I did plan, though, on taking advantage of this time alone by doing something.  While a backpack sounded good in theory, I knew that I was out of shape, out of practice, and unprepared even as the weekend approached.  So I thought a day spent walking along a river would do well for me—I’d stroll along leisurely, set up my tripod liberally, and see how far I got up the Duckabush River before turning around and heading home.

A detail of the Duckabush River.

I like driving over to the Olympic Peninsula early in the morning: down through Olympia, up along the Hood Canal with the cruise control set just right until you begin passing through all the small towns with their pickup trucks driven out onto the saltwater flats the tide has revealed.

By 08:30 I’d left the Subaru parked at the trailhead just off Duckabush Road and started climbing gently into the forest.  While the Duckabush River is nearby, for the first two miles, it’s not in sight, and only intermittently audible.  At 09:00, I entered The Brothers Wilderness, and the trail began losing the little elevation I’d gained until the river did come into sight at 09:30.

I found a picturesque little spot and set up my tripod, anxious to get in some good shots, since it’d been so long since I’d taken photos of anything other than Adelaide.  I spent the next twenty minutes messing about before I continued on…

Mossy stone at the shore of the Duckbush.

Shortly thereafter I smelled a campfire at what must be a pleasant little campsite, and then the trail turned away from the river again and began a constant climb.  With my tripod stubbornly on my shoulder, I huffed and puffed upward.  Yet another instance of me neglecting to eat a proper breakfast in my urge to get on the road.  But I’m not blaming it all on lack of energy; there’s a bunch of switchbacks—a bunch more than I’d anticipated.  I picked the wrong river to stroll along effortlessly.

After ~thirty minutes, I was rewarded with some pleasant views both across- and down-valley.  Reason enough to set up the tripod I’d resisted strapping back to my pack.

Wildflowers along the trail; St. Peter's Dome across the valley.

Downriver from the Big Hump.

But the climb didn’t stop quite there.  I continued up, seeing several groups of people here and there, relishing the moments when the unobstructed roar of a waterfall reached my ears.  Eventually the trail crested the Big Hump, but there were no views in either direction.  And I was only half-happy to begin my descent, knowing I’d have to regain each step on my return.

Bark amidst the climb up Big Hump.

At 1:45, I reached 5 Mile Camp (apparently 5.3 miles in from where I began).  Several backpackers loitered nearby, reluctant, most certainly, to leave such a beautiful spot and head back to civilization.  There are several fine spots to set up tents, but it’d be close quarters if a few parties all set up on one night—something I’m sure happens frequently.

I was more than happy to drop my pack and spend ~forty-five minutes climbing on the boulders lining the rushing Duckabush with my tripod in hand, experimenting with various compositions and settings while other hikers arrived and/or left.  The water was both colorful and crystal clear, and the sky cooperated by clouding over when I needed it to.

The Duckabush River from 5 Mile Camp.

A close up of a group of rocks in the middle of the Duckbush.

I gathered my things and climbed back up to the main trail, unsure as to whether I’d continue further along the trail or head home.  A couple stood there debating the same, and so I was somewhat shamed into continuing on.  But only briefly.  The slight climb uphill was more than I was willing to invest, and so I stopped as the trail crossed a field of rocks sprouting yellow flowers at 13:00.

Yellow flowers at my turn-around point.

Though the flowers were numerous, I was too exhausted to search for a great composition; instead, I documented their existence and put my tripod deep in my backpack before checking out mentally for the day and putting foot in front of foot back up Big Hump and out to the Subaru, which I reached at 15:15.

Were I in better (i.e., acceptable) shape, I probably would’ve enjoyed this one a bit more than I did.  But the majority of the hike—in both directions—is a marginally interesting uphill climb, which wasn’t what I envisioned when I set out in the morning.  Expectations != Experience.  And for that reason, I suppose, this wasn’t a hike I’m raving about here.  But make the decision for yourself, because under other circumstances I could’ve loved it.

Stats: ~11 miles round-trip, ~2300′+ elevation gain, 6:45 on the trail, with plenty of that time spent taking photos.

While I can’t recall too many details from the hike, I will say it felt good to get moving—even with the fast food sitting immobile in the pit of my stomach.  We set a healthy pace uphill (and it’s all uphill) until we poked out onto the first ledge among a dozen or two dozen other hikers.

Casey overlooks Rattlesnake Lake.

The views were great, and the ledge was frightening enough to stay back from.  After a brief rest, we continued on up the trail, as we all wanted a bit more than the ~4 miles round-trip it would’ve been to the first ledge.  In just a few minutes, we found ourselves on another ledge, overlooking the first.  Here we were all alone, and so sat down and enjoyed the view for a bit longer before continuing.

Looking down on the first Ledge.

Details after this point have faded into: much more solitude, poor signage, rusty steel cable, trail becoming road, and a fair amount of snow that found its way into spherical projectile form.  At some point, sure we weren’t ever going to arrive anywhere else, we turned around and headed back down to the lake, where we skipped stones and/or soaked our feet before heading back to Seattle.

Actually, I enjoyed this hike more than I thought I would.  The company helped, but once past the first ledge, it was quite quiet.  I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.  Maybe with Adelaide.  Maybe soon.

Stats: ~7 miles round-trip, probably, ~1400′ of elevation gain/loss, probably.  Probably topped out around 2300′.

1. Cathedral Rock, Sedona, Arizona, 01/02/10

2. Paradise Snowshoe, 02/06/10

3. Oyster Dome, 02/21/10

4. Zion National Park, 05/28/10-05/31/10

5. Carbon River Road and Glacier, 06/12/10-06/13/10

6. Johnston Ridge, MSHNVM, 06/26/10

7. Sisters, Oregon, 07/03/10-07/04/10

8. Railroad Grade via Park Butte Trail, 07/10/10

9. Klapatche Park, 07/24/10-07/25/10

10. Rainbow Ridge, 08/13/10-08/15/10

Hey, we did some really good stuff last year!  Wonder what Adelaide will want to do this year?

