The 100-miler: Part 17 (1973-1978) Badwater Roots

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By Davy Crockett

Walks and runs across Death Valley, in California during the hot summer started as early as 1966 when Jean Pierre Marquant (1938-) from Nice, France accomplished a 102-mile loop around the valley that included climbing two of the high mountains. (see episode 62).

This started a Death Valley hiking and running frenzy in the lowest and hottest place in North America. It mostly concentrated on 100+ mile end-to-end journeys across the blazing wilderness. End-to-end records were set, broken, and recorded by the Death Valley Monument rangers. All of these accomplishments were the roots for what eventually would be the Badwater Ultramarathon. But when did trekking from Badwater (-282 feet) to the top of Mount Whitney (14,505 feet) start?

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Early Ideas

In 1937, Texaco tested 14 automobiles of various models going from Mt. Whitney portal to Badwater in temperatures in the 120s to see if both engines and tires could handle it. It was called, “one of the most grueling tests ever given to automobiles in history” and was successful. In 1939, the low and high points received more attention when the San Francisco Examiner published a “motorlogue” stating that seeing both in one drive was a “must see.” More attention brewed in 1956, when a Los Angeles newspaperman, Richard Hathcock made a film of a four-day trip by car from Badwater to Mt. Whitney that was shown on ABC’s “Bold Journey” show.

In 1958 an article in the Boston Globe promoted the area with, “Do you like extremes? You can see Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the United States, and Badwater, the lowest point, from the same place at Dante’s View. You can travel in a few hours from the heat of the desert to the snow fields of the High Sierra.”

First Badwater-Mt Whitney Trek

The first documented hikers to go from Badwater to the top of Mount Whitney were James Harvey Burnworth (1926-2013) and Stanley David Rodefer (1925-2019) from San Diego, California, who in November 1969, backpacked the route in two weeks. Instead of using the roads, they took a direct route across the Valley. They said they did it “just for the heck of it.” They survived on food and water that they had buried in various locations ahead of time.

By 1970, many hikers were making the trek across Death Valley, but not yet up to Mt. Whitney summit too. It was reported, “The way park rangers tell it, they’ll need crosswalks pretty soon to handle all the foot traffic across Death Valley.” In 1970 about a half-dozen hikers made the trek including one pulling a miniature covered wagon. A ranger reported, “We’ve got a big list of inquiries from persons who want to walk, run, hike, skip, jump and handstand their way through here and we just can’t keep up with them all anymore.” In 1978 a man even went across the Valley on a Tricycle. Rangers stopped trying to keep end-to-end Valley records. They had given up keeping tabs on hikers. There were just too many.

Paul Pfau

Paul Pfau (1950-), age 21, of Arcadia, California, was a student at St. Mary’s College in California. As a class project in psychology, he decided to try to run Death Valley end-to-end, 120 miles. He accomplished it during the winter of 1971 in three days, two hours. He thought he was the first to do this but was not. (see episode 62). About a month later, he ran back in the other direction, again taking three days but was on his feet for 26 hours. He was the first known person to run it in both directions. A couple months later in May, he also climbed Mt. Whitney with a friend, but not in a continuous trip from Badwater. But news of both his Death Valley runs and climb up Mt. Whitney were widely published together.

In January 1972, Phau was working as a counselor at La Salle High School in Sierra Madre, California. As part of an outdoor exploration, safety and survival course, he organized a group of students to go with him on a 10-day backpacking trip from Badwater to the base of Mt. Whitney, about 130 miles. Their planned route was to never be more than two miles from the road. The boys trained by doing daily five-mile runs for a month.

The group of eleven boys and Pfau started on January 19, 1972. Eleven others went along in a support crew role. “Each hiker carried a 40-pound backpack containing a two-day supply of food and one day of water. They averaged a little more than 16 miles a day over terrain which ranged from desert sand to mountain snows.”

