Somehow, Nicole and I had yet to truly reach a summit. It’s probably because we’d never picked a hike with the summit of a mountain as our destination. On Mt. Aix, we came close, only to be turned back by fear and thunderclouds. At Marmot Pass earlier this year, summiting Buckhorn Mtn. had been a thought until full backpacks and bum knees made us think otherwise. So reaching a summit was overdue, and Nicole in particular really wanted to accomplish that goal.

Mt. Stuart and The Enchantments Range from Navaho Peak.

Cousin Bobby, who accompanied us on our hike to Goat Lake two weekends ago and didn’t break a sweat the entire time, wanted to go out again. We wanted to take him somewhere impressive, as we only have a few more free weekends until his internship ends. We also wanted to make him sweat.

Our friend David, who just returned from teaching English in Mexico for ~1.75 years and is staying with us at the moment, insisted that he had boundless energy and didn’t want to be left behind. He may have been exaggerating, and he might be regretting his decision at this very moment.

Our destination was chosen earlier in the week: Navaho Peak, in the Teanaway area. Like last week, we were unpleasantly surprised to find that Navaho Pass was declared WTA’s Hike of the Week. Undeterred by this obvious and repetitive display of telepathic plagiarism, we kept the plans in place as they were.

So it was that our party of four left West Seattle at 06:00, an accomplishment in itself as far as I’m concerned. Now that I know I can get everyone out of bed at 05:30, it’s just another small step to get them up at 05:00, or even 04:30.

Getting to the Teanaway area is quite easy—it’s barely off I-90 just east of Cle Elum, where we stopped for Safeway deli sandwiches and David ran into the Cle Elum Bakery for some of his favorite cookies. Up WA-970 and the Teanaway River Road we went. Out in the river we saw three beautiful bucks—I jumped out of the car, opened the trunk, attached my telephoto and shot a few frames. It was a great sight.

Deer in the Teanaway River.

With deer on the brain, we started back up the Teanway River Road, expecting to see our trail’s number—#1359—on a sign near a right turn. After driving for ten or fifteen minutes, it became clear that we missed the turnoff, and had to turn around and backtrack. We were looking for Stafford Creek Road, but it is actually signed Road 9703, and while there is a trail number on a sign there, it wasn’t ours.

After that small setback, we pulled into the trailhead parking lot around 08:40 and were on the trail at 08:50.

The trail starts off along the river with several ups and downs, with more ups than downs. There is evidence that an older trail stayed closer to Stafford Creek, but it has been washed out and the trail re-routed above it. There are a couple forks of the older and younger trail. Branches are helpfully laid across the older trail—just stay right and go uphill. You’ll be going uphill the whole way anyway! Tiger Lilies are plentiful along this lower portion of the trail, and give way to Columbines shortly after. This portion of the hike isn’t terribly exciting, offering little views and a steady but gentle uphill grade. Thankfully, the sun still hadn’t risen above the ridge to the east, so we hiked in the shade.

Red rock formation across Stafford Creek.

After a few miles, interesting red formations appear across the river, and the trail begins climbing a bit more earnestly. At 10:40 and 4.8 miles in, we reached the intersection with the Standup Creek Trail #1369. We all were doing quite well, though some expressed doubts about summiting what I’d erroneously pointed out as our destination earlier. Little did we know, we’d be going even higher. We continued on, our party separating by several minutes from time to time, with Bobby often well out in the lead and David bringing up the back. The red rocks across the river first were above us, then across from us, and then below us.

The trail to Navaho Pass, aka Stafford Creek Trail, aka Trail #1359

At 11:30 we came to a beautiful little meadow with purple flowers and a few steadfast glacier lilies. There were a few nice campsites, most occupied. At the meadow, the trail hugs the right side of the meadow—don’t walk straight across it!

After the meadow, the trail crosses a picturesque stream lined with what I’m for now calling Purple Rocket Flowers and then sends you out across a barren moonscape on your final push to Navaho Pass. The rocks here are fascinating, and the scenery entirely different from what came before and what was to come after. At some point below, we’d left the safety of the shade and for the rest of the day we’d be hiking underneath a full sun. I wore long pants and a long-sleeved shirt and escaped with only minor sunburn on my right hand, others weren’t so protected and applied sunscreen, but too late.