2010 stats: ~90 miles of hiking, and a whole lotta pictures.

A rewarding view from atop Rainbow Ridge.

Since we’re all now months-removed from the event, I won’t recount how we pulled off to the side of the road late Friday night to throw up some tents, only to find I’d forgotten the majority of our food.  Or our search for that side-of-the-road location.  But the skies from the side of the road that night were beautiful, and softened the blow to my ego a bit.

After a brief but steep hike in—delayed by an hour or two to make a trip into town for food—we found a suitable camp among the heather.  We couldn’t see the trail from camp, and we saw almost no one the whole weekend, but definitely none near our camp.  The ninety-degree weather and inescapable flies unfortunately sequestered us to our tents for much of the daylight, but when the sun went down and the stars came out, we were able to lay outside and watch the sky for hours.

Nicole on the outskirts of camp.

Shuksan near sunset.

More Shuksan.

The night sky from Rainbow Ridge.

Up and out the next morning.  If it weren’t for the bugs, it could’ve been a perfect trip.  As it was, I still found it very rewarding…

The crew turns toward Mt. Baker on the way out.

Stats: perhaps 4-5 miles in total, and I can’t imagine it was more than 1000’ of elevation gain.

As always, a few more photos at Flickr.

The problem is, Klapatche Park isn’t all that easy to get to. In the not-too-distant past, one could park their car within three miles of it, but the road washed out twenty-one years ago and left the western side of The Mountain more isolated than most of the rest.

After walking the more recently decommissioned Carbon River Road earlier this year, I decided that it was time to walk the Westside Road and visit the fabled Klapatche. The weekend’s weather would be perfect, and from what I’d read on the Mt. Rainier National Park website, snow levels seemed pretty favorable, too.

This trip would be solo.

I packed my bag Friday night, but ended up transferring everything into my bigger pack early Saturday morning, when I tried in vain to add my full water bladder to a bag already breaching its capacity. I left West Seattle at 06:15, a little later than I would’ve liked, but still early enough to miss most traffic. The rangers at Longmire happily issued my permit for Klapatche Park, and told me that the campsites were all snow-free. I was glad that there were permits available so I didn’t have to change my plans.

At 08:55, I left my Subaru parked just outside the gate on the Westside Road, 2900’. A couple jumped on their bicycles and headed up the road just before me. Bicycling the road is completely acceptable, and it definitely makes some of these destinations easier to get to. Unfortunately, I don’t have a bike suitable for such trips, so I’d be walking the whole way. With the weight of my backpack, I doubt I could’ve kept a bike upright anyway. As an aside: to my untrained eye the road seems like it could be easily repaired and is in great shape for most of its length.

The Westside Road initially follows Tahoma Creek. There are glimpses of the creek’s namesake glaciers, but the road quickly turns away and The Mountain is hidden from view for much of the trip.

At 1.2 miles, there’s a small spooky viewpoint/picnic area/trailhead called Tahoma Vista. I halfheartedly looked around and didn’t see the viewpoint—I didn’t feel like exploring. Instead, I kept walking the uphill road until 10:15, when I reached Round Pass—4000’ and 3 miles from the gate. I was surprised to see a pickup truck and three or four tents and a gazebo set up in front of the trailhead to Gobbler’s Knob. The trailhead was very well marked; there were about 50 arrows etched into the gravel road and several helpful messages in stone. It was so well marked (<- <- <- TRAIL!!!) that I briefly wondered if it was perhaps the only trail on the entire road. But I walked a hundred feet more and saw both a second trailhead and a Marine Memorial, placed within sight of the South Tahoma Glacier where 32 Marines died in a plane crash in 1946.

At this point, I hadn’t yet decided on the route I’d take to Klapatche. I could either continue on the road until I reached the St. Andrews Creek trailhead or take the South Puyallup trail to The Wonderland Trail through St. Andrews Park. The Puyallup route would be more scenic, but would be a bit more difficult and I’d probably run into snow at the higher elevations. I decided on leaving the road anyway, figuring that I’d take the road on the way back.

So I stepped off of the road onto the Round Pass trail, which—after a brief 3/5ths of a mile and 500’ of elevation loss—turns into the South Puyallup trail. It was nice to be in the shade of trees and have the soft earth below my feet instead of the hot gravel. The trail was in good shape; it seems like it’s been/is being worked on. Just before South Puyallup Camp I stopped to photograph the columnar andesite formations along the trail.

Geologic pipe organ on the South Puyallup trail.

Columnar andesite.

I reached the intersection with The Wonderland Trail at 11:45, 2.1 miles from Round Pass (5.1 miles from the road closure). I crossed the bridge over the muddy river and took a long look up at The Mountain before I started climbing the constant switchbacks toward St. Andrews Park.

The day was heating up. The load, mileage, temperature, elevation gain, and lack of a decent breakfast were wearing me down. Progress became slow. Eventually, avalanche lilies appeared at the side of the trail. Their presence inspired me. I could see a patch of blue at the end of a long westerly switchback. At 01:25, I reached the ridge-top, exhausted. I could see Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens to the south and the Olympics in the west. The trail turned east now; patches of snow appeared, and—after post-holing several times through to the trail—I shuffled atop the snow aside the trail, following a set or two of footsteps.

I looked up from one such footstep to see a beautiful cinnamon-colored black bear run across the trail in front of me, followed immediately by a cute little cub. I stood in silence for a moment, then struggled to hold back a cheer of pure delight, only partially successful. I immediately thought of Nicole, who would’ve loved the moment as well.