They completed their hike faster than planned, in eight days. Pfau said, “We ran into just about everything there was to run into. The weather was good for about half the trip but then we ran into snow and ice, crossing the mountains and we used a lot of rope. On the third day we ran out of water and we were away from contact with the support column. We were out of water for 16 hours. There was a lot of discomfort, but no serious problem.” Pfau and two others had planned to also climb Mt. Whitney but cancelled that plan due to bad, snowy weather.

Greg Sullivan, 18, said, “I have more of an understanding of how much I can handle now. I feel now that if I ever did get involved in a real survival situation I would be less likely to panic. I would probably come out of it OK.”

Pfau later became a prosecuting attorney in Los Angeles and became an extreme adventurer. He skied to the North Pole and led two expeditions to the top of Mt. Everest including a famous 1995 climb that was made into a documentary involving the grandson of George Mallory, the early Mt. Everest climber.

1973 Crutchlow-Beale Relay

In August 1973, Kenneth Crutchlow (1944-2016), originally from England, and Paxton “Pax” Beale (1929-2016), from San Francisco ran a two-man relay from Badwater to the top of Mt. Whitney. Crutchlow was a self-promoting endurance stunt artist. In 1970, he had raced Bruce Maxwell, a tennis professional, across Death Valley (lengthwise) for five days. Crutchlow also once swam from Alcatraz to San Francisco and accomplished many other stunts. Beale was a military heavyweight boxing champion who co-founded an early running club in the 1960s.

Crutchlow was intrigued that the lowest and highest points in the continental United States were so close together. He developed a burning desire to attempt a speed run from Badwater to the top of Mount Whitney and proposed making the run as a relay with Beal. At first Beale had zero desire to lug his 200+ pound frame across the desert until it was brought into context to his own field, which was medicine. Marathon legend, Dr. Joan Ullyot (1940-) had recently monitored the heart rate of Olympian Marathoner Ron Daws (1937-1992) as he ran a 2:26 marathon. An idea was hatched to allow Ullyot to study Crutchlow and Beal during a Badwater to Mt Whitney run. Ullyot agreed to join in on the project.

It was reported, “The date of August 18th was set. A ‘pit crew’ of seven was assembled, including a UPI photographer and a freelance writer.” Avis donated a car and station wagon, and a third wagon was rented. The two trained by jogging in a sauna and they made up shirts with their corporation on the front, “Pregnancy Control Center,” an abortion clinic. They assembled everything the day before, including a mattress for the runners on the floor of one of the wagons, several chests of ice and dry ice, and ten cases of Gatorade. A plan was established for a run of about 40 hours.

Dr. Ullyot set up her medical gear which included a portable generator, centrifuge, miniature EKG, emergency drugs and IVs, bathroom scales, specimen bottles, syringes, thermometers and more. She would carefully monitor fluid intake. Most importantly, she made them sign a medical waiver so she would not be liable for problems.

At 4 a.m. on August 18, 1973, Crutchlow set off running the first mile of the relay from Badwater Basin into the 105 degree darkness to the cheers of “nine solitary souls echoing in the vastness of the enduring desert.” When Beal took over the running, he recalled, “When the heat hit me, it was like running into a brick wall.”

Elaine Pederson preparing to jump into the 1968 Boston Marathon

Elaine Pederson was part of the crew. She was an experienced Bay Area marathon runner who in 1968 was one of several women who jumped in and ran the Boston Marathon when women were not allowed to run it. Pederson reported that she and others who were in the crew ran “empathy legs” to know what the experience was like. She changed her thoughts from “they can do it” to “how can they stand it?” They devised some “Arab” headgear which was soaked in ice water between relay legs. “The pace slowed, and it was not an optimistic group that stumbled into Stovepipe Wells (mile 42) at noon, where a thermometer in the shadiest, coolest nook recorded 116 degrees.”

Dr. Ullyot took blood samples and weight of the two runners. Crutchlow had already lost 10 pounds and was cold and clammy. His vital signs were fine and he was determined to go on, so off he went. But soon he began vomiting violently so Ullyot took him to Panamint Springs to cool off. Beal was doing fine and took over all of the running. But when he reached the springs (mile 73) he did not look very good either. “Somehow with each foot of cooler altitude came rejuvenation” as he climbed up to 5,000 feet to the top of the Panamint Range. Crutchlow, recovered finally, and rejoined the relay.