From flowers...

...to moonscape.

We took the last several steps and reached the pass at 11:55. The views across to the peaks of The Enchantments were excellent. We snapped a few photos (including some of a couple we’d been playing hiking hopscotch with on the way up) and sat down to eat our lunch. There was a very cool breeze that was refreshing momentarily, but we took shelter behind a few small trees to rest. We looked to the east of the pass at Navaho Peak, which still stood ~1200′ higher. For much of our ~thirty-minute rest, it appeared that we’d be leaving David behind and heading up to the summit ourselves. Then, after food and rest, he stood up to test his knee and pronounced himself fit to continue. We left for the summit at 12:30.

The view north from Navaho Pass.

There’s a trail all the way to the top of Navaho Peak, easily followed. Like the rest of the trail, it’s quite dusty and dry, and small gravel and dust on a steep incline made for slow, slippery progress both up and down. Once again we each set our own pace, though Nicole did end up staying close to David and offering him support. While walking along the ridge, Mt. Adams comes into view off to the south, and then, Mt. Rainier in its glory. To the north, Mt. Stuart, which is mostly hidden at the pass, stands above The Enchantments. The climb was hot and slow. I stopped from time to time to look up toward Bobby—while I could still see him—and/or down to Nicole and David—when I could still see them. I put my bandanna underneath my hat and over my ears. For a while it felt like it was just me and the mountain. Near what I assumed to be the top, there were still two small patches of snow. I’d seen them from below and immediately placed a snowball under my hat. In just another minute or two I saw Bobby sitting atop the rocky summit. Even then I stopped a time or two to catch my breath and take in the view.

Weathered trees and Mt. Stuart.

I reached the summit at 13:20. It felt amazing to be standing at the very top, with unobstructed views in every direction. I showed Bobby the summit register, which we pulled out and signed, an act each of us did for the first time. For fifteen minutes the two of us sat at the summit. Two young women were just below the summit, where they’d been when Bobby arrived. They left as Nicole and David arrived. I was very happy to see Nicole, I knew she really wanted to do it, knew she could do it, and was proud to see her standing on Navaho Peak and smiling. David surprised me beyond words—more cervezas and mole than mountains in middle Mexico, and here he was, up at the top of a mountain with us after just a week in the country! On our hardest hike to date!

Northern panorama from the summit of Navaho Peak.

Bobby cracks open the summit register.

David, pretending to enjoy the summit.

Proof that we were there as well.

We’d come ~7 miles and gained ~4100′ to be at the top of Navaho Peak. We stayed on the top, just the four of us, for the next ~thirty minutes. It was time well spent, and we knew we had a long way to down and out yet.

At 14:00, we left the summit. I gave David one of my trekking poles for the way out, which he accepted gladly after shunning trekking poles on the way up. The way out was long and slow. We stopped to filter a bit of water from below the pass. The group spread out wide as we continued down what felt like a very, very long final several miles. I knew we were getting close when the Tiger Lilies stood at the sides of the trail again.

Going down.

Around 17:30, we all convened at the Forester, used the facilities, and gingerly set ourselves into our designated seats. After we’d set out from the pass to the summit, David had asked if he could drive home. “That depends on if you make it to the top,” I said. So David’s reward for summiting was driving us all home, including sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic from Cle Elum to Keechelus Lake. And we really wanted to get home…

Which we did, at 20:20, some fourteen hours after leaving the house that morning.

We all pushed ourselves hard on this hike. It was worth it.

Stats: ~14 miles from trailhead to summit and back, with ~4100′ of elevation gain and loss. Our high point was the summit of Navaho Peak, 7223′. It took us 3:15 to get from the trailhead to the pass, and another 0:50 to make it to the summit. Return times were similar. Hike time: ~seven hours.

 This hike took us to a higher elevation than we’ve ever been, with more elevation gained than any other hike.

As always, a few more photos at Flickr.

[Editor's note: Nicole surprised me this morning by having written her first trip report the night before.  Very cool!  Any additions by myself will be noted.]