Concurrently, my quads had begun to cramp up. I worked my way over to a patch of dry ground—by now it was hard to find one—and collapsed for a few minutes. But I knew I had to continue, and after eating my third bar-shaped snack of the day, I did. Where the path turned from the ridge and began across the St. Andrews basin, I met a ranger, only the second person I’d seen since leaving the South Puyallup. We spoke briefly. My permit led him to believe I’d be exiting via the White River the next day. “It says that?!” I said. I wasn’t looking forward to even my road walk out, at this point. “I think you’ll have Klapatche all to yourself tonight,” he said. I hoped so!

The trail traverses the east side of the basin, crossing several patches of snow. I took advantage of the ranger’s fresh steps all the way to St. Andrews Lake, elevation 5891’.

Mt. Rainier above a mostly-frozen St. Andrews Lake.

There, I met the couple that had left on their bikes just ahead of me—they’re the only thing that kept me from another controlled collapse. They were just in for the day. I was jealous of their bikes, they were jealous that I’d be spending the night. I agree with them. I snapped their picture, declined when they offered to take mine, and continued on, knowing I was very close to Aurora Lake, Klapatche Park, and taking off my backpack.

Klapatche Park view: Mt. Rainier and Aurora Lake.

At 3:15, I was there. I took a look at the lake and The Mountain and stumbled in to a campsite. After a nice long rest on the ground, I found the toilet and took a look at the 4 campsites at Klapatche, choosing beautiful #3. I set up camp, fetched water, and made myself some mashed potatoes. I was starving. But, on my hike in I remembered that I’d left my spoon at home (in addition to my compass and knife, which stayed in the first backpack). I made use of my time walking to brainstorm up an eating utensil, and decided I’d use a piece of crescent plastic that’s part of my water filter. It worked alright…

Avalanche lilies in Klapatche Park.

The Mountain from Klapatche.

More flowers.

I wandered around in the late afternoon, scouting locations I’d return to after a brief rest on the sleeping pad. Then, after that rest, it was photos until the sun set and the mosquitoes came on stronger.¹

The wind calms as sun sets.

Stillness.

Sunset on Mt. Rainier's Sunset Amphitheater.

Looking west from my camp at Klapatche Park.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! It was everything I hoped it’d be, and it was just me and The Mountain. I fell asleep easily, wishing—to a tune—that Nicole were there with me.

In the early morning I woke up to the sound of a hooting owl and the silver glow of the trees in the full moon. If I hadn’t been so tired, I might’ve snuck out to the lake to see if The Mountain was glowing in the moonlight, too. I’m sure it was, but I’m thankful that I can at least imagine it…

At 07:30, I started down the St. Andrews Creek trail. I was content with my time at Klapatche, and ready to head home. I gradually descended 1700’ from camp to the road, which I reached at 08:40. Aside from the route out being an arguably easier walk, it gave me the opportunity to take a small side trail to Denman Falls. Adding an extra 1/2 mile to my day was worth it. It’s a beautiful waterfall viewed from an overgrown overlook. I don’t know if it’s possible to reach the base of the falls, but I’d love to see it from that angle.

St. Andrews Creek just before Denman Falls.

A portion of Denman Falls.

I left the falls at 09:15 and slowly worked my way out of the wilderness. After reaching Round Pass at 10:45, I saw a handful of people, then a handful more as I approached the gate. My boots and socks were off at noon. My gear was in the car, and I was on the road. Once back on blacktop, I could see that the park was going to be very busy. I was amazed at the solitude I’d experienced at a popular location in the middle of summer.

I had a hamburger in Ashford and was back in West Seattle by 14:30.

Klapatche: goal achieved.

Stats:
07/24: ~9.1 miles, ~3500’ of elevation gain (~1000’ loss), ~6:00 from car to camp.
07/25: ~12.0 miles, ~3100’ of elevation loss (~500’ gain), ~4:30 from camp to car.
Trip: ~21.1 miles, ~4000’ of gain/loss.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

¹The bugs were pretty bad at dawn and dusk, but respected the DEET, and weren’t terrible otherwise.

Bird in flight, Mt. Baker beyond, from Railroad Grade.

We made good time to the trailhead (I-5 -> WA-20 -> Baker Lake Highway -> FSR-13) and its large parking area. We set up our tent in one of the few single-night-only campsites set aside for hikers and drifted off to sleep early.

Saturday morning we forced ourselves out of our sleeping bags certain we’d overslept, only to find that it was barely 06:00. We broke camp in the lazy way one can when one’s car is right there and then drove over to the trailhead, leaving the nearly-empty parking lot behind us at 07:11.

For the first mile, the trail imperceptibly climbs through the green, snow-free Schriebers Meadow—the unripe huckleberries the only things colorless in sight. Soon, we entered trees and heard the sound of water; I knew the creek crossing was near. We splashed through the water running down the trail and came to the rushing Rocky Creek. I knew there was no bridge—I’d read it’d be a rock-hop or knee deep ford. Nicole did not know this. And so I really hoped we’d find some suitable rocks.

Rocky Creek, after several days of hot weather.

At the horse ford and the site of the old bridge, we didn’t find anything promising. So I worked my way up along the creek, Nicole obviously displeased as she followed behind. The water was really moving, and it wasn’t looking like it’d be a hop, skip, or jump across. At one point, we took off our boots and socks, crossed one channel, and stood safely in the middle of the creek unable to continue. I decided that if we were going to keep hiking, we’d have to ford. I figured the safest place to do this would be back at the horse ford. So we put our boots back on and headed downstream. I couldn’t gauge the depth, but the crossing was narrow. Either because I’d already used up whatever logic I had or was simply too lazy to take off my boots and socks again, I had us put on gaiters and go straight across, boots and all. We were soaked instantly.

Scouting for a suitable crossing...

And ending up back where we started. Plus wet.

