The Race Moved. We Ran Anyway.
The Race Moved. We Ran Anyway.
We pulled into Pedernales Falls State Park Friday evening to no cell service and overcast skies. Perfect camping weather, actually — 82°F instead of whatever Texas had been doing all week, clouds keeping the sun honest. We didn’t know yet that Capt’n Karl’s Trail Series had moved the race to a different venue.
We wouldn’t find out until Saturday afternoon.
Friday night it rained cats and dogs. Hard. The kind of rain that drums on the roof of your van and keeps you cooler than you deserve to be in a Texas June — 78°F, manageable. The kind of rain that also turns limestone single-track into a completely different trail.
Saturday: Reconnaissance Under Pressure
Saturday the skies cleared. The humidity did not.
We spent the morning and early afternoon hiking and running the trails, trying to figure out how we’d stage with the dogs and still get Amy into the 5k loop. The terrain was wet, muddy, slick in spots, with technical rocky sections thrown in. We decided she’d run the top loop — close enough that I could get to her fast if anything went wrong.
Then, just after lunch, we found a pocket of cell service. One bar. Enough to load the race update.
Race moved. Different venue.
We looked at each other. We looked at the trails we’d spent all morning learning. We looked at the 15 miles already on our legs. We looked at the car thermometer reading 96°F.
You make lemonade.
The Plan
Siesta first. 1 to 3pm, mandatory. The dogs were already cooked — they had no interest in any more trail. We put them in bed and let the afternoon heat do whatever it was going to do.
Then we laid out a route from camp. Approximated a 3-mile loop using the trails we’d scouted. Capt’n Karl’s 5k was scheduled for an 8pm start — but 8pm in Texas in June isn’t dark enough to earn a headlamp. We set our departure for 8:30.
The night low was going to be 82°F. It was still fully warm going to bed. I’ll be honest: I ran the car AC for a while before we could sleep. No shame. Texas is Texas.
We ate dinner. We rested. We hydrated as aggressively as two people can hydrate when it’s been 96°F all day and they’ve already run 15 miles. At 8:30, we stepped out of camp with headlamps on and started running.
Things That Went Wrong (In Order)
Problem one: Amy’s headlamp quit in the first half-mile. Not dimmed — quit. Couldn’t illuminate the path in any capacity. It started getting sketchy fast.
Then I remembered: I had a spare. A torch — small, bright, designed for distance rather than duration. Not ideal for a trail run. But it worked.
Problem two: Amy runs behind me. I hit all the spiderwebs first — husband stuff, you know how it goes. Open doors, put the toilet seat down, run through the spiderwebs if you want to night run with your wife. I’ve accepted this. What I hadn’t accounted for was the torch.
She’s running behind me with this thing blazing. I kept losing my night vision entirely — genuine night blindness. Every time I looked back or she adjusted her angle, I was essentially running blind into whatever was ahead of me.
Which brings us to problem three.
Problem three: I missed a turn.
We were in a thick section — single track with slight overgrowth from the night’s rain, low visibility even with headlamps working correctly. I went straight where the trail turned, and started heading down what had been a drainage runoff during Friday’s downpour. In short order I was breaking brush going straight downhill.
Jumping cactus in both shins. Waitaminute vines grabbing both sleeves simultaneously. I called for the torch, swung it around looking for blazes or tin markers. Nothing. We were off trail.
I had one brief thought I shook off immediately: I hope that wasn’t a cactus spine.
We backtracked. Working up through the vines and overgrowth back toward the last known blaze, we found the turn we’d missed and got back on track. Shins burning, pride slightly dented, but moving.
Here’s the thing though. I’m running in the dark through the Texas Hill Country with the woman of my dreams. She is right there, every step. Who else would do this with me? I looked back at her — torch blazing, blinding me again — and thought: Polly and Tortuga, Trailblazers. Not on purpose, but still.
The Deer
Back on trail, shins burning, moving again — and then I stopped.
Movement ahead. A mama whitetail, stepping toward the trail from the trees. She didn’t startle. She didn’t bolt. She just stood there looking at us, genuinely curious about whatever strange creatures we were, two humans huffing through her forest at 9pm with lights on their heads.
We stood there looking back at her. Nobody was in a hurry.
I thought about something my dad taught me when I was eight years old. We were in Yellowstone, hiking, and I spotted an elk and started tracking her — actually getting close, thinking I was pretty good at this. Dad was letting me go, thinking yeah right, like we’d ever actually — and then there she was. A big mama elk, close. I took off running toward her across a log over a creek before my dad could react.
She charged.
Dad stepped between me and the elk with a huge stick and turned her. I caught up to him and said, “Hey Dad, I think we should stick together.” I was wise at eight.
We got back to the ranger station and found out other visitors had been attacked and hurt by a mama elk that same day. We had gotten lucky, and I never forgot it. Mama animals in spring are not to be messed with — they may have babies you can’t see and they will absolutely stand their ground.
So we gave the whitetail her space. No sudden moves, no pushing forward. Just three creatures sharing a moment on a trail in the dark Texas Hill Country. She watched us a little longer, decided we were harmless, and crossed calmly in front of us and disappeared into the trees.
We continued on.
The Rest of the Run
The trails at Pedernales Falls are well-marked. Painted blazes on trees, small tin circles with directional arrows at intersections. The daylight recon had been worth every mile — we’d done all but about three-quarters of a mile in the light, and those miles were the easier ones.
Five low-water crossings. Rock-hopping in the dark, scouting a line across, then committing. Most we’d already crossed once in daylight and had a plan. The ones we hadn’t — you slow down, find the rocks with the torch, don’t be a hero.
Just over 3 miles. 18 miles total for the day. We hit the cold showers at camp and didn’t look back.
The Badge
The Trek4Free Night Runner Challenge → is one check — first trail run after dark, any trail, any distance. Headlamp required.
This one counted. Twice over.
We downloaded our badges from the van. Polly and Tortuga, both earned. The race moved. We ran anyway. The Hill Country doesn’t owe you anything — not a course, not easy weather, not a functioning headlamp. You bring what you’ve got and you figure the rest out on the trail.
If you’re thinking about your first night run — start smaller than this. A neighborhood trail at dusk. Your regular loop with a headlamp. Work up to the Texas heat and waitaminute vines gradually.
But go. The trail at night is completely different. Worth every spider web.
Start the Night Runner Challenge →
Pedernales Falls State Park is on the Trek4Free Texas free camping map →. The Capt’n Karl’s Trail Series races at this venue are on the Trek4Free events map →. More from the Hill Country: what night running actually feels like → · hiking with dogs in Texas heat →
