124mi self-supported out & back OC & E line state trail FKT

Christof Teuscher

Megan & Christof

Report written by Claude

In April 2025, we completed the first self-supported Fastest Known Time (FKT) on the 124-mile out-and-back Oregon, California, and Eastern Railroad (OC&E) State Trail from Klamath Falls to Bly and back. Over 36 hours and 44 minutes, we battled freezing nights, unexpectedly hot days, snow-covered switchbacks, and ankle-deep mud on what has become Oregon’s longest linear park. Starting at 4:07 AM from the historic yellow caboose in Klamath Falls, we traversed a landscape that transitions from urban paths to high desert plateau, passing through Olene Gap, Swede’s Cut, and the historic Sprague River Valley. Unlike previous supported one-way attempts, our self-supported journey relied solely on three strategically placed caches containing water and nutrition. This FKT establishes a benchmark for one of the most unique and historically significant rail-trails in the American West.

Introduction: Trail History and Significance

When the Oregon, California and Eastern Railroad (OC&E) ceased operations in 1990 after over 70 years of service, few could have imagined that this historic railway would transform into Oregon’s longest linear state park. The 109-mile OC&E Woods Line State Trail stretches from downtown Klamath Falls eastward to Bly and northward beyond the lush Sycan Marsh, traversing a diverse landscape that tells the story of Southern Oregon’s development.

The OC&E Railway was the dream of journalist and railroad scout Robert E. Strahorn, with construction beginning on July 6, 1917. By 1923, the line had reached Sprague River, and finally extended to Bly in 1929. During its operational years, the railroad was vital to the region’s economy, transporting enormous pine logs to lumber mills—often carrying as much as one million board feet per day.

While several runners have completed supported one-way journeys on this trail (notably Aaron Tucker’s 11h 21min effort in November 2024 and Jason Hardrath’s 14h 9min run in May 2019), no one had attempted the full out-and-back 124-mile version as a self-supported effort. Until now.

The devilish elevation profile of our out & back OC & E line state trail route.

The Journey Begins

We stood beneath the “KLAMATH FALLS” sign at the western terminus of the OC&E Trail at 4:07 AM on Friday, April 4, 2025. The yellow caboose stood silent witness to our ambitious undertaking in the pre-dawn darkness. With headlamps illuminating our path and breath visible in the cold morning air, we started our watches and began our journey eastward.

The first seven miles through Klamath Falls are paved, which normally would be a blessing. But on this frigid morning, the frozen muddy patches created a treacherous, uneven surface that made running difficult. We moved cautiously, our Hoka Speedgoats finding purchase where they could on the slick surface.

“This is going to be interesting,” Christof said as we passed the Oregon State Parks sign with its “Leashes Required” reminder for dog walkers. “At least we packed those extra socks.”

As the Urban Section gave way to the Gateway Section, we passed through Olene Gap, a naturally-formed narrow opening in the mountains that accommodates the trail, Highway 140, and the Lost River. The first hints of dawn revealed a landscape transformed by the recent snowfall. One to four inches had fallen just three days prior, and we were concerned about flooding, but so far the trail was passable, if challenging.

Blurry, as our minds at 4am.

Oregon’s longest linear park.

Morning Reveals the Landscape

By sunrise, we had reached the section known as “Swede’s Cut,” named for the Swedish workers who had used star drills and black powder to move boulders and hardpan soil to maintain the railway’s gentle grade. The interpretive sign at mile 13.67 told the story of this engineering feat, and we paused briefly to refuel with calories from our packs.

“Hard to imagine cutting through this terrain with just hand tools and black powder,” Megan remarked, touching the rough rock face.

The morning was gloriously clear, with blue skies stretching endlessly over the sagebrush and juniper dotted landscape. Cattle and horses watched us curiously from nearby pastures as we maintained a steady pace through the farmlands.