Once across, we dried out as best we could and continued up the trail, which then began switchbacking through fine forest with occasional views S-SE to Glacier Peak. It wasn’t very long before snow covered the trail completely. We followed footsteps from ~4000’ upward, switchbacks unseen and unheeded. Our feet were not going to dry out with time, as I’d promised Nicole they would…

Snow-covered Morovitz Meadows and Mt. Baker.

It wasn’t long before we broke out of the trees to snowy Morovitz Meadows. The views were wonderful. Mt. Baker prominent, of course, but also the views of the Cascades from Hagan to Whitehorse. We continued through the meadows toward a stretch of dry land that I was certain was Railroad Grade.

A poor representation of the views toward Glacier Peak.

Land ho! The Railroad Grade!

The Railroad Grade trail sits atop a steep glacial moraine left behind by the Easton Glacier. It’s quite narrow, and there were a few places where we really concentrated on where we set down our feet. We found a place where the trail meandered a few feet from the edge, sat down, and watched the first marmots we’ve seen this year.

Icefall, crevasses, and sulphurous stains: Baker's Easton Glacier.

Nicole, on Railroad.

After we had our fill of sandwiches and sunshine, we headed down, passing many small groups of climbers and a ginormous group from what I think was the North Cascades Institute. The creek crossing was a few inches higher—now well above the knees—but this time we went across barefoot. Groups stalked both sides of the creek seeking something else. We enjoyed the ford much more the second time; it was invigorating. We practically skipped the remaining mile to the trailhead, arriving at ~12:44.

Flowers, volcano, and clouds.

Okay, there was no skipping, but it was a beautiful morning in the mountains. This hike has a lot of bang for its buck, but like most popular trails, go early if you want it to yourself. I wouldn’t mind returning when the meadows are actually melted out…

Stats: ~7 miles round-trip and ~1500’+ gain (topping out somewhere around 4800’). 5.5 hours from trailhead to trailhead.  And a little sunburn.

Breaking tradition, no additional photos at Flickr.

Three Sisters from The Ranch.

There were wonderful views of a lot of volcanoes and near-perfect weather…

We were able to sneak away Saturday morning for a drive along McKenzie Highway. Even with the mountains visible in every direction, the highlights for me were the massive lava flows, dubbed the “Sea of Lava” by a roadside interpretive sign. Apparently—and I quote something I found via Google—“the McKenzie Pass area in the central Oregon Cascades contains one of the largest concentrations of youthful volcanism in the United States. Lava flows from Belknap [shield volcano] and the smaller Little Belknap shield volcano…cover nearly 100 sq km. Most of the largely unvegetated flows were erupted between about 2900 and 1500 years ago.” It is definitely an interesting landscape.

Mt. Washington beyond the lava and above the trees.

A view of Mt. Jefferson north of the lava fields.

At McKenzie Pass (~5325’) we were greeted by the strange sight of Dee Wright Observatory, a structure built entirely of the lava stone. We stopped and checked it out, staring over the impressive, expansive flows.

The interesting structure called Dee Wright Observatory.

Black Butte as viewed from McKenzie Highway.

After a short stop, we continued west from the pass, losing a bit of elevation until we reached the trailhead to Proxy Falls. Just before we left for our trip to Sisters, I’d seen a photo of Proxy Falls on Flickr, looked up its location, and was excited to find it was a short drive from Sisters. (All the other interestingness of McKenzie Highway was a pleasant surprise!)

A short ~3/4 mile trail takes you to Lower Proxy Falls, and you can loop back and stop at Upper Proxy Falls if you can tear yourself away from the prior. I couldn’t. Camera and tripod in hand, I left Nicole at the viewing area and scrambled down to the base of the falls. I haven’t learned an effective way to protect my camera and lens from spray, so after shooting a few frames I decided I’d try something different. I was glad I did, and after spending a bit too long doing so, I hurried back to a stern-faced Nicole, who’d been waiting for me for about an hour. Whoops…

Couldn't keep the spray off my lens at Proxy Falls.

So I moved to another location to take a detail shot.

And another.

And another...

Since it was now mid-afternoon and our friends had probably already returned from horseback riding, we made our way back over the pass to Sisters. Along the way we were passed by motorcycles in spots where one should not pass. Shortly after, we were waved around one of the motorcycles, which the driver had laid down in the middle of the road. Then they both passed us again later. Motorcycle drivers…

The following day we took our friends up to Three Creek Lake for a short hike our hosts had recommended. We fought off mosquitoes throughout our ~four mile hike from the main lake to Little Three Creek Lake (~6700′), but the lakes themselves were quite pretty, we saw small trout swimming in meadow streams, and the views of Tam McArthur Rim (which I’d initially hoped we could climb up onto) were impressive.

Tam McArthur Rim above Little Three Creek Lake.

Afterward, we headed back to Sisters for more food and merry-making, forgoing fireworks for stars in the very dark Oregon sky.

There is definitely a lot to do in the area, and I hope we can return many times in the years to come.

As always, a few more photos at Flickr.

Well, it’s twenty years later and I’ve spent the last eight of it living in exotic Washington, home to five volcanoes, including, obviously, the majority of Mount St. Helens.

I’d had last weekend circled on the calendar for several months, as I’d pinpointed the date of a full moon rising over Mt. Rainier. Since snow levels at the particular area in Mt. Rainier National Park that I’d planned on going to weren’t quite low enough for me, as the weekend approached I began to look elsewhere.

And then Saturday morning arrived and I found myself sitting on the couch watching soccer. Nicole is so used to leaving at 05:00 that she was certain we weren’t going anywhere if we were still sitting on the couch at 11:00. This was all part of my master plan, though. It wasn’t going to work out for us to backpack anywhere, or camp anywhere, but if we left later in the day than normal, we’d be hiking in the late afternoon and could hang out until sunset and, hopefully, moonrise as well. Leaving West Seattle as late as we did (~14:00) meant that we wouldn’t arrive until about ~17:00. That said, both Nicole and I were surprised when Google Maps told us it didn’t take 4-5 hours to get there. We just always assumed it was a long, long ways away.

