The Bear 100 Miler - 2008
Back in 1998, when Leland Barker first talked to Ron Stagg about putting on a 100-miler in the mountains above Logan, Utah, it became a labor of love.  Leland planned a route along his favorite running trails, which traversed some of the most scenic locations in northern Utah.
But when Leland approached the forest service with his plan, he got a firm but courteous “No, thanks.” Leland cast around for other venues, and the southern Idaho loop course for the Bear 100 was born.  
The old course served us well.  It even survived a huge snowstorm that forced last-minute course changes, and through it all produced successful race after successful race.   Through it all a top-notch cadre of volunteers and emergency management and communications experts built themselves into a team ready to support the runners for every mile.
But through all this Leland still looked with fondness on his favorite training runs.  After the 2006 Snow Bear he approached the forest service again about a Logan to Bear Lake route.  At first they said no, but when told about the requirement that each runner give eight hours of volunteer time for the forest, they relented.  It was that easy.   In one moment the fruits of giving back to forest were realized.  We were a go!  I thought Leland had really pulled a rabbit out of his hat this time.
This was last Spring. Now came the hard part.  It was like starting over again.  As the webmaster and mapper of the race, I needed new maps and lots of info to get out to the runners.  Starting in June I repeatedly travelled the three hours to Logan and Bear Lake to gather GPS data on course.  One early July morning Leland picked me up at the finish to drive me back to mile 69—I would run to the finish.  He didn’t tell me that I would need to cross the Logan River, still flush with snowmelt.  As he pulled up to the river bank, Leland said, “Hmmm.  I don’t think it will be this high on race day.” I asked him if there was a way across.  “Nope.  Guess you’ll have to wade.”  The air temperature was about 40, and the river was colder than that.  I asked Leland to wait until I crossed to make sure I didn’t fall in and die of hypothermia.  He just smiled and stroked his beard as I cursed my way through with numb feet.
More adventures like this—including full dips into creeks on hot days—awaited as I mapped trail after trail.  Kelly Bradbury was my guide for many beautiful miles of unbelievable terrain.  I had run the old course seven times, but this course—wow!  It was far more crew-friendly, it had open vistas and secluded hollows, and it was more runnable but had more climb than the old course.  I was impressed.  
As race day approached we continued to tweak the course to get it as close to 100 miles as possible. (I use professional GPS equipment and computer modeling to create maps and measure distance).  Some last minute changes got us to 99.8 miles, which we thought was good enough. (Always the tweaker, I think we can get it 100.00 next year.  There are ways . . . .).
Now the runners would have to weigh in on a summer’s worth of work.  The weather on race day was fantastic.  The week before had seen a fair amount of rain, which knocked down any dust.  Race day would bring above-normal temperatures and brilliant blue skies.
Leland and I left an hour early to make sure the trail was well-marked.  The rest of the runners were given a treat in the first few hours as a high deck of clouds kept the temps down as they crossed from Logan Peak over to Leatham Hollow.  Nate McDowell and Ty Draney held the lead through this stretch.  The fall colors were brilliant all day as we ascended and descended Leatham Hollow, Richards Hollow, Ricks Hollow (the “bee run”), and Willow Hollow.  On the tops you could see forever, and in the hollows a riot of green, gold and red surrounded you.
In Willow Hollow the sun took its toll.  With the temps so far above normal, the canyon became really hot, and this turned out to be a three-bottle stretch.  This was even more true when descending Temple Fork, with the afternoon sun beating down directly on the trail, with no tree cover.
After Temple Fork, though, Blind Hollow was a cool relief.  Although it climbed nearly 3,000 feet to Tony Grove Lake (mile 52), it began to cool down—fast.   Here the women’s winner, Kim Gimenez, caught me, motoring up the mountain.  She commented on how well the trail was marked.  I hoped that we had done so well with marking the entire way.
Tony Grove Lake was all we hoped it would be for an aid station.  Here a crew could relax by the lake or even fish as they waited for their runner at the end of a paved road in a mountain amphitheater. This lake is one of Utah’s most scenic destinations, and it did not disappoint on race day.
I lost the sun descending White Pine Hollow from Tony Grove, and had no problem following the glow sticks into the next aid station.  This was a difficult stretch to mark because of braided cow trails in large open meadows, and I was concerned that it be well-marked.  I could see that Leland had been taking 6-inch bits of flagging from his pack and dropping them on the trail (we call these “Leland poops”).  These worked well.
I was worried about the next stretch, Steam Mill Canyon.  Two critical junctions, neither of them intuitive, were on this stretch, and I had really tried to hammer home how not to get lost on this stretch in the race directions.  The first crucial junction was flagged, but not glowsticked.  Damn!  Not much I could do about that.  (An absolutely brilliant veteran ultrarunner had marked this stretch, but in daylight and for the first time, on a bike that proved unequal to the task. First time blues.)  As I went on I saw that the next critical junction was marked perfectly.  Check.  Soon I came to the Steep Hollow road, where I saw Ron Stagg in his old Landcruiser.  Apparently some guy on a horse had taken offense at the race flagging and tore it all down.  Ron was re-flagging the road.  This plagued us all over the course.  More first time blues.
