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

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

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

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

Evidence of a burn.

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

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

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

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

Through more burn...

...to the base of the Buttes.

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

A waterfall at the beginnings of Ice Creek.

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

Down the Ice Creek valley.

Flowers before steepness.

A pika's perch.

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

Lower Ice Lake, at last.

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

Larch, lake, campsite, and Mt. Maude.

Larch along Lower Ice Lake.

It ain't October yet.

North Spectacle Butte.

The Spectacle Buttes from above Lower Ice Lake.

A moment of calm on Lower Ice Lake.

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

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

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

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

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

Mt. Maude in clouds.

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

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

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

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

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

The way to Ice Lakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As always, more photos at Flickr.

I’d had my eye turned toward the Olympic Peninsula for several weeks. Our only hike on the other side of the Sound was a beach backpack, so we hadn’t really experienced the Olympic Mountains. And, after years of admiring them from afar, it was well past time to do something about it.

Falls in the Big Quilcene River.

Last month, I’d decided that we’d hike the Upper Big Quilcene Trail #833.1 sometime soon. The Forest Service conditions report on 05/18/09 said the trailhead was open and that there was heavy snow around 5000′. With Marmot Pass another 1000′ above that, I decided to wait it out a bit. Several weeks passed, temperatures soared into the 90s—then retreated, and I forgot all about the knee pain from two weeks prior.

Nicole’s dad was in town for a conference, so after dropping him off late Saturday morning, we were off for an estimated one-night backpack. It wasn’t until 10:25 that we left Seattle, which was a later start then we’re used to. Though the Hood Canal Bridge had opened a day or two before, I chose to drive south on I-5 through Olympia, and then up WA-101 along the western edge of Hood Canal. (Actually, I’d been secretly hoping that the bridge had stayed closed for another week, to lessen the chances of a busy trail.) It’d be a bit more time in the Forester, but we’d avoid the ferry fees and drive along a stretch of road we’d never driven along before. The drive north from Olympia to Quilcene was enjoyable: beaches and clammers, smooth asphalt, and a speed limit of 50mph. I’m a sucker for a 50mph speed limit, at least when the scenery warrants it. If you asked why, I might tell you it’s because of the gas mileage (we averaged ~28mpg for the entire trip), but there’s more to it than that. Or maybe I’m just getting old.

On I-5, it had rained intermittently, several times quite strongly. I reassured Nicole that once alongside the eastern edge of the mountains, it’d be drier. I was right, for the most part, but clouds still loomed ominous but beautiful up the valleys to the west of us as we passed by them. Nicole wondered aloud whether we should backpack into the weather, bringing up the option of lightening our packs and dayhiking instead. It didn’t take much, but I convinced her that we should stick to our original plan; we needed the experience of hiking and backpacking in less-than-ideal conditions anyway.

At 12:45, after two hours and twenty minutes on the road, and double that since breakfast, we pulled into Quilcene and ate a hamburger. This may or may not have been a mistake. But it was one we couldn’t take back, and after a quick bite and a coffee left behind nearly full, we left Quilcene and WA-101 for Penny Creek Road (just south of town) and another ~15 miles up to the trailhead via Forest Service Roads #27 and #2750. Rhododendrons bloomed immediately aside the road, but clouds obscured any vistas.

Boots on, poles extended, we signed into the trail register at 14:10. Several dayhikers and a couple groups camped at Marmot Pass were all that lay before us. That, and ~3500′ of elevation gain in 5.3 miles.

The first ~thirty minutes of the trail climb gently through forest—more rhododendrons here, though fewer than those on the side of the road—and the Big Quilcene River seems far off in the distance, barely audible at first, then growing louder until it’s just off to your left.

The greens were the most vibrant I’ve ever seen. The river and its many small falls were picturesque beyond belief. We stopped immediately to make use of the tripod I carry for just such occasions. We were in high spirits at 15:00, as the trial—er, typo—trail started climbing, mildly to moderately, through the greenery and trees whose tops were shrouded in what I can’t decide whether to call clouds, fog, or mist.

Rest stop.

While it didn’t seem to be raining, the trees themselves dripped droplets upon us, and at 15:55 we stopped at a “Stoves only beyond this point” sign and I wrapped the camera up and put it away while we ate sandwiches mainly to make the smell of onions go away. As we should’ve known, just after our break there was a large established camp to the left of the trail and next to the river. Had I paid closer attention to the signage at the trailhead, I would’ve known that this was Shelter Rock Camp, ~2.6 miles in and sitting at 3650′.  We’d gained just over 1100′ in half the hike, which left ~2400′ of gain in the following 2.7 miles. We were oblivious to these facts, though—for better or for worse, I cannot say.