Pederson wrote, “Then disaster struck. As we came into the unexpected searing heat of the next valley, they lost momentum. Our shaky research had not shown this second desert. It was the low point, mentally, for all of us. We knew that the 40-hour goal was impossible, as we would not be able to ascent Whitney by nightfall of the second day.” They halted at midnight (20 hours) to make new plans. There was no mention of quitting, but Ullyot proposed a five-hour sleep break. They drove to the top of Inyo Range where it was cooler and they all passed out.

In the morning at 5 a.m., they resumed from their stopping point with a skeleton crew. At times the runners switched every quarter mile, but were confident that they would finish. They successfully reached Lone Pine (122 miles) by late afternoon (36 hours) where it was a “frigid” 96 degrees. Their advance team had secured a motel with a pool for the crew. The runners continued on to Whitney Portal so that they could start the climb up Mt. Whitney at daybreak.

On the hike up the mountain, three of their crew went with them and said “they were spent bullets.” Passing hikers had heard what they were doing and were amazed. The snow they hiked through felt good on their Achilles tendons. “They actually quickened their pace as the roof of the summit shack became visible through the sudden snowfall. When they slapped their hands on the summit marker, they were in full run. Their elapsed time: 57 hours, 18 minutes. The enormity of the feat, which they had so underrated, would not come to them for hours. They collapsed on the spot and clasped hands with every meaning that cannot be expressed in words or symbols other than that handclasp. ‘It’s finished. We did it.'”

The two knew that others would try to break their record. They published rather dangerous rules for future attempts to be break their record. No air conditioning was allowed in support vehicles for the resting partners. They could not leave the state highways. The attempt must be made in either August or September on a day starting at 4 a.m.

Crutchlow later became famous for his long-distance rowing across the oceans and founded the Ocean Rowing Society International in 1983.

1974 Maxwell-Miller Relay

In September 1974, Bruce Maxwell (1948-1998), a tennis pro, who had previously raced Crutchlow across the Valley, and Tate Miller (1948-), general manager of a dome home construction company, both from Santa Cruz, California wanted to also attempt the two-man relay.

“A coin flip determined that Miller would start at Badwater. He left that Death Valley low spot at 4 a.m. After three miles, Maxwell took over and so on and on.” They averaged about six miles an hour for the first 42 miles.

“While Maxwell and Miller alternated running, the support group followed in two vehicles, a VW station wagon and International truck. It was up to them to give the runners what they needed, primarily water and an occasional tad of yogurt and encouragement.”

By mile 43, Maxwell’s right knee “went out,” the same knee that had troubled him for many years. The extreme heat slowed their pace to 4 m.p.h. by mile 60. As they climbed up an over Panamint Pass it slowed to 3 m.p.h. and they decided it was time to sleep. Maxwell ran from 12:30 to 3 a.m. while Miller slept and Miller ran his long leg unto daylight. “It was sunrise when they left the mountain range, and at 9 a.m. around Lone Pine, each ate breakfast while the other ran.”

The two reached Whitney Portal at 1 p.m. in 33 hours, 15 minutes better than Crutchlow and Beale. They pushed on to climb the mountain. Maxwell said, “At that point, we were cocky and overconfident.”

“The higher we went, the colder it got. At about 11,800 feet our water bag froze, and for the first time we thought we were in trouble.” Their photographer, Nick Buratovich, a grape grower who hiked with them and was underdressed, was in bad shape. A passing hiker agreed to take him back down. When he arrived at the bottom, he reported that the two runners were in bad condition. Authorities tried to dispatch a rescue helicopter to go search for them, but then decided not to try it at night.

To make matters worse, a member of their crew, Scott Hewett, 26, had gone for a bike ride and crashed going down a hill at 40 m.p.h. when a deer jumped in front of him. He was taken to the hospital with a broken collarbone and serious road rash.

