Somehow, I found myself with an extended weekend at the very end of August; Nicole didn’t.  Thus, the table was set for my Second Annual Solo Backpacking Trip, a trip set to coincide with my twenty-ninth birthday.  Certain conditions were to be met.  The hike couldn’t be too high on our must-do list, because Nicole wouldn’t be along to enjoy it.  I also wanted something that would challenge me.  And why not make something that’s a little further away than our normal weekend overnighter?

In the end, I decided on Ice Lakes, via the Entiat River.  100 Hikes… put the round-trip mileage at ~28 and recommended allowing 3-5 days.  Ice Lakes were on my list, and the criterion fit.  I’d be carrying a heavy backpack (~45lbs) but reasoned that the elevation gain would be spread over so much mileage that it’d be no problem.  More training for the Canadian Rockies!  My itinerary was flexible: I’d leave Thursday, make the lakes Friday, spend Saturday exploring or summiting Mt. Maude, and return Sunday. Or, if the forecasted thunderstorms came to fruition, I might return Saturday instead.  Whatevs.

I left straight from work on Thursday around 12:30, and pulled into the trailhead parking lot at the end of Entiat River Road at 16:00.  The drive was nice, taking me past Leavenworth for the first time through Wenatchee and north along the Columbia River through an interesting landscape.  Though there were signs warning of big horn sheep crossings, I saw none.

I booted up and hit the trail at 16:20, setting a comfortably quick pace in order to put as many easy miles behind me as possible on the first day.  The trail starts off wide and dry, mixed-use as it is (hikers, horses, motorcycles).  The trees turn from somewhat unhealthy-looking to fully fire-scarred and destroyed as one makes progress down the Entiat River trail.

Evidence of a burn.

At 17:55, I entered Glacier Peak Wilderness, ~4.2 miles from the trailhead.  The trail narrowed.  Deer met me head-on on the trail.  The sun lowered behind the ridge to the west.  Every snap, crackle, and pop in the forest had me looking over my shoulder; I attributed each one to another deer, fearing a bear or cougar as the sounds stalked me along the trail.  I realized only later that the heat of the day had gone from the naked, burned trees.  And now they contracted in the shade like an old house in night’s silence.

I pressed on, coming to the intersection with the Ice Creek trail at 19:30, and crossing over Entiat River via logjam minutes later.  The crossing was fairly simple, and there were unoccupied campsites on either side of the river.  After crossing, I set up camp, ate banana chips and a pepperoni stick for dinner to avoid cooking, and went to bed an hour or so later.  The sky was clear and a beautiful half-moon hung visible through the trees.

I woke up Friday at 06:00 and stepped out of the tent.  My birthday!  I busied myself with breakfast and breaking down camp, which took nearly two hours without Nicole’s help.

Once again, the trail works through burn, gaining slightly more elevation than it had earlier.  Views improve, either across Ice Creek to the Entiat Mountains (including unnamed 8000′+ peaks I’d mistaken for Mt. Maude) or uphill through avalanche chutes toward the Spectacle Buttes.

Through more burn...

...to the base of the Buttes.

I crossed Ice Creek, high-stepping straight through it the first time and using a well-placed and well-cairned log the second time, working my way up through healthier forest and patchy meadows toward the head of the valley.  In one large meadow, the real Mt. Maude revealed herself.  At 09:50, I reached the end of the Ice Creek trail at a campsite below cliffs and waterfalls.  From here, the trail to Ice Lakes is unmaintained, but obviously well-travelled and easy to follow.  After resting and eating, I took off at 10:20 to climb the final mile to Lower Ice Lake.

A waterfall at the beginnings of Ice Creek.

And a climb it was.  Gaining some ~1500′, in such a short distance, without a single switchback, with a 45lb backpack, was quite difficult.  I had to watch every step, avoiding loose rock that sat on dry slopes ready to slide away beneath me.  I stopped every several steps, sat down dozens of times, sometimes right on the path.  Marmot’s whistles and pika squeals kept me company.  A weasel ran right behind me, startling me up from a spot I might still be sitting today otherwise.  Larch trees appeared sporadically amongst the others.  I could guess at the distance remaining above me.  On my final approach, my quadriceps nearly burst into spasm.

Down the Ice Creek valley.

Flowers before steepness.

A pika's perch.

At 12:40, over two hours since I’d left the valley floor, I took a few more ascending steps and Lower Ice Lake lay before me.  I gave thanks and dropped down along the lake, setting up camp on a picturesque peninsula after only a moment’s hesitation but several minutes of rest.

Lower Ice Lake, at last.

I napped, filtered water, ate, put on my tent’s rainfly.  Another person arrived at the lake—the first I’d seen, though he’d be joined by others in his party later.  I set aside any ideas I’d had for further exploration: exhausted as I was, I could only walk around Lower Ice Lake in my flip-flops, taking photographs.

Larch, lake, campsite, and Mt. Maude.

Larch along Lower Ice Lake.

It ain't October yet.

North Spectacle Butte.

The Spectacle Buttes from above Lower Ice Lake.