Trail, trees, mist.

At this point, the trail turns perpendicular to the river briefly, gaining elevation less gingerly. Here the nature of the trail changes. We looked out through trees draped with pale green moss into clouds that, no doubt, obscured views across the valley. At 16:50 the trail crossed talus slopes whose tops were out of view—after a glance at Green Trails Map #135, I made the assumption that the rocks were from Iron Mountain and our elevation was around 4800′. I really need an altimeter…

As the trail changed, I heard a strange sound, repeating frequently: Whoomp, whoomp, whoomp, whoomp, whoomp. Over and over, always five sounds, a pause, and then five more, repeating. I couldn’t locate the source, and not knowing what it was was driving me crazy. My hypothesis: owl. Or ptarmigan. I have no idea, really. Do you? [Edit: grouse.]  We did see a bunny rabbit shortly after.

Our pace was slower and slower. We stopped often. My knee began to ache. Nicole’s back began to ache. We felt each pound of our 30-35 pound loads.

Wildflowers were spread about the open slopes above and below us: paintbrushes, phlox, and chocolate lilies. In the future, we’d see a small meadow of glacier lilies.

Flowers 1.

Flowers 2.

Sometime around 17:50 we approached Camp Mystery, at 5400′ and 4.6 miles in. Here there was snow. We saw a tent off the the right, and we continued on the trail, which at this point resembled a small stream. The area was wet! Nicole stopped to rest while I went ahead to find a campsite. By this time, we were pretty sure we’d just camp here, and head up to Marmot Pass in the morning or something.

A couple passed me on the way down and mentioned something about the summit being closed, and checking the website. I said, “Huh.” Maybe I was tired, but I really had no idea what they were talking about. I found a nice dry campsite to the right of the trail, with water out back, in addition to that across the trail. I went off to tell Nicole, whom I met almost immediately. She’d seen the same couple, who told her there was a good campsite near some white poop that they thought was bobcat scat. We turned around and went back up the trail, past the campsite I had seen (which Nicole liked) and found the droppings and a small trail that led to a spot suitable for a bivy, perhaps.

Here the trail hugged the right side of a meadow while snow hugged the left. In between were a fair number of yellow flowers: glacier lilies. At the end of the small meadow stood a rock wall and I hypothesized—as I tend to do—that the trail at that point turned up and made its final climb to Marmot Pass. Since it was by then 18:00, we were tired, and we didn’t have any idea what conditions/campsites were like up ahead, we returned to the aforementioned site and set up camp.

Somehow we managed to stay awake until nearly 22:00…

We awoke stiff and sore Sunday morning, but excited to see not clouds but rocks above us. It was clear! We left our packs behind us at 07:30 for a quick jaunt up to Marmot Pass. I envisioned mountains above clouds, and took little aside from my camera. The trail switchbacked through several short patches of snow, and there was ample evidence of post-holing. Luckily, we stayed atop the snow and turned frequently to admire the sun shining on the valley below us, which was filled with clouds. We saw bootprints both straight uphill and those that followed the trail, but it was easy to tell the difference.

Misty mountain crop.

Climbing snow to Marmot Pass.

Approaching the pass.

Suddenly the pass was in sight. I could see the sign in the distance. We arrived at 07:55, and spent the next ~10 minutes taking photographs and relaxing at 6000′.

Nicole relaxes while looking into the Olympic interior.

West over Marmot Pass. Click = embiggen.

We had been very close to the pass the night before, but I think it worked out for the best. We enjoyed our campsite, and the short morning excursion up to the pass. I had entertained ideas of summiting Buckhorn Mountain during the planning phase, but it’ll have to wait until another time.

As we descended, the warmth from the sun’s rays was raising clouds up like smoke signals.

Down to the clouds.

We broke camp at 09:00, dropped down into the clouds, and were in the Forester by 11:30. We stopped off to quell Nicole’s caffeine headache at a roadside espresso stand along WA-101 and were home at 14:45, with time to shower and rest before picking up Nicole’s dad and taking him to the airport.

This trip pushed us to work a little harder. We went up—not knowing how hard it’d be or what the weather had in store for us. I think the ~3500′ of elevation gain is the most we’ve accomplished while wearing full packs for the entire time. We had a good time, and managed to make Marmot Pass when it was clear. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

Stats: ~10.6 miles from trailhead to Marmot Pass and back, with ~3500′ of elevation gain (and loss).
Day 1: ~4.8 miles and ~3000′ of elevation gain to our campsite below Marmot Pass.
Day 2: ~5.8 miles, ~500′ of elevation gain, and ~3500′ of elevation loss.

As always, a few 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.