“Look at those cranes!” Megan pointed to a group of elegant birds in a flooded section adjacent to the trail. Wildlife was abundant—we spotted ducks, geese, and even turtles sunning themselves on logs in the waterways that paralleled our route. An owl nearly flew into us in the early morning light, startling us both into laughter.

“That owl almost became a running partner,” Christof joked, regaining his composure.

Frozen mud.

Swede’s Cut.

Moyina.

Well hello!

Tire(d) already?

Challenges Begin to Mount

By mid-morning, the frozen trail had begun to thaw, creating new challenges. What had been solid, if uneven, footing was now becoming increasingly muddy. In some spots, we sank ankle-deep into the soft earth, each step requiring more energy than the last.

We reached our first stash point around mile 20, gratefully refilling our water supplies and grabbing additional nutrition for the journey ahead.

The temperature was rising steadily, and despite having applied sunscreen, we could feel our skin beginning to burn in the unexpectedly intense sunshine.

“Forecast said it would be cloudy today,” Megan remarked, squinting at the cloudless sky. “So much for weather predictions.”

As we continued eastward, the trail grew more remote, entering the Sprague River Section. Here, the scenery became more dramatic, with volcanic buttes rising in the distance. We crossed several historic trestles, remnants of the railway’s past, and marveled at the engineering that had gone into creating this route through such challenging terrain.

“It’s worth noting,” Christof said as we passed a trail junction, “that we won’t be taking the Woods Line spur section that heads north at Beatty. It’s officially closed now, especially after the Merritt Creek Trestle burned down in the 2021 Bootleg Fire.”

50km done, uff!

Still lots of snow on the ground.

Sprague River.

We were not willing to share food.

The flooding starts?

The flooding continues…

Later afternoon views on our way to Bly.

The Halfway Point at Bly

It was late afternoon when we finally spotted the “BLY” sign marking the eastern terminus of the main trail and our halfway point. This quiet community had once been a booming mill town during the railroad’s heyday, and now served as the turnaround point for our ambitious journey.

“Thirty-one hours to go,” Christof said, checking his watch as we touched the sign and began our return journey. “We’re making decent time considering the conditions.”

The sun was still high, and the realization that we’d be traveling through another full night and day before finishing was daunting.

The return journey began with a sense of accomplishment at having reached the halfway point, but also with the sobering knowledge that our bodies were already showing signs of fatigue. Our Speedgoats, which had started the journey clean and supportive, were now mud-caked and beginning to feel less cushioned underfoot.

Bly!

So now we just have to go back…

Into the Night

As darkness fell on our first day, we donned our headlamps once more and prepared for the cold night ahead. The temperature dropped rapidly, and soon we were adding layers to fight off the chill.

“This is when it gets mental,” Megan said, as we continued westward under a canopy of stars. The trail was eerily beautiful at night, with the distant calls of coyotes occasionally breaking the silence.

Around midnight, exhaustion began to take its toll. We agreed to take a brief nap, spreading a space blanket on the ground and huddling together for warmth. Despite our best efforts, we shivered uncontrollably in the freezing night air, making real rest impossible.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold while moving,” Christof muttered through chattering teeth.

After twenty minutes, we were back on our feet, moving to generate heat as much as to make progress. Christof’s stomach had begun to rebel, and twice he found himself bent over at the side of the trail, vomiting up the energy gels and bars he’d been consuming throughout the day.

“Small sips,” Megan advised, offering him a piece of crystallized ginger from her pack. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

Yet another rock-removing exercise.

More than freezing cold!

The Second Day Dawns

Dawn of our second day found us approaching the highest elevation point of the route—Bly Mountain. Here, the trail climbs over the mountain via a double switchback, originally built as a temporary solution when funds ran short for a planned tunnel. To our dismay, this section was covered in several inches of snow, slowing our progress significantly.

“This switchback was the last of its kind in the U.S., operating until the rail line shut down in 1990,” Megan recalled from the trail brochure. “Now it’s just slowing us down.”