Anyway! This would be our first time to Mount St. Helens, a mountain we’ve rarely even seen.

We took I-5 south to WA-504 (Spirit Lake Highway) and drove it to its end. We arrived to the large, completely full parking lot at Johnston Ridge Observatory, ~4000′.

In the blast zone at Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument.

The views of Mount St. Helens from the highway are outstanding, but once on Johnston Ridge the views are awe-inspiring. Seeing this live really reinforced the massive destructive power of the eruption.

There is an $8 entry fee per person, which you pay in the observatory. But a Northwest Forest Pass can count as one person’s entry fee. Since our NWFP had expired we bought one to cover one entry and a regular entry fee for another of us. Total cost: $38. The observatory closes at 18:00, and had we wanted to, we could’ve caught the last showing of the short film that plays in the observatory’s theatre. Since we’d seen multiple 30th anniversary of the eruption specials, we opted to go hit the trail.

The Boundary Trail makes a large loop throughout the National Monument, and it leaves the observatory in both directions. My plan was just to walk a few miles, turn around, and come back. Hopefully we’d find a nice spot to watch the sunset along the way.

The memorial for those that lost their lives in the eruption.

We walked east along the trail, gawking at the volcano the entire way. The weather was perfect. It’s a simple ridge walk for the ~2.5 miles we went, losing a few hundred feet of elevation as you walk away from the observatory, and gaining it on the way back.

Stumps and blown down trees south of the volcano.

At about two miles, the trail does narrow and traverse a steep slope, but it really isn’t an issue, especially with no snow. A point is reached shortly after, offering views east over the strikingly blue Spirit Lake to Mt. Adams. We found the small turquoise lakelets in the recovering landscape particularly beautiful.

Mt. Adams and Spirit Lake.

Mount St. Helens and lakelets from near our turn-around point.

A panorama that Nicole thankfully reminded me to take.

We turned around and worked our way back toward the observatory, where we found a bench we’d eyed along the way and sat to wait as the sun began to set. The volcano turned purple, and a cloud now hung in front of its exposed crater. Then the horizons glowed like rainbows.

Nicole awaits sunset from our impeccably placed bench.

And the mountain turns a purple I couldn't quite capture.

The Boundary Trail, Mount St. Helens, and the colorful southeastern horizon.

As the light faded, we worked our way back to the parking lot, now almost completely empty. It had, in fact, emptied out considerably in the time between our arrival and our actual departure down the trail. Solitude can be had even here.

I’d calculated that we had some time until the moon would rise over Mount St. Helens’ rim, so we drove west down the highway as the moon broke the horizon in the east unexpectedly. We pulled into a viewpoint and watched.

The moon just rises above Mount St. Helens' rim.

We shared a beautiful evening, arriving back in Seattle just as a new day began. It may not be the volcano you’d always imagined. It may not be Mt. Rainier. But it’s someplace special, and I highly recommend it.

Stats: ~5 miles, perhaps ~300′ of elevation gain, and a whole lot to look at.

As always, a few more photos at [the newly renovated] Flickr.

The Carbon River washed out the road of the same name some years back, and it stranded what used to be a drive-in campground some five miles down a now-but-perhaps-only-temporarily-decommissioned road. I thought we’d walk the five miles to the campground, set up our tents, and head off and explore the area, perhaps continuing on to Carbon Glacier, the lowest-elevation glacier in the Lower 48.

Nicole on the Carbon River Road.

Even though we didn’t get a super early start, the northwest corner of Mount Rainier National Park is such a quick drive that we’d gotten to the park, stopped in at the ranger station for our permit, and started off down the road by 11:15.

The old growth along the road is impressive. Even though you’re walking a wide road for most of the five miles, it’s very enjoyable. I appreciate the fact that you can no longer cover that distance in fifteen minutes. Though it must’ve been an enjoyable car ride as well—bikes are still allowed, only as far as the campground.  We need mountain bikes!

After only a mile or two, a ranger with an ATV stopped alongside us and offered to take our packs up to the campground, as he was headed up that way with a trailer. How could we refuse? Now it truly would be an easy walk to the campground, and we’d have more energy for exploring in the afternoon.

We wandered up the road to the campground, which was very quiet when we arrived around 13:00. There were only a few tents, and there’d remain only a few tents, even though we were there on a Saturday night. We’d seen a decent amount of people heading out, but at camp and during our explorations up to Carbon Glacier, we saw less than ten people. We collected our bags from their hiding place and set up camp. Restrooms and picnic tables made it quite a comfortable backpack.

Flowers along the trail to Carbon Glacier.

Since it was only early afternoon and we had a decent amount of energy, we decided to hike to the Carbon Glacier viewpoint, ~3.5 miles from the campground. Finally we left the road behind and stayed close to the meandering Carbon River to its source.

Mt. Rainier upriver.

I stopped plenty of times for photos, and it took us nearly 3 hours to make it to our turnaround point. Highlights of the hike up were the crossings of the Carbon River and the views of The Mountain up the valley. Of course, at the glacier, clouds moved in and obscured most of Rainier until we turned our backs on her and set off down the trail.

Colorful stones under the clear waters of the Carbon River.

Carbon-y Glacier goodness.

The clouds clear for The Mountain.

Near that point is the famous Carbon River suspension bridge, and we had to cross it once and cross it twice, just to say we did. It’s bouncy!

Nicole at the other end of the Carbon River suspension bridge.

