2008 was a watershed year for us–with some thirteen hikes, including our first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth backpacking trips ever.  Before I start looking ahead to the 2009 hiking season, I thought I’d take a look back at what we accomplished in our first semi-serious season.  Before I started this blog in June, we’d already gone on a couple trips that I really wish I would’ve written up, but I have included them in the list below…

1. Rialto Beach and Beyond, 05/29/08-05/31/08, 2-night backpack, ~12 miles, ~200′ elevation gain.  Our first backpacking trip, and, out of every one of the year, arguably the most difficult and the hike requiring the most preparation.  At turns sand, tide pools, and slippery boulders, what each step lacked in elevation gain it more than made up for in treacherousness.  Since several areas were impassable at high tide, much care was given to being at a certain location by a specific time.  My favorite moment was climbing the rope up and over Never-Round Point and seeing the secluded crescent beach on the other side.  Other highlights were seals, sea otters, and eagles.  We saw no-one for almost two days.  This trip also marked the beginnings of my new camera, and so I barely knew how to use it.  Photos at Flickr.

2. Ingalls Creek, 06/15/08-06/16/08, 1-night backpack, ~8 miles, ~1500′ elevation gain.  Out again for a quick overnighter.  What with all the stubborn snow, we were looking for lower elevation, east of the crest hikes, this one worked out, but with Ingalls Creek rushing, we only went so far.  The flowers were beautiful, and I liked looking at my map and knowing that The Enchantments were above us.  At Flickr.

3. Mt. Aix, 06/29/08-06-30/08, 1-night backpack, ~10 miles, ~4000′+ elevation gain, ~7000′+ max.  A great experience: hard uphill climb, beautifully perched campsite, crossing snow, outstanding views, retreating in fear, a thunderstorm, and sunrise and Mt. Rainier.  I want to go back and reach the summit.  Definitely with a day-pack instead of a full backpack, though.  At Flickr.

4. Fourth of July Pass, 07/13/08-07/14/08, day hike w/ car camping, ~9 miles, ~2200′ elevation gain.  I broke my lens.  The hike was okay.  The North Cascades Highway was amazing.  At Flickr.

5. Nason Ridge, 07/20/08, day hike, ~10 miles, ~2300′ elevation gain, ~6200′ max.  The mountain goat encounter, lunch inside the lookout, views of Glacier Peak.  Flickr.

6. Lake Ingalls, 08/03/08, day hike, ~11 miles, ~2300′ elevation gain, ~6400′ max.  The beautiful basin, Mt. Stuart, the lake, the goats aplenty, our first marmots, the perfect weather.  A place to revisit.  Flickr.

7. Mt. Si, 08/19/08, solo day hike, ~8 miles, ~3100′ elevation gain, ~3600′ max.  I was happy to get out on this hike after some time in Wisconsin.  I was also happy to find the trail spectacularly unbusy.  I got it out of the way.  And smartly decided I didn’t have the experience to summit.  Flickr.

8. West Fork Foss River Lakes, 08/23/08-08/24/08, 1-night backpack, ~10 miles, ~2600′ elevation gain, ~4200′ max.  Roughest trail of the year, most exhilarating river crossing, a nice waterfall and pikas.  Flickr.

9. Summerland & Panhandle Gap, 08/31/08, day hike, ~11 miles, ~3000′ elevation gain, ~6800′ max.  Clouds, snow, and marmots.  An otherworldly landscape.  My own set of trekking poles and daypacks.  Flickr.

10. Spider Meadow & Spider Gap, 09/07/08-09/08/08, 1-night backpack, ~15 miles, ~3600′ elevation gain, ~7100′ max.  The huge meadow, a coyote sighting, the hard climb up to Larch Knob, our great campsite, my silly solo climb up to the gap, the views, glissades, and stars.  Flickr.

11. Skyline Divide & Artist Point, 09/14/08-09/15/08, dayhike w/ car camping, ~6 miles, ~2000′ elevation gain, ~6200′ max.  The moon owned this hike.  Taking pictures forever.  Our first experience hiking in the dark.  Worthwhile drive up to Artist Point.  Return inevitable.  Flickr.

12. North Fork Sauk River & PCT to Red Pass, 09/28/08-09/30/08, solo 2-night backpack, ~20 miles, ~4500′ elevation gain, ~6600′ max.  First solo backpacking trip.  First visit to Glacier Peak Wilderness.  The first-night fear, the beautiful fall colors, mountains, mushrooms, solitude.  Amazing.  Flickr.

13. Lake Quinault, 10/17/08-10/19/08, area nature trails and lodge time, ~3 miles, ~500′+ elevation gain.  Hiking  gave way to sitting in front of the fireplace.  Relaxation, big trees, first elk sightings.  Flickr.

14. Snow Lake, 10/27/08, day hike, ~8 miles, ~1300′+ elevation gain, ~4400′ max.  Last hike of the year. Snow and ice on the descent to the lake.  In and out before the crowds.  Forgot the camera.  Flickr.

It was a good year, and the first of many.  Though our schedules shift, and our bodies age, I can’t imagine giving this up.  You’ve got me, Pacific Northwest.  The coming year may not have the quantity, but it’s gotta have the quality.  And you’ll find it here.  (Send happy thoughts re: Enchantments Permits and Canadian Rockies trips.)

2008 stats: ~140 miles of hiking, ~33000‘ of elevation gain, and ~2000 photos I didn’t delete…yet.

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.

On this weekend, we decided to take it easy on ourselves–and I apologize if that attitude trespasses into the following trip report as well.  The plan was to head up to Mt. Baker on Sunday morning after listening to a bit of the Packers game, set up the tent somewhere, and then head out for an easy afternoon hike.  If we were feeling up to it, we’d do a little something on Monday morning, too.

We had a couple of bundles of firewood in the back of the Explorer and marshmallows and graham crackers in the cupboard.  We got ourselves some gasoline and two chocolate bars and headed north on I-5.  The only campground still open on SR-542 (Mt. Baker Highway) is Douglas Fir Campground, which is close to the trailhead we’d decided upon for our Sunday afternoon hike, Skyline Divide.

Mt. Baker from a knoll on the Skyline Divide trail.

After checking in with the campground hosts (who said they’d had to turn away over 100 people on Saturday), setting up camp, and wasting a bit of time, we left for the trailhead.  I suppose I should say that–since I’d mentally deemed this hike too easy–I decided to complicate things by hitting the trail late in the afternoon so that we could catch the sunset, take some photographs, and then hike back down afterward, using our headlamps.  This would be our first time hiking in the dark.

So, sometime after 16:00 (you can see already I’ve let my specificity slide), we left for the trailhead, which is quite easy to get to.  Or, at least, easy to find.  If you’re heading east, it’s a right turn off of Mt. Baker Highway onto Glacier Creek Road, just past the town of Glacier, and an immediate (and signed) left onto Road #37.  Prepare yourself for 12 long miles.  For a while the road is wide and level, following the river to the left, but then it narrows and begins climbing switchbacks all the way to the end of the road.  If, like us, you’re heading up to the trailhead while everyone else is coming down from the trailhead, you’ll be treading near the edge of the road many times, which has the added effect of increasing the drive time.

From the cars on the road, and the cars at the trailhead, we could tell it was a popular trail.  We parked the Explorer at 4300’ and headed up the trailhead at ~17:00.  Fortunately, we’d met more traffic on the road than we would on the trail, and most of the foot traffic passed us in the opposite direction within the first mile of the trail.  Speaking of the trail: when I’d assessed this as an “easy” hike, I glanced at the elevation gain (~2000’) and the mileage (~6) and made note of them.  I did so, though, independently; I failed to note that the trail gains ~1500’ in the first 2 miles, making it a pretty good workout.  Nicole had been led to believe that this weekend would consist of walks-in-the-park, so we took our time on that first two miles, which are entirely and moderately uphill, and in the trees.  At 18:00, we walked out of the trees and into the large ridge-top meadows of Skyline Divide, 5800’.  Views of Mt. Baker and Mt. Shuksan are immediate, but the sun wasn’t yet setting and Spring & Manning said the best views were yet to come, so we continued on.  But the camera was out, and was out to stay.

The Skyline Divide with the knoll and Mt. Baker in the distance.

Looking back at the trail along the divide.

I was looking to set up shop on top of a knoll, which I assumed was directly in front of us, the first bit of prominence along the trail toward Mt. Baker.  Once we reached it, we noticed a small side path climbing to its top.  Here we had to use our hands a bit, and, once we reached the top, we noticed that the main trail was just steps away from where we’d worked ourselves up to, and yet another knoll stood in the distance.  If you’re heading up this way, please avoid making our mistake.  Hopefully that small path will grow in, as it really serves no purpose.  Onward again we went to the next knoll, which was a pretty steep climb.  Views here were excellent, although there was nowhere to set a tripod for unobstructed views of Mt. Baker.  We decided to drop back down to near the first knoll, since views were excellent there and it’d be less territory to cover in the darkness.

Mt. Shuksan and shadows.

Panorama East: Shuksan and Baker.

On the way back, I glanced over my shoulder toward Shuksan, and was stunned by the moon rising right over the top of it.  Now, I knew that it would be a full moon that evening, but I wasn’t sure when it would rise or where it would rise, so I was surprised beyond pleasantries.  Superlatives started and continued for nearly an hour.  Mostly it was just me saying, “Wow!”

Full Moon above Mt. Shuksan.

Let's see that again–this time, vertically.

Include that in a panorama, please.

Take advantage of that remote shutter release!

Not to be outdone, the sun was setting in the West, and it had me spinning like a top.  Mt. Baker, as beautiful as it was, just could not compare to the beauty above Mt. Shuksan and over the San Juan Islands.  Nicole insists I was getting bit by mosquitoes at this time, but I couldn’t feel them.  It was, however, noticeably cooler, so we put on our fleeces and took pictures until 19:45, at which point I agreed it would be best if we got going.

Look west, young man!

Behold! The sun, just setting.

The sky, silhouettes...

...and shadowy ridges.

Goodnight.