Meanwhile, Maxwell and Miller kept moving, but became lost in the dark and screamed for help until 10:30 p.m. They stopped and huddled in a sleeping bag that Buratovich had used to protect his photographic equipment. Maxwell said, “We thought if we went to sleep, we’d freeze to death. We tried to keep each other awake, but we both passed out. At that time, we’d had one meal in two days, and now our water was frozen.”

They woke up at about 6:30 a.m. and reached the summit in 30 minutes. Four hours later, and five miles down, they met one of their crew, Barry Nottoli, coming up, who helped them down. Maxwell said, “We were exhausted, just sick. For the next 24 hours we ate and drank everything we could get into our systems.” Their total time to the summit was reported to be 53 hours.

Maxwell and Crutchlow duel in Death Valley

In August 1976, rivals, Maxwell and Crutchlow dueled in the heat of the Valley in a race of about 125 miles across the length of the Valley from Shoshone to Scotty’s Castle. Prerace, each were confident. Crutchlow said, “I expect to win because of my experience. It will be my fifth trip across Death Valley.” Maxwell countered, “Youth will be on my side.” But the tennis pro was still recovering from two broken ankles and a broken leg the previous year in sporting accidents.” It would be his third trip across the Valley. They raced the same course against each other in 1970. Crutchlow said, “He beat me once and now it is time for us to have another race.”

They started at 9:15 a.m. Crutchlow fell behind when he became ill because of drinking too much water and not taking in enough salt. They ran only during the daylight hours and stopped for the night. After the first day with a 20-mile leader, Maxwell said, “I’m afraid I am burning down and set too fast a pace. I’m running on sheer character. I am worried that Crutchlow maybe used some strategy and fell back on purpose hoping I would burn myself out.”

Maxwell, 28, won in 37:57 (not counting off-hour night time), about 20 miles ahead of Crutchlow. Ground temperatures were said to be between 170-180 degrees. He had lost 18 pounds along the way and his feet swelled so bad that he had to borrow shoes three sizes bigger than normal for the last miles. Maxwell said, “When I got to the finish at Scotty’s Castle, I became involved in a wedding celebration, had a few beers, and collapsed into sleep.” He beat his previous best on the course by 14 hours and received a silver trophy put up by a the Sahara Hotel on the Las Vegas strip.

1977 Maxwell-Miller Relay

In August 1977, Maxwell and Miller were back, determined to do the Badwater-Whitney two-man relay faster. They started at 4 a.m., running in half-hour shifts through the blazing heat. Maxwell recalled early into the run, “It was only 8:30 a.m., but the distant mountains were already shimmering through the heat waves that rose from the floor of Death Valley. As I slapped Tate Miller’s hand, we exchanged places. He crawled out of the back of our support van and began running. I eased myself onto the mattress he just vacated.”

They started fast and covered the 24 miles to Stovepipe Well in 6:23. Maxwell was slowed from a broken ankle still not totally healed. “We followed the road as it wound along the eastern side of the valley, following the contours of the mountain flanks that spilled onto the valley. Looking westward, I saw miles of flat, dry crack mud. Intermittent sagebrush and occasional wooden crosses marking primitive gravesites offered the only respite from the glistening flatness until mountains, rising abruptly, defined the far side of the valley floor.”

Maxwell was also suffering from bad cramps and could only run about 10 minutes before collapsing. “As I climbed out of the van to begin another turn, my hands were so cramped I couldn’t even squeeze a water-soaked sponge over my head. Knowing I’d never be able to run for my entire half-hour, I suggested we begin 14-minute turns. Mercifully, Tate agreed.” They limped into Panamint Springs (mile 73) at 3:15 p.m. (11:15 total). They were about four hours ahead of their previous record pace.

“An orange and violet sunset streaked the sky ahead of us as we followed the meandering road into the Sierra foothills. Tate finally gave up trying to run his entire turn. He began to allow himself the luxury of walking 10 of his 30 minutes.” Even though it was 90 degrees, Maxwell was shaking from chills and cramps that spread throughout his body because of an electrolyte imbalance. He changed up his drinking but that did not help. Finally, he could run only ten minutes and collapsed. His crew lifted him into the back of the van.

