of guzzling water, filtering water, and eating cookies as I laid in any water to cool. 

After dunking into the East Branch Baptism River, I dreaded a similar outcome as my backpacking trip in May 2008.  I was on the same section of the trail at the same time of day, about an hour prior to sunset.  In 2008, I was backpacking with a friend and we reached a mucky area where I forgot I had the weight of my pack and landed with my knee on the rock I had attempted to hop onto.  I knew immediately I needed stiches but didn’t want to cut the trip short.  Instead, I halfway cleaned the gash and we camped and did some day hiking the next morning before heading back a day early.  I had never needed stitches before but soon the doctor educated me that I had done everything wrong.  Not only did I fail to adequately get the dirt out of the wound, but waited 24 hours prior to getting stiches, which was a big no-no.  The doctor lectured me and told me I’d be absolutely screaming as he scrubbed my knee like a crusty pot had he not numbed it.  He did an excellent job, and I never got an infection.  My scar still reminds me how lucky I was.  During the FKT, this area was still mucky, despite a dry summer, but my trekking poles helped me to stay upright and unscathed…whew!

The entrance into George Crosby Manitou State Park offered a fast road section as night fell and I passed a full parking lot of backpackers’ vehicles. At first the trail was fast, but turned gnarly as I descended to the Manitou River.  I was happy to find a safe place above the falls to fill my water.  I would like to visit again in the daytime to see the gorge...it sounded powerful.  I was feeling good with a little help from a dose of caffeine, so I continued into the darkness.  I was running low on water but knew the Caribou River was coming and I planned to fill up at the bridge just as I had done at all the other rivers.  Wrong.  The river raged into a gorge dropping tens of feet below.  Clearly, I wouldn’t be filling my water. I opted to not backtrack to the campsite I passed a quarter of a mile earlier for water since there were several creeks in the next few miles.  I got into a good hiking rhythm, although I wondered if I should be pushing my running pace with the flat terrain.  First Crystal Creek was dry then so was the next.  There was a campsite at Sugarloaf Pond and I decided that I’d better take the spur trail to the water.  I put the iffy pond water in my flask but didn’t filter anything to risk clogging up my filter.  Since there was a tent pad open, although dusty, I decided to sleep rather than risk sleeping in a patch of poison ivy.  I didn’t notice any mosquitos, but the second I laid down they were buzzing in my ears.  Mosquitos soon found the smallest opening into my bivy.  I struggled to adjust the bug net to prevent any openings into my bivy over the next couple of hours to no avail. I figured I’d eventually block out the mosquitos and decided not to take the time to pack back up and find a better campsite (this was the only time I noticed mosquitos all day!).  

I finally gave up at dawn without a moment of sleep and packed up as the mosquitos dissipated.  All my gear was covered in dust.  As I left my terrible campsite, I was 95 hours into my journey, just shy of 200 miles with only about four hours of sleep following two unsuccessful sleep attempts.  I didn’t want to filter and drink the pond water, so I continued down the trail with scant calories since I didn’t have anything to wash it down.  Once again, I made an extra stop after forgetting to unzip my pants to prevent overheating in the coolest part of the day.  I was relieved to find water at Dyers Creek 3 ½ miles later.  I wished I had pushed on longer into the night and stayed at a better campsite and get some sleep.  I was back on a 13 mile section of trail I had scouted and thoroughly enjoyed the trimmed hazelbrush instead of juking like a running back avoiding being snapped in the face with hazelbrush to progress down the trail like last time. 

I assessed my food and knew I had plenty to reach to the end.  In fact, I tried to tell myself to eat more so I didn’t need to carry the extra weight.  Before reaching Temperance River State Park, I was already struggling with the heat and needed to cool my core temperature before proceeding on.  I met tons of day hikers since it was now Sunday of Labor Day weekend including the only hikers that failed to follow the rule on the SHT to leash their dog and the dog repeatedly bolted ahead of me while the owner called it back, eventually heeding the owner’s call. I nearly collapsed into the water, but shade was minimal.  After an hour cooling, drying my feet, and refueling, I felt better.  I had an awkward moment as my pack snagged onto a tree branch as I returned to the trail.  A passerby offered to help but I declined and didn’t have the resolve to explain that I couldn’t accept aid.  I struggled like a deer with antlers snagged in a thicket, but I managed to untangle myself. 