A moment of calm on Lower Ice Lake.

Clouds rolled in, the wind picked up.  I ate a homemade cinnamon roll for my birthday dinner and retreated into the tent to drink Glenrothers whisky and read Anna Karenina, which I’d insisted on carrying with me.  I wrestled with my plans: stay tomorrow night as well, or head out if the weather doesn’t cooperate?

The wind continued to strengthen as night fell.  I’d set up my tent to view Mt. Maude out my window, which ended up being broadside to the wind.  Gusts were strong enough to collapse the tent into me; I stuck my arm out of my sleeping bag to brace one of the poles several times.

Eventually I was able to sleep, only to wake up with a full bladder around 22:30 to an eerie calm.  I walked out into the night and came back relieved.  Not a few minutes later, the wind began again, this time accompanied by rain.

I decided that if it wasn’t sunny and clear the next morning, I’d hike all the way back out to the car, stop at McDonald’s for my yearly McNugget allotment, and be home Saturday evening.  I fell asleep sometime later.

Saturday morning I woke up again at 06:00.  It was quite cold and cloudy.  I looked up at Mt. Maude, her summit hidden in clouds, and set myself to breaking down camp.  I’d be heading all the way out today after all.

Mt. Maude in clouds.

At 08:00 I was on my way down through The Rockfield of 10,000 Pika.  I nearly hyperextended my knee, but made better time going down than up.  Though each step had to be watched, I wasn’t exhausted as I was while gaining the elevation.

By 09:30 I was back on the Ice Creek trail, and I crossed the Entiat River at 11:15.  I had ~8 miles to go.  Just keep moving, I told myself.  My feet were starting to bother me.  My shoulders were beginning to ache.

I kept moving, feeling blisters blossoming in strange places on the bottom of my feet.  I stopped to address them—unsuccessfully, as it turns out.  If I stopped moving, the pain upon re-starting would intensify.  I began to limp.

The last ~five miles were pretty terrible.  When I made it within ~two miles of the trailhead, I rolled my left ankle.  I sang songs over and over in my mind to pass the time, looking at my watch regularly, figuring out just when I would arrive at the parking lot.

14:44.  My backpack was off, and my boots weren’t far behind.  I ate some Advil with a shot of whisky.  My water bladder was empty.  It was my longest day on trail.  But I was heading home…

The way to Ice Lakes.

This trip was a challenge.  And it was a success.  My only disappointment is that the weather kept me from staying another day, making it to Upper Ice Lake and perhaps the summit of Mt. Maude.  Then again, that most likely would’ve made for an even more difficult day on the way out.

I guess I’m saving Upper Ice Lake and Mt. Maude for a later date.  I’ll definitely look in to taking the shorter approach, though.  One trip up to Ice Lakes via Entiat River and Ice Creek is enough for me!

Stats: ~26 miles round-trip from the Entiat River trailhead to Lower Ice Lake and back, spread over 3 days, with ~3800′+ of gain (and loss).  Also, some big blisters.

Day 1: ~8.1 miles to the Entiat River crossing, ~3:10 hiking time, ~1200′ gain.

Day 2: ~4.7 miles to Lower Ice Lake, ~4:50 hiking time, ~2600′ gain.

Day 3: ~12.8 miles to the trailhead, ~6:40 hiking time, 3800′ loss.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

This Memorial Day Weekend marked our one-year backpacking anniversary. Last year, we spent two nights on the Olympic coast. This year, while we were tempted to try something similar, a quick filter of our newly created and creatively named “Hikes We Want To Do” spreadsheet sent the Thunder Creek trail in North Cascades National Park to the top of our list. Early season accessibility and the meager elevation gain and distance conducive to a first-of-the-season backpack will tend to do that. I penciled it in my calendar several weeks ago, and there it stayed.

Tricouni Peak as viewed from Junction Camp.

We left the house at 05:20, after oversleeping fifteen minutes and scrambling some eggs. Since we’d be spending the night–two, actually–within the National Park, we had to stop at the ranger station in Marblemount to pick up our permits. At 07:15 we pulled up to the ranger station and got in line behind the several parties that had arrived before us. (The ranger station opened at 07:00.) Their destinations were varied, but there was a common answer to one of the ranger’s questions: Subaru. The repetition became quite comical by the end of the line. We were the end of the line.

I’d read somewhere on NWHikers that Tricouni Camp was nice, and when the ranger said there were only two sites at that camp, I was sold. It also helped that the camp is ~7.7 miles in (according to Green Trails Map #48) and just before the most significant elevation gain of the entire trail. The ranger warned us of pesky deer, issued our permit, and we were back on the road.

At 08:10, we pulled into the trailhead at the south end of Colonial Creek Campground and hit the trail fifteen minutes later. Last year, we spent the night at the campground and went for an ill-fated day hike up to Fourth of July Pass. The first ~1.5 miles of that hike and this backpack are both along the Thunder Creek trail, so we had an idea what to expect, and I won’t elaborate on what I’ve basically written before.