By this time we were pretty exhausted, having walked ~9 miles already and being somewhat unpracticed. We concentrated on getting back to camp and tried our best not to run out of water, which we did anyway since I was the only one with a backpack for the hike from camp up to the glacier.

At the end of our 12-mile day we quickly ate, drank, and struggled getting our bag up on the bear poles before we retreated to the tent and dozed off early. I didn’t even see the stars!

Sunday morning we woke up, broke down camp, and headed out. This time there wasn’t a ranger to take our packs down the road for us. On our way out we took the small spur trail over the Carbon River to Chenuis Falls, which was beautiful and had a great swimming hole at the bottom.

Chenuis Falls.

Crossing the Carbon River, Rainier in the distance.

Sometime around 11:00 we were back at the Subaru.

We really loved this area. It’s a great place to get out quickly, and there’s a lot of beauty! The easy grade and comfortable camps make this a great place to get out with newbies, families, etc. We definitely plan on going back with more time, exploring other areas and/or relaxing.

Stats for the two days: ~18 miles, ~1500′+ gain, lots of log bridges.

As always, a few more photos on Flickr.

Zion sandstone in black and white.

Jim enthusiastically agreed and we quickly purchased airline tickets, booked a hotel room, and reserved a rental car. Prices and flight times conspired to send us into Salt Lake City (a 5-hour-from-Zion drive) instead of Las Vegas (a 3-hour-from-Zion drive). We’d leave Seattle Thursday night and return Monday evening…

Skip ahead to Friday if you don’t want to read about buses, taxis, flight delays, flight un-delays, and a curious if not entirely unforeseen lack of a signature beer.

We’d arranged to be picked up by a friend from the airport upon our return, but decided to take the bus from West Seattle to the airport on our way out of town. King County’s Trip Planner stubbornly refused to provide a time-tested itinerary, but we settled on a one-transfer option that had us walking only a few blocks and making it to the airport an hour-and-a-half before our departure.

The first bus showed up fifteen minutes late. There was little doubt we’d already missed our second bus, and the next of that route wasn’t scheduled for another 30 minutes. After cursing all things Metro for several minutes (and secretly holding onto the hope that our bus would show) I miraculously hailed a cab—in White Center! Cabbie sped to the airport, dropped us off, and collected a healthy tip for his efforts. Phew!

We checked in and…we were informed that our flight was delayed by an hour! We wasted $30!

After Qdoba, we walked by the flight information screens en route to The Place That Serves Mac & Jack’s. Delta Flight 123 to SLC: ON-TIME! What?! We jumped on the shuttle to our terminal and went to our gate, which was…quiet.

Agents: “Oh yeah, we haven’t been able to update the board. Flight’s still delayed.”

Us: “Grrrrr.”

Back on the shuttle to the main terminal for a pint.

Me, en route: “Our luck, they’ll be out of Mac & Jack’s.”

…

Waiter: “We’re out of Mac & Jack’s [African Amber].”

Us: Laughter…

Nicole called her parents while we drank back-up beers. Sometime through an ill-fated game of chess versus my iPhone, my ears perked up.

Voice of a Quiet God: “Delta Flight 123 to Salt Lake City…”

Me: “Check please!”

Back on the shuttle to our terminal. Our flight had been delayed until 20:10. As we jogged towards our gate at 19:30 we heard that lovable phrase: “Final call…”

Last ones on the plane. Had I not heard the announcement, we certainly would’ve missed our plane—through no fault of our own. There may or may not have been hell to pay, but it’s all theoretical at this point.

In Salt Lake City, we picked up our rental car (which morphed from a Ford Fusion to a Jeep Compass with no charge) and made our way to the hotel. During our initial assumed-delay, Nicole had called both the hotel and her dad and arranged the hotel to pick them up from the airport and allow them to check in before us. So we arrived to find the both of them still awake and talkative. Eventually we turned off the lights and I set my alarm for 04:00.

I don’t think any of us slept more than two hours.

Friday

Though the alarm on my wristwatch didn’t go off, Nicole’s dad was wandering around the room right about that time anyway, and we managed to hit the road without a major delay. This was of the utmost importance, because we had no campground reservations. We hoped an early arrival in Zion would secure us a first-come, first-served campsite at Zion’s South Campground (~120 such sites). I did have back-up plans…

Did you know that there are places in Utah where the speed limit is 80mph? Now you do.

Sometime after the sun rose, I had my cruise control set at 86mph. In the distance, lights flashed on the right side of the road. I changed lanes, maintained speed, and passed what looked like an overturned truck. There were a few police cars at the scene.

You know where this is going.

A few minutes later I look in my rear-view mirror and see flashing lights way in the distance. I pull to the side, assuming a cop car is leaving the accident scene in a hurry. Imagine my surprise when he pulls over behind me.

My 6mph over the speed limit, when combined with the accident scene, was aggravating enough to this particular policeman that he tracked me down. Though my initial attitude wasn’t quite cordial (e.g., “86mph” is not “flying by an accident at 90mph”), after about twenty minutes we pulled away with “just” the $90 speeding ticket, instead of one compounded by the accident scene.

With cruise control adjusted downward, we set out again south toward Zion. The way our trip was going, we had no chance at getting a campsite in the park.

Some hours later, but still just before 10:00, we pulled up to the entrance gate of Zion National Park whereupon the kindly NPS employee said of the campground: “Just ten minutes ago there were about six spots left—hurry!”

And hurry we did, at least for the several hundred feet hurrying was possible beyond the Zion gate. Once in the campground, we drove through its several loops with a dozen or more cars ahead of and behind us.

There were no spots. Tension allowed a small amount of bickering to bubble to the surface. We left Zion the way we entered, driving back through Springdale along Highway 9 toward Milepost 24, where I’d read there was free camping on BLM land.