The next aid station was manned by the old Mill Creek aid station.  Those guys had a reputation to uphold.  This year it was Dutch oven sweet and sour chicken, and amazing rolls.  Soon afterwards came the Logan River crossing, this time much easier (kept my feet dry).  Another difficult-to-mark stretch awaited in Peterson Hollow, where there were more cow braids. We picked the most likely trail, but some were frustrated by being on a different braid and not seeing any comfort flagging.  Another critical junction was nicely glowsticked ahead, though, and that made up for the frustrating braids.
After summiting Peterson Hollow we descended a rocky horse trail down to the ski lodge at Beaver Creek.  Here’s where things got a little interesting.  The runners were supposed to take a cutoff 200 yards before the trailhead in Sink Hollow, go right through the woods, then on to a paved road, and up to the lodge.  Then they would leave the lodge on a trail, and bear back toward Sink Hollow (which climbed to Gibson Basin).  Two problems. First, some runners could see in the distance the glowstick at the trailhead (which actually guided runners up Sink Hollow, after they had left the ski lodge), and made for it.  Second, the lodge was under construction, so two days before the race we had to scramble to relocate the aid station to a yurt nearby.  Most runners managed just fine through all this, but some got turned around either by the glowstick in the distance at the cutoff or the fact that the flagging and glowsticks from the yurt could have been better placed.  Hopefully next year we will be in the lodge and the whole thing will be a lot more intuitive.  First time blues, again.
After the lodge I marched up Sink Hollow to Gibson Basin.  I had left Brian Beckstead in Steam Mill, and then saw a couple of other friends (Christian --, paced by Peter “Yoda” Lindgren) pass me at the top of Peterson, but now I was quite alone in the woods on a moonless night. In a field of 85 you can be pretty spread out by mile 75.  The stars were incredible.  The temperatures on the ridges were balmy, but here, in a hollow next to a stream, I was glad for my light pants and shell.   
The Gibson Basin aid station was a welcome sight, but not a place to linger.  I pressed on, soon joining the old Bear course for the six or so miles it has in common with the new course.  After the Beaver Creek aid station I started the final and highest climbs of the race, both up to just over 9,000 feet.  True to form, the temperature warmed as I climbed, and soon I saw the first hint of light over the Bear Lake Valley in the east.  At this point, High Top, I could look down at the lake to see where I was going, and back over to Logan Peak to see from where I had travelled.  This is part of the magic of a point-to-point hundred. There is nothing like scale and grandeur.
As the grey light of dawn caught me I reached Ranger Dip aid station.   This was a short stop and nice “hiya!” with my friend Jeff LaMora, and then up the 20% grade of the Ranger Dip liftoff.  While some think this 700-foot climb is brutal, I didn’t mind it, compared with how my feet would feel during the 3000-foot six-mile descent on the other side.  And that descent was, indeed, brutal.  It teased you for a couple of miles by being gradual, and then hit you on the head with a rocky two-by-four as you basically fell off the mountain.  The amazing sunrise took the edge off the pain, but I didn’t remember it being this hard back in July, even with damp feet.  Finally I hit the canyon access road and arrived at the finish of my eighth Bear 100 (seventh in a row).
At the finish I discovered that my Wyoming friend Ty Draney had gotten himself a blue ribbon. Ty and Nate played tag for much of the race, but Ty finally came out on top, with a stellar 19:59 finish. We are crediting him with a course record since it technically is a new course.  Kim Gimenez made it look easy with a time of 26:16:45 to take the women’s title.  Tim Seminoff finished an amazing tenth Bear in a row to become the grand pooh-bah Bear Streaker.  Tim had hurt his back just the week before and walked the whole thing—tough as nails.  There were – Rocky Mountain Slammers: Cory Johnson, Tom Remkes, Daniel Benhammou, and --. And finally, Stan Beutler, who started the Bear in the inaugural 1999 race, finally finished it, with a time of 9 yrs:31:46.
As an assistant race director I try to ask what this year’s takeaway is.  Well, it certainly was not a typical year.  We basically started over.  Our excellent communications and emergency team, led by Warren Wilde, seamlessly took over the new course.  It was as if nothing had changed, and the fact that no one said anything about commo was just what we wanted.  Check.  
Web updating during the race worked perfectly this year.  Check.  
Aid stations were well-stocked and professional, except for an inevitable glitch (to be fixed next year).  Check.  
Leland, Errol and I once again ran the race, and insisted on the race being a gathering of friends rather than a celebrity show.  Check.  
Course marking. . . . Well, we understand that we have a bit of a reputation here, some of it deserved, most of it not.   In the early years course marking on the old course was a bit sparse, and in later years was actually quite good.  We hit it aggressively this year, but have determined, after hearing all of the runners’ comments, that three crucial areas needed more glowsticks (not flagging—there was plenty of that, but hard to see at night.  Ty, for example, who ran much of the course in the daylight, did not understand what the trouble was at several intersections where other runners struggled).  We also plan to deal with sabotage by using other methods  (flour, chalk, shredded paper) and through community awareness.  We are painfully aware of marking issues—after all, they caused Errol, an asst RD, to DNF.  Yeah, we run, so we know what challenges y’all face.
So, all in all, we think we pulled a rabbit out of a hat.  Only, it turned out to be a Bear. 
Phil Lowry