I snapped a few of the above pictures on our way down, in near darkness.  As I mentioned earlier, this was our first time hiking after dark.  Nicole was a bit more nervous about this than I, but we both talked without hushed voices the whole way down.  No deadly bear encounters.  At 20:45 we were back in the parking lot, which sat almost entirely empty.  Distance: ~6 miles, round-trip.  Elevation gain: ~2000’, with the high point being ~6200’.  Total time, with many, many pictures taken: ~4:00.

Back in the Explorer, alive.

Once in the truck we made our way quickly down the traffic-free road and headed back to our campsite, where we started a fire and enjoyed s’mores for dinner.  Once the fire was extinguished the moonlight lit up the ground beneath the trees.  We stayed awake late since we weren’t quite exhausted, as we tend to be on our backpacking trips.

The next morning we woke up, broke camp, and drove to the end of the Mt. Baker Highway: Artist Point.  We considered lacing up our boots, but decided that it was high time we were the ones walking around in flip-flops.  The bright sun just above Mt. Shuksan meant that Picture Lake wasn’t cooperative, but we walked around it anyway, and then spent some time walking along the Artist Ridge trail.  We walked maybe a mile or so, and took plenty of pictures:

Trees reflected in Picture Lake. Mt. Shuksan uncooperative.

Wonderful rock formations near Picture Lake.

Table Mountain reflected in a tarn.

Nicole, inspecting the glaciers of Mt. Baker's NE side.

A volcano.

A picturesque volcano.

The view of the North from Artist Point, Nicole reflected.

This area seems like a great place for doing just what we did.  After an hour or so, we got back in the Explorer and headed back to West Seattle.

An enjoyable weekend: great photo opportunities, gained experience, and it was all easy on the feet!  As I write this, the weather has turned.  It’s not making it to 60° today.  If we’re lucky we’ll get out for a day hike on Monday…

As always, more photos at Flickr.

When the weekend neared and Nicole brought home a recommendation of Spider Meadow, I immediately and enthusiastically agreed, having seen a number of trip reports earlier this summer about that very location.  A Sunday-night backpack it was.

Spider Meadow panorama.

Spider Meadow sits in the Phelps Creek basin some 25 miles north of Lake Wenatchee, within Glacier Peak Wilderness.  We planned on camping at the far end of the meadow, setting up a base camp, and–if energy permitted–exploring the area up to and including Spider Glacier and Spider Gap.  We took our time rolling out of bed on Sunday morning, and pulled out of West Seattle at 06:18.  Driving over to and along US-2 is approaching autopilot status, and before we knew it we were turning north towards Lake Wenatchee.  It’s just a few more miles before the turnoff up Chiwawa River Road, and then a long ~25 miles to the trailhead.  (We timed this portion of the drive on the way out, and it took ~45 minutes.)

On the way in, only a few miles down the road, we saw two backpackers on the side of the road, and picked up our first hitchhikers.  They were completing the Washington portion of the Pacific Crest Trail, which they’d had to abandon earlier due to injury.  We took them up to Trinity and the Buck Creek Pass trailhead, saving them a whole lot of road-walking.  (Though with the popularity of the trails in the area, they probably wouldn’t have had to wait long for another ride.)  After dropping them off, we turned around and drove up to our trailhead, which sits at the end of Road #6211.  It was 09:30 by that time, putting the drive time just over three hours (including a stop for gasoline and the hitchers).

There were quite a few cars in the parking lot, and some scattered along the road, but a perusal of the registration sheet seemed to indicate that most people would either be camping beyond Spider Gap, or on their way out that very day.  At 09:45, we headed past trailhead #1511: elevation: 3500’.

View west from the trailhead.

The trail starts off gently, undulating through forest interspersed with brushy bits, all the while with Phelps Creek off to your left, and below you.  The trail is in excellent condition, which is a pleasant surprise considering the amount of horse traffic it seems to receive.  That’s a veiled and polite way to say there’s a lot of horse poop on the trail.  We didn’t see any of the offending horses, however.  At 10:45, we entered Glacier Peak Wilderness, ~2.5 miles from the trailhead.  This was exciting, since it was our first time in this particular Wilderness–an area I’m especially enamored with, even if it’s only on paper (and the internet) so far.  At this point, and a few minutes further up the trail, there are several campsites off of the trail, which might be a good option for those who hit the trail late (very late) and are looking for somewhere to camp for an early, earnest start the following morning.

After a break for a snack, we continued on our way, covering another ~mile and crossing a rocky Leroy Creek at around 11:25.  The trail in this area seems like it’s been rerouted in recent years, probably due to flood damage; and just after the [easy] creek crossing, it looks like an avalanche has hit recently as well.  No matter, the trail is in excellent shape; and at 12:15, ~2.5 hours and ~5 miles into our hike, we came out of the trees (which had only provided obscured views west to Phelps Ridge) and were presented with a wonderful wide view of Spider Meadow.  At the height of wildflower season, I’m sure it’s incredible, but I found the September shades of yellow and orange pretty pleasing as well.  It’s here that my camera finally came out of its hiding place–permanently.  We took a quick look at a posted map, which noted all of the approved campsites–and the meadow has quite a few, all of which seemed deserted by the time we got there.  We spent fifteen minutes admiring the view, and while I was looking to the west, across the creek and over the horse-friendly campsites, I spotted movement in the rocks.  Turned out to be a pretty large coyote–probably on the prowl for the many squeaking pika in the area.  We were excited to see it, and after it disappeared into the trees at the south end of the meadow, we set off in the opposite direction.

Spider Meadow, with Red Mountain in the distance.

Beautiful meadow; poor choice for someone's campsite.

By 13:00, we’d crossed the meadow, and came to the crossing of Phelps Creek.  By this point we were hungry, and I was feeling the effects of ill-fated attempt to preempt blister formation with duct tape, so we stopped to eat and I removed my boots, socks, and duct tape.  We ate, filtered some water, and spent a good amount of time enjoying the beautiful day–I forgot to mention that the weather forecast promised a 75° Sunday and Monday!  Some ~40 minutes later we left lunch rock behind us and entered small section of forest with the first significant elevation gain of the day.  In ~10 minutes, we reached the Spider Gap/Phelps basin junction (6.5 miles & 5300’).

Lunch rock at Phelps Creek and the end of Spider Meadow.

We’d planned on camping either somewhere near the junction, or up near Spider Glacier, and since we were feeling pretty well, and it was still early (13:50), we decided to push on and work our way up to what I assumed were spectacular campsites, if they were unoccupied.  This meant that we had a lot of hard work ahead of us.  I knew that we’d be gaining elevation, since Spider Gap sits at 7100’, but I didn’t realize just how much we’d be gaining just to reach our campsite.  The map (Green Trails #113, Holden) goaded me on: a paltry 0.4 miles to go!  After leaving the junction, the trail turns rocky, dry, and steep.  And the sun was right above us, it being mid-afternoon by this point.  Progress was slow; footing was poor.  You know you’re in for it when you see this:

The wall looms large and the workout begins.

We worked our way up to the wall, stopping to listen to rattlesnakes that turned out to be grasshoppers.  If there’s one good thing about this portion of the trail, it’s the views out over Spider Meadow, and the entire U-shaped Phelps valley below.  The trail contours around the wall and keeps gaining through switchback after switchback, each one taking you higher and bringing more of the Entiat Mountains into view.  It isn’t long before Mt. Maude and Seven Fingered Jack are visible to the southeast.  By this time, I’m thinking, Yeah, 0.4 miles–as the crow flies!

Along the wall, north to Dumbell Mountain.

Seven Fingered Jack, Mt. Maude, and Spider Meadow far below.

The trail with September color on each side.

And just when all hope was nearly lost, the trail came around corner and revealed beautiful [empty] campsites, rushing water, and a sign that said “toilet”–all nestled on and around two large rock outcroppings below Red Mountain.  This was the “larch knob” I’d read about!  I yelled back to Nicole, “We did it!”  It took us over an hour to make the climb up, but it was worth it.  The sites were beautiful, and we had our pick of them.  Of course, our pick ended up being the very first one we came to.  At 15:00, we’d found our home for the evening.

West of camp: Red Mountain.

Quite the perch for a campsite.

The view's good from inside, too.

Now, let me just run some numbers.  The elevation at camp is ~6400’–a gain of 1100’ from the junction below.  If, indeed, the last portion of the trail is 0.4 miles, it gains something that works out to 2750’/mile.  That seems awfully steep.  It’s not a friendly grade.  But, as I said, don’t let it put you off!  It’s over soon enough.  Just soon enough.

After a brief rest, and a short argument, I set off solo for Spider Gap, sans water bottle, at 17:05.  Nicole was pretty beat, but I couldn’t be that close without making the climb up to the Gap to look down at Lyman Glacier, Lyman Lakes, and whatever else there was to see.  That, and I wanted the experience of traveling up Spider Glacier, which many these days are diminutively calling Spider Snowfield or Spider “Glacier.”  Hey, whatever: I wanted to climb up it, and I’m going to call it a glacier.  The base of the glacier is just a minute or two away from the camps.  I looked up, and it didn’t look too bad, so I started up the snow.  It was a bit slippery, but it wasn’t steep, and there were some tracks to follow–I was happy, again, to finally have trekking poles.

View up Spider Glacier–only the lower 2/3 is visible.

All along the way, I could see that more than one person had chosen to glissade almost the entire way down, and so I decided that I, too, would attempt my first-ever seated glissade on my return.  The picture above actually shows only the first 2/3 of the glacier.  Once you reach that crest, you’re treated to a short level portion, and then the final and steepest bit that takes you right up to Spider Gap.  Up the entire glacier, I was able to walk straight ahead, but at the top I chose to (that is, had to) follow some tracks that traversed it.

View from Spider Gap south over the top 1/3 of Spider Glacier.

At 17:45, I made the Gap:

First views north over Spider Gap.

Just over Spider Gap, with Lyman Lakes below.

Dome Peak and Cloudy Pass in the distance. Among others.

Looking down on Lyman Glacier. Hope to get closer someday.

