An old buddha has said, "Mountains are mountains and waters are waters."
These words do not say that mountains are mountains; they say that mountains are mountains. Therefore, we should thoroughly study these mountains. When we thoroughly study the mountains, this is the mountain training. Such mountains and waters themselves become wise men and sages. — Eihei Dōgen, Mountains and Waters Sutra
These are the words that I contemplate as I set off into the Franklin Mountains for the Lone Star Hundred 100K trail race in El Paso, TX. I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to thoroughly study the Franklins over the next 24 hours give or take a few. About 45 of us start off in the dark for this race put on by the good folks at Trail Racing Over Texas. They also offer the distance of 100 miles in addition to a 200 mile and 200K race!
The morning air is cold and crisp as we begin our arduous journey to the sound of trekking poles clicking on exposed rock where, unbeknownst to most of the runners; right under our feet is a metate in the rock formed by Native Americans grinding mesquite beans or other grains. (Upper Sunset Trail North).
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| Train of headlights as runners traverse Upper Sunset |
Straight away we begin a wind sucking climb on a treacherous rugged trail with high steps and loose rocks. A conga line of runners, illuminated by headlamps, steadily snakes up the ridge. When I crest the first hill I slow to watch a golden, full moon set below the horizon. Strangely, the lower it goes the more distorted and pixilated it becomes because of light being refracted through Earth’s atmosphere while passing through different air temperatures. This mesmerizing mirage brings me back to the words of 13th Century Japanese Zen Master, Dōgen who writes,
Since the virtues of the mountain are high and broad, the spiritual power to ride the clouds is always mastered from the mountains, and the marvelous ability to follow the wind is inevitably liberated from the mountains.
…Stepping forward has never ceased; stepping back has never ceased. Stepping forward does not oppose stepping back, nor does stepping back oppose stepping forward. This virtue is called "the mountain flowing, the flowing mountain".
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| Weird Moonset |
I continue along the ridge and am now one of the last in the conga line, but I don’t care. My race isn’t about winning, but studying the mountains to transform into a wise man even if it takes as many eons as 100 million times the number of rocks in the Franklin Mountains. I’m obviously not the sharpest thorn in the desert because who else would sign up to run 65 miles over rugged, rock filled trails, lined with prickly vegetation like shin dagger and Spanish bayonet and including over 13,000’ of elevation gain?
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| Sharp thorns |
Eventually I make it over the ridge having only gone a few miles. The sun is rising and I turn off my headlamp as I run down the Lower Sunset trail. I decide it’s time for breakfast so grab several almond stuffed bacon wrapped dates. I’m carrying all my own food even though the aid stations are always stocked with plenty of goodies. In addition to dates, I brought boiled potatoes, apples, salami and grain free banana bread; plenty of calories to get me through the first 32.5 mile loop. My goal is to finish in under 24 hours hoping to improve last year’s time of 23:45 if possible. I’ll run the flat and downhill parts and walk all the steep climbs. Running and walking in the mountains is my therapy so I take in the beauty stopping often to snap a few photos. The more time I spend in the mountains, the more I get to know my own walking and running.
The mountains lack none of their proper virtues; hence, they are constantly at rest and constantly walking. We must devote ourselves to a detailed study of this virtue of walking. Since the walking of the mountains should be like that of people, one ought not doubt that the mountains walk simply because they may not appear to stride like humans…To doubt the walking of the mountains means that one does not yet know one's own walking. It is not that one does not walk but that one does not yet know, has not made clear, this walking…
…It is because of the baseness of the common person's point of view that we doubt the phrase "the blue mountains walk"; because of the crudeness of our limited experience, we are surprised by the words "flowing mountain". Without having fully penetrated even the term "flowing water", we just remain sunk in our limited perception.
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| N. Franklin Peak (7192') |
In about an hour or so, I reach the base of N. Franklin peak where I start my five mile climb to the summit. I reach a scree slope with softball ball sized, ankle twisting rocks flowing down the mountain. There’s no trail, just the shifting rocks. My trekking poles help me stay upright, but I still trip and stumble frequently as I put one foot in front of the other slowly making my way up the slope to W. Cottonwood Spring. This is the mountain training.
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| Runners ascending the scree slope |
I reach the spring and stop under a huge cottonwood tree where I sit on a bench and eat some food. The next part is very steep with loose dirt which causes my feet to slip out from under me at times, but my poles save me from stepping back and keep me stepping forward up the flowing mountain.