We found a great spot right on the Virgin River, and though there were no facilities (i.e., restrooms or water), the campsites were much more private than those in the park. We’d be spending most of our time in the park anyway. Our spirits lifted.

We decided that our tents and some gear would be safe left unattended, so we set up camp and drove back into Springdale, where we parked on the street and took a shuttle bus into Zion.

The shuttle bus system at the park is excellent. There are two shuttles: one that runs through Springdale (where parking is encouraged) to the Zion National Park Visitor Center, and one that runs from the Visitor Center to the end of the canyon and back. We—and thousands of others—used them a lot. You’ll get used to the recorded audio tour, which drivers interrupt from time to time to point out climbers on walls, wildlife, etc. We had a few drivers who turned it off altogether and shared their own tips and information, which was a nice change.

The Emerald Pools

It should be initially noted that Zion is beautiful. Like, really beautiful. My photos will not do it justice…

After stopping at the Visitor Center to use the restrooms and fill up our water bladders and bottles, we took the shuttle to the Zion Lodge. I thought that the popular Emerald Pools trail, which leaves from the Lodge, would be a nice easy hike for our first day—especially after the long drive and little sleep.

We grabbed a quick bite at the Lodge’s snack bar, crossed the Virgin River, and headed for Middle Emerald Pool, which we reached in about a mile. Families were resting, children were splashing, and the wind blew water which should’ve fell away below us up into our faces. It was kind of pretty, and there were (and had been) views east across the canyon.

We continued up and took a spur trail to Upper Emerald Pool. The 1/2 mile trail to the Upper Pool was somewhat steeper, and much rockier. Still, quite easy. I found the Upper Pool much more interesting than the Middle Pool. A waterfall from a sheer wall high above falls into the pool. I didn’t get a satisfactory photo of the place. It must be seen.

We left back down the trail, figuring we’d loop down and hit the Lower Emerald Pool on our way back to the trailhead. Instead, when we reached an intersection with a trail that led to The Grotto (one shuttle stop north of the Zion Lodge stop), we took it. So we missed Lower Emerald Pool. That’s okay.

Looking down Zion Canyon.

Apparently the trail from the Emerald Pools to The Grotto is called the Kayenta Trail, and is about one mile long. I highly recommend taking this little trail before or after the Emerald Pools. It’s much quieter and has some great views down the canyon.

The whole trip up to the pools from the Lodge and down to The Grotto was ~3 leisurely miles, with a few hundred feet of elevation gain and loss.

Riverside Walk

We still had plenty of time and a little energy, so we took the shuttle from The Grotto to the last shuttle stop at the north end of the canyon: the Temple of Sinawava. The Riverside Walk is about one mile of paved path alongside the Virgin River, right up until the canyon narrows into the…aptly…named…Zion Narrows.

While we were planning, we’d hoped we could hike up into the Zion Narrows, but water levels looked like they were going to be too high as our trip approached, and The Narrows were indeed closed for that very reason throughout the entire trip.

Anyway! The Riverside Walk is ~2 even leisurely-er miles than the Emerald Pools Trial. There were some beautiful wildflowers growing off the wet sheer cliffs that rose from the river, and plenty of people.

Walking along the Virgin River.

By the time we made it back to Springdale it was late afternoon. We were hungry enough to call it dinnertime. After a somewhat disappointing dinner at Oscar’s and a stop at the grocery store, we headed back to the campsite for the night. We were all very tired, and so we abandoned any plans at doing anything at all in the evening. Instead, we slept.

Saturday

I again had us waking up early, this time so that I could be in line at the Visitor Center’s Backcountry Desk before it opened at 07:00. I hoped to get permits to The Subway for Sunday morning. I stood in line for about an hour before I made it to the window—and it was pretty cold that early. The others ate breakfast, prepared sandwiches, and filled our water.

Ranger at the window: “How can I help?”

Me: “I was hoping to get permits for The Subway for tomorrow…”

Ranger: “How many in your party?”

Me: “Four.”

Ranger: “I only have three available.”

Me: “Drats!”

More wasted time! At that, we jumped on the first shuttle we could that would take us to the trailhead for Angels Landing. We felt that with an early start we’d be able to avoid the large crowds on what could be the park’s most popular hike. This would be particularly important on the upper sections of the hike, where drop-offs to either side are 1200′+ and a chain is provided for extra security. Less people on the trail meant less letting go of that chain.

As an added bonus, an early start allows you to drive into Zion and park right at the Visitor Center, so you can avoid taking the Springdale shuttle.

Angels Landing

Angels Landing had been a topic of anxiety for all of us—and especially me—for weeks before the trip. Long drop-offs. Not for anyone fearful of heights or children. (Being fearful of both heights and children, I took this warning to heart.) Last section is a steep narrow ridge to the summit. Annual fatalities. I don’t know if fatalities are annual (I added that part) but they definitely happen. Since I’d had bouts of exposure-induced anxiety before, I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to make it to the top. Others felt similarly. But we all agreed to do our best.

We left from the Grotto trailhead and crossed over the Virgin River. The morning was cool, and though we’d been delayed by my unsuccessful attempt at Subway permits, we still had a head start on the thousands of people still in their sleeping bags, RVs, or hotel rooms.

Angels Landing in the morning.

The trail climbs gently, but with immediacy. Angels Landing looms above. I pointed it out to Nicole, Jim, and Miles. We’re going to the top of that?! Indeed we are. Several large switchbacks are cut into the side of a cliff that leads up to a hanging canyon dubbed Refrigerator Canyon. No doubt that in the heat of the day it’s a nice respite from the sun. It’s also a nice break from elevation gain, until the infamous Walter’s Wiggles are reached—twenty-odd switchbacks, each twenty-something feet long.

Climbing out of the canyon.

