After seeing friends’ photos from an overnight trip up Sahale Arm via Cascade Pass several years ago—even before we began hiking seriously—the trip has sat almost constantly atop our queue, waiting for the perfect window of time and weather to savor the experience.

This wouldn’t be that.

South and west from near Cascade Pass.

But it wasn’t half-bad, either.

After reading that the Cascade River Road would close September 1st and remain closed through much of October, I set aside the hope that this would be the year that we’d backpack up Sahale Arm and spend the night under starry skies and, instead, settled for a dayhike up to Cascade Pass, or perhaps a bit beyond.  If all I’d read was to be believed—i.e., that I’d run out of superlatives before reaching the pass—we’d be returning for that idealized evening on the Arm, anyway.

Knowing that the trail would be busy no matter what the time, and doing our best to get all of six hours of sleep after watching Inglourious Basterds the night before, we left West Seattle at 06:20.  After stopping in Marblemount in a thwarted attempt at a warm breakfast sandwich, we headed up the 23-mile Cascade River Road stuffing a quarter-pound of Costco muffin into each of our mouths.  Signs along the way warn that the road is primitive, but it’s actually an excellent road, with glimpses up and across the valley all along the way.  At 09:10, just less than three hours after leaving home, we pulled into a large, mostly-full parking lot.  I’d expected views at the parking lot, but I was impressed nevertheless by the dominating face of Johannesburg Mountain, even as seen through our cracked windshield.  Its upper reaches were shrouded in clouds.

Views from the parking lot.

Once booted up, we left the trailhead (3600′) behind us and set ourselves a speedy pace, putting space between us and a party of ~ten that seemed like it was almost ready to hit the trail as well.  The trail ascends numerous—but gentle—switchbacks, and though we heard voices below us from time-to-time, we were treated to a surprising quietness as we climbed.  Our pace stayed quick, slowing only as we glanced over our shoulders down the Cascade River valley (which came into view about forty minutes into the hike) or across to Johannesburg again.

Around 10:30, the trail—no longer switchbacking, now traversing—crosses a large rockfield; pika sounds abound.  Cascade Pass is in sight.

Nicole nearing Cascade Pass.

As we rose to the pass, so too did the voices of those who had stopped at the pass: admirers of the Stehekin Valley and the peaks on either side, climbers off to Eldorado, et al., and those content to take a seat on rock benches and eat their early lunches.  We sat down briefly among the eight—nine—ten there and added our quiet voices to the chorus.  It was 10:55; it had taken us just over an hour-and-a-half to make it the ~3.7 miles and 1800′ of gain to the pass (5400′).

East over Cascade Pass.

Though the views were nice when we reached the pass, in all honesty, the views toward the direction we’d come from (West) were better than those over the pass (East).  Since we’d made such good time, we set off again, toward Sahale Arm, intending to climb only as far as we felt like it, hoping to see Sahale Peak itself and Doubtful Lake below it.

The beginnings of Sahale Arm.

Your friendly neighborhood marmot.

The climb from Cascade Pass to Sahale Arm is by far steeper than the trail beforehand, but not overly difficult.  It is, however, quite rocky, and after ~thirty minutes and an encounter with a relaxed marmot, Nicole decided to turn around and wait for me at the pass.  Her ankle had been bothering her since the weekend before, when we’d backpacked up to and down from Gothic Basin.  Giving the ankle a rest was probably a good idea, as we have a lot of hiking to do in the next few weeks…

I continued up alone, reaching the ridge crest (6200′) and an intersection with a trail down to Doubtful Lake at 11:35.  Here, Sahale Peak and its Arm are visible, though the summit itself remained hidden in the clouds.  I continued several steps further.  Then the beautiful blue Doubtful Lake appeared below me.  I took pictures for a few minutes, turning often to look up the Arm, trying to see just where we’ll camp when we do do this as a backpack…

Sahale Peak in clouds.

Doubtful Lake below Sahale Peak.

Stehekin, or, The Way Through.

I met Nicole back at the pass at 12:10.  She’d been eating Combos, watching marmots, and layering up.  There was a cold wind at the pass.  I added a layer and we headed down at 12:20, stopping briefly to take someone’s photo, and again to take off a layer once out of the wind.

We coasted down the semi-busy trail, coming to a halt finally in the parking lot at 13:45 to use the restroom and take off our boots.  Shortly thereafter, we were off.  A fine day, aside from the parking lot known as southbound I-5.

Heading down from Cascade Pass.

Indeed, this is a wonderful hike with beauty straightaway.  I can see why it is one of the most popular trails in Washington, and I’m looking forward to spending the night up Sahale Arm, hopefully on a quiet, fall, non-weekend day.