Just across the bridge that takes you to the east side of Thunder Creek, we saw a cute little red-headed woodpecker, but much of the beginning of the hike was uneventful. At 09:14 we reached the Fourth of July trail intersection, at 09:43 we crossed a small bridge over a stream, and at 10:20 we stopped and sat on a small rock with views across the valley to Snowfield Peak. At 4.3 miles long, the section of the trail from Neve Camp to McAllister Camp doesn’t offer much variety, but does offer plenty of gentle ups-and-downs, small stream crossings, time for introspection, and small glimpses up-valley.

Sporadic views uptrail toward Tricouni and Primus Peaks.

At 11:45 we reached McAllister Horse Camp, ~6.4 miles from the trailhead. We stopped off to make use of the facilities, and sat down for another snack. Thunder Creek here makes a big bend, and much of the eastern bank has been washed away into a large bluff.

In between McAllister Horse Camp and the trail to McAllister Camp proper, there is a small stream crossing that offers no rocks to hop. There’s a large log to cross, but it’s far from level and does splinter off at one end, making it notable, at least. On the way back, Nicole elected to take off her boots and socks and get wet.

In just a few minutes more, the trail leaves the Ross Lake National Recreation Area and crosses into the North Cascades National Park. I always just refer to the entire area as the North Cascades National Park, but there is a difference, I suppose. Anyway, it was shortly after this marker that we came around a corner and I saw a bear ahead and off to the left of the trail. “Bear!” I said, instinctively. “What?” Nicole asked from behind me. “Bear; come here!” I just wanted her to see the bear before, I assumed, it would run off. This was our first bear-while-hiking sighting. OK, what do we do now? Let it know we’re here. “HEY BEAR!” I yelled. “GET OUT OF HERE!” The bear looked over at us, dropped off the log it was on, and went back to eating the undergrowth. Hm. What happened to the bear being afraid of us and running away immediately? We stepped back out of sight to wait a few minutes. I changed camera lenses. We walked back up the trail. The bear was still there. I snapped a few quick photos. The bear seemed pretty chill. “ALRIGHT BEAR, WE’RE JUST GOING TO WALK OVER HERE NOW.” We walked on eggshells, but talked big. The bear watched us, but only seemed partially interested in us. The bear was cute.

Bear! No, I will not set up my tripod. No, I will not approach.

Up the trail, I looked over my shoulder, and saw nothing. Just before 13:00, only a few minutes after meeting Mr. Bear, we crossed Fisher Creek and arrived at Tricouni Camp, elevation 2000’. We were still excited from seeing the bear, and we made ourselves busy by setting up camp, getting water, and napping in the warmth of the afternoon. The two sites at Tricouni Camp are set well away from one another, and the Camp itself is quite a ways off the main trail. There was a tent at the far site, but in the two nights there, we never saw anyone else in camp.

Lower Tricouni and waterfall as viewed from Tricouni Camp.

In fact, we didn’t see anyone that entire morning. It was only after we’d returned to Fisher Creek for water that we saw several people, crossing over the bridge above us. We soaked our feet in the freezing water for as long as we could stand it. Since we had no real plans for the afternoon, we were able to enjoy just resting. I took a few pictures of the vicinity–Tricouni Peak towers above, partially obscured by trees; we made dinner early; and were in the tent when dusk drew the mosquitoes out of their hiding places. It should be noted, though, that in general there were no really bothersome bugs. We drifted off to sleep before the stars came out…

Sunday morning we were awake early but stayed within our sleeping bags until ~06:45. The weather was so nice that we left of the rainfly, so when the temps dropped during the night, we did get a little chilly. So did the mosquitoes, though. After breakfast, I loaded up my pack with camera gear, etc., and Nicole took off with just her trekking poles. My plan was to hike up to Junction Camp, ~2.2 miles away and 1100’ higher, and perhaps further, just to see what kind of views we could get up the valley toward Boston Peak, its glacier, and the like.

We left camp at 08:20, and were immediately and unceremoniously introduced to switchbacks, which we hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the day before. We were quite happy that we hadn’t tried to backpack all the way up to Junction Camp, as this section would’ve been pretty tough on us at the end of the day. The switchbacks did give us the views that we’d been teased with from below. Tricouni Peak is right there. Looking back to the north, you can see Snowfield Peak from time to time.

The elevation gain eases up, and the rush of Fisher Creek is loud off to the left. It looks like there’s a pretty large waterfall down there–I could only make out part of it. The trail through here is beautiful–Nicole’s favorite part of the trip, aside from the bear, of course. The ground is entirely covered by bright green mosses, the trees were allowing in filtered sunlight from the sun rising in the East over Red Mountain, and Nicole was traveling fast and light.

Nicole, stoic as the trees, cool as a cucumber.

Moss in shadow.

By 09:45 we were at Junction Camp, where the views were nice but there were more bugs. The campsites up there weren’t nearly as private as those at Tricouni, and we had to walk between two to use the pit toilet. We continued on for perhaps another quarter of a mile, to where there were views of something up the valley through the branches and the trail dropped away sharply. I didn’t feel like losing 500-1000’ of elevation when I didn’t know if it’d be worth it, so we sat down just after the unmarked junction to the Meadow Cabins, ate some food, and headed back to Junction Camp to snap a few more photos, where we met a couple guys who were camped up there. They were the first people we’d spoken with.

