After “losing” the first weekend in July to my grandmother’s 80th birthday party and the second to a Saturday spent soaking at Breitenbush Hot Springs, we were well overdue for a hike. Sunday was the only day available to us, so we settled on a dayhike at Mt. Rainier National Park.  I’d seen some stunning photographs taken from the Burroughs trail near Sunrise, and yearned for some in-your-face views of The Mountain—on prior trips to Mt. Rainier National Park (Spray Park, Summerland) the eponymous mountain remained frustratingly hidden in cloudcover.  If the weather forecast was to be believed, this day would be different.  It was.

Mt. Rainier and wildflowers from just above Sunrise.

On top of our hike starting at the always-busy Sunrise Visitor Center, we learned during the week that it was Get Into Your National Park Free Day, or some such thing.  So I set my alarm early, had no trouble getting Nicole out of bed, and we were on the road at 04:40.  I love early starts, but even as we cruised through Enumclaw and the tip of The Mountain lit up, I wished we’d started even earlier.  At 06:40, just two hours later, we pulled into Sunrise with our pick of the parking lot.  Ten minutes later, we were on wide empty trails through lupine with outstanding views of Mt. Rainier.  Of course, the views of Mt. Rainier are outstanding from the parking lot.

Nicole above Sunrise.

The trip reports which inspired us to take this trail talked of the Third Burroughs, but various other sources (Green Trails Map #270, 50 Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park, and the signage at the visitor center itself) make no mention of any Burrough beyond the Second Burroughs.  That said, we were set on the Third Burroughs as our ultimate destination, as the ~six-mile-round-trip to the Second Burroughs didn’t sound like quite enough.  The trails are all well-signed, and it’s easy to simply follow the arrows.  After several junctions and a mile/mile-and-a-half of easy walking, we reached Frozen Lake at 07:40.  Along the way we’d seen only two people—a 1:1 people to marmot ratio!

After skirting south of the roped-off Frozen Lake, the trail reaches the First Burroughs and climbs upward for the next ~twenty minutes until you reach the top with sweeping views of Mt. Rainier and the Second Burroughs in the distance and vistas as far as Mt. Baker, Glacier Peak, and Mt. Stuart to the north.

Mt. Rainier from the First Burroughs.

From the First Burroughs, which sits at ~7300′, the trail climbs another ~100′ over the next ~twenty minutes until you reach the Second Burroughs.  Along the way, there is still a small patch of snow to traverse, and since it was still early in the morning—I believe we were the first to cross it—the snow was still a bit hard and we had to tread carefully.  We were glad to have our trekking poles.  At 08:35 we sat down in the stone shelter atop the Second Burroughs for a small snack.  The wind was quite cold atop both the First and Second Burroughs, and we each had a few layers, including our rain jackets with hood up.  Views were amazing in every direction.  At the First Burroughs, we’d met and passed a couple who’d come up via the lower portion of the Burroughs Loop Trail.  After our brief snack, they approached the shelter.  As we were eager to get moving again and warm up, we left the shelter to them and started toward the Third Burroughs.

A fine perch for a marmot.

Me in the shelter atop the Second Burroughs.

From the Second Burroughs, the trail drops a few hundred feet before gaining it all back and then some to the Third Burroughs.  Just after leaving the shelter (and the only people we’d see until our way back up the Second Burroughs on our return) we saw a small group of eight or nine mountain goats, including a big old Billy and four small kids.  After snapping several photos, we moved onward, as the Third Burroughs looked to be a bit of a workout.

Goats on the Burroughs.

Nicole takes in The Mountain and the Third Burroughs.

We climbed through the tundra-like landscape and up the Third Burroughs, several times losing the trail under snow, but always finding it again at the upper end easily.  Again and again we congratulated ourselves on getting up early.  We felt like we had the entire Mountain to ourselves.

Looking back at the Second Burroughs.

Climbing the snowfield on the Third Burroughs.

At 09:40 we reached the top of the Third Burroughs (7828′) and were treated to an entirely new view.  Now much of the lower north side of Mt. Rainier, which had remained hidden, was visible.  Particularly impressive was the entirety of the Winthrop Glacier.  The views to the West, Northwest, and Northeast weren’t to be ignored either.  We sat and lunched (taking care to keep crumbs from the chipmunk), took photos, and relished the solitude for a half-an-hour before we decided it was time to turn around.  It was 10:10.

The Mountain.

Me. And The Mountain.

Winthrop Glacier detail.

I took several steps down the largest snowfield before I dropped to my behind to glissade and Nicole dropped in behind me.  Since I was leading the way, she gained quickly on me, picking up speed with cries of glee and finishing with a 360° spin as we reached the bottom.  It was her first glissade, and only my second (after Spider Gap).  By 10:55 we were atop the Second Burroughs, our pants nearly dry, and the population went from zero to ten, twenty, thirty.  I estimate we saw ~150 people on the way out, with all levels of preparedness and civility—or lack thereof.

Even with all the foot traffic, we reached our car by 12:10 and left the overflowing parking lot ten minutes later.

Nicole on the way out.

Down the First Burroughs to Frozen Lake.

I cannot recommend this trail highly enough.  I also must reiterate my belief that it is imperative you start early.  For the first two-thirds of this hike, we felt like we had the place to ourselves: the vast, barren tundra landscape of The Burroughs, the panormaic views in every direction, and, of course, The Mountain itself, filling the frame for nearly every step of the hike.  The views are there no matter how many people are on the trail, but the atmosphere isn’t.

Stats: ~8 miles round-trip from the Sunrise Visitor Center (6400′) to the Third Burroughs (7828′) and back, with maybe ~2500′ of elevation gain and loss, taking into account the loss and gain between the Second and Third Burroughs.  We at our lunch at a higher elevation than we’d ever hiked to previously.  It took us 2:50 to get to the Third Burroughs, and 2:00 to get back.  Total time on the trail: 5:20.  We saw every Washington State volcano—except for Mt. St. Helens—from the side of the largest.

As always, a few more photos at Flickr.

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.

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

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

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

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

Tamanos Mountain from the lower Summerland trail.

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

Mt. Rainier in the clear, blue distance.

All trails lead to Little Tahoma. Not literally.

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

Goat Island Mountain on the initial side of Fryingpan Creek.

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

Cold and lonely marmot sentinel.

The view back over Summerland.

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

Waterfall at the end of summer.

Brrr.

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

A rainbow of rocks.

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

Up to the gap.

The clouds come rolling in.

Nicole retreats from the wind and cold of Panhandle Gap.

But stops for a cold pose near the steep snow.

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

A bridge at the top.

The path down through Summerland.

And a bridge at the bottom.

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

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

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

As always, more photos at Flickr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Esmeralda Peak, as seen early on.

The red rocks of Ingalls-Iron ridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicole looks over a meadow in Upper Headlight Basin.

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

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

Mountain goats. Who would've thunk it?

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

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

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

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

Working our way up out of the basin.

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

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

Down to the lake.

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

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

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

The waters of Ingalls.

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

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

This kid's got balance.

Nicole vs. Goat.

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

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

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

Mt. Stuart from the Lower Basin perspective.

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

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

Nicole emerges victoriously from Lower Headlight Basin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old burn, new life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our first close mountain goat sighting; he was closer.

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

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

The Alpine Lookout, Nicole, and Glacier Peak.

From the Alpine Lookout to Glacier Peak Wilderness.

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

Jeremy climbs some rocks for a better view.

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

The mountain goat: friend, or foe?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.