Stats: ~9 miles round-trip from the trailhead (3600′) to Sahale Arm (6200′) and back—it’s ~7.2 round-trip to Cascade Pass.  There’s 1800′ of elevation gain en route to the pass, and another ~800′ up to my turnaround point, for a total gain/loss of 2600′—a few hundred feet less for Nicole.  It took us 1:35 to make the pass, it took me 1:10 to climb up the Arm and back, and it took us 1:25 to descend from Cascade Pass to the parking lot.  Hike time: 3:00 round-trip to the pass, 4:25 total.

As always, a few more photos at Flickr.

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.

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

Falls in the Big Quilcene River.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest stop.

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

Trail, trees, mist.

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

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

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

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

Flowers 1.

Flowers 2.

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

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

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

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

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

Misty mountain crop.

Climbing snow to Marmot Pass.

Approaching the pass.

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

Nicole relaxes while looking into the Olympic interior.

West over Marmot Pass. Click = embiggen.

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

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

Down to the clouds.

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

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

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

As always, a few more photos at Flickr.

This Memorial Day Weekend marked our one-year backpacking anniversary. Last year, we spent two nights on the Olympic coast. This year, while we were tempted to try something similar, a quick filter of our newly created and creatively named “Hikes We Want To Do” spreadsheet sent the Thunder Creek trail in North Cascades National Park to the top of our list. Early season accessibility and the meager elevation gain and distance conducive to a first-of-the-season backpack will tend to do that. I penciled it in my calendar several weeks ago, and there it stayed.

Tricouni Peak as viewed from Junction Camp.

We left the house at 05:20, after oversleeping fifteen minutes and scrambling some eggs. Since we’d be spending the night–two, actually–within the National Park, we had to stop at the ranger station in Marblemount to pick up our permits. At 07:15 we pulled up to the ranger station and got in line behind the several parties that had arrived before us. (The ranger station opened at 07:00.) Their destinations were varied, but there was a common answer to one of the ranger’s questions: Subaru. The repetition became quite comical by the end of the line. We were the end of the line.

I’d read somewhere on NWHikers that Tricouni Camp was nice, and when the ranger said there were only two sites at that camp, I was sold. It also helped that the camp is ~7.7 miles in (according to Green Trails Map #48) and just before the most significant elevation gain of the entire trail. The ranger warned us of pesky deer, issued our permit, and we were back on the road.

At 08:10, we pulled into the trailhead at the south end of Colonial Creek Campground and hit the trail fifteen minutes later. Last year, we spent the night at the campground and went for an ill-fated day hike up to Fourth of July Pass. The first ~1.5 miles of that hike and this backpack are both along the Thunder Creek trail, so we had an idea what to expect, and I won’t elaborate on what I’ve basically written before.

Just across the bridge that takes you to the east side of Thunder Creek, we saw a cute little red-headed woodpecker, but much of the beginning of the hike was uneventful. At 09:14 we reached the Fourth of July trail intersection, at 09:43 we crossed a small bridge over a stream, and at 10:20 we stopped and sat on a small rock with views across the valley to Snowfield Peak. At 4.3 miles long, the section of the trail from Neve Camp to McAllister Camp doesn’t offer much variety, but does offer plenty of gentle ups-and-downs, small stream crossings, time for introspection, and small glimpses up-valley.

Sporadic views uptrail toward Tricouni and Primus Peaks.

At 11:45 we reached McAllister Horse Camp, ~6.4 miles from the trailhead. We stopped off to make use of the facilities, and sat down for another snack. Thunder Creek here makes a big bend, and much of the eastern bank has been washed away into a large bluff.

In between McAllister Horse Camp and the trail to McAllister Camp proper, there is a small stream crossing that offers no rocks to hop. There’s a large log to cross, but it’s far from level and does splinter off at one end, making it notable, at least. On the way back, Nicole elected to take off her boots and socks and get wet.

In just a few minutes more, the trail leaves the Ross Lake National Recreation Area and crosses into the North Cascades National Park. I always just refer to the entire area as the North Cascades National Park, but there is a difference, I suppose. Anyway, it was shortly after this marker that we came around a corner and I saw a bear ahead and off to the left of the trail. “Bear!” I said, instinctively. “What?” Nicole asked from behind me. “Bear; come here!” I just wanted her to see the bear before, I assumed, it would run off. This was our first bear-while-hiking sighting. OK, what do we do now? Let it know we’re here. “HEY BEAR!” I yelled. “GET OUT OF HERE!” The bear looked over at us, dropped off the log it was on, and went back to eating the undergrowth. Hm. What happened to the bear being afraid of us and running away immediately? We stepped back out of sight to wait a few minutes. I changed camera lenses. We walked back up the trail. The bear was still there. I snapped a few quick photos. The bear seemed pretty chill. “ALRIGHT BEAR, WE’RE JUST GOING TO WALK OVER HERE NOW.” We walked on eggshells, but talked big. The bear watched us, but only seemed partially interested in us. The bear was cute.