Boston Glacier, maybe? What is that upvalley? Forbidden?

At 11:00, we headed back down to Tricouni, which we arrived at at 12:15. The weather remained perfect, and we took our time tending to things around the camp, as we did the day before.

Again we were in bed early, talking, listening to podcasts aloud because Nicole forgot her book, and enjoying the peace and quiet. We had so much time, but didn’t feel it necessary to do more, which was nice. Again, asleep early.

We broke camp at 06:15 Monday morning; I did so with a slight limp, as the descent the day before with pack and sans trekking poles did a number on my right knee. Such pain at the beginning of the season! At 9:50, we dragged our boots out onto the blacktop of the trailhead parking lot.

On the way home, we stopped off at the Marblemount Diner. We were too early for hamburgers; there was an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, which we over-indulged in while watching hummingbirds hover on the other side of the window.

All-in-all, a great trip. It surprised me with the amount of solitude–I assumed it’d be busy. It surprised me with views–I expected none. The trail was in perfect shape. And the weather could not be beat. It was a great way to start the summer.

Thunderous moss.

Stats: ~20.4 miles from Colonial Creek Campground to Tricouni Camp to Junction Camp and back, spread over 3 days, with at least 1900’ of elevation gain. This trip made me want a GPS.
Day 1: ~7.7 miles to Tricouni Camp, ~4:30 hiking time, ~800’ gain–plus: ups-and-downs.
Day 2: ~5.0 miles round-trip to past Junction Camp, ~4:00 hiking time, ~1100’ gain/loss.
Day 3: ~7.7 miles out, ~3:35 hiking time, ~800’ loss–plus: ups-and-downs.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

The final weekend in September beckoned.  The weather looked to be fantastic.  Unfortunately, Nicole and one of her toenails were at odds with one another, so if anything were to be done, it would have to be done solo.  Somehow I decided that a mere dayhike wouldn’t suffice; this meant I’d be going on my very first all-alone backpack: two nights in Glacier Peak Wilderness.  I actually didn’t give it much thought at the time (that is, before I set up camp the first night in near-darkness and questioned every sound I thought I heard).  It just seemed like the natural progression of things, something that I knew I’d do eventually.

As I may have mentioned in the past, Glacier Peak Wilderness (hereafter, GPW) has held near-mythical status in my novice hiker mind.  Maybe it’s because Spring & Manning called it the last wild volcano.  I suppose that has something to do with it: unlike Mt. Baker or Mt. Rainier, you ain’t parking your Subaru on the side of Glacier Peak.  You gotta hike to get anywhere near it, man.  So when, a week or two prior, I saw a post on NWHikers about Sloan Creek Road re-opening, it stuck with me.  Sloan Creek Road (aka Road #49) had been closed for some time (forever, as far as it concerns me, since I wasn’t going anywhere near it before this summer) and it’s one of the nearest access points to GPW.  So it seemed predetermined that this trip would utilize the opportunity.

Old-growth along the Sauk River.

I decided I’d hike the North Fork Sauk River Trail (#649) on Sunday and spend the evening at or near Mackinaw Shelter, then get up Monday morning and hike until I reached the Pacific Crest Trail (#2000) and take that to Red Pass.  If I could, I’d investigate White Chuck Glacier or climb Portal Peak, spending the second night in the area.  Tuesday morning I’d hike all the way back out and get home sometime in the afternoon.  Since I was leaving the where-and-when with Nicole, I figured it best to stick as close to the plan as possible, and act conservatively.

Sunday morning’s departure was slightly postponed due to an uncooperative Green Bay Packers game.  Instead of putting it away early (or imploding immediately) they stretched the game out for nearly the entire four quarters.  At 13:15, I finally pulled out of West Seattle.  The drive went by quickly and I reached the trailhead two hours and thirty minutes later, the final ~20 minutes of which were spent on the Sloan Creek Road, which is in pretty great shape–pretty much any car should be able to make it.

At 15:55, I was on the trail, which starts out at 2100’.  The trailhead signs noted sites washed out at Mackinaw Shelter, but some spots open.  The register seemed to reinforce my hypothesis of solitude–it didn’t seem like anyone was going to be around for two nights, aside from a summit pair.  15:55 is a pretty late start for our short autumn days, so I was a bit anxious to make good time and get camp set up for the night.  I should note that my pack was heavy!  I was carrying everything that Nicole and I normally shared, 4 liters of water (even though I was hiking next to a river!) and more than enough food, as I found out later.  The trail parallels the North Fork Sauk River, through plenty of old growth forest.  This part of the trail is all trees and mushrooms, folks.  Some of those trees are in the way: there’s at least 6-7-8 blowdowns on the way to Mackinaw Shelter–some quite sizable, but none incredibly difficult.

Typical blowdown along the North Fork Sauk Trail.