I make it to the ridge and run down a dirt road where I pass the Mundy’s Gap aid station to climb the four mile out and back trip to the peak. I’ve done it so many times, sometimes two or three times in a day, that it has become routine for me. Nevertheless, it’s as epic as ever. The trail is steep in parts and full of rocks, but the views of NE El Paso and the Franklin range are outstanding. So far I feel great, but try not to climb too fast; I still have a long day and night ahead of me and need to conserve energy to go another 50 plus miles.
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| Mundy's Gap Aid Station |
I run into a few running friends along the way, some are already descending the mountain. It’s a little windy in spots, usually when turning a corner near a ridge, but otherwise a perfect running day. I reach the peak at 7200’, elated that the hardest part of loop one is over. I sign the summit log to prove I was here, take in the view and promptly head back down, running when the footing allows. The trail is full of loose rocks in places and sometimes I have to run over uneven slabs of solid rock which makes the descent treacherous.
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| There's always that one guy! Michael Rose, winner of the 100K! |
I reach a saddle, a good resting place, and stop to fold up my trekking poles. I attach them to my hydration vest and grab a few bites of food while several runners pass me. Now I’m ready to make up some time. I run down for a while and then approach another runner from behind. He kindly moves over into some loose rocks to let me pass. However, when I slow down to pass him, he slips and falls into me. I put my arm out to try to catch him, but instead, we do a little dosey doe and the Texas-two-step ending up on our asses into a hillside. Well, this is the Lone Star Hundred after all! Fortunately, there is no harm done so we both apologize and continue on our way.
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| Typical Franklin Mountain trail |
I arrive at Mundy’s Gap, get my water bottles filled and continue running all the way down the mountain where I reach the abandoned tin mines. I pick up my favorite trail, Scenic Rd, a smooth rolling path that hugs the contour of the eastern side of the mountain range. I frequently gaze up in awe of the towering rock wall where a distinct line separates the drab gray of the upper part from the red bluff granite near the bottom. How many wise people have dwelled in these righteous mountains over the years?
From the distant past to the distant present, mountains have been the dwelling place of the great sages. Wise men and sages have all made the mountains their own chambers, their own body and mind…However many great sages and wise men we suppose have assembled in the mountains…no one has met a single one of them. There is only the expression of the mountain way of life; not a single trace of their having entered remains…
The "crown and eyes" [of the mountains] are completely different when we are in the world gazing off at the mountains and when we are in the mountains meeting the mountains.
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| Eastside Franklin Mountains |
Soon I head downhill again on a rocky path which takes me away from the mountain. I reach a flat part of the desert below where the trail is smooth and sandy; very popular with mountain bikers. I pass through a few dry arroyos and reach a huge barrel cactus, one of the tallest I’ve ever seen. Yellow fruit perched atop the barrel resembles tiny pineapples. I hear some bikers behind me so move over so they can pass. I reach the Bowen Ranch Roundhouse aid station and take care of the bare necessities and am quickly on my way.
The next stretch is tough, but I’m prepared physically and mentally having recently completed this 32 mile loop several times in training. I must move off the trail again to let more mountain bikers pass. I reach the Newman trail which is a long gradual climb on a rocky narrow path. It’s high noon and the sun is beating down now making me quite warm. I slowly grind up the path and eventually reach a high pass with nice views of Hitt Canyon. This part of the state park is very remote so I rarely see anyone out here. Finally, I have the trail all to myself and enjoy the peace and solitude.
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| Bowen Ranch Aid Station |
I run down a sliver of a trail that makes a lot of twists and turns with a steep drop off on my right. It seems to go on forever and ever, but I finally get down and run a rocky ranch road. I pick up a single track trail and snake down into another arroyo and then climb out on the other side. The next part is deceivingly hard with gradual uphills and rough footing, but I run as much as I can. Hitt Canyon, a wide long dry wash, comes into view. The trail runs parallel to the cut leading to the Northern Pass which takes runners back over to the western side of the mountain range.
I come upon a couple who seem to be struggling. The lady is a 200 mile runner with her pacer. Yes, some runners have been out here for four days fighting to finish 200 miles in the Franklin Mountains! I merely signed up for the fun run. I congratulate them and wish them luck as I pass. I run along the rim of the canyon and soon reach another lady. I can tell she is bonking which is normal at this point of the race especially for folks who don’t train here. When I pass she asks what the distance is to the next aid station. “Just a few more miles. After the pass you will descend a bunch of switchbacks and then it’s just another mile or so. Keep it up, you got this!” I tell her.