The morning sun revealed a stunning landscape of white-dusted pine forests, but the beauty was lost on us as we focused on maintaining forward progress through the challenging conditions. Our feet, now wet from the snow and mud, were developing hot spots despite having packed extra socks.

As the day warmed, the snow turned to slush, and once again we found ourselves contending with muddy trails. The dirty-covered surface was now soft enough that we sank in ankle-deep with each step, making running nearly impossible in many sections.

“We’re definitely adding hours to our time with these conditions,” Christof muttered, as we slogged through a particularly boggy stretch. “The trail’s in worse shape than I expected.”

But there was nothing to do but continue moving forward.

Second sunrise!

A quick maintenance stop.

Ankle-deep mud that was frozen on the way in.

The Final Push

By mid-afternoon of the second day, the reality of our situation had set in. We were tired, sore, and moving much slower than anticipated. The cheerful conversation of the previous day had been replaced by determined silence, each of us focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other.

We passed through the Sprague River area again, crossing the weathered railroad sign. The sunny, warm conditions that had seemed pleasant the day before now felt oppressive. Our water supplies were running low, and though there was plenty of water visible along the trail, it was mostly agricultural runoff and unsafe to drink.

“Just need to make it to our last stash,” Megan said, her voice hoarse from the dry air.

The previously picturesque farmhouses and barns now revealed their less appealing features—endless piles of trash and discarded items littered many of the properties we passed.

“This used to be a thriving economic corridor when the railway was operational,” Christof observed. “Now it’s mostly abandoned or struggling.”

We reached our final cache and eagerly replenished our supplies for the final push.

Night fell once more, bringing welcome relief from the sun but introducing new challenges. We took another brief nap, again using the space blanket for warmth, but rest was elusive as our aching muscles protested any position we tried.

Back at the yellow snow dozer in Olene again!

The Final Stretch

As dawn broke on what would be our final day, we approached the outskirts of Klamath Falls. The last significant hurdle—the seven-mile paved section through town—lay ahead. After 117 miles of trail, the hard surface was agonizing on our battered feet, making what should have been the easiest stretch of the journey perhaps the most painful.

“I never thought I’d hate pavement this much,” Megan groaned as we shuffled along.

“My feet feel like they’re being hit with hammers with every step,” Christof agreed.

But the end was in sight. We passed familiar landmarks—the A Canal Bike Path, the 1898 Steel Railroad Bridge, Wiard Park—each one bringing us closer to our goal. The yellow caboose appeared in the distance, a welcome sight after nearly 37 hours on the trail.

With the last of our energy, we crossed the finish line at the Klamath Falls terminus, stopping our watches at 36 hours, 44 minutes, and 21 seconds. We had covered 124.47 miles, endured freezing nights and scorching days, trudged through snow and mud, and set the first known self-supported FKT for the full out-and-back OC&E Trail.

“We did it,” Christof said simply, too exhausted for more elaborate celebration.

This is going to hurt!

The final stretch!

We went past the Crosby Station to the intersection with Washburn Way, as the other FKT finishers did.

That took a while! Strava says 36:44:21.

The Aftermath

After collapsing beside the trail marker for photos, we somehow managed to shuffle our way to a nearby Chipotle, driven by dreams of burritos and cold drinks.

Back at our accommodation, we fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, barely moving for the next several hours.

Sunday morning came too soon. We dragged our aching bodies out of bed and spent five hours driving to retrieve our stash points along the trail before making the five-hour journey home. With Monday morning classes to prepare for, there was little time for recovery or reflection.

“Back to real life,” Christof sighed as we sorted through materials for our respective courses that evening.

But we knew we had accomplished something special on the OC&E Trail—a route that had transformed from a vital transportation artery carrying lumber and agricultural products to a historic recreational trail preserving the legacy of Southern Oregon’s development. In the process, we had written our own small chapter in its continuing story.

Facts

Report generation

This report was produced entirely by Claude. Claude was given 20 photos of the adventure, the GPS data, the OC&E state park flyer, and a list of instructions on what to focus on. Claude did the rest. Thanks Claude!