I continued on the quite visible trail to the north so that I could see more of Lyman Glacier and enjoy the views.  Just up the trail I met a solo hiker setting up his tripod and settling in to spend the night and capture the sunset.  Turns out he was professional–something about putting pictures on mugs and the like.  We talked a little bit and I tried to have him confirm my guesses at distant peaks.  No such luck, but I had a good idea of them anyway.  I envied his ability to set up and await what would surely be a beautiful sunset on a beautiful location, but I had to get back to camp, apologize to Nicole, and help cook dinner.  By 18:15, I was back at the top of Spider Gap, collapsing my trekking poles, and trying to figure out the best way to slide down a Spider Glacier on my butt.  I figured collapsing my trekking poles would be a good thing to do.  I wondered if I should take off my backpack and hold it in front of me.  I wasn’t worried about stopping (“self-arrest”) at this point, since I’d naturally slow down and stop in the large flat area below the Gap.  Up here the glissade trail was nearly a glissade half-tube, so I settled in and pushed off.  In several exhilarating seconds I was at the bottom!  My first glissade was a success.  I kept my feet out of my way and managed to stay straight on the way down.  I got up and walked to the next downhill section and tried again.  Here, there wasn’t a nice half-tube to keep me on track–it was bumpy and meandering and the slope was gentle to the point that I’d peter out after only a short distance.  I stayed seated, used my poles to push off again, with similar results.  I kept at it, often spinning around and ending up with my head below my feet.  Eventually I got tired of trying and stood up and worked my way down the glacier on my feet, half-sliding and half-jogging.  I still made great time, and was back at camp at 18:35, just ~20 minutes from the point of my first half-assed (pun intended) glissade.

After dinner, the sun started to set behind Red Mountain and Seven Fingered Jack and Mt. Maude lit up across the meadow.  It was difficult to capture, but beautiful to watch.  I imagine the photographer above Lyman Lake was quite happy with the way the evening turned out.

Sundown over Spider Meadow.

Alpenglow on Seven Fingered Jack and Mt. Maude.

We stayed awake until the stars came out–the brightest thing in the southwest sky had us convinced it was a UFO, but it was just the mesh of the tent playing tricks with light.  No doubt, it was a planet.  Which one, I’ll have to investigate.  The night was pleasurably cold; we slept well.

The next morning we overslept dawn, but I managed to open my eyes a few times and see some beautiful color in the direction of Seven Fingered Jack.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t pull myself out of my sleeping bag.  At 08:25, we left camp.  Though we were dreading the descent, we made our way down the steep section and to the Spider Gap/Phelps Basin junction in ~25 minutes.  Huh: I guess maybe it really is only 0.4 miles!  Nicole’s knees held up like gangbusters down it, too.  An hour after leaving camp, Spider Meadow disappeared behind us, and we had ~5 miles of morning forest walk ahead of us.  As we neared the end, we slowed down considerably, since we were both pretty sore and Nicole’s knees reestablished themselves as forces of evil.  Still, we reached the trailhead again at 11:35, just over three hours after breaking camp.  By 15:00 we were back home, ready for food and Monday Night Football.

Great hike.  Could be an easy but rewarding if one sticks to Spider Meadow.  Great campsites all around.  Great views.  Great start or end to a trip of a few nights.

Distance: ~15+ miles round-trip to Spider Gap and back.  The gap was the high point for Jeremy, at ~7100’; Nicole hung out at ~6400’.  Our starting elevation was ~3500’, so we gained ~3600’ and ~2900’, respectively.  It took us ~2:30 to reach Spider Meadow, ~0:30 to cross the meadow, and another ~1:20 to reach the campsites at Larch Knob.  We took plenty of breaks, so our total time from trailhead to tent was ~5:15.  Jeremy’s side-trip from tent to Spider Gap and back: ~1:20.  The way out the following day: ~3:10.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

With late-August weather signaling the end of an already-abbreviated summer, and with the glaring omission of Mt. Rainier National Park (hereafter, MRNP) on our yearly itinerary thus far, we set our sights on Summerland.  Ever since we’d driven along the Sunrise side of Mt. Rainier en route to Mt. Aix earlier this year, we’ve been anxious to return to the area.  Since it was the weekend of Labor Day, we decided to forgo any backpacking plans, opting instead to wake up early in an attempt to beat out our fellow dayhikers.

We were out the door by 05:00 and driving in the dark down a road that I doubted.  Google Maps set me along a different road than I’d taken previously, but we ended up on WA-410 nevertheless.  Clouds hung heavy over the highway, and while I did my best to will them off, windshield wipers were necessary–briefly–on the east side of The Mountain.  I often forget just how close Mt. Rainier is to Seattle–we pulled into the Sunrise/White River entrance at 06:45.  Since it was, as previously stated, the first time this year inside MRNP, we added the $30 annual park pass to our credit card bill (7-day passes are $15, and we know we’ll be coming back more than once in the coming calendar year).   Unfortunately, our success in early arrival meant that no one was manning the entrance booths and instead of a flesh-and-blood annual pass, a machine spit out a receipt that could be exchanged for the real deal.  In the pocket it went, and up the road we drove.

In a few minutes, we crossed Fryingpan Creek and noted our trailhead and the positive parking situation along the road–we’d read the designated spots fill fast and the roadsides soon after, but there were plenty of spots for us.  We were heading up to White River Campground to empty our bladders before we hit the trail.  Though it was cold when we’d left Seattle, here in the park the Explorer returned a temperature of 39° at the campground.  At 07:10, we were back, and on the trail.

The trail to Summerland (alternately, Summer Land) and Panhandle Gap is actually a small portion of the ~95 mile Wonderland Trail, and it’s signed as such.  (We met a small group of very nice folks on day nine of the clockwise circuit on our way back down from Panhandle Gap.  Goal: I will do the Wonderland within the next five years.  I digress.)  The first mile or so of the trail is so wide, soft, and flat that it verges on qualifying as handicap accessible.  There wasn’t a word of complaint from either of us as we walked alongside Fryingpan Creek in the cool, quiet morning.   In no time at all, there were views of Tamanos Mountain (6790’), with its head in the clouds across the creek on the left.  At 07:50 the trail met up with the creek again, which was flowing through a beautiful gorge below, and then turned away to begin gaining elevation a bit more seriously.  But just a bit.

Tamanos Mountain from the lower Summerland trail.

The next ~two miles take you through more of the forest, crossing small streams occasionally and gaining elevation gradually, until it eventually bursts out of the forest to cross Fryingpan Creek via a small one-log bridge (w/ handrail).  As if to reward you, it’s shortly after the crossing that you get your first great views up the valley to Mt. Rainier and Little Tahoma.  We were extremely fortunate to have clear blue skies at this point: 08:45 and the best weather of the day–though we didn’t know that yet.

Mt. Rainier in the clear, blue distance.

All trails lead to Little Tahoma. Not literally.

We snapped a few photos and left Fryingpan Creek behind us as the trail turned uphill in the final ~1 mile to Summerland proper.  The only real switchbacks of the hike are sandwiched into this section of the trail, which is fairly steep but zigzags through some still-blooming patches of wildflowers and offers views across the creek to Goat Island Mountain’s green meadows.

Goat Island Mountain on the initial side of Fryingpan Creek.

By 09:25 we’d reached Summerland, the clouds had moved in, and it was quite cold without trees to shelter us.  It should be said that we saw zero people the entire hike up to Summerland.  At the camps we swung in to use the toilet, and then had to wait more than a few minutes for two backpackers ahead of us.  (Don’t hesitate to utilize this toilet–Nicole and I both marveled at its condition.)  We broke out the granola and crackers and eventually we were on our way again.    Summerland is a beautiful green meadow interspersed with rocks and streams.  Had the sky been clear, I’m sure the views would’ve been outstanding; unfortunately, the clouds kept on coming.  I held out hope that if we continued the ~1.4 miles to Panhandle Gap, the time would pass and we’d be blessed with better weather.  So onward we went.

Cold and lonely marmot sentinel.

The view back over Summerland.

The greens of Summerland quickly give way to the rocky, barren beauty of the Panhandle basin.  Just as the terrain changes there’s a nice waterfall, and shortly after, you’re crossing over the stream on another log bridge (sans handrail).    As I’ve previously said, it was cold–cold to the point of snow flurries.  Shortly after leaving Summerland camp, it had begun snowing lightly and intermittently (and would continue to do so until we dropped back down into the trees on our return).  Our hands and ears and faces were quite cold, so we’d collapsed our trekking poles so we could keep our hands in our pockets; Nicole pulled up her hood, while I stubbornly refused to do so…so far.  The trail isn’t difficult, so we didn’t miss the trekking poles, and we would’ve made excellent time if I weren’t stopping every moment or two to look over my shoulder and down the valley to assess the cloudcover.  In spite of the weather, it was a beautiful landscape.  I loved the variation in rock color.  There was also a picturesque turquoise tarn along the way.  Pictures, pictures, pictures–my camera was cold:

Waterfall at the end of summer.

Brrr.

Tarn along the trail in Panhandle basin, with Meany Crest in clouds.

A rainbow of rocks.

At the far end of the basin, the trail runs up to a wall of rock and turns up to traverse the slope to Panhandle Gap itself.  Here there were some small patches of snow that were easily handled, though we did see some evidence of post-holing (e.g. a footstep three feet deep).  At this point we had our trekking poles out again, which helped with stability.  Up and to the right, you’ll see the gentle saddle structure of the gap–having so visible a destination helped us push through to attain it.  Just before the gap there’s a very short section of the trail that crosses a very steep snowfield.  On the way back down from the gap, it took a bit of care to cross it.  At ~11:00 we stepped out onto Panhandle Gap, and were met with freezing gusts of wind followed by even more cloudcover.  Visibility dropped dramatically, and we turned tail to descend into what had been friendlier territory.

Up to the gap.

The clouds come rolling in.

Nicole retreats from the wind and cold of Panhandle Gap.

But stops for a cold pose near the steep snow.

On our way down from the gap, we met several groups heading up, but it wasn’t until we reached Summerland that the trail population began to expand exponentially, culminating in a group of at least a dozen down near Fryingpan Creek.  But back to Summerland: in addition to more humans, the marmot community must’ve been roused from their rest, as we must’ve seen ~20 of them on our way through the greenery.  Honestly, anywhere you looked, you could spot a marmot (or two, or three).  We stopped briefly to eat, and then left Summerland behind us at ~12:15.  By 14:15 we were back to the car, with the majority of the descent uneventful, aside from letting a family know that they probably had ~two miles to go until it would be possible to see Mt. Rainier, if the weather cooperated.