As I climbed out of the river valley, I realized I had made a huge mistake by leaving the river with dry clothes.  Within a mile, I was overheating.  I passed oodles of hikers climbing to Carlton Peak.  I dreaded getting into the exposed sections under the full sun but took solace in the gentle breeze and that I wouldn’t be taking the spur trail to the summit. The next six miles were unscouted and the uncertainty of water gnawed at me.  I longed to guzzle my water but realizing how much I had been drinking, I worried about deadly hyponatremia.  At this point, I wasn’t sure if heat exhaustion, hyponatremia, or sleep deprivation was the root cause for my state. I feared that I’d pass out on the trail.  IF I rebounded with the assistance of a hiker, I wouldn’t be able to continue the FKT as unsupported. I pulled out potato chips to munch on and took my rationed electrolytes diligently.  I longed to sit in cool water and guzzle my water.  Even after stopping to do so, one mile later I wasn’t much better off.  I convinced myself to push on in the dazed state.  I audibly would say, “It tastes so good,” every time I guzzled water.  With the heat, I wondered if I should switch my sleep strategy to cover more miles in the darkness.  I frequently stopped a to listen for water flowing ahead.

I fantasized about napping in the cool water of the Onion River under the shade of the bridge.  When I arrived, I positioned rocks so I wouldn’t drown if I fell asleep.  After pouring in mouthfuls of potato chips while my core cooled and my feet dried, I heard a family of hikers coming.  I sat up so they didn’t think I was dead.  One person suggested they filter water and I dreaded my refuge being intruded upon. Luckily the rest of the clan had plenty of water to share and continued on without noticing me. Although I felt I could fall asleep, the water was a bit too cool for me dose off, so I soaked a few more minutes and exited the water shivering.  

I was back on a seven mile segment I had scouted to Lutsen ski resort and heating up again just a few miles later. The climbs weren’t as bad as I remembered, the shade offered relief, and water was more frequent than I expected. I wondered how bustling the Lutsen ski resort was on this holiday weekend, because other than a road crossing, there was no indication of civilization. Even though I hadn’t scouted the next five miles to Agnes Lake, I expected it to be hilly in the shadow of the ski resort.  The hills only lasted a mile or two and soon I was enjoying another dunk in the cascades of the Poplar River.  Even though this was the last hour of daylight, I wasn’t going to miss out on refilling my water like the night before at the Caribou River.  I wasn’t happy with myself when I spilled my full filtered water bottle, but told myself it was only three minutes lost. 

As I left, I noticed my Garmin inReach Mini had deactivated.  I reactivated it, but within minutes I had another error message.  After repeating a few times, I decided that my husband wouldn’t be tracking me through the night anyways, and I’d try again in the morning.  Not the security blanket I had planned on as sleep deprivation was taking hold.  Night fell and I was moving good at first, but soon I needed my headlamp on the brightest setting to move the pace I wanted to, which was ok since this was the final night I had expected to be on the trail.  I had adequate batteries but preferred not to charge them, so I adjusted my light settings down when I headed uphill.  At least it kept my mind occupied.  I stopped to sign the registry at what I assumed was a beautiful overlook above Agnes Lake but only had darkness to gaze at.  When I hit the next intersection where I had ended a 30 mile scouting run, I thought about cooling off in Lake Agnes, but decided it wasn’t worth it due to mosquitos swarming, the water looking like old bathwater, and it only being a few inches deep. 

Suddenly, my headlamp felt dim and I could no longer process rocks and roots fast enough.  I began to struggle cognitively.  Running the headlamp on high power helped and I became more alert when I got to Cascade River State Park.  I had a sense of urgency since I expected this would be my last night, so I filled my flask and filtered as I hiked up the hill to save time.  Although I had scouted this section, I had gone on the other side of the river and was in for a surprise at the contrast of the ruggedness of the west side of the river.  I had thought about doing the eight mile hike with our kids and was very glad my husband convinced me not to.  Frequently, I wondered if I was on a volunteer trail since blazes were sparse.  The bridge near Cut Log campsite was out and as I scrambled up the hillside I needed to bushwhack back onto the trail.  Without the GPS I may have struggled to find the trail in the dark and my sleep-deprived state. 

I pushed until early morning before succumbing to sleep, but still managed to wake up before my alarm.  Although I had fallen a bit off pace, I was still optimistic that I’d be able to reach the Northern Terminus today.  In hindsight, the only way I was covering as many miles as I was had been due to my lack of sleep…which was about to catch up to me.  I had covered nearly 250 miles over five days but was operating on less cumulative sleep than I normally had in a single night.  Most of this section was pretty nondescript, but I did make the mistake of seeing an approaching backpacker and still stepping onto the elevated boardwalk above a marsh.  Luckily, she didn’t get hurt or mad at me as we awkwardly passed.  Later, I managed 13 minute miles on the flat North Shore State Snowmobile Trail, thanks to a recent mowing.  Although I was moving fast, I was happy to get back on the variety of the singletrack.

Power saver mode 

Approaching the Pincushion Trailhead just outside of Grand Marais, I desperately needed to cool off.  I looked at the map and there were a few possible water sources before Devil Track River, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.  I was thrilled to find a small reentrant with water flowing.  I guzzled and cooled my core but was alarmed to see how early in the day I was already suffering from the heat.  It would be a long day, and not my last on the trail. 

