The trail around Grand Island offers stunning, vertigo-inducing views.
Photo by Dave O'Brien.

Grand Island Experiment
Inaugural trail marathon on Lake Superior island proves more thrilling than scary

By Joel Patenaude

Long after I committed myself to the long-distance foot race, I found the "gear checklist." Why I didn't read the small print sooner, I can't say. I guess I was so blinded by the unique description of the event and the word "inaugural" that I registered early and without a second thought.

Only later did I learn from the race Web site (www.algercounty.org/gitm.html) that I would be required, like every participant, to carry my own water supply for the full distance of the gulp trail marathon. Water bottles could be refilled at aid stations, but because much of the course was remote and inaccessible, the aid stations would be at least five miles apart.

I'd never encountered this stipulation before, but I'd never undertaken an off-road event of such magnitude either.

All I knew was that the July 30 event, the Grand Island Trail Marathon, was set on a U.S. Forest Service-managed island a half-mile out into Lake Superior from the small Upper Peninsula community of Munising. The maps showed a perimeter trail skirting the edge of the island's cliffs, which stood hundreds of feet above the vast icy water. The same ancient geologic forces likely carved the nearby Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore.

Then I read further. The checklist urged runners to consider bringing fleece jackets and bells.

"Yes, it's July," the authors of the checklist acknowledged with regard to the recommendation of fleece despite the event date, "but you'll be on an island in Lake Superior, so be prepared."

Bells were optional, according to the list, "to let bears know when you are running by."
Now that spooked me. And my apprehension only grew as the marathon approached. Lake Superior's unpredictable and wild weather was bad enough, but the island had resident man-eating carnivores.

Suddenly it seemed merely naive to worry about the condition or consistency of the trail surface. It was foolish to tackle this race just six weeks after running Grandma's Marathon anyway. I was about to overextend myself, twist an ankle, get lost in the woods and fall off a cliff if I wasn't first mauled and eaten by a bear.

What was I thinking when I signed up for this fool's errand? Obviously, I hadn't thought it through at all.

But like me, 172 other marathoners and 73 10K runners didn't recognize the potential hazards. We were drawn to the island trail marathon because of its unique location and the fact that it was an inaugural event. If it dawned on any of us that these same characteristics might be strikes against the event, it didn't deter us.

As it turned out, the weather was ideal. On the ferry ride over to the island, the sun rose to reveal partly cloudy and cool conditions. A thunderstorm hit the area that day, but luckily several hours after the event.

As for bears, there were many sightings of their droppings. Nothing more. So the muffled jangling cadence of the bell inside my hydration pack was unnecessary. The bell was worth having if only to annoy my brother-in-law and running partner. He asked me to hand it off to a race volunteer, but I laughingly refused and we both got used to its rhythm.

I also carried a disposable camera. I stopped to take a few pictures of the vertigo-inducing drops to the inland sea. But my stomach reeled and I felt better just concentrating on the path ahead.

The primitive two-track trail frequently devolved to single track. At mile six, an inland spur took us past Echo Lake. We struggled for traction up a sandy mile-plus-long hill, only to find the way down, at break-neck speed, more treacherous. The course was rolling throughout, suggesting it would be equally challenging to run around the island counterclockwise.

Half way through, a detour away from a sketchy bridge sent us to the water's edge. The 100 yards of running along the beach left us with enough souvenir sand in our shoes to carry to the finish line and beyond.

From at least miles 12 to 20, Adam and I didn't see another soul. It was like we had that 8-mile-long and 4-mile-wide island to ourselves. At the few rest stops there were, the volunteers some of whom hiked to their locations the day before and camped overnight tipped pitchers of cold water into our empty bottles and bladders. The gels they offered had to be ingested immediately and the wrappers disposed of at the aid stations. The organizers did not want the sugary receptacles carelessly discarded along the trail. That would surely attract bears, not just their scat.

With less than three miles to go, I had lost my brother-in-law and attracted an older gentleman. We agreed to help each other to the finish line. When I asked him if he felt as wiped out as I, he said "not bad, considering." He then volunteered he had just turned 60 and was putting off an inevitable hernia operation until after the marathon. A little more than half his age, I believed I felt much worse than him.

The final stretch was marked by enthusiastic cheering from other runners. After finishing, Adam and I regrouped and headed straight to the lake. Standing thigh deep in the soothingly cold waters of Lake Superior, we agreed this was not our fastest marathon but definitely our favorite.
The event will be held again next year on July 29 with a 300-competitor cap for the marathon. Count us in.
 