A bridge at the top.

The path down through Summerland.

And a bridge at the bottom.

With boots off, we decided to drive up the scenic road to Sunrise, since we hadn’t been there before.  We were thinking of restrooms and warm food.  Up the road the snow started again, sometimes surprisingly heavily.  No views.  At Sunrise the shopping-mall-sized parking lot was full of annoying people with annoying dogs.  I looked around at the trails that left from sidewalks and all the people on each one.  No doubt a beautiful area, but it may take me a while to stomach sharing a trail with so many, especially so many ignorant to courtesy and leave-no-trace principles.  But enough of that, we were there to use the bathroom, check out the restaurant, and ask someone if we could exchange our receipt for a genuine Mt. Rainier National Park annual pass.  Inside the visitor center, our request was met with a complete inability to understand what we were asking for.  “You’re in the park…”  Yes, I merely wanted to know if you could exchange this here receipt, which clearly states it can be exchanged for an annual pass, for said annual pass; or, if you’re unable to accomplish this personally, could you point me in the right direction?  We turned around and fled from the ineptitude and $2.50 hot chocolate and stinky toilets and barking poodles and were home enjoying the warmth of our home and the memories of a surprising amount of solitude on the trail to Summerland.

Overall, a great hike.  Wish the weather would’ve been better, but it was beautiful in any case, and I hope to see it again, perhaps as part of a larger trip around The Mountain.

Distance: ~11.4 miles round-trip from the trailhead to Panhandle Gap and back.  The gap was the high point, at ~6800’, while our starting elevation was ~3800’.  A quick bit of math and we’re at ~3000’ of elevation gain along the way.  It took us ~2:15 to reach Summerland, and another ~1:00 to reach Panhandle Gap.  Total time, car door-to-car door, with several long stops and a multitude of glances over the shoulder: ~7 hours.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

So far this summer Nicole and I have gone on six hikes together; the first three were all either one- or two-night backpacks; hikes four, five, and six were all day hikes.  So as the weekend approached and trip-planning began, like, for real, we knew we wanted to spend a night [tossing and turning within our sleeping bags].  Backpacking it would be, but since we only had Saturday night available, and I had to work Saturday morning, it couldn’t be a long drive or that long of a hike.  We also had to keep in mind that we’d probably be pitching our tent somewhere early Saturday evening, crux of the weekend populous.   I had my hands wrapped around a pair of Green Trails Maps (#175 & #176) and prior reports and pictures in my head.  Elimination claimed trails we hypothesized as too long, too difficult, too buggy, and too busy; those trips requiring off-trail travel were sadly stricken from the slate.

In the end, we decided to try our luck up the West Fork of the Foss River, along Trail #1064.  With four lakes sitting around the 4000’ mark, and all seemingly within reach from the 1600’ trailhead–the farthest being ~6.8 miles in–we were confident we’d find a place so settle down before the sun set.  This trail sits entirely within the Alpine Lakes Wilderness of Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, and is easily reached off of US-2 via the Foss River Road (Road 68/6835).  Don’t ask me how–actually, I think it’s because I already had map in hand and read a recent report and therefore felt like I knew what to expect–but I neglected to check the USFS site until just now.  It calls the trail “severely flood damaged,” characterizes the difficulty as “Easiest/Most Difficult,” and states that visitor use is “Extra Heavy.”  I’ll try to elaborate on all that throughout the rest of this trip report, but let me preemptively say it isn’t quite so bad as that.

Back to the past: our minds made up, a bit o’ new gear purchased, and my last massage of the week given, we left Seattle at 11:15 en route to the Skykomish area.  Almost exactly two hours later, at ~13:15, we opened the doors of the Explorer in the semi-crowded parking lot (~two dozen cars) and were greeted by some hungry bugs.  With boots on and DEET applied, we walked past the trailhead sign at 13:30.  The sign kindly reminded us that a bridge was out 0.5 miles in, informed us that the trail is no longer maintained, and invited us to hike at our own risk.  When aren’t we hiking at our own risk?

They were right about that no-longer-maintained thing.  The blow-downs begin almost immediately, with the trail underneath the trees composed of crushed gravel–if gravel was the size of softballs.  It isn’t long before the trail deviates from the rocky road, somewhat confusingly.  From there you’ll find yourself along the left side of the West Fork of the Foss River.  With the knowledge that the bridge is out, and logs down everywhere, one may be tempted to cross in many spots, but be patient and work your way down to where the trail ends and the cairns begin.  Unfortunately, there are cairns everywhere.  But some should lead you to the nice, big log pictured below, about ~20 minutes into the hike.  Crossing here puts you right back on the trail; if you crossed somewhere else, you’d have to work upriver or downriver to pick it up again.

Nicole crosses Log-Over-Foss.

After crossing the river, the trail pulls itself together a bit as it climbs ~500’ in the next mile, much of it along the west side of the river.  There’s a nice big tree, and a bit of washout along the edge of the river, and then the trail arrives at Trout Lake, 2100’ and 1.5 miles from the trailhead.  We took a breath and a picture or two; the time was 14:35.  Already we’d seen more than a few people on the trail, most on their way out.  The going was slow, what with the poor trail conditions and full packs.  I was hoping that the lower and upper portions of the trail would be easy going, since they were relatively level.  The middle portion of the trail is where most of the elevation gain occurs, and that’s what we were about to start.

One big tree. Regular-sized Nicole.

One of many, many blow-downs.

After passing Trout Lake, which didn’t impress us all that much–aside from the inlet end, as viewed from slightly above–the trail works its way westward, eventually within earshot of the rushing waters from above.  At 15:20 we stopped at a space with easy access to the water; we needed to filter some before the trail turned away from the water steeply.  It was such a nice spot that we stopped there on the way back down, too.

Water so nice, we stopped to filter it twice.

The middle portion of the trail gains ~1800’ in 2 miles–honestly, it didn’t even feel that steep to me.  Maybe it’s because we were moving so slowly.  More blow-downs, heavy packs, a stop for food.  Even if it didn’t feel steep, and Nicole may disagree with me there, it felt pretty exhausting.  After leaving our watering hole, the trail climbs through forest for a while before eventually breaking out into some brushy sections with beautiful views of Malachite Falls:

Malachite Falls.

Another shot of Malachite Falls.

Up and up we went, with the waterfall visible for much of the late afternoon.  By ~17:00 we were up near the top of the falls, and crossed over a damaged, but sturdy footbridge.  In fifteen minutes more we reached the junction of the main trail and the spur trail (#1064.1) to Lake Malachite.  Tired as we were, and with time elapsing more quickly than we’d anticipated, I ran up the trail solo to check out the lake and see if it was worth camping at.  The spur was short, steep, muddy, and hardly recognizable; I knew unless the lake was beautiful with a pleasant campsite, I wasn’t going to make Nicole climb up to it.  The trail dead-ends at the mucky end of the lake, with no discernable trails along either edge.  I admit: I only looked briefly, so there may be something there.  But I knew we weren’t going to be the ones to try to find it.  From what I’d heard from folks on the trail, Copper Lake seemed like the place to camp, and Copper Lake wasn’t far away.  (Before the hike, I’d held hopes to make it all the way up to Big Heart Lake to camp–but those hopes had been abandoned by this point.)

Nicole crosses the damaged bridge with care.

Small Falls near the top of the trail.

View at the end of the Lake Malachite spur.

I met Nicole back at the junction–it really only takes a few minutes to get up to Lake Malachite and take a look at it–and we returned to the main trail.  In fifteen minutes, we were crossing the outlet of Copper Lake via rock-hop, and in a few minutes more (17:45) we saw Copper Lake proper.

Crossing the Copper Lake outlet.

Copper Lake panorama, from the trail at its edge.

With sunlight settling below the cliffs to the west, all thoughts were now on finding a place to set up our tent.  A beautiful spot across the outlet was taken, another space that looked like it could hold a tent sat nearby, as did the toilet.  We marched onward, since I was certain there had to be something along the east side of the lake, between it and the trail.  Halfway down the lake there was a site, but on the uphill side of the trail with a bit of snow.  It would’ve done, but I wanted to keep looking.  At this point Nicole sat down, and I went off ahead of her, hoping to find us something.  I told her I’d blow my whistle three times if I found a site, and she should blow hers three times if she heard me.  At 18:15, just as I was about to turn around, and well past the end of Copper Lake, I found a site just off the trail, next to running water and among blooming beargrass.  I dropped my pack and gave three whistles, though I held back breath.  I thought I heard a reply, and moved down the trail to meet her.  Three more whistles, and I called her name.  Maybe I heard a reply?  Eventually I met her on the trail, she hadn’t heard me, but since I was gone so long she assumed I’d found something.  Back at camp, we set up, filtered water, cooked potatoes and couscous, swatted at merciless mosquitoes, and retreated to our tent well before 21:00.  I swear, one of these nights I’m going to stay up for the stars!

Beargrass between Copper Lake & Little Heart Lake.

We slept as well as we tend to, and were up to walk to Little Heart Lake by 07:00.  It was really only minutes away, which meant we’d hiked in ~5 miles to camp on Saturday.  Little Heart Lake was pretty, but I actually thought Copper Lake was more beautiful.  That said, I’m sure if we made it up to Big Heart Lake (or beyond) the terrain would’ve been even better.  Ah, well.

At 08:50 we broke camp, and we were back at the Explorer at 13:00 exactly.  Downhill wasn’t much different from uphill, just a bit harder on the knees.

A friendly reminder to remove the lens cap.

I’m not quite sure what to make of this trip.  At times, I was disappointed: the trail conditions were the worst we’ve seen this year, we didn’t cover a lot of distance, we didn’t score a lakeside campsite, the bugs drove us into our tent as we finished our dinner, and I didn’t take any outstanding photographs.  Still: we did manage over 10 miles round-trip of rough trails, river crossings, and blow-downs with an afternoon start; the scenery was more than adequate; and the exercise was first-rate, as our muscles and blisters testify.  It was an experience that satisfies.  I’d like to get up into the area and explore further, because I know there’s a lot more up there.  I think this hike would be a lot easier if you were heading up with a daypack.  If you leave with enough time, and plan on spending more than one night, with time to explore, it’s a decent backpacking trip, too.  We did see a fair number of people on both days, about half of whom seemed to be backpackers.  It wasn’t an overwhelming crowd, though.