I slowly progressed to the Devils Track River but didn’t have any good opportunities to cool off due to the steepness of the river banks.  Once I passed onto the other side it felt like I had entered a foreign land.  Balsam trees dominated the landscape and their prominent roots forced me to a walk despite the mild topography.  Furthermore, I struggled to use my poles as the thick vegetation pulled at them every step.  Despite cooling off in several creeks and even a mudhole, I was fearing I’d be unable to continue as I approached Kimball Creek.  I wasn’t sure if I was sweating - was my dampness residual from my last dunk? I resolved to cool in the creek until my core temperature had regulated.  The juxtaposition of my demoralized deprived state as families scampered joyfully on the rocks nearby pulled at me, but I resisted the urge to ask for help. I attempted to nap again in the water to no avail.  Kimball Creek was a beautiful place to spend a large chunk of time; although, I felt like a grandma struggling to balance on the rocks.  Eventually I left Kimball Creek shivering which was a blessing to me.

Temperatures were cooling as I descended to Lake Superior.  I finally was able to descend with a full stride through the open woods carrying my lightened pack and flew down the hill, which ended up being one of my favorite moments on the SHT.  I arrived to the Lakewalk in good spirits.  The climb out was more gradual than I expected but shortly after night fell, I struggled mightily.

Although I didn’t have any hallucinations, here I imagined someone was with me and told me I was only 300 meters away from the Magney State Park parking lot.  I was a bit frustrated with them since I knew it was a couple of miles; nonetheless, each minute felt like an hour as I plugged away on the forested treadmill where everything looked the same.  I was falling asleep on my feet and my pace was waning, so I chose to give into the inevitable, sleep.  I forgot to set an alarm, but miraculously woke up after only four hours. I hadn’t planned to sleep that long and it ended up my longest sleep of the adventure.  I had only covered a measly 30 miles in the past 24 hours.

The first mile was rough, my feet ached and I still felt like I was on the gerbil wheel getting no where to the parking lot through the darkness.  I eventually made it to the parking lot where I speedily filled my bottles out of a tap rather than filtering.  The darkness made following the correct trail a challenge.  Along the river there had been several areas of the trail that had been washed out.  When I had done this section in the daylight in the opposite direction, I had no problem, but now I found myself bushwhacking several times at a snail’s pace and snagging my pack and poles on everything.  As I thrashed around, I knew I wasn’t far from where the trail was supposed to be, but it seemed like I kept paralleling it, rather than intersecting it.  Eventually, I got back on track.  In less than 10 miles, I was already falling asleep on my feet.  I found a nice piece of moss for a final dirt nap, bringing my sleep total to about ten hours. 

Priorities. Getting Strava logged at the Northern Terminus.

Triumphantly holding the final trail registration atop 270 Degree Overlook at the Northern Terminus of the Superior Hiking Trail, after 6 days, 10 hours.

My power bank was now dead and I had only 72% charge on my phone, so I put it into a power saver mode (similar to my current state) and left my phone on airplane mode for most of the day…it would have been nice to have the Garmin inReach mini working right now!  I began my heat management protocol at 7:30 am, soaking in some stinky ponds.  I dreaded the climb and potential sun exposure at the highest point of the SHT.  Each mile became the hardest.  Despite being less than three miles from the Northern Terminus, I spent a long time cooling off at Andy Creek.  As I reached Otter Lake Road I was hauling since the trail was very runnable. I poured my remaining water on me as I ascended to 270 Overlook where current FKT holder, Michael Koppy, greeted me.  I basked in the moment, filling out the trail registry and slowly descended the mile back to the trailhead.  Within an hour, a storm raged with lightning and downpours, with rain lasting through the night.  I was thankful not only to be off the trail but to have a coherent driver to shuttle me back to Duluth in poor driving conditions.  With the absence of my Garmin in-Reach mini to track me, Michael had anxiously waited the entire day for me.  Over the last day, I had imagined that he texted me that he couldn’t wait any longer and arranged a shuttle to pick me up at 5 pm.  As I looked at my phone texts days later, it never existed and I’m incredibly thankful for Michael’s unwavering support!

Lessons learned

Current FKT holder, Michael Koppy, generously provided intel leading up to the FKT as well as a shuttle and place to stay following the FKT.

Despite my snail’s pace at the end (it seems like 250 miles would be my ideal trail length), I still met every goal going into the FKT.  When I encountered problems, I simply evaluated how to manage and tackle the problem to continue down the trail, rather than a “Woe is me” attitude.  My only changes would have been to bring a better spoon, bring a lightweight pair of shorts, get off my feet earlier on day two, and move on sooner when I didn’t fall asleep instantly.  Although I would have learned more about myself through failure, I’m pretty proud of making it to the end on my first attempt!

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