After only a few minutes on the trail, I met some nice women picking mushrooms, and I have a suspicion now that they’re fellow posters on NWHikers.  They said they envied my trip, but I envied their ability to identify non-poisonous mushrooms.  I kept onward, forgoing photography for the sake of timeliness, but I did give some of the many mushrooms names in my mind: trumpet mushroom, sesame seed mushroom, and red bliss mushroom.  At 16:40, I was startled by what sounded like a large explosion.  Maybe it was a gun (but it sounded more like a canon) or perhaps it was an avalanche or a single, giant tree falling.  Whatever it was, it freaked me out.

At ~18:00, I came across that friendliest of trail signs, the one for a toilet.  I thought at first that this was been Mackinaw Shelter, but I hadn’t gone far enough and there was no shelter in sight…plenty of decent campsites, though…  After consulting my map I decided to push on, as the campsites at Mackinaw Shelter were probably only another mile or so away.  At about this time, I realized I lost my sunglasses.  I’d had a hate/hate relationship with those sunglasses.  I’d been really good at dropping them, and it finally happened for the last time.  Just after the campsites, the trail comes to a sizable creek.  This, and my Green Trails Map #112, gave a name to the campsites: Red Creek.  There was no immediately obvious place to ford for those unwilling to take off their boots, like me–there was a good amount of water, and the rocks were spaced and slippery.  I walked along the edge and took a picture or two of the water spilling over a log.  My lens cap fell from my fingers and began to roll toward the water.  I took a stab at it with my trekking pole, but missed.  Now I’d hike the entire time with my camera around my neck, sans lens cap.  Great.  And the pictures were blurry anyway, unsurprisingly.  With that, I set off from rock to rock, just downstream from the trail.  It took a bit of balance, and I decided that on the way back, I’d check upstream as well.

Shortly after Red Creek, the trail works its way down near the North Fork Sauk again, and there’s a small amount of storm damage.  The trail is easy enough to stay with, though.  At ~19:05, as it was just starting to get dark, I came upon Mackinaw Shelter, ~5.4 miles from the trailhead.  It’s an eerie little building in a spooky grove of trees.  At least, that was my immediate impression.  I walked around the area and looked for a campsite.  Apparently there had been some really nice campsites here, but I didn’t see ‘em.  I picked the flattest, noisiest spot I saw and quickly set up the tent with headlamp on.  Being alone was really starting to work on me.  I was hearing noises.  There was no way I was cooking at this point, so I settled for a quickly-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich, clapping my hands intermittently and a shouting a few times for good measure.  By 19:40, I was in the tent taking deep, calming breaths.  I hadn’t worked hard enough to exhaust myself to sleep, however, and I ended up turning and tossing all night.  I wondered if solo backpacking was really for me.

I looked at my watch for the first time at 05:00 the next morning–I’d stubbornly refused to look at it any sooner, for fear that it’d tell me I had to stay hiding in my tent for another 4-5-6 hours.  At 06:10 the stars had faded from the sky above me, but I wasn’t up for good until 06:50.  I was in no hurry today, so I made myself mashed potatoes for breakfast and treated myself to hot chocolate.  At 08:45, I broke camp.

Site near Mackinaw Shelter in the morning.

Before and after Mackinaw Shelter, there are some pretty brushy sections, and if you’re going through them in the morning like I was, you’ll get some damp pants.  Once leaving the shelter, the trail turns away from the river and finally begins to gain some serious elevation through the trees for the next ~hour.  The trees start to thin out, providing views across the Sauk and it isn’t long before Sloan Peak is visible in the West.  At 10:00, you break out of the trees into a large avalanche swath.  With that, there’s a bunch of blowdown over the trail, which actually switchbacks through it, so you have to cross two sections of it, not just one.  While it is a bit tedious, it still only took me ~10 minutes to make it past, and you’re able to look uphill at vast meadows that, at this point, are pleasingly near.

Sloan Peak visible in the West.

The avalanche debris, and soon-to-be-visited meadows above it.

After crossing the avalanche debris, the trail continues up through sparser trees, with several blowdowns and increasing views.   It isn’t long before the grade lessens and the trail is out in the big open spaces that are typical of the rest of the trail.  Across the valley, the Monte Cristo peaks rise into sight.  The fall colors were beautiful, and the trail was pleasant.  I stopped at 11:00 to snack and enjoy the views for ~20 minutes or so.  It was around this time that the breeze really picked up.  It was quite gusty from here on up, until the sun started to go down.  Otherwise, the weather was perfect.

Once higher, the Monte Cristo complex comes into view.

Big autumnal colors in the meadows up high.

After my brief break, I reached the junction with the PCT at 11:35, 6000’.  To the right: White Pass and Indian Head Peak.  To the left: an out-of-sight Red Pass.  The White Pass area looked quite inviting, but since I’d gained ~3000’ in the ~3 miles since Mackinaw Shelter, at that moment I didn’t feel like walking a another mile or two to check it out.  I continued northwest on the PCT, picked a blueberry or two, met some wind-resistant marmots, and took pictures en route to Red Pass.