Miller did most of the running until 9 p.m. when Maxwell felt much better. “Thus, we went through the night, trading off every two hours. A crew member walked ahead of us with a flashlight, clearing the road of snakes and scorpions.”

They arrived at Lone Pine just before dawn, with 13 more miles to Whitney Portal. Maxwell said, “When the sun rose, warming us and our spirits, we changed back to half-hour shifts. The sun’s influence proved to be illusory as deep, deadening fatigue and the steepness of the road forced us to 15-minute intervals.”

After a half hour rest, they began their Whitney climb at 8:45 a.m., at the 28:45 mark. Two members of their crew accompanied them and carried their food, water, and cold weather gear. “The initial adrenalin-based rush of energy that propelled us up the lower part of the mountain soon dissipated. Fatigue, dizziness, nausea and the increasing altitude, slowed our pace.”

One crew member got sick at 12,000 feet and headed down. They reached the summit at 3:50 p.m. in 35:50. They had crushed their existing relay record. They said, “We slapped hands and fell into an embrace.”

Al Arnold’s solo 1977 Badwater-Mt Whitney

Albert L. Arnold (1928-2017), of Walnut Creek California was an Air Force World War II veteran, who served on Okinawa. He graduated from UC Berkeley and worked as an electromechanical technician in oceanographic work for many years. He had once weighed 300 pounds before he decided to commit himself for fitness. Eventually he changed careers and became a health club director working with professional baseball and football athletes. For several years after he had heard about Crutchlow and Beale’s 1973 run, he had a goal to run from Badwater solo to the top of Mt. Whitney.

He had tried and failed two times. The first time in 1974, he only made it 18 miles because of severe dehydration. “I felt like somebody hit me in the middle of the stomach with a 16-pound shot. I vomited and had no strength to move, could hardly breath.” The second time, he hyper-extended his knee after 50 miles when trying to shortcut across Devil’s Golf Crouse. In August 1977, he made his third attempt.

Arnold was confident this time and knew how to fuel, pace, and cool his body. He was a big guy, 6’5” and 200 pounds, and wanted to run across the valley without any pacers. He knew what endurance was all about. When he was in college in 1951, he and a friend set the world record for teeter-tottering, going up and down 45,159 times for three days and nights.

Arnold started at 5 a.m. on August 3, 1977 at a careful, slow pace. He said, “It wasn’t important to me how fast it was going to be. I just wanted to complete the darn thing, that’s all. I wanted to enjoy it and to share the experience with everybody I came in contact with, who stopped along the road.” He stayed on the main road traveling with a support car, using the future Badwater Ultramarathon format. (However, some of the photo show him out on the desert floor. The photos were likely staged during the run for a future magazine article.)

“I was excited about the beauty and fantasizing about the old prospectors, the Indians, the battles that might have been fought, the people out here struggling or perishing maybe within a few feet of where I was running. Yet I was fully prepared, fully confident, eager, glad to be on my way and thrilled by the enormity of what I was trying to conquer.” The worst part of the run for him was the first 15 hours. “The enormity of the heat gets compounded by the fact your adrenaline is up; the two elements combined could have been devastating.”

After covering 40 miles in 10 hours Arnold got sick and his knee really hurt. “His two-man support team, Erick Rahkonen, a newspaper photographer, and Glenn Phillips, a commercial pilot, were also sick after a long day driving slowly through the boiling heat.”

After about 70 miles at Panamint Springs, the Department of Transportation was stopping all the traffic going up Highway 90 ahead of him. There was demolition going on and it would be a six-hour delay. Not wanting to wait that long he grabbed two gallons of water and went off road into Panamint Valley. His crew honked their horns so he knew which way to go.

The temperature was brutal in the 120s, but Arnold only made three very long stops along the way. Smoke was bad due to forest fires. He said, “Eventually I caught a glimpse of Mount Whitney and for the first time I was able to see my object and felt a communication between this three-mile high piece of granite and myself. I said to her ’Well, you probably thought you’d never see me but I’m going to be on top of you.’ She’s a very powerful lady and I didn’t want to conquer her, just be part of a relationship.”

