For various reasons, we hadn’t backpacked in—I just checked—two months!  A fine amount of dayhiking, sure, but what with our upcoming trip to the Canadian Rockies, I felt we needed a bit more conditioning.  And I thought maybe, just maybe, we’d get some clear skies.  After shortening our list earlier in the week to three possible destinations, we decided we’d spend Saturday night in Gothic Basin.

Gothic Basin worked its way onto my must-do list way back when.  As sometimes happens when time passes, details regarding degree of difficulty slipped away from me, replaced only by snapshot statistics: 2600′ elevation gain, ~10 miles round-trip.  No problem.

We were up early enough Saturday morning, and on the road at 05:05.  I felt an early start was important, since we needed to find a campsite.  At 06:55, we pulled onto the side of the road at Barlow Pass, and were walking down the gated road to Monte Cristo ten minutes later.  Low clouds and fog made visibility poor.

Holding...

Fifteen minutes after squeezing through the posts on either side of the Monte Cristo gate the road is really closed, and a trail is routed above the washed out road along the South Fork Sauk River.  I’d read that it wasn’t necessary to take the re-route, so we continued along the remains of the road, which wasn’t difficult, but does require that you watch where you step.  We’d be watching each step closely later on, too.

At 07:30, ~25 minutes after leaving the Forester—

[As an aside, while driving through Robe/Verlot/Silverton we drove by a sign that read: "Hey Libs, slow your Subaru down!  Speeding contributes to global warming!" I laughed, I cried, I got a little mad.  As a liberal Subaru driver myself, I was forced to confront the fact that I was going ~3 MPH over the speed limit.  I calmed myself by rationalizing that I was driving efficiently—oh, how I love watching my MPG rise with cruise control engaged somewhere between 45 and 50 MPH!  But what of the Conservatives?  Surely they speed as well, perhaps while driving something with worse gas mileage than my beloved Subaru?  Where is their sign?]

—Ahem, as I was saying, ~25 minutes after leaving the Forester, we reached what had been the road’s river crossing.  At this point there’s a trail that continues on toward the Monte Cristo townsite and the trailhead for the Gothic Basin Trail #724.  After signing in, and noting that (at least according to the register) there was perhaps one party camped overnight and a day hiker ahead of us, we were off.

For the first ~25 minutes the trail stays relatively close to the river, comfortably undulating amongst large old trees and over wooden walkways.  Through the fog we glimpsed a waterfall as we crossed a small stream along the way.

At 08:05 we stopped for a banana as the trail began to climb up, sometimes switchbacking but often simply climbing uphill to the southwest steadily, and steeply.  It had begun.  For the next ~hour we continued on, until we eventually had to stop so that I could adjust my boots and attach some moleskin to my burning heels.  I’m pretty sure the moleskin fell off immediately after we started climbing again.

King Kong's Foggy Showerbath

Around 09:25, the trail emerges from the big trees and turns less steep, but more rocky.  Surely there’d be views across Weden Creek, but it was all clouds for us—at least on the way up.  This nearly-flat section of the trail is a welcome break, but short.  Here there are a few rocky gorges with rushing streams.  After crossing the first two, the trail bids adieu and introduces you to its replacement: a rocky, steep, slippery path that’ll really bring out the curses that’d only been at the tip of your tongue until now.  Especially if you’re carrying a ~35lb backpack.  Nicole, in particular, had some choice words to describe the experience.  In the midst of it all is another rushing stream, this time including the quite nice waterfall known as King Kong’s Showerbath, which we passed by at 10:00.

This? Trail?

Still we climbed up, until leveling briefly near mining remnants and a small pond just off the trail, it was 10:20.  It seemed like we were getting somewhere.  In my mind, we were close.  How could we not be?  We’d been hiking for over three hours, and been going uphill for nearly the entire time.  What was left?

More.

Just past the small pond, the trail crosses through a mini-pass, where there’s a small campsite off the trail, and turns sharply right.  In the fog, it was difficult to orient myself, but I felt a strong change in direction that wasn’t really represented on my map.  The valley was fogged in to our left.  There were now less of the scrambly sections of trail, but still a steady climb on rocks and roots.

En route to Gothic Basin.

Some half-an-hour later, the trail reaches a small pass and lower Gothic Basin is before you.  Thank the appropriate gods, but if you’re headed for Foggy Lake, like we were, you’re not there yet.

The basin is full of large, smooth rock outcroppings.  As we approached, a small lakelet appeared, nestled in between the humps of stone.  We saw the dayhiker that had left Barlow Pass just before us.  He said he’d had his lunch and was headed down.  He saw that we were backpacking and said it was filling up.  Since we’d seen only three people the entire morning, we were a bit surprised.  I said, “The lake’s on the other side of that, right?” And he said yes, but it wasn’t much more than what we saw in front of us.  I wondered if he’d really been to Foggy Lake and took his warnings of campsite crowding with a grain of salt.