The Pacific Crest Trail.

Sloan Peak.

Looking back toward White Pass, with Indian Head Peak behind.

At 12:30, I reached the pass.  Just below it, there looked to be a pretty pleasant campsite, with some trees for some shelter from the wind.  I wandered around Red Pass and tried to figure out what to do.  I climbed up the small point opposite Portal Peak, which is 6636’ and has an easy trail to the top.  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to continue down over the pass and try to find a space to camp near White Chuck Cinder Cone or over toward the White Chuck Glacier.  It was plenty early in the day, but I was pretty exhausted from carrying the load and the elevation gain.  I also knew that whatever distance I covered today, I’d have to cover again on the way out tomorrow, when I’d have to go from camp to car.  Just returning from Red Pass would be ~10 miles, and I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to add on to that.

White Pass to Red Pass panorama.

Panorama north from Red Pass.

Closest I've been to Glacier Peak.

Glacier Peak and White Chuck from Red Pass.

So I dropped down on the south side of Red Pass to investigate the campsite.  There was one small snow patch, but water was scarce–actually, it had been nearly dry since leaving Mackinaw Shelter, so I’d carried up water.  The site sat quite a bit above what looked to be an upper branch of the Red Creek basin, and several side paths looked like they’d descend, but faded away not far from the campsite.  I finally decided that I’d set up camp, and possibly explore something later that afternoon.  By 13:20, the tent was up, staked in all over the place, and all of my gear (sans food) was in place to hold the tent down.  The wind was blowing.  I took off my boots and took a rest.  The boots would end up being off for the rest of the day.

I spent the afternoon snapping photos, wandering up to Red Pass to look at Portal Peak and Glacier Peak in my flip-flops, filling up pots with snow, and staring at my maps.  I didn’t bring a book because the book I started weights about four pounds.  I was a bit bored.

Wandering around the campsite.

The campsite, in its element.

Colors on the southwest slope of Portal Peak.

So they call this Red Pass, huh?

I made dinner early (~18:00) using a bit of the melted snow water for cooking, but it didn’t look good enough to drink.  I sat around waiting for the sun to set, which it did, right behind Sloan Peak.  Since I was carrying enough weight already (how much, I’d like to know), I left the tripod at home.  But it was beautiful to be up there all alone.

Sunset (1).

Sunset (2).

Sunset (3).

After seeing three people the first day, at the beginning of the trail, I’d seen three people the second day–two on their way down through the avalanche swath, and one person on the PCT above me as I was lying in my tent.  I went to bed much more comfortably then I did the night before.  It may only be in my mind, but camping in open, alpine spaces seems safer (re: bears) than camping amongst trees next to a river.  The stars came out and the Milky Way appeared above me as I drifted off to sleep.

Tuesday morning I was up at 06:15 and broke camp ~07:00.  On my way up the path to Red Pass, I spooked a Ptarmigan.  I’d had my head down, so I only saw it fly away, but it was still the first Ptarmigan I’ve seen.  At Red Pass, I watched the sun rise over the White Chuck, and then started back along the PCT the way I came.  By 07:40 I was back on the North Fork Sauk Trail; at 08:05 I left the meadows and the views of Monte Cristo behind; at 08:40 I passed through the avalanche swath, staying on the downhill side and stopping to finish the sandwich I’d started in the morning; at 09:25 I was back at the Mackinaw Shelter; at 10:05, I forded Red Creek via a small log upstream; at 11:20, I reached the Pilot Ridge junction, and shortly thereafter I spent ~10 minutes talking to a backpacker heading up for a White Pass/Pilot Ridge loop; at 12:20, about 5.5 hours after leaving Red Pass, I was back in the parking lot.

I made pretty good time, but I definitely had an eye out for the final hour or so for my lost sunglasses.  My memory card was filling up, but since I wasn’t stopping for pictures of mushrooms on the way in, I stopped for a few on the way out:

There were many mushrooms more exciting than these.

Like this one, for example.

This trip was a great experience for me, since it was my first time out solo.  Sure, I had a bit of the fear in me the first night, but that’s something that will just take some getting used to.  I was a bit bummed that I didn’t get closer to Glacier Peak, or scramble up Portal Peak, but I wanted to make sure I would make it back alive for Nicole.  I think I will be able to handle future solo trips, but when we can, we should keep it the two of us.  And Glacier Peak Wilderness is an area we need to get into deeper.

Leaving, for now.