The wiggles end atop the ridge that extends to Angels Landing. This area is called Scout’s Lookout and has restrooms and a trail intersection to the West Rim. It’s a great place to look at what lies ahead. And what lies below.

The ridge of Angels Landing.

Off we went, set to conquer! After the initial oh-my-god-I’m-surrounded-by-death-on-all-sides-I-must-grab-this-chain-and-grab-it-tightly moment, we all handled it very well. Sure, I was concentrating mainly on my footsteps, hand-holds, and what was immediately ahead of me—instead of looking out, down, or up—but there was time for that at the top.

Scrambling up Angels Landing.

Conditions were perfect: great weather, sunshine, a manageable amount of foot-traffic. Before too long we were at the top, thighs thankful for their forecasted and deserved rest.

Toward The Narrows.

Dork in Zion.

We ate and lounged, and though we could’ve stayed up there all day, we started our descent knowing that if we stayed any longer, we’d have to put up with hundreds and hundreds of oncoming hikers in the narrowest of sections.

Celebratory family snapshot.

High-fives at the bottom! We finished the ~5.5 miles and ~1500′ of elevation gain, successfully “summited,” and it was barely noon.

Zion Cottonwoods.

We relaxed back at the Lodge, where we noted a lunch buffet we’d investigate further the following day, and then decided to jump in the car and drive through the Zion-Mount Carmel tunnel to the east side of the park.

Canyon Overlook Trail

Being somewhat tired from hiking Angels Landing, and wishing to escape the onslaught of Saturday afternoon tourists in the main canyon, the ~1 mile Canyon Overlook Trail seemed like a viable afternoon diversion.

After emerging through the tunnel, we passed by the trailhead and parked a few hundred yards up the road. Now that we were out of the canyon, the scenery changed quite dramatically. We walked along to the overlook and relaxed, some of us bathing in sunshine and some of us extending the brims of hats, rolling down our sleeves, and turning up our collars. I’ll let you guess who made up the entirety of the latter category.

On the Canyon Overlook trail.

Black and white landscape photograph.

Pine Creek Canyon from the overlook.

We went back to Springdale, looked at pottery and photography galleries, and watched a strange movie that included a Native American prankster god, lost gold, flash floods, scenery from other parks and other states, and rock climbing near-disasters. I drank an iced mocha and we fed elk and bought firewood.

Then we ate pizza, which was good.  It had something to do with Flying Monkeys, I believe.

Back at our campsite, I wrested with whether or not to return to the canyon in an attempt to photograph the sunset. I’d had grand plans before our arrival to head out and photograph sunsets, moonrises, and star trails. It was looking like I’d have the energy to do none of it. But Nicole and I drove into Zion and parked at the junction just as the best light faded. I pulled out the tripod that I’d been carrying around all trip and hadn’t yet used. So though the photos didn’t turn out well, I at least accomplished that much.

The Watchman and the Virgin River.

Again at the campsite, we roasted marshmallows and I retreated to the tent, followed closely by Nicole.  We fell asleep while Jim and Miles talked of Unidentified Flying Objects.

Sunday

The Court of the Patriarchs.

On Sunday morning we went into the main canyon once again, stopping at the Court of the Patriarchs viewpoint for a snapshot before we made our way to the Weeping Rock and Hidden Canyon trail.

Hidden Canyon

The Hidden Canyon trail was more beautiful than I’d expected, and quickly turned into our favorite of the trip, alongside Angel’s Landing. At ~2.5 miles and 800′ of gain, it’s a lot of bang for its buck. We took an early detour to the Weeping Rock for some more tripod use, and then continued.

Greenery and striations on the Weeping Rock

We were alone nearly the entire way up, even with multiple photo stops. It was a very quiet and enjoyable morning.

Hiking up to Hidden Canyon.

The view from the Hidden Canyon trail toward Observation Point.

Along the way, we came up with the idea of leaving Zion that afternoon, instead of early the next morning. We’d have no time to hike on Monday anyway, and we all felt pretty accomplished with what we’d done on the trip.  And so a leisurely drive back to Salt Lake City and morning in the city sounded pretty good. Not to mention a bed and a shower.

Menu Falls

Back down at the canyon, though, it was still plenty early. We took the shuttle to the only spot we hadn’t gotten off, the Big Bend stop. I thought perhaps we could walk along the river to a secret location a shuttle driver had announced to us all earlier. He promised it’d be very quiet.

A driver on Sunday said that they’d had 37,000 visitors to the park on Saturday. 37,000! (Records are made to be broken.)

Anyway, after it became apparent this secret location couldn’t be reached from Big Bend without a road walk, we went back and got on the shuttle to the Temple of Sinawava, where we caught the trail along the river for our final Zion stroll.

Relaxing down by the river.

At what I believe is Menu Falls, we were indeed all alone. It was calm, cool, and quiet. The others napped while I struggled to photograph the falls with the sunlight shining through above us.

The top-secret Menu Falls.

Waiting for the photographer...

We took advantage of Zion Lodge’s buffet and then drove back to the campsite, where we threw all our gear into the car haphazardly knowing we’d now have time to do a better job at whatever hotel we ended up in.

We stopped to spend the night in Provo four hours later without another problem. There, Jim made plans to meet with a buddy from Vietnam who he’d just remembered lived in Utah. He also had just remembered his name.  They hadn’t spoken in 40 years!

Sunday

Sunday in Salt Lake City we walked around the Temple Square, dropped off those bound for California, drank a few 4% beers, and waited for our flight home.

After a rough start, the trip could not have been more perfect. My only regret is that I needed to sleep! A return trip is definitely in the books. Probably when the water levels are lower and there are less people. Autumn 201_!

I must put a plug in before I sign off for Joe’s Guide to Zion National Park, which was an invaluable tool during my planning phase. Plus, he takes some excellent photos.

As always, I’ve got a few more photos at Flickr.