Distance: ~10+ miles round-trip from the parking lot to Little Heart Lake and back.  We topped out at ~4200’ of elevation, gaining ~2600’+ along the way.  It took us ~4:15 to reach Copper Lake, with our full packs and a few stops along the way for water and food, and a similar amount of time going out the next day for around ~8 hours of total hiking time.

As always, there might be an extra picture or two at Flickr.

After spending ten days with family in Wisconsin, and eating like one might imagine, I came back to Seattle nearly a-pound-per-day heavier and anxious to put the bratwurst behind me.  I decided that I’d take advantage of my Tuesday off and hike something nearby–solo, since Nicole would be working.  With the weather threatening rain and temperatures in the 60s, I wasn’t hiking for views.  After weighing all the factors, I came to the conclusion that if I were ever to hike Mt. Si, it would be now.

The Mt. Si trail is, from what I’ve read, one of the busiest trails known to man.  It’s only ~30 miles from Seattle on I-90, but at 8 miles round-trip with over 3000’ of elevation gain, it ain’t no cakewalk.  This combination keeps the trail consistently populated, with weekends being exceptionally busy.  Plus, it’s the first big piece of rock one sees as they drive up the Snoqualmie Valley–I can’t help but look at it every time by.

Mt Si from North Bend.

After making each of us a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for our respective (but not respectable) lunches, I left West Seattle at about 10:35 and headed east on I-90.  Take exit 31 to North Bend, and take a right at the downtown stoplight past a place promising Twin Peaks Cherry Pie (North Bend Way).  Shortly after that there’ll be a sign alerting you to the Mount Si Road/432nd SE intersection.  Take a left and follow the road past the Little Si trailhead to the Mount Si trailhead ~2.5 miles down the road.  I pulled into the parking lot about 11:20–about 45 minutes after I’d left West Seattle.  Not bad, but even more exciting was the scene at the parking lot.  I think there were four (4!) other cars parked near the trailhead, with the majority of the vast parking lot completely empty.  Excellent.

With boots on, I hit the trail at 11:30.  There are large signs and a map at the trailhead–all posted by the managing Washington State DNR, which is different.  We’re almost always in National Forests or Parks.  Anyway: I believe that the trailhead elevation is ~500’.  (This is one trail I didn’t feel it necessary to buy a map for, but I normally have one for every hike we do.)  The trail starts off flat, but then begins ascending in a way that really never lets up the entire four miles.

Along the lower trail.

The trail is probably five to six feet wide the whole way up, and there are plenty of stairs along the way, with those at the lower elevations made of rock, and those that are a bit higher made of logs.  It’s definitely constructed like a popular trail.  It had that State Park trail feel to it.  No condition problems anywhere, though it’s obvious some people have been cutting switchbacks.

I started off fast, feeling like I needed the exercise and curious as to what kind of pace I could set going solo.  As normal, I had my backpack with a little weight in it; for a change, I used Nicole’s trekking poles.  At 12:10, I reached the 1.5 miles signpost, which also stated the elevation of 1940’.  By this point I’d passed maybe five people–all of them would pass me again as I neared the top.  Just before you reach this marker, you go through a large flat area full of felled trees.  There’s a bit of boardwalk, and some informational signs about a ~1910 forest fire on Mt. Si.  The area is, I learned on the way down, known as Snag Flats.  My knees loved this area.  And it was kind of pretty.

I didn’t take a picture on the way up, obsessed as I was with the act of hiking itself.  At 12:25, I reached 2 miles.  At 12:40, 2.5 miles and 2760’.  At 12:55, 3 miles and a short break to refill my water bottle.  Around this time, my pace slowed considerably, and people I’d passed on the way up made their way around me.  Sure, I was tired, but more importantly, I realized, I hadn’t eaten anything since my blueberry/banana smoothie that morning.  I was out of energy.  I slowly continued, hoping that I could make it to the top before I had to pull out my food.  At 13:30, I stopped near 3.5 miles and sat down to eat every last banana chip I had.  I was disappointed that I had to stop so near the end, but felt better as I got up to continue.

Just a few moments later, the first views opened up to the southeast.  That’s right, you’re in the trees without views for almost the entire hike.  At least you’re protected from the sun and/or rain…  When the trail turns rocky you know you’re near the top.  At 13:45 I reached what is signed the Snoqualmie Viewpoint, a large rocky area with many places to sit down and admire the view south and west, all the way to Seattle and Bellevue.  Also visible from this area is The Haystack, a scramble and the true summit of Mt. Si.  Since I was alone, and pretty tired, I opted to leave it be, and spend some time relaxing.  I believe the elevation of the Viewpoint area is ~3600’, and the Haystack is something like 4200’.

Snoqualmie Valley from the viewpoint. Seattle is visible.

The Haystack summit.

Mt Si.

I stayed up at the top for ~45 minutes, snapping a few pictures–some for others, giving water to a very nice dog that seemed without a master, and protecting my food from the birds that seem quite accustomed to free handouts.  I also spotted three mountain goats in the distance.  Eventually I deemed it time to leave, and even with my knee in a bit of pain, I made good time down the trail (and met very few people) and arrived back at the Explorer at ~16:00.

Overall, this was actually more than I’d hoped for.  I wanted a workout, and I got it.  I was also pleasantly surprised that the place wasn’t overrun with hikers.   Maybe I got lucky, but if it’s midweek and the weather’s crummy and you don’t want to drive more than 30-45 minutes to get to a trail, this might work out for you.  It’s popular for a reason, and if the timing’s right, you might even have a few minutes to yourself out there.

Distance: ~8 miles round-trip.  Max elevation at the viewpoint of ~3600’ with a gain of ~3100’ along the way.  There’s always The Haystack scramble if you want a bit more.  It took me ~2:15 to get to the top, with couple pretty decent breaks near the end, and ~1:30 to get back down.  Total time, with breaks, lunch, and a bum knee: ~4:30.

An extra picture or two at Flickr, but not many.

After a one-weekend hiking hiatus (which actually amounts to about fourteen days, and felt like every minute of it) we were determined to make the most of our common day off, and get out and hike.  Since we’re still left with just Sundays–a temporary situation, we hope–we weren’t looking for an overnighter, and it had to be something marginally nearby.  I’d seen a trip report or two for Lake Ingalls lately, so I kept that in my mind as Nicole and I set about our routine of searching websites and guidebooks for other possibilities.  I wouldn’t call it wasted time, but in the end, we decided on Lake Ingalls anyway.  I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that we’re glad we did.

Panorama at Lake Ingalls. Click if you care to embiggen.

Lake Ingalls sits just inside the Alpine Lake Wilderness boundary, in the Teanaway area of Washington State.  In years past, almost all of our hikes ended at an alpine–or, more likely, at that time, sub-alpine lake.  Mason Lake, Lake Valhalla, Rachel Lake, Watson Lakes…  We loved rewarding ourselves with a cool dip or cold plunge and some time spent resting before the return down.  This year, somehow, we’d yet to take a hike with a lake for a reward; the Pacific Ocean doesn’t count.  Lake Ingalls, which sits at an elevation of about 6500’, sounded perfect.

Late in the week, we’d toyed with the idea of driving up the North Fork of the Teanaway River Road late Saturday afternoon, hoping to find a place to pitch our tent for the night and an early start Sunday morning.  In the end, due to equal parts uncertainty and laziness, we decided to keep a day hike a day hike.  From all we’d heard (i.e., read), this was a very popular trail (overflowing trailhead, 75+ cars parked down the road, etc.) so in an attempt to avoid the crowds, I insisted upon a very early start.

I woke up at about 04:15, well before the alarm, and took the opportunity to make [fake] breakfast sausages, [real] scrambled eggs, and [white] toast.  I turned on the coffee and woke up Nicole just before the food was ready.  After some early-morning starts without a solid breakfast, I can say that this was probably the smartest thing I did the entire hike.  Good breakfasts make good neighbors.  Er, hikes.

We were in the car and on our way out of West Seattle at 05:15.  It almost can’t get any easier to find your way to the Teanaway area: I-90 to WA-970 to Teanaway Road.  The trailhead to Lake Ingalls (in addition to trailheads and/or access to Esmeralda Basin and Longs Pass) sits at the very end of the road, some 20 miles in.  About half of that is gravel, but it’s a very popular (and therefore, well-maintained) road.  Just watch out for wandering livestock.  Moo!  We reached the trailhead at 07:21, and found easily two-dozen cars scattered alongside the road and in the parking lot; most of them looked like the cars of overnighters.  There were still quite a few spots in the parking lot proper, so we pulled in, used the toilet, and hit the trail at 07:30.  That’s a door-to-trailhead time of about 2 hours and 15 minutes.  Only negative of the drive at that time of the day: sunrise in the east, and in the eyes.

No matter what your destination, if you’re leaving this parking lot on your own two feet, you’re starting up trail #1394, elevation 4200’.  The trail begins as a wide, dry path alongside a stream, pleasantly gaining elevation for the first 10-15 minutes.  At about that time (and 0.4 miles in) trail #1390–Ingalls Way–branches off to the right and heads up towards the ridge to the east.

When I’d glanced at the Green Trails Map #209 (Mount Stuart, WA) in the days before, I’d just assumed that the first half of the hike would be difficult, on account of the presence of switchbacks.  Nicole and I are both happy to report that this trail, end-to-end, is beautifully maintained, and graded perfectly.  At least for us.  It allows for a great pace to be set, and a steady gain of elevation, without being overly taxing.  Looking back, and looking into the faces of those we passed on our way down (i.e., those heading up in the heat of the afternoon), I’d say that the fact that we started early enough to be wearing our fleeces was an important factor in our comfort level, as well.