Island marathon director tackled difficult logistics

Runners familiar with the Keweenaw Trail Running Festival a two-day annual event held near the U.P.'s Copper Harbor this past July suspect an evil genius lays out the race courses. This year, shoe-sucking mud made it all the harder to complete the Saturday morning 10K and the evening hill climb (an 821-foot, 5.8K scamper from Eagle Harbor beach to the summit of Mount Lookout) and the 25K the following morning.

Hallmarks of the festival are stream crossings and sand, if not mud an equalizer by making all runners uncomfortable in their own shoes.

Jeff Crumbaugh

Race director Jeff Crumbaugh said, "I'm not going to deny the rumor" that such trail conditions tend to crop on his otherwise ecologically friendly courses. "But it's purely coincidental that every run I've done has had a beach portion."

Not that many adversity-seeking runners are complaining, however. They have flocked to Crumbaugh's 5-year-old festival and exceeded his expectation of interest in the inaugural Grand Island Trail Marathon.

The response to the new event has proven effusive. Besides this writer and his running partner pledging to return for the marathon next year, others have marveled at the logistical accomplishment.

"I give Jeff and his volunteers a lot of credit for putting on such a logistically difficult marathon in such a remote location and in a real high-quality manner," said Mike McFadzen, chairman of the Wisconsin Governor's State Trails Council.

McFadzen has run three road marathons and as many 50K ultras (not to mention some 30 ski marathons), but hadn't run a 26.2-mile race in at least nine years. He came out of semi-retirement to do Grand Island. "And I have to say it was all around my best marathon experience."

Mary Flaws, a runner from Waukesha, Wisconsin, and a webmaster for www.run ningintheusa.com, wrote a lengthy personal account of having run the marathon. "I have come to the conclusion that our race director is either a magician, a genius, or both. Absolutely everything went smoothly," she stated. "I can't wait to do it again next year."

Crumbaugh, a U.P. native and high school science teacher, initially thought he might get 100 people wanting to run a first-ever marathon on the island. With another 50 or so for a 10K on the same day, he thought the event would be manageable. His only limitation was the capacity of the ferries that run from Munising to the island.

But 172 marathoners and 73 10K runners from 22 states showed up. The events were modestly and regionally advertised, but their inclusion in Trail Runner Magazine's Trail Running Trophy Series garnered wider notice. Nevertheless, the experienced trail race director said he's stumped by how the word got out about Grand Island.

"It's still a mystery to me," Crumbaugh said. "The fact that it was to be on an island held some intrigue, but there was a lot of anxiety about how to get over and back."

There was anxiety aplenty for Crumbaugh and his crew, too. Having never organized a marathon even on the mainland, Crumbaugh recognized that putting on a 26.2-mile race "added another whole layer of responsibility, namely medical."

On hand but largely out of sight, emergency personnel stood by. Two escorts on mountain bikes were certified EMTs and ham radio operators. An ATV with a cushioned trailer was available to transport any injured runners, and back boards and defibrillators were stashed away. The U.S. Forest Service was on call with a barge able to bring an ambulance to the island if need be, and even a helipad was staked out in case quicker medical attention was needed. The local sheriff's office and hospital were informed of the event and a physician was at the start/finish.

Fortunately, none of these precautions were put into action. "We didn't have one medical issue that required more than a Band-Aid or fluid to make cramps go away," a relieved Crumbaugh said.

The U.S. Forest Service granted the event a permit and provided personnel and equipment to mow and mark the course. The local Anna River Pedalers mountain bike club hiked in and camped overnight so as to man the most remote aid stations.

The larger than expected number of runners did require last-minute arrangements for additional ferries the high cost of which Crumbaugh hopes to negotiate next year.
Several aspects of the event he hopes to repeat, such as pre-race presentations on the history and ecology of the island led by Janel Crooks. Also popular were the one-of-a-kind, hand-blown glass bowls and medallions made by a local artist for the top finishers and age-group winners.

Most importantly, the event barely left its mark on the island itself no paper cups or discarded gel packs.

"The goal is that once we're gone, it doesn't look like anything happened," Crumbaugh said of both Grand Island and the Keweenaw Peninsula. "I want to create athletic events that are environmentally sound and raise awareness that these beautiful places are threatened. Hopefully people develop a fondness for these places and they'll want to protect them."

Joel Patenaude is the editor of Silent Sports.

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