An FKT Attempt in the Smoky Mountains
by GRP Runner Canyon Woodward
4:15am alarm. How sweet it would be to forget about it and keep savoring sleep late into the morning. It takes 15 or 20 minutes of snoozing but then the gears kick into motion. Frozen waffle & a little bit of coffee for the drive; use the bathroom; stick of body glide proclaims "foot" but it ought to know it's going head to toe - though ultimately it won't be any match for shorts prepacked with about 4,000 calories worth of gels gettin ready to go bouncy castle in my hip pockets all day; sunscreen; contacts; vest; I look at my watch - time to get a move on - already half an hour behind, not an auspicious way to begin.
Today I’m attempting to set the fastest known time (FKT) through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Heralded as one of the most iconic FKTs on the east coast, the S.C.A.R. (Smokies Challenge Adventure Run) consists of 72 rugged miles, a stout 18,000 feet of elevation gain (and 18,000 feet of quad-busting descent).
It is well known for its beauty, difficulty, remoteness, and rich history within the sport. S.C.A.R. lore dates back to at least 1988, when Vickie Johnson did it as a training run for Western States. In recent years it has continued to draw the best runners in the southeast, with Rachel Lemcke and Abigail West raising the bar in 2022 and 2023. I first learned about it after Will Harlan set the record in 2011, running to raise awareness about mountaintop removal. Will’s record stood for 7 years before John Kelly, of Barkley Marathons fame, bested it in 2018 with a time of fifteen and a half hours. On June 3rd, 2020 I laced up my shoes and went for the record, coming up an hour short. Just two weeks later Joe Miller took a swing and knocked it out, with a time of just over 15 hours. Now, this will be my time to beat.
The route is exceptionally committing, as there is only one access point should things go awry and I need to bail: a single road transecting the park approximately 35 miles into the route near Kuwohi (ᎫᏬᎯ; also known as Clingmans Dome), the highest peak in the park.
40 minute drive to the trailhead at Davenport gap, a few glimpses of the full moon between clouds, sips of coffee, feeling ready to get into the mountains. I’m on my way at 6:00am…my goal is to finish by 9:00pm. Running unsupported, I will carry all the gear, food, and water (filter) I need to navigate the 72 miles solo.
It's still dark as I take off, using my phone to light the way for half an hour or so. The first ~13 miles are almost all uphill, ascending from ~2,000 ft to over 6,000 feet above sea level. But the grade is gradual and feels much more runnable than it felt when I did the route in 2020. I aim for over 300 calories an hour from the get-go and around 3/4 liter of fluids per hour. I refill two filter flasks from the trail near Cosby Shelter at mile ~8 and make it to Tri-Corner Shelter at mile ~16 feeling great, enjoying some fleeting views of an amazing sunrise over fog filled valleys below. Running through cool clouds a good bit up high throughout the early morning. The trail is super wet for much of the first 40 miles til I drop down the other side of Kuwohi, and my shoes are totally waterlogged early on. I refill three of my four water flasks at Tri-Corner, pay the loo a quick visit, and take off running ahead of pace.
I take a spectacular headfirst fall barreling full-tilt downhill on rocky trail around mile 25. I lay there for a moment spread out as the adrenaline abates enough for me to scan my body for the sensation of any serious damage. I spot the running gel I had in my right hand busted open and oozing purple calories just off the trail, but for my part it feels like I fared fine. As I get to my feet I notice my left hand is hurting the most and looks a little bit funky. My left ring finger is a little out of line and when I make a fist the knuckle where it attaches to my hand is nowhere to be seen amidst the peaks of its neighboring knuckles. I try manipulating it a couple of times suspecting dislocation, popping that knuckle back into the place I think it should be, but it keeps going back to it's wonky ways. Doesn't feel like a huge deal and no time to lose - I carry on. Pop a couple ibuprofen to get ahead of the growing pain and try to ignore it as much as I can the rest of the way, unhindered except for the added difficulty of unscrewing my water flasks. I'll find out the next morning that it's fractured in three places with displacement, requiring surgery to put it back together.
A few miles later I'm to Icewater Shelter, 28 miles in, feeling much better than I did at this point last time around. Well hydrated, well fueled. I planned to fill two liters of water here, with almost 14 very hard miles to the next sure source. I'm tempted to gamble given all the water on the trail, but the memory of running out and the stagnant pool that I filtered from last time between Newfound and Clingmans keeps me honest and I fill all four flasks. I do end up passing other flows and would have been fine with a liter, but high risk low reward. Fast miles down to the road crossing. It is a madhouse - after my solitary morning in the woods I feel like I've never seen so many people and cars. I move quickly along. The climb up to Kuwohi is challenging and I do a good bit of hiking for the first time so far. Poles are out of the question because of my hand so I just lean into it. I down a quesadilla, my first "real" food of the day and that feels like it gives me a great boost over the next couple hours.