For 2 miles the trail works its way up the west side of what I’ll call the Ingalls-to-Iron ridge.  The trees are sparse, and so then is the shade, unless you’re early enough to be hiking in the shadow of the ridge itself, which we were.  Esmeralda Peak dominates the views to the west at the lower elevations, and there’s the beautiful red rocks of the ridge to the north.

Esmeralda Peak, as seen early on.

The red rocks of Ingalls-Iron ridge.

At 08:18, after about one hour and 2.4 miles of hiking, we reached the intersection with the Longs Pass trail (#1229).  The elevation at this point is 5600’, which put the gain so far at 1400’.  [It looks like Longs Pass is only 0.6 miles from this point, with another 700’ of gain.  In comparison, we had 3.0 miles to go and only 900’ more to gain.  That, at least, is according to the map.]

We’d been pleasantly surprised that we’d seen relatively few people so far.  Only two pairs of backpackers had passed us heading down, and we’d seen no one going up–yet.  For the next 1.5 miles the trail traverses the side of the ridge, still pleasantly, perhaps a bit rockier.  The rocky surroundings are beautiful, and wildflowers¬–though probably past their prime–still dot the landscape in purples, reds, and yellows.  It’s in this section that the trail gains enough elevation to reveal nice views over-and-through the Esmeralda Peaks to Mt. Rainier.  Mt. Adams is also visible in far distance.  You’ll see Mt. Adams before you’re rewarded with bigger and nearer Mt. Rainier.

With water near the trailhead and more in store, hydration shouldn’t be an issue if you’re carrying enough water for a few hours.  I had the inevitable 7 liters on my back, and we were hiking so well, with such cooperative weather, that we’d so far split only one liter between us to this point.  We realized–regardless of groove–we should be drinking water, and so at around 09:10 we stopped near a large rock to the left of the trail, refilled, and enjoyed the views, still to the west.

Mt. Adams, Esmeralda Peaks, and Mt. Rainier. I promise.

As tends to be the case, we stopped to do this just before reaching a landmark: at 09:25 we reached an unexpected intersection.  At this point (1.5 miles from the Longs Pass intersection), the trail splits into two: Ingalls Way #1390.1 and Ingalls Way Alternate #1390.2.  The Green Trails map doesn’t show this, but there’s a map posted at this point on the trail that shows the diverging trails and the ~10 designated campsites alongside them.  Camping is only allowed at these sites, which are scattered around Upper (#1390.1) and Lower (#1390.2) Headlight Basin.

We chose to take the main trail on the way in, leaving the alternate trail for the way back, should we want a change of scenery.  And I should say now that while we did choose to take the lower route on the way back, it wasn’t because the Upper Basin left us needing any more scenery.  Headlight Basin is gorgeous.  Just as you approach it, Mt. Stuart makes a grand entrance to the east.  Headlight Basin itself is an eastern-facing, downward-sloping crescent of rocks, snow, trees, and meadows.  At the north end stands Ingalls Peak, Lake Ingalls hidden at its base.

Nicole looks over a meadow in Upper Headlight Basin.

Nicole, Headlight Creek–I think, and Mt. Stuart.

We wandered slowly along in wonder, stopping often for the pictures above, below, and stored safely on my hard drive.  Note to self: buy an external hard drive.  Early on–the trail through the basin to Lake Ingalls is 1.5 miles long–I heard Nicole whisper my name as I stared out over the Ingalls Creek valley, which we’d hiked partway up earlier this year.  I could tell by her excited whisper that I could expect something special.  It was a mountain goat, standing on a rock just a dozen feet in front of us, oblivious to our existence–perhaps, and only briefly.  It spotted us, and walked behind rocks only to appear on the other side, with a kid in tow.

Mountain goats. Who would've thunk it?

As we worked our way through the basin, we passed a few groups of backpackers, some at their tents near the trail, others on their way out.  “Just more beautiful scenery ahead,” a particularly jovial pair warned us.

As we continued on, Nicole lamented the fact that’d we’d never seen a marmot.  And, not twenty minutes from when we’d seen the mountain goats.  Behold: marmots!  We saw a few right on the trail, and as we approached, it became clear that they were doing their own version of trail maintenance.  One of the marmots was industrious to the point of ignorance.  We walked within five or six feet of his burrow, but he continued to work.  He’d disappear down to the point where we could barely see his behind, reappear in a moment with a pretty sizeable rock in his mouth, drop it on the trail, and repeat.  We carefully tiptoed around the area, myself with a camera to capture and Nicole with trekking poles to defend, expecting an attack at any moment by this ferocious beast:

What's that you've got in your mouth, Mr. Marmot? A rock?!

As the trail approaches the northern end of Headlight Basin, it becomes rockier and difficult to follow from time to time; but a cairn is usually there to set you on the correct path.  Still, even with a cairn in sight, we sometimes put out a little more effort than we needed to, but nothing too difficult.  You will be using your hands once in a while, but there’s no exposure, and nothing scary.  At this end of the basin, you’ll begin gaining elevation, up through the rocks toward Ingalls Peak.

Working our way up out of the basin.

The view south across Headlight Basin, from near Lake Ingalls.

At 10:40 we climbed the last few feet up and saw our first of Lake Ingalls.  For years, I’ve been dying to reach a lake like this.  High in the mountains, surrounded by rock and ice.  I drool at pictures of the nearby Enchantments, but until I get us a permit (which must be done months in advance) and the time to do it, Lake Ingalls is not a poor substitute.

Down to the lake.

It took us just over 3 hours to cover the 5.4 miles and 2300’ of gain.  We hadn’t seen a bug the entire time.  But at the lake, the mosquitoes were horrendous.  We worked our way along the west side of the lake and got ourselves situated on a nice rock a bit back from the water, hoping to catch what breeze there was.  After applying the rest of our 100% DEET, which proved effective, we sat down to eat our lunch, which consisted of cheese sandwiches, trail mix, beef jerky, and an apple.  We were hungry!  The trail mix was good even though we didn’t make it, but the apple was blah–it had no flavor.

When we’d arrived, we saw several other people in the high rocks around the lake, but they were far enough away that it seemed like we had it all to ourselves.  We ate, drank, and snapped many many pictures.

Mt. Stuart reflected in Lake Ingalls. The first of many.

The waters of Ingalls.

Mt. Stuart, meet Lake Ingalls. You may notice a slight breeze.

Nicole had spotted a mountain goat across the lake; that mountain goat turned out to be ~10 mountain goats.  It was a large family with multiple kids, and as time went by they worked their way clockwise around the lake, passing nearby and through other groups of hikers.  By now there were a fair amount of people up at the lake, most of which were standing right at the trail’s end.  This, unfortunately, ended up being directly between the majority of the goat family and a lone, stranded kid.  The kid was crying and couldn’t find a way down from the rocks to its mother.  It was a pretty heartbreaking scene, and we were kicking ourselves for being intrusive humans.  But the other people didn’t seem to understand that they were, perhaps, making things more difficult for the kid by standing where they stood, and so the crying continued for quite a while.  Eventually, the kid found its way down and the crying stopped.  Meanwhile, other members of the family had made their way over to us…

This kid's got balance.

Nicole vs. Goat.

Having just witnessed the aforementioned scene, we were anxious to get out of the way of the goats, and so at 11:45 we snuck between the four or five surrounding us, and left Lake Ingalls behind us.  This gives me an opportunity to muse: why Lake Ingalls and not Ingalls Lake?

On the way back, we came again to the proverbial fork in the road.  That is, the Upper Headlight Basin trail (which we’d already taken) vs. the Lower Headlight Basin (which appeared to lose and regain a few hundred additional feet).  Nicole and I were both feeling our knees and feet, but I’d seen some photos at NWHikers.net of Mt. Stuart reflected in a small tarn, and since I hadn’t seen it along the upper trail, I hypothesized that the location was along the lower one.  And there was also this trip report to come home to.  So for the sake of completeness and photographic plagiarism, we took the low road.  Our knees graciously accept your thanks.

The low road (aka Ingalls Way Alternate #1390.2) does indeed take you down a few hundred feet, through a greener portion of the basin.  There are several amazing campsites off of the trail, with stellar views of Mt. Stuart.  There’s also a toilet in the area, and though we didn’t investigate, I hear even it has commanding views of the mountain.  In a short amount of time, we came across the small meadow tarn that held quite a nice reflection of Mt. Stuart.  I snapped only several photos, and then moved on; there were some bugs in this part of the basin, too.

Mt. Stuart from the Lower Basin perspective.

The Stuart-reflecting tarn has been found. Deploy cameras immediately.

At 12:45 we emerged from Lower Headlight Basin and found the intersection we’d seen on the way up.  It actually took us a little less time from lake to intersection via #1390.2 than it did from intersection to lake via #1390.1.  I think the lower route is slightly more direct, but there’s a bit more elevation change.  That said, we did stop for mountain goats, marmots, and more along the upper trail.  My advice: do what we did–you’ll want to see it all both ways.

Nicole emerges victoriously from Lower Headlight Basin.

From that point onward, it was all downhill, generally, gradually.  We made pretty good time, even though we both had a bit of knee pain.  The afternoon sunshine seemed to wake up the wildflowers.  We descended while conversing, and said Hello to all the hikers heading up.  At 14:30, we were at the trailhead.

Yes, I took the green out of this picture. I'd had enough!

I’d stopped right near the trailhead to take a few photos of the stream that ran alongside it, and Nicole went ahead to use the toilet.  A few minutes later, when I walked into the parking lot, I saw Nicole talking to someone.  It turned out to be a woman we knew.  She and her partner (we actually know them both) had just finished a hike up to Esmeralda Basin.  We laughed because Nicole and I knew that they were heading to the general area, but it was a pleasant surprise, and amazing timing, to run into them both then and there.  We talked for a few minutes and then retreated to our car to take off our boots and socks.

Nicole and I both agree that this is one of the best hikes we’ve been on.  The trail is in great shape, and engineered to our tastes.  The views are excellent the entire time.  Wildlife.  Beautiful campsites.  A lake that we’d love to dunk toes (or more!) in on a warmer day.  It’s an area we need to come back and spend some more time in.  A day hike just isn’t quite enough.  Highly recommended.