The trail smooths out and I’m able to keep a pretty good pace up to the pass. The view is expansive with the Potrillo Mountains in the distance, the Rio Grande Valley in the foreground and a long winding road slicing through the desert floor. I run down many switchbacks, the trail rough in spots with high rocky steps that have to be negotiated carefully. I make it down to the long and winding road and run into the last aid station, mile 25.
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| View from Northern Pass |
The last part of loop one is through a series of arroyos along a twisty mostly smooth trail. Still feeling good, I pass a few more runners. This part parallels the mountain range with great views of Anthony’s Nose and the sedimentary layers of rock that flow across the Earth. When Mammoth Rock (S. Franklin Peak) comes into view you know you are getting close to the finish. I look at my watch and believe I can make it in less than 10 hours for my first loop so I pick up my pace running the gradual uphill trail. So far the Mountain Gods have been kind to me today.
Although we say that mountains belong to the country, actually they belong to those who love them. When the mountains love their owners, the wise and virtuous inevitably enter the mountains. And when sages and wise men live in the mountains, because the mountains belong to them, trees and rocks flourish and abound, and the birds and beasts take on a supernatural excellence.
We should understand that the mountains are not within the limits of the human realm or the limits of the heavens above. They are not to be viewed with the calculations of human thought. If only we did not compare them with flowing in the human realm, who would have any doubts about such things as the mountains’ flowing or not flowing?
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| Pyrrhuloxia |
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| Rock wren |
The meandering trail leads me through a few more arroyos as I close in on the main part of the state park. I run across ancient uneven rock outcrops and make it to Lower Sunset Trail. I stop to pull out my trekking poles since I’ll be going over the Upper Sunset ridge soon. I grind uphill towards the park passing a few more runners and reach the ridge. The climbs heading south aren’t as difficult, but the descents are very treacherous so I’m grateful to have my poles. All the same, my feet slide on the loose rocks at times and occasionally my foot rolls across a Fred Flintstone softball just about sending me off the mountain to the gully below.
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| Lower Sunset trail in the distance |
Fortunately I make it unscathed into the finish area in under 10 hours, my goal. I go to my cooler and drop bag to pack a jacket and warm clothes for the night portion of my journey. Wind is supposed to pick up and once the sun goes down the temperature will drop quickly. I eat some food and stow some more in my pack. In about ten minutes I’m out for loop two.
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| Mammoth Rock and S. Franklin Peak |
The evening sun bathes the ridges and cliffs in a warm glow. My legs burn as I climb up the ridge for the second time today, but I make steady progress. I run around the Lower Sunset trail as the last rays of the sun reach me. I stop briefly to watch our star disappear below the horizon as our Earth continues its five billion year 1000mph roll. Pretty soon I climb the scree field back up N. Franklin Mountain. My legs are really feeling the miles so I take my time and stop frequently to let me heart catch up.
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| Upper Sunset trail, Organ Mountains in the backdrop |
I reach the bench under the cottonwood and stop to pull out some warm clothes. The wind is getting stronger and I’m approaching the main ridge which can be brutally gusty. I slog upwards and head over the ridge and down into the Mundy’s aid station. I hear music and see people dancing around and cheering. When I arrive, the aid station volunteers, my running friends, are having a dance party! Having done their gig before, I know how bitterly cold it gets up here at night so I appreciate their help very much. We chat for a few and then I take off to get the climb over with.
Millions of city lights sprawl across the land below forming a square in the Northeast where the city ends and the desert begins. A full moon shines brightly through a clear starry sky illuminating the trail so I turn off my headlamp and enjoy the natural light provided by Mother Nature. I can see perfectly as I climb and the beauty of the evening takes my mind off of my burning quads.
The wind is strong in spots, but the air is still warm from the day. I fight upwards stopping occasionally to rest. As I look up, I see bobbing headlamps coming down towards me as runners return from their trip to the peak. After much sweat and toil, I arrive at the top of the highest point in the Franklin Mountains and sign the summit book for the second time. 8:00pm. I take in the view and see city lights in every direction; America melding with Mexico, as I sit on an island in the midst of sprawling development for as far as the eye can see. How lucky El Pasoans are to live by the largest urban wilderness park in America. I’m all alone and for a few minutes dwell in quietude.