Lower Foggy Lake, with Foggy Lake proper over the rocks.

Through the rocks of Gothic Basin...

At lower lake, the trail becomes hard to follow, and pretty much disappears after it hugs the water’s right edge.  There was a tent set up here, in a beautiful spot, but right on the trail.  We passed by quietly on our way to the base of the rocks that, we supposed, hid Foggy Lake from us.  Up the rock wall we climbed a fissure filled with ferns.  Follow the ferns, I thought.  Once atop that rock, more rock lies in front of you.  Foggy Lake still isn’t visible, but Gothic Peak and Del Campo Peak are—though weren’t to us at that point, due to the clouds.  We worked our way to the left, around more rock and just above Foggy Lake’s outlet stream.  Cairns are precious few.  Just keep going.

Foggy Lake.

In just a few minutes more, at 11:45, we were there.  Foggy Lake lived up to its name.  Clouds seemed to pour in from every direction: between Gothic Peak’s spires, through Foggy Pass across the lake, over Del Campo Peak’s striated face.  For a few brief moments there was silence; our pulses slowed, Nicole decided not to kill me, I felt satisfaction at having reached our goal—a beautiful goal, at that.  Then the two dayhikers that had passed us began to call out to one another, repeatedly, from opposite ends of the lake.  Oh well.  We stumbled upon a small flat, dry space with just enough room for our tent; we set up, ate, watched a family of ptarmigans with stripes of white, and slept.

Our camp in Gothic Basin.

After napping for an hour or two (it was our first opportunity to use our Big Agnes Insulated Air Core pads, and I feel that my sleep in that small amount of time was more restful than countless nights on only my RidgeRest), I exited the tent and counted thirteen people spread around the rocks near the outlet stream.  I set off to explore the arm of Del Campo Peak, to the right of the lake, while Nicole stayed snug in her sleeping bag.  It was pretty cool, and we were more than happy to try out our new Montbell jackets.  I worked my way along the rocky shore of the lake, passing by one tent, then seeing another occupied camp on a small isthmus separating Foggy Lake from a satellite pond.  The trail up the arm of Del Campo is comparatively easier than what had come before, and as I gained elevation Foggy Lake shrunk below and vistas, though still partially obscured by clouds, like Silvertip Peak, were beautiful.  I made out another tent set up at the south end of the lake nearer Gothic Peak.  In all, it seemed that four parties were camped at the lake, though we couldn’t see any of them from our site.

Above Foggy Lake.

Once back to camp, and as the dayhikers descended, and those with backpacks and tents and no place to put them turned back to the lower basin, it felt as if we were all alone.  It was a peaceful night, and our sleep was only interrupted for a moment as the wind played with the rainfly I’d been unable to stake out.

We were up early the next morning, and found it foggier than it had been the day before.  As we ate our oatmeal and broke down camp, however, the sun began to shine through.

Nicole and an entirely visible Gothic Peak.

Clearing in the south.

Behold, the power of sunshine.

We left Foggy Lake at 07:45 into increasing sunshine.  At 08:05, we passed by the lower lake and a pile of someone’s unwanted spaghetti; at 08:45 we passed the small pond that had raised my hopes on the ascent; at 09:05 we walked by King Kong’s Showerbath; at 09:50 we were into the big trees again; at 11:10 we reached the trailhead; and at 11:35 I unlocked the doors to the Forester.

It took us just under four hours to make our way down.  The steep and rocky sections made us place each footstep carefully, but even so, Nicole fell three times—charmed!—on our way down.  By the time the path became a trail again, our pace was slowed not by precariousness but by our own beaten bodies.

Water droplets on blueberry leaves.

Once back in the car, I consulted with 100 Hikes in Washington’s Glacier Peak Region: ~9 miles round-trip, 2600′ of elevation gain (Green Trails Maps #111/143 say ~10 miles, 2800′ gain).  Boy did it feel like more than that.  The book does estimate 9 hours of hiking time for those 9 miles, though.  Some pace!

What a hike!  I may not repeat it carrying a full ~35lb backpack, but I recommend it for both backpackers and dayhikers (who will probably have an easier time on such terrain).  Though we didn’t get the weather I’d hoped for (i.e., clear night skies to experiment with starlight), we camped at a great location and conquered everything those old prospectors laid before us.  We also got our share of exercise—a great training hike for our upcoming trips.

Day one stats: ~4.6 miles, 2800′ gain (plus several a bit more of each for Jeremy re: Del Campo), 4:40 from Forester to Foggy Lake.  Day two stats: ~4.6 miles, 2800′ loss, 3:50 from Foggy Lake to Forester.  Totals: ~9.2 miles, 2800′ gain/loss, 8:30 active hiking time.

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.]

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.