Distance: ~10.8 miles round-trip from the Ingalls Way trailhead to Lake Ingalls.  The lake itself sits at 6463’ and the trail gains 2300’+ en route.  It took us ~3:10 to reach the lake, and ~2:45 to get back down to the trailhead.  Including each and every photo op and a leisurely lunch below Ingalls Peak, this hike took a total of ~7 hours.  Pizza was delivered before 18:00 and we were in bed by 21:00 and 22:00, respectively.

As always, there’s more photos at Flickr; comments and questions are welcomed.

A Monday commitment meant that we were left searching for a Sunday day hike, and this time Nicole made the call: Nason Ridge, right between US-2 and Lake Wenatchee. Actually, she’s supposed to be writing up this trip report, but it seems we’ll have to settle for some of her comments and impressions on this hike toward the end of this entry. Or look for a separate post from her on this topic. So: based on the trip reports, we expected a moderately difficult hike with no snow, decent views, an alpine lookout, and the high possibility of a mountain goat encounter. We weren’t disappointed.

Like many, we approached Nason Ridge via Round Mountain Trail #1529. Green Trails Map #145 (Wenatchee Lake) shows three ways up to Nason Ridge from US-2, but the route up Round Mountain has the advantage of having the highest starting elevation, at 3900’. The trailhead sits at the end of Road 6910, which is maybe 1/4 mile east of the Nason Creek Rest Area–we knew it was coming, and we still ended up missing it and turning around (look for a driveway with mailboxes and a small 6910 sign) . The road up to the trailhead is in suitable shape for most anyone–we took the Focus this time, and had no problem making it the ~4 miles to the trailhead.

We arrived at the trailhead at 09:55 to find five other cars and an outhouse, which we didn’t use because we’d stopped at the rest area just minutes before. We’d left West Seattle at 07:35, and run into minimal traffic, so that’s a little over two hours of driving time. We stepped out of the car to put on our boots and were immediately greeted by hungry mosquitoes. After applying sunscreen and bug dope, we set off. 10:10.

The trail starts off west-northwest through the forest and quickly begins to gain elevation at a moderate-to-steep grade. Maybe 10 minutes in there is a small stream–at least at this time of year. It didn’t look very refreshing, but if you didn’t bring enough water this is the only place to get some. The trail is dry, dry, dry. I was carrying 7 liters of water for the both of us, and we drank nearly all of it–most on the way up. In case you’re wondering, as I was, how much 7 liters of water weighs, the answer is ~15 pounds. So I estimate I was carrying 30+ pounds in my bag from the start; I really need to buy a scale to weigh my bag at home…

Anyway: after about 20 minutes of uphill and evergreen needles we came upon the consequences of a not-too-recent wildfire. Here the trees were scorched silver and skeletal, but time had passed and there was plenty of new growth in the area. Actually, the trail was overgrown in places, and so we found ourselves rubbing shoulders with greenery and doing our best to avoid scratches on our shins. There’s also one or two small blow-downs along the trail, but they’re easily avoided. The trail works itself through the wildfire burn for another 20 minutes or so, turning rocky underfoot in the process. We left the wildfire burn behind us at 10:50 and continued through direct sun and sparse shade–which should’ve been a respite from the heat, but only encouraged the mosquitoes.

Old burn, new life.

At 11:15, we reached the Nason Ridge Trail/Round Mountain Trail intersection. Here #1529 ended, after taking us up to 5200’ elevation in 1.6 miles, with a gain of 1300’. Our destination, the Alpine Lookout, was still another 1000’ higher, but we had 3.6 miles to gain the rest of the elevation, so we felt good knowing that the worst was behind us. We took a left at the junction, and headed west around the southern side of Round Mountain.

Just minutes up from the junction, views open up to the north over Lake Wenatchee and the White River valley, all the way up to Glacier Peak itself. Up until this point, we’d been moving constantly, and so the bugs had only been a nuisance; but here, as we stopped for a few photos and I removed my backpack, they began a full-force attack. They seemed particularly attracted to my sweat-drenched back. I’m normally the lucky one–Nicole seems to have the sweeter blood for attracting bugs. But the bugs on this hike were the worst we’ve experienced this year, and perhaps ever. We quickly decided that the ~20% DEET we’d applied at the trailhead just wasn’t cutting it, and pulled out the 100% DEET Jungle Juice. Mmmm. Delicious, delicious DEET. The stronger stuff seemed to work pretty well, so we finished up admiring the view and started moving again by 11:30.

Nicole looks out to Glacier Peak across the White River valley.

In 15 minutes we realized we were hungry, and sat down for a snack in the sun with views to the south across US-2 to the Chiwaukum Mountains and southwest across the wildfire burn we’d come through. For the next hour or so the trail gains elevation overall at a very pleasant rate–and loses some here-and-there–while you work your way westward along Nason Ridge proper. There are some wonderful wildflower meadows to walk through, but it seems like they’d peaked at least a week or two prior. We saw purples and some reds where there had once been many purples and reds and yellows; I don’t know the names of them yet, except for the red Indian Paintbrushes. We were making such good time through this section that we didn’t even stop for pictures–though I’m sure we would’ve if we’d been here a few weeks earlier.

At around 13:00 we started descending the again-rocky trail to Ninemile Saddle. By this point, we were nearly 4.5 miles in, and so losing a couple hundred feet in elevation that we knew we’d be regaining on the way out wasn’t especially enjoyable. But it wasn’t very difficult. The saddle itself opens to the north again, with views of the surrounding rocky cliffs and slopes. We scanned for mountain goats for a few moments and then continued on. I should’ve taken out the camera at this point.

Minutes later we came around a curve in the trail and met a mountain goat head-to-head. I quickly called to Nicole to close the few steps between us. This goat had a small kid with it, and Nicole caught up just in time to get a good view of the adult–I assume it was a nanny, since it was with a baby–though the kid was only a blur of white into the rocks. We stood on the trail for a few minutes, looking up into the rocks where we could see the goat standing over us. It kept an eye on us as we turned and headed onward, completely satisfied with the hike now that we’d had our first up-close mountain goat sighting.

Our first close mountain goat sighting; he was closer.

In just another few minutes we came to sign indicating the spur trail up to the Alpine Lookout. The trail up is rocky and slightly exposed, but far from scary. At this point, however, we were exhausted, and ready for a relaxing break at the top. We met a pair of hikers coming down from the top who kindly assured us that we were almost there, and then told us that they’d seen several families of goats up at the top, after we’d excitedly stated that we’d just seen some of our own. (We’d also passed–yes, passed–a group of three hikers perhaps two miles earlier–two of whom were wearing bug nets.)

At 13:25 we reached the lookout, where the mosquitoes were the absolute worst they’d been. We’d been hoping for a strong breeze and a break from the bugs, but it wasn’t to be. I snapped a few photos around the area just to keep moving–Mt Stuart and Mt Rainier are both just visible to the south–and then the ranger manning the lookout came outside to say hello and offer us shelter from the mosquitoes.

The Alpine Lookout, Nicole, and Glacier Peak.

From the Alpine Lookout to Glacier Peak Wilderness.

We gladly accepted, and ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in silence while he made calls on his radio to other lookouts in the area. We talked for a little while about his job, recent conditions, the Dirtyface fire of a few years ago (which he’d seen start from this very lookout and we’d seen smoking from Lake Wenatchee), mountain goats, F-18s, et cetera. I think a ring-tone on his cell phone was the theme song to Sugarfoot, which had something to do with Sugarloaf Lookout and reminded me of Arrested Development. While we were talking, the trio of hikers we’d passed arrived to find a mountain goat only feet away from them. We watched them out the window while we talked; having seen a goat already, we weren’t in too large of a hurry to rush outside into the bugs and forsake safety, food, and conversation. Eventually we felt like we should leave him to his work, and thanked him for the hospitality. I grabbed my camera and set off to find the goat, but it’d apparently wandered out of sight after posing for pictures. I gave Nicole back the camera and took one last look around.

Jeremy climbs some rocks for a better view.

It’s a good thing that I did, because I spotted the goat below me that’d been hanging around the lookout before. Normally I don’t stalk wild animals, but since all the goats that hang around the lookout seem pretty familiar with humans, I stepped down from the rock, grabbed the camera, and walked a dozen feet or so down toward the goat. It walked down in front of me–not far away–and worked its way around to my right. I took a few steps up onto a rock to get a better view, and the goat started getting closer and closer. I was amazed. Then, when he was within about five feet of me and looking right at me, I got a little scared. It’s got horns, after all. I backed off; I’m not sure if the goat was just curious, or curious with the intent to kill.

The mountain goat: friend, or foe?

That picture wasn’t even taken with my 55-200mm VR Zoom lens–which, alas, is still broken–it was taken with my 18-55mm Zoom lens. This was definitely a close encounter. I hope we get to see many more mountain goats in the future, but I hope we’ll see them in an environment where they’re not so accustomed to human beings, and so I hope I’ll need a bigger lens…

It was 14:15 by the time we left the Alpine Lookout–we’d spent nearly an hour at the top. The breeze picked up a little bit on the way down, and I was carrying a lot less water, but bad knees kept us from making truly amazing speed on the way out. Still, we were back at the car with our boots off by 16:45. So much of the middle section of this trail is nearly flat that you won’t make significantly better time on the way out.

The total distance, from the Round Mountain trailhead to the Alpine Lookout and back, was 10.4 miles. I believe the lookout sits above 6200’, so the total elevation gain (and loss) was 2300’+. As for the time, it took us ~3:15 on the way up, and ~2:30 on the way down; total hiking time: ~5:45, trailhead to trailhead time, with bugs, lunch, lookouts, and goats: ~6:35. Overall, it’s a great hike. There are excellent views up toward Glacier Peak, and you’re nearly guaranteed to see at least one mountain goat. Most of the hard work is near the trailhead or the lookout. There were a lot of bugs this time, but that won’t last forever. And there’s no water to speak of, so make sure you bring enough of your own–it gets hot and dry. And with those trail conditions, you can count on some dirty legs.

Nicole's legs weren't this dirty, or I'd have pictured hers.

Don’t worry, you can remedy this by driving a few miles to the beach at Lake Wenatchee and wading in to your knees, if not further. That’s what we did, and it’s a great way to cool off and clean off after a good long hike.