Stats: ~20+ miles round-trip from Sloan Creek Campground to Red Pass and back, spread over 3 days, with ~4500’ of elevation gain (and loss).
Day 1: 5.4 miles to Mackinaw Shelter, ~3:00 hiking time, ~900’ gain.
Day 2: 4.5 miles to Red Pass, plus, ~4:00 hiking time, ~3600’ gain.
Day 3: 9.9 miles out, ~5:00 hiking time, ~4400’ loss.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

After a good week or so of searching guidebooks and websites for a high-altitude trail that maybe–just maybe–wasn’t completely covered in snow, I finally came across a few different references¹ of the Mt Aix trail. Most were at least a year old, and therefore the conditions they described weren’t really applicable to this Spring’s stubborn snows and late melt; but there was a trip report from the end of May at NWHikers.net that was quite detailed. I decided that a month’s worth of southwestern exposure–including the three or four 80-90° days leading up to the day(s) of our hike–would’ve had a significant impact on the snow level, and that if we were lucky, we’d be able to make it prett’ near to the top. With the weather clear and hot, we’d also be able to fully appreciate the views that everyone assured would be there if it weren’t for those darn clouds. So: good weather, good views, and a hike with a difficulty rating I’d have to hide from Nicole. I stopped at REI and bought myself the Bumping Lake #271 Green Trails Map.

Since this weekend was our first wedding anniversary, we decided to elongate the trip by car-camping somewhere near Bumping Lake on Saturday night.

I have to take time out here to mention that this was our first time driving along WA-410, and it definitely will not be the last. It’s a great drive with amazing views. At one point, just after entering Mount Rainier National Park, I believe, there’s a great reveal of The Mountain, which led Nicole to exclaim: “Mother of God!” I don’t think she was very far off.

Mt Rainier from WA-410.

Once off of Highway 410, there seemed to be dozens of side-of-the-road sites along Bumping River, but since it was a beautiful Saturday, almost all were occupied, and we didn’t even bother turning into the Forest Service pay-sites. Just before Bumping Lake there’s a no-fee Forest Service campground called Bumping River Crossing, and that’s where we pulled in for the evening. It had an outhouse and we brought two bottles of Cristalino that we weren’t going to carry up Mt Aix the next day, so it was more than adequate. The campground was populated, but still nearly half-empty, and we settled into a quiet site away from the river and collected twigs and branches for a small but necessary campfire–for the S’mores, of course.

The next morning we leisurely prepared our food and set off for the trailhead. There had been signs posted perpendicular to Bumping Lake Road that stated that roads 1800 & 1808 were closed at the junction, but we found them both open and the few miles up to the trailhead were snow-free and easily handled by the Explorer, and had we driven the Focus, I’m certain that we wouldn’t have had a problem either; our alley in West Seattle has worse potholes.

I forgot my watch at home in a drawer so we had to check our iPhones periodically to get the time. (After we got home and I imported my photos, I realized that the time signatures of my Nikon D40 would give me enough info to make reasonable estimates on travel times, etc.)

I snapped a photo of the trail marker at 09:04, and we were off.

For the first 30 minutes or so, the trail was pretty much a small gravel road, with a very gentle incline. In fact, I did notice some tire tracks, even though this trail is within the William O. Douglas Wilderness. They couldn’t have gone too far, though, because shortly after you enter the Wilderness, the trail narrows and enters the woods. Almost immediately there’s a creek crossing, and at 10 feet wide and only inches deep, even at this time of year, I’d recommend letting your boots get slightly wet instead of trying to maintain your balance with a 20-40 pound backpack across the downed log bridge. Nicole didn’t quite make it across, and on the return trip we both decided it’d be best if we tiptoed through it.

Then the trail begins in earnest, and there’s a few blow-downs to step over. From here on, it’s all switchbacks, some longer than others, and some steeper than others. At the southern end of some of these switchbacks, you’ll come within earshot of rushing water, and there are a few side trails that promise a glimpse of a waterfall, but don’t really deliver unless you feel like going a bit off trail. I could make out a bit of it through the trees, and it was running pretty strong, but I’m sure later in the season it’ll be considerably weaker–and quieter.

More switchbacks–many of which have noticeably been cut again and again by boots–please, stay on the trail! An hour or two in, we were passed by a group of three day hikers headed up to the summit. In maybe another 30 minutes, at 11:27, we ran into the first snow, a small amount alongside a stream that seemed like a great candidate to refill our water supply. We were making slow progress with our full packs, but those packs also meant we weren’t in any particular hurry. We’d been stopping pretty often for breathers and water, and though the trees weren’t completely thinned out yet, it was starting to get pretty warm.

Nicole at the first snow.

For the next 30-45 minutes, parts of the trail were covered with up to a few feet of snow, but in every case but one the trail was visible on the other side of the snow, and easily picked up. In one case, the snow covered the southern end of a switchback, so you started up snow in one direction, and then came back in the other. All were pretty easy, and there was less of this snow on the way back down the next day. It should all be gone in no time.

Jeremy, feeling the heat.

By noon the tree-cover was considerably less and we were well past starting to feel the heat and the weight of our packs. We hiked for another hour or so and came to a very nice campsite with great views of Mt Rainier and a water source. Corroborative reports indicate that this site is probably about 3.5 miles in and over 6000’ up. The boots were off, the tent was up, and Nicole was “resting” by 14:00. That’s ~5 hours since we’d left the trailhead, but we’d stopped for lunch, filtered water, and generally took as much time as we needed to get there. While I was snapping some photos, another day hiker passed us going up, and going up quickly. This hike is hard, but I’m sure it’s a lot less hard if you’re not carrying a full backpack.