I get enough service here and there to let my support crew know that I'm moving a good deal ahead of target pace - and to receive a few energizing flurries of encouragement and excitement in return.
Feeling awesome as I pass Clingman's Dome - the high point at 6,643 feet - and begin descending into the punishing up-and-downs of the western part of the park. I keep telling myself that mile 45-60 is where it gets real. I make it to Derrick Knob Shelter around mile 49 feeling solid and refill 3 or 4 flasks, I think 3. Dang the filter tops are hard to unscrew with one hand in the condition it is. Precious minutes tick by.
The next 13 miles to Mollie's Ridge is undoubtedly the most challenging section. The climbs and many of the descents are brutally steep and technical. My mantra throughout the day has been "make seconds, make minutes, make miles" and I keep coming back to it to get myself to push just a little bit harder and run just a little bit more on the ups, knowing how much all the seconds or minutes I can cut off add up over the course of the day. Legs feel awesome on the flats and downhills but the steep ups take so much focus to maintain pace. My fueling begins to fall behind a little bit as I run out of gels nearing mile 60, downing the last one I've saved at Mollie's Ridge. Plenty of other stuff squirreled away - goldfish, potato chips, another quesadilla, sour patch kids, PB pretzels, a packet of Cholula hot sauce, ha! I wanted more real food last time around but now I wish I had gels to put down easy. I skimp and much of the snack food stays with me to Fontana, though I'm able to at least put down the goldfish and sour patch kids. I'm also out of water and thirsty by the time I finally reach Mollie's. I hike down off the main trail to the water source. The pipe coming out of the mountain is dry and all I have is a small shallow pool that makes it hard to get a good fill in the flasks. I drink up there but am lazy with the fill and settle for two flasks 2/3 full.
One more sustained climb after Mollies. I push hard and then it's about 8 miles mostly downhill to the western park boundary. Some short challenging climbs still interspersed but they don't ambush me like they did last time and I still have plenty in the tank. Every step uphill is heavy, but the downhills still flow and I run well the rest of the way down to the park boundary sign - the official western terminus of the route. A new FKT of 13 hours, 33 minutes. I continue across Fontana Dam, taking in the beautiful lake and mountains bathed in evening sunshine, feeling proud of the adventure I had out there through these home mountains I love so much.
This was one of my favorite mountain adventures of my life. And although everything turned out fine, it was a good reminder of the importance of preparation, decision making, and risk management when undertaking backcountry adventures. I’m reminded of a Swift Water Rescue course I took with NOLS, where we discussed the pros and cons of different decision making strategies. I remember discussing heuristic decision-making - essentially, in situations where we don’t have a lot of information, using rules of thumb or past experiences to make decisions in the moment. As we grow more experienced and more comfortable in our outdoor skills, it can become easy to fall into decision-making traps, and this acronym that was offered by our instructor has helped me stay vigilant against risks on wilderness adventures: FACETS. I’m leaving you with it to pack along on your next adventure if you find it as helpful as I have (don’t worry, it doesn’t add any weight to your pack):
F: Familiarity. The more familiar we are with something the safer we tend to feel. If you’ve run or climbed or paddled a route dozens of times with no problems, you tend to stop seeing it with fresh eyes, which can cause you to overlook new risks or prepare inadequately.
A: Acceptance. This typically is related to our desire to go along with what the rest of the group thinks because we want to fit in, even when there are alarm bells going off in our own head. Be careful of social pressure and lean into the discomfort of speaking up.
C: Commitment. You’ve spent weeks preparing for this FKT, or for this backpacking trip, you can’t bail out now. You’ve taken time off work, you’ve gotten your friends to come all this way to do it with you, you’ve spent money, etc..
E: Expert halo. Deferring to the most experienced/skilled person in the group is another trap that leads folks to not think through decisions thoroughly. You expect them to know what they’re doing, so you don’t engage in the same way as if you were making the decision solo. Their opinion usually carries extra weight within a group setting as well, which can make it challenging to push back when you have concerns.
T: Time. This can be something obvious like chasing after an FKT, or it can manifest in less obvious ways like moving too fast on a backcountry slope chasing after first tracks on a powder day.
S: Social proof. I’ve seen someone else take that line down the rapid, or I’ve heard of several people running that route in a day, so I think it must not be such a wild idea to do the same.