As always, there’s a few more photos at Flickr.

Emboldened by the Explorer’s surprising 20mpg Seattle-to-Aix-and-back performance, and having thoroughly enjoyed WA-410–a road we’d not driven on before–we decided to find a hike in North Cascades National Park for the weekend. This would alleviate the dual shames of having never taken WA-20 (aka North Cascades Highway) past Baker Lake and–the greater sin–having never even entered North Cascades National Park. Hey, we’ve been close…and we’re, you know…and it’s… Gas be damned! We were off early Sunday morning (07:00) after letting our friends’ dogs outside.

Our plan was to pull into the Colonial Creek Campground on Diablo Lake on Sunday morning and set up camp, then head up to Fourth of July Pass and back. We’re currently of the mind that if we’re gonna drive over three hours one-way to hike, we’re gonna turn it into at least a car-camp/day-hike combo, if not a backpack. We even thought–before our first hike, of course–that we might squeeze in two hikes: one Sunday, and one Monday. That didn’t happen.

The drive from Seattle to North Cascades National Park (hereafter, NOCA) via WA-530 (through Darrington) and WA-20 took less than three hours. WA-530 is another road we’ve somehow managed to avoid. Anyone who knows Washington State hiking and is reading this is probably wondering where we have been. Answer: I don’t know, and that’s something we’re working on rectifying. (To further display my ignorance, I’ll say here that I assumed that WA-530 was also the Mountain Loop highway. I started to suspect differently when I saw a sign in Darrington that seemed to contradict me. More on this later.) So: after stopping off for firewood, a corkscrew, two breakfast sandwiches, and an underwhelming stop at the Gorge Lake viewpoint, we were registered at Colonial Creek Campground and setting up our tent at 10:18. Definitely drivable in under three hours; I drive slowly.

Colonial Creek Campground sits right on Diablo Lake, which is a beautiful aquamarine color, on account of its glacial waters. Privacy in the campground ain’t the best–at least if you want to be on the water–but you get flush toilets, fire pits w/ grates, and easy access to the trailhead we planned on using. Definitely a good place for families, and since it was a Sunday, many people were headed out while we were headed in.

We left most of our gear behind, or in the truck, but I insisted on carrying a pack that still had some weight to it–much of it water, we left with 5 liters–ostensibly for training purposes. Nicole had the camera bag and her trekking poles. A few minutes after leaving our campsite, we arrived at the Thunder Creek trailhead at 11:19. We’d be taking the Thunder Creek trail for 2.1 miles, and then turning off and picking up the Fourth of July Pass trail, which would take us up another 2.5 miles to Fourth of July Camp, and perhaps further.

For the first ~1.5 miles, the trail takes you south, along the Thunder Arm of Diablo Lake until it shrinks down to the still formidable Thunder Creek. This portion of the trail is in beautiful condition: wide, level, earthen. You’ll walk among very large trees, the largest of which I’ll hypothesize are cedars. Tree identification: yet another area for improvement. A very pleasurable walk.

Trees along Thunder Creek.

At 12:00 we crossed over the creek and stopped to take a few pictures. Here we saw two other hikers on their way out; we were surprised at the level of solitude on a Sunday in a National Park on a trail so accessible. We’d see more, of course.

Thunder Creek and the view north from the bridge.

Minutes after crossing the bridge, you reach the well-signed intersection of Thunder Creek Trail and Fourth of July Pass Trail. It’s here that the trail starts to gain elevation via a series of moderately steep switchbacks. Views are few at this point, but some do open up within ~30 minutes. We stopped at a spot with good views across to Snowfield Peak at around 12:30 to eat our lunch and apply some sunscreen.

Just a few minutes uphill from there, views open to the north up Thunder Creek and across a just-visible Diablo Lake to a couple snowy peaks that I’m not sure I can identify. We stopped again so I could take a few pictures–time, once again, is not a prioirity–and behind me I hear Nicole say, somewhat surprised, “My nose is bleeding.” I forget what to do and tell her to pinch and put her head back, but then we both agree that one should not put their head back. I’ve got the camera around my neck and the backpack on and Nicole’s fingers are covered in blood, so it takes me a moment to get her some Kleenex. Her nose stops bleeding, but she spits up a little blood every so often as we wonder as to its cause. Dryness? (I should say, once we crossed the creek and began going uphill, the trail became significantly drier.) Altitude? (Less than 2000’ at this point, with maybe 500’ gain.) At 13:10 she gives the go-ahead. We’re off.

Nosebleed point: view north across Thunder Creek and Diablo Lake.

Shortly, the switchbacks cease and instead of working your way away from the creek you run parallel to it, gaining elevation gradually from 2000’ to 2500’ before a second set of switchbacks begin. In between, glimpses of Snowfield Peak’s namesake feature and Colonial Peak to your right. There’s also ~3 streams that cross the trail in this section should you need water. We still had a fair amount, though we were going through it pretty quickly. Earlier, we saw a couple coming down through the switchbacks; the man was carrying one Nalgene bottle, the woman was carrying her purse. What!? Anyway, we didn’t filter water, but the third stream had some lovely little waterfalls, so I took out the camera and set up the tripod. We spent perhaps 20 minutes there, and somehow I only ended up with like four pictures. Strange. We were hiking again at 14:00.

Portion of a small waterfall along the trail.

Just after the above waterfall, the trail starts heading up through switchbacks again, and they don’t let up until you gain ~900’ of elevation (to 3400’) and arrive at Fourth of July Camp. It took us about an hour; we were pretty hot and going through the water we had with no reservations, but we’d arrived to very nice views across to Snowfield Peak’s Neve Glacier (and the waterfalls tumbling from it) and to the south we could now see Tricouni and Primus Peaks, which had been partially obscured by the trees while we made our way up the trail. As hot as it was, it would’ve been a hotter hike if it weren’t for the trees–though they do get in the way of the views. Up top we met a group of hikers and I shared my map with them to help them identify the peaks. Essentials can be fun, people!

Tricouni and Primus Peaks, as viewed from Fourth of July Camp.

And then: catastrophe. The picture above is not notable so much for its quality or artistic merit (though it does give ya’ll an idea of what the payoff for this hike is–a payoff most of the other hikers seemed disappointed with) as it is for its status as one of the last photos taken with my Nikon 55-200mm VR Zoom lens. It hurts me to talk about it, but for the sake of completeness and accuracy, I must. I was setting up the camera and tripod to take some shots across the way, and I apparently didn’t have it properly stabilized, because as I turned to take my notebook back from Nicole, I heard her gasp and the camera crash to the dirt and rock downhill.

When I turned around I could see the lens bouncing down a dozen feet or more away from the camera, which was still attached to the tripod. I stood in a mixture of disbelief and complete masochistic acceptance for a moment before I walked down to retrieve the pieces. I was certain all was lost. Earlier this year I dropped my iPhone weeks after buying it; now, it seemed, the camera was destroyed. As tight as money is, I still seem to find some [credit] to spend on expensive toys. And God punishes me by allowing me to break nothing except from the most expensive of them. The glass on the lens was still intact, but it wouldn’t zoom and it wouldn’t attach to the camera body anymore. I pulled out the kit lens to test the camera. The lens attached, the camera powered on, and I snapped a few pictures. It seemed to be working. So I put it away.

Sadness and the remains of the 55-200mm VR.

The group of hikers that were exploring Fourth of July Pass around us, and others as well, had agreed earlier that continuing on wasn’t exciting. And we both very, very depressed about the camera incident, so we headed downhill with heavy hearts and a pint of water between us. The time was 15:45.

The going was slow but steady through the switchbacks, on account of the descent being hard on Nicole’s knees, but by 18:30 we were back at camp with our boots off and hot dogs on the brain. The total distance, according to the Green Trails Map #48, was 9.2 miles round-trip, with 2200’ of elevation gain (and corresponding loss). The trip took us ~7 hours, including lunch, a nosebleed, photography, and mourning. It was more exhausting physically and emotionally than we’d planned on, so as the S’mores put us to sleep early, it was probably already decided that a second-day day-hike was probably not going to happen.

Early to bed, late to rise. Somehow we slept past 07:00. I got up and took some more pictures with my remaining lens. I’m still planning on taking the camera in for a check-up tomorrow, but it seemed to take fine photographs for the remainder of the trip, as you’ll see below. There’s a family of geese that have become a little too accustomed to handouts, from shore, and we saw a Stellar’s Jay investigating our neighbors’ campsite, but wildlife sightings on the entire trip consisted mostly of Douglas Squirrels. After fending off the geese and spitting our toothpaste into sinks, we packed up the Explorer and pulled out of the Colonial Creek Campground at 08:55.

Reflections in Diablo Lake from Colonial Creek Campground.

Since we weren’t going on another hike, and we’d only driven a small portion of WA-20 into NOCA, we headed east and checked out a few viewpoints (with views better than the hike we’d been on!), Ross Lake, Diablo Dam, and the NOCA Environmental Learning Center. More pictures, and we were back on the road.

Nicole at North Cascades Highway viewpoint, and Colonial Peak.

Us at the viewpoint, with Pyramid Peak and Paul Bunyan's Stump.

Nicole says I look like Ray Charles in this picture. Really?

As we approached Darrington, I remembered the sign that marked the Mountain Loop Highway, and, after pulling off to verify the information, we continued our quest to drive down the unseen roadways of Washington State. Out of Darrington, the highway shrank to a one-lane gravel road that followed the beautiful Sauk River, which has a plethora of great campsites alongside it. We also got to see many trailheads that I’ve read about–most are damaged, and most are access points to the Glacier Peak Wilderness Area. We’ll be going back to this area many times in the future, I hope. Eventually you end up back on blacktop, but there’s still tons of National Forest campsites, great views, and good trails.

We pulled into West Seattle sometime around 15:00 and sank into showers and pizza. We’ve got to stop eating pizza every time we come back–we can’t afford it!

It was a long day-and-a-half, but we got a lot of exercise and saw a lot of new territory. We probably won’t return to Fourth of July Pass, but we probably will return to the Thunder Creek Trail, and we’ll definitely explore NOCA and the Mountain Loop Highway in the weeks, months, and years to come.

Only a few more pictures at Flickr.