So, Jeremy has been nagging me to write a trip report or at least a part of one since he started this website. He is so good at it that I never have. And I am lazy. But this is the longest he has waited to do one, so I thought I better help. Here it goes…I have none of the details like the times or mileage so Jeremy can add that stuff in.

We left about 6:30am and picked up my cousin Bobby in Mill Creek (he is interning out here for the summer). I believe we got to the trailhead about 1 ½ hours later, so a total of 2 hours-ish from West Seattle. As we got on our boots, the sky was clear and it was looking like a beautiful day. We started out and just a little ways in came upon a junction, where we chose the lower trail. The two options are supposed to be the same distance, with the lower being a little more challenging.  [The lower trail also stays closer to Elliott Creek.  —Ed.]

The trail was very nice and well maintained. We were walking along the river for much of the hike. I am having a hard time continuing with this part of my report. If only Jeremy were awake, he could assist. It was pleasant and the scenery nice. There were some pretty big trees. I guess that is all I have to say. Maybe a nice little picture would be good here, hon.

The author and her cousin along the lower trail.

Eventually (maybe 5 miles in) we started going up to the lake, so the pleasant walking was no more. There were even switchbacks, but it really wasn’t that bad. Bobby, who by the way is 21 and in very good shape, didn’t even break a sweat or lose his breath. But us older folk did just a little bit. Shortly before we reached the lake, the dudes went off to the right to see a waterfall.  I missed it because I was feeling like finishing up the uphill part.

Once we arrived at the lake, we sat on a log and ate our lunch. All of a sudden, people were surrounding us. On the way up, we had only seen a couple of other hikers. From then on, they were everywhere. Like we have never seen before. But back to the lake… It was beautiful with snowy mountains across the way. After eating we continued on to see the waterfall Jeremy had heard about.  [The waterfall is actually visible from the northern end of the lake.  —Ed.]  That was really pretty too. We saw there were people actually at the waterfall so started out to join them. I gave up due to the muddy steepness, but Jeremy and Bobby went on and got more pics. This entire part of the trail past the lake is unmaintained and a little wild, but worth it to see the waterfall.  [Indeed.  There are several sections with no horizontal tread, sidehills w/ exposure to the lake below, a vegetable belay, and, finally, one crosses over the base of the waterfall itself.  —Ed.]

Goat Lake from Lunch Log. Cadet Peak in the distance.

Below the waterfall on the eastern edge of Goat Lake.

Brushy peninsula en route to waterfall. Foggy Peak at upper right.

Most of our way back down was uneventful. Until the thunder. And then the downpour. Because of that blue sky I saw when starting out on the hike, I left my raincoat in the trunk. I was the only stupid one and therefore the wettest one. We took the upper trail on the way down and it felt like the longest 5 miles (or how ever long it was) ever. It just kept going and going. We all kept thinking we were done and then weren’t. And that was even before the rain.  [After consulting the map, it definitely appears that the upper trail is a bit longer, since it switchbacks on itself to maintain its historical wagon-friendly grade.  —Ed.]

Small waterfall along Upper Elliott Creek trail.

All in all, it was a nice hike. I believe it was 10.5 miles round trip. Plus another mile or so for the extra part to the waterfall. It was very busy at the lake and for the first couple of miles on our way down. If we would ever go back, it would not be on a Saturday. Sorry for the [not] crappy trip report, it was my first time. Jeremy will be back next time!

[Top-notch work by reporter/wife Nicole.  I know we're all looking forward to more of her work in the future.  I'll just wrap up with stats:  ~11.5 miles round-trip, ~1400' of elevation gain/loss.  As always, a photo or two more 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.

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

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

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

Mt Rainier from WA-410.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicole at the first snow.

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

Jeremy, feeling the heat.

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

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

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

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

Our very first Mountain Goat. Awww!

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

Nicole eating snow. The snow would have its revenge.

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

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

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

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

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

The summit in view, and snow before us.

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

The retreat toward Nelson Ridge.

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

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

The storm around Rainier, as viewed from our camp.

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

Mt Rainier, up close in A.M.

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

Check out the full Flickr set here.

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

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