Finally he was in the foothills of the great mountain. “I heard the coyotes howling their fool heads off like they were laughing at me. I got to Lone Pine around sundown and changed into some street clothes. I just didn’t want anyone to notice me.” He was met by his wife and daughter who revitalized him with a hamburger and milkshake. He continued very slowly through the night to Whitney Portal.

After 74 hours, in the morning, he started up the trail with Phillips. Previously they had hid a backpack with warm clothes, a sleeping bag and food halfway up. At 12,000 feet before the many switchbacks, Arnold was very dizzy and nearly walked off the trail several times. Thankfully he was caught by Phillips. Eventually they arrived at the summit. His journey had taken 84 hours. Arnold said, “I just sat down on a rock, it was very low key, and bawled my fool head off for a couple minutes.”

Arnold reaches the summit of Mt. Whitney

They did not spend much time up there and started the trek down. Phillips unwisely bounded down fast ahead to call in a story to a newspaper. When Arnold reached the cache, the backpack had been stolen. He had no choice but to use a survival kit and huddle in a plastic lining for the night. He was able to hobble down the rest of the way in the morning, taking time to immerse a swollen leg in icy streams. Al Arnold had clearly demonstrated it was possible for a solo runner to make the Badwater to Mt. Whitney run.

Arnold tried to get his accomplishment published in the Guinness Book of World Records, but the publication rejected it for some reason. There was no mention found of his accomplishment in national newspapers. The entire story finally came out the following year in a Runners World publication. It took four years before his record was broken by Jay Birmingham in 1981, with 75 hours, 34 minutes.

Two weeks later after his historic run, Arnold was in Hawaii on a beach when he was hit by a wave a became totally paralyzed. At the hospital he was diagnosed with Brown-Siccard Syndrome. They said he would have to walk with a walker for a year. He refused to accept that news. A year later, he ran around the 72 miles around Lake Tahoe, without a walker.

Arnold’s true passion was jogging for hours, and sometimes days on end. He was fondly nicknamed the ‘Joggernaut’ by explorer Jacques Cousteau. In 2002 Arnold attended the Badwater Ultramarathon and was the first inductee into the Badwater Hall of Fame. He passed away in 2017 at the age of 89.

1977 Pennsylvania Three – Mt Whitney to Badwater

David Vallen, William Snyder, David Meckley

Also during August 1977, three teachers from a Palmyra, Pennsylvania Middle School, who were known as the “Pennsylvania Three,” traveled across the country to attempt what no one else had accomplished yet, a Mt. Whitney to Badwater hike (high to low). The three were David S. Vallan (1948-), William “Duke” B. Snyder (1949-), and David A, Meckley (1950-1997). Benjamin E. Groff (1948-) was their crew man. The three did have some previous Death Valley experience. They had previously walked 57 miles of the Valley in August 1975.

On August 9, 1977, the three started at Whitney Portal at 6 a.m. They were working with Multiple Sclerosis to raise funds. After making a base camp, they reached Mt. Whitney summit on August 10^th and then started their journey down, heading for Badwater. The rather naïve easterners suffered from altitude sickness and muscle pulls making slow miles each day down.

The three unwisely did not use the paved roads, choosing instead to hike the desert. On August 14, near Santa Rosa Mines, they were hit by a severe sudden sandstorm that cut them up and they lost some water and supplies. Two of them spent a night on a ridge going thirteen hours without water, sucking what they could from cactus. Next, they were drenched by a massive freak rainstorm caused by Tropical Storm Doreen that was hitting southern California. They then walked into a quicksand area and had to detour 30 miles to get around it. To make matters worse, large magnetic stones caused their compasses to lose their true settings.

After eleven days, on the evening of August 19^th, the trio got word that the Multiple Sclerosis team coordinator had decided to cancel the rest of the journey, fearing serious physical injury to the three. Several highways had been closed in Death Valley because of the flooding. “The last 35-40 miles of the mission consist of unstable ground and salt pillars and formations. There have been a series of flash floods and flash flood warnings in the area.”