Nicole, managing to rest in our oven–or tent.

You can ask Nicole more about that, because sometime between 15:00 and 16:00 we set off toward the top, me with a slightly less heavy pack and her entirely without one.

For most of this time, I’d incorrectly assumed that the highest peak I could see was our destination, Mt Aix. Yes, I had a map. (Later, I assumed that that same highest peak I could see was Bismark Peak; wrong again, it was only an unnamed high point that hid Bismark Peak from view.) Speaking of views, the views of Mt Rainier only got better, and Mt St. Helens and Mt Adams were easily recognizable in the distance, too. While looking at a snowfield on Fake Bismark Peak, I could make out the small speck of a mountain goat, and I got out the 200mm zoom lens for magnification and validation. This was pretty exciting because it’s the first mountain goat we’ve seen, even if it was quite far away.

Our very first Mountain Goat. Awww!

All this time we were making our way up towards Nelson Ridge, and there was much more snow here than at lower elevations. Luckily we had footsteps (though they’d faded from the heat of the sun) to follow, and the going was a little easier with our reduced weight. Still, we kept coming to more snow and at around 17:00 we crossed the most difficult stretch, a small but tall and sharply sloped bank that required kicking in some snow-stairs and more than a bit of balance. At this point, I said, “If there’s another one like that, we can turn around.” That was the last snow we came across until we we had the summit in sight, which actually wasn’t much longer.

Nicole eating snow. The snow would have its revenge.

Within 15 minutes of that last troublesome (for us) snow, we reached the intersection of the Nelson Ridge and Mt Aix trails. At 17:15, and 7200’ elevation, according to the map, it was a great place to stop and snap a few pictures, and maybe even set up a tent. The view to the north was Nelson Ridge, Eastern Washington descended in its logical direction, and to the south I could finally make out the true Bismark Peak and Mt Adams in the distance. West, of course, remained Rainier.

Jeremy at the ridge, with Mt. Rainier behind him.

For most average hikers, I’d say this is as good as it gets. Or as good as one really needs it to get. I’ll elaborate on this momentarily. After 15 minutes of taking it in, we set off along the Mt Aix trail–with Mt Aix still hidden by the high point to your left as you make your way south.

Mt Aix remains hidden behind this point for a few minutes more.

It’s at about this point that the trail becomes very narrow and rocky to the point of questionable footing, and since I still had a pretty large pack on, I wasn’t entirely confident that I wouldn’t slip, trip, or stumble off to the right, which is completely exposed and offers none of the false security of at least a tree to stop your fall. A long-dormant fear of heights took me by surprise, and I dropped to my knees for a few moments to pull myself together. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this hike, it’s where my limitations currently are! This portion of the trail is pretty short, and after a few minutes of watching myself place one foot in front of the other, we rounded the high point that obscured Mt Aix, which was now directly to the east.

The summit in view, and snow before us.

Here there was a nice patch of of snow, which thankfully didn’t slope too steeply to the edge of the Hindoo Creek basin. Still, the distance to the summit looked quite considerable, and the path visible directly on the opposite side of the snow didn’t look especially comforting, especially after my minor panic attack. To make our decision easier, Mt Adams was now covered by dark clouds, and we agreed that even though we gave up on the summit, we were satisfied with how far we’d come. Maybe we’ll come back some time with a bit more experience and make it to the top. This was actually our first attempt at any summit!

The retreat toward Nelson Ridge.

At 17:45 we started back down, with clouds slowly but steadily working their way north. While looking back at Fake Bismark Peak, I noticed a group of at least six mountain goats along its North-South ridge. I figured pulling out my camera wouldn’t result in anything near a super shot, so we just enjoyed the reward for a moment and continued down to camp, listening to the thunder get closer and closer. The snowbank that I mentioned earlier sent both Nicole and I down to its base on our backsides, one after another, which was definitely not our intention, and we were lucky to stop ourselves with our feet before we went into the trees. It was fun, once we knew we weren’t going to break any limbs.

By 19:30 we’d put on the rainfly and I took some decent pictures of the storm clouds rolling in over Rainier with the sun low in the sky. Then I had to retreat into the tent as the winds increased and the lightning approached. Thunder in the mountains seems to go on forever. For all the noise, the clouds didn’t drop a very large amount of rain–though it certainly did rain.

The storm around Rainier, as viewed from our camp.

Monday morning I was up at 05:15, intent on getting some use out of the tripod I’d carried in. I sat on a nice rock steps from our tent and took photos of Mt Rainier for about an hour. Then I saw a deer on the open slope to the north, but didn’t get any good pictures because I’d had the camera set up with a low ISO and, therefore, longer shutter speeds. By the time I realized what I was doing, the deer disappeared into the trees. Still, another good reason to get out of bed bright and early.

Mt Rainier, up close in A.M.

At 07:30 we were on our way downhill, and by 10:00 we had our boots off and the keys in the ignition.

Check out the full Flickr set here.

¹Mt Aix around the web, with stats and directions:

@SummitPost.
@Peakbagger.
@WTA.
@Attrition.
@NW Hikers.