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| N. Franklin Peak |
Time to head back down. I switch on my headlamp before running down the treacherous rock strewn trail. It feels good to have the hardest part of this race behind me. My feet feel much lighter as I run down. Gravity is amazing! Soon I’m at the Mundy’s aid station where my friends cheer me in and fill my water bottles. They are full of energy which recharges my soul.
The wind grows stronger as I continue down the mountain. Cooler air pushes the wind down the mountain, through gullies and canyons channeling it into strong bursts of energy which seem to whip out of nowhere. Calm one minute, gusty the next. The turbulence makes it hard to know how to dress and I’m hot at times, but then reach a windy spot that chills me through.
When I arrive at the Bowen aid station, the tent looks more like a triage unit tending to mountain running casualties. Everyone is wrapped in blankets, drinking warm beverages. For some, their race is over, defeated by the mountain. Others are resting and will continue their life changing journey. I get some hot water in my water bottle and pour in some tea crystals. Hopefully the caffein will help me stay awake through the night. I dare not sit down for fear of never getting back up again. I thank the crew and head out.
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| Rugged trail leading to Hitt Canyon and N. Pass |
The grind up Newman trail is slow and grueling. I travel by moonlight again since I’m walking. After reaching the pass I turn on my headlamp and try my best to run, but even though my legs still feel pretty good, the technical nature of the rocky path is hard to negotiate in the dark and I trip frequently. I walk…and…walk…and…walk. I become hidden in time that stands still and suddenly realize…the mountain walks, the mountain flows and water is water. It is, what it is!
Water is nothing but water's "real form just as it is". Water is the virtue of water; it is not flowing. In the thorough study of the flowing or the not-flowing of a single [drop of] water, the entirety of the ten thousand things is instantly realized. Among mountains as well,
there are mountains hidden in jewels;
there are mountains hidden in marshes,
mountains hidden in the sky;
there are mountains hidden in mountains.
There is a study of mountains hidden in hiddenness.
Somehow, I make it up to the Northern Pass, but not before the wind gusting out of Hitt Canyon almost knocks me on my ass. I cruise down the ten thousand switchbacks as fast as I can while the wind howls and I finally hit the dirt road. I can run again, especially on the smooth downhill parts. I make it into the last aid station where one lone guy is braving the chilly night. He graciously fills my bottle with hot water and I pour in another packet of tea to help get me home. Only eight more miles to go!
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| Anthony's Nose on the westside leading to the finish line |
I bid him farewell and take off right away. I look at my watch and believe I can better my time by 45 minutes if I run some of this next stretch. It’s hard, but I dig deep, focus on my breathing and channel my chi. It seems to work and I’m able to run down through the winding arroyo trails and the flats. I reach a long gradual ascent that I usually walk in the heat of the day, but am able to alternate between an old man shuffle and a walk.
I come up on a runner by the side of the trail and ask if he’s ok. “Yes,” he says, “I’m in the hundred miler, but I’m done. I’m just trying to get back to the finish.” “Sorry, brother,” I tell him. No doubt, there’s a lot of carnage and disappointment in this race. The Franklin Mountains are no joke and will eat you alive if you aren’t prepared. The rugged terrain, jagged rocks under feet and steep ascents are enough to test anyone’s mettle.
I make pretty good time and make it back to Upper Sunset for the fourth and final traverse of the ridge. While climbing up isn’t too bad, staying upright on the descents with rubbery legs is all I can hope for. Before long I see lights at the finish tent and look at my watch. If I hustle I may be able to finish one hour faster than last year. I tell myself that a lot can happen; even in the last several hundred yards of a race so don’t do anything foolish. Be careful, because the last thing you need right now is to tumble off the last hill landing in a Spanish bayonet yucca. It takes all the concentration and strength I can muster; any distraction, sneeze or fart is going to send me off the mountain. I use my poles wisely to get down the precipitous slippery trail and then jog a little bit passing one guy just before the finish. My watch reads 22:47; almost an hour faster than last year. My mountain training is over…for now.
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| ...one ought not doubt that the mountains walk simply because they may not appear to stride like humans... |
Studying the mountains has helped me realize that anything is possible if you keep your mind open. In order to learn though, we must forget everything we think we know. When you immerse yourself in the mountains; contemplate the mountains and then contemplate some more, you become the mountains.Things are just as they are and you are just what you are; nothing more, nothing less.
“Mountains are mountains and waters are waters."
These words do not say that mountains are mountains; they say that mountains are mountains.”
See you on the trail
Mountains and Waters Sutra, Eihei Dōgen
Translation: Carl Bielefeldt
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