They had planned to go through “Devil’s Golf Course,” an area of eroded salt formations, but there was a great amount of water in it, causing salt formations to dissolve, making treacherous footing.

The three were very upset about the cancelation without consulting them. They demanded to know why the hike was being cancelled by those who were not there. They said they were tired, had sores and blisters, but were all healthy. It was decided to let them continue.

They did cancel plans to climb Telegraph Peak. On August 20, 1977, after trudging through calf-deep mud at times, they all finished at Badwater. “Al, the proprietor of general store at Furnace Creek treated the four Pennsylvanians to champagne and a filet mignon dinner. To the best of his knowledge, the Whitney to Badwater had never been done before.” Al also awarded them finishing mule team belt buckles and said, “Now that you have walked across Devil’s Golf Course, I guess you know how the jackasses felt.”

1978 Parrish-Ballew Relay

In September 1978, another duo attempted to go after the two-man relay record. The two men were from California, Dennis Parrish (1941-), of Tujunga, California and Larry Ballew (1946-2004) of Newbury Park, California. They both were marathon runners and physical educations teachers. The two were unaware that the record had been lowered to 35:50 by Maxwell and Miller the previous year, or they didn’t recognize it for some reason. When asked why attempt the crazy run, Ballew replied, “It was about as difficult challenge as I could find. It seemed like the ultimate long distance run.”

The two traded off, starting with two-mile segments and then to one. They arrived at Lone Pine in 22:25 at 2:15 a.m. which was “cool and wonderful. It was truly like reaching an oasis after struggling in the desert.” They were eight hours ahead of what they thought was the record pace as their 10-person crew rubbed them down, getting them ready for the climb. “From Lone Pine on we knew we had the record unless one of us pulled a muscle or got altitude sickness.”

They experienced the usual difficulties, heat exhaustion, knee problems, sore feet, and getting lost for 10 minutes while climbing Mt. Whitney. The hike up to the summit took them 8.5 hours. They said, “Our pace was faster than hikers with backpacks but slower than those without.” They finished at 4:39:15 p.m. for a second-best ever relay time of 36:39:15. They said, “I’m sure some crazy pair will try to beat that record. The key will be organization.” They thought they broke the record, but actually missed it by only 50 minutes because of taking their time at Lone Pine and on the climb when they thought they had the record in the bag.

The parts of this 100-mile series:

Sources

Joseph News (Missouri), Aug 11, 1930
The Boston Globe (Massachusetts), Apr 13, 1958
The San Francisco Examiner (California), Apr 9, 1939, Jul 21, 1970, Aug 20, 1973, Sep 11, 1977
Arcadia Tribune (California), Jan 31, 1971
Reno Gazette-Journal (Nevada), Mar 24, 1971, Aug 31, 1976
Daily News-Post (Monrovia, California), Jan 18, 29, 1972
Arizona Republic (Phoenix, Arizona), Jan 18, 1972
The Los Angeles Times (California), Jan 26, Feb 3, 1972, Aug 19, 1973, Sep 24, 1978
Paul Pfau: Ghosts of Everest’s Past
The San Bernardino County Sun (California), Aug 18, 1973
Santa Cruz Sentinel (California), Oct 6, Nov 17, 1974
The Argus (Freemont, California), Aug 27, 1976
The Times-News (Twin Falls, Idaho), Aug 24, 1976
The San Francisco Examiner (California), Aug 25, 1976
The Bakersfield Californian (California), Aug 14, 1976
Bob Wischina, “Al Arnold: The Road Goes on Forever”
Chris Kostman, “Insights and Anecdotes From Al Arnold”
Ulrich, Marshall, Both Feet on the Ground: Reflections from the Outside
Lebanon Daily News (Pennsylvania), Aug 9, 18, 19, 1977
NorCal Running Review No. 44

70: The 100-miler: Part 17 (1973-1978) Badwater Roots

By Davy Crockett

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