Bear! No, I will not set up my tripod. No, I will not approach.

Up the trail, I looked over my shoulder, and saw nothing. Just before 13:00, only a few minutes after meeting Mr. Bear, we crossed Fisher Creek and arrived at Tricouni Camp, elevation 2000’. We were still excited from seeing the bear, and we made ourselves busy by setting up camp, getting water, and napping in the warmth of the afternoon. The two sites at Tricouni Camp are set well away from one another, and the Camp itself is quite a ways off the main trail. There was a tent at the far site, but in the two nights there, we never saw anyone else in camp.

Lower Tricouni and waterfall as viewed from Tricouni Camp.

In fact, we didn’t see anyone that entire morning. It was only after we’d returned to Fisher Creek for water that we saw several people, crossing over the bridge above us. We soaked our feet in the freezing water for as long as we could stand it. Since we had no real plans for the afternoon, we were able to enjoy just resting. I took a few pictures of the vicinity–Tricouni Peak towers above, partially obscured by trees; we made dinner early; and were in the tent when dusk drew the mosquitoes out of their hiding places. It should be noted, though, that in general there were no really bothersome bugs. We drifted off to sleep before the stars came out…

Sunday morning we were awake early but stayed within our sleeping bags until ~06:45. The weather was so nice that we left of the rainfly, so when the temps dropped during the night, we did get a little chilly. So did the mosquitoes, though. After breakfast, I loaded up my pack with camera gear, etc., and Nicole took off with just her trekking poles. My plan was to hike up to Junction Camp, ~2.2 miles away and 1100’ higher, and perhaps further, just to see what kind of views we could get up the valley toward Boston Peak, its glacier, and the like.

We left camp at 08:20, and were immediately and unceremoniously introduced to switchbacks, which we hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the day before. We were quite happy that we hadn’t tried to backpack all the way up to Junction Camp, as this section would’ve been pretty tough on us at the end of the day. The switchbacks did give us the views that we’d been teased with from below. Tricouni Peak is right there. Looking back to the north, you can see Snowfield Peak from time to time.

The elevation gain eases up, and the rush of Fisher Creek is loud off to the left. It looks like there’s a pretty large waterfall down there–I could only make out part of it. The trail through here is beautiful–Nicole’s favorite part of the trip, aside from the bear, of course. The ground is entirely covered by bright green mosses, the trees were allowing in filtered sunlight from the sun rising in the East over Red Mountain, and Nicole was traveling fast and light.

Nicole, stoic as the trees, cool as a cucumber.

Moss in shadow.

By 09:45 we were at Junction Camp, where the views were nice but there were more bugs. The campsites up there weren’t nearly as private as those at Tricouni, and we had to walk between two to use the pit toilet. We continued on for perhaps another quarter of a mile, to where there were views of something up the valley through the branches and the trail dropped away sharply. I didn’t feel like losing 500-1000’ of elevation when I didn’t know if it’d be worth it, so we sat down just after the unmarked junction to the Meadow Cabins, ate some food, and headed back to Junction Camp to snap a few more photos, where we met a couple guys who were camped up there. They were the first people we’d spoken with.

Boston Glacier, maybe? What is that upvalley? Forbidden?

At 11:00, we headed back down to Tricouni, which we arrived at at 12:15. The weather remained perfect, and we took our time tending to things around the camp, as we did the day before.

Again we were in bed early, talking, listening to podcasts aloud because Nicole forgot her book, and enjoying the peace and quiet. We had so much time, but didn’t feel it necessary to do more, which was nice. Again, asleep early.

We broke camp at 06:15 Monday morning; I did so with a slight limp, as the descent the day before with pack and sans trekking poles did a number on my right knee. Such pain at the beginning of the season! At 9:50, we dragged our boots out onto the blacktop of the trailhead parking lot.

On the way home, we stopped off at the Marblemount Diner. We were too early for hamburgers; there was an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, which we over-indulged in while watching hummingbirds hover on the other side of the window.

All-in-all, a great trip. It surprised me with the amount of solitude–I assumed it’d be busy. It surprised me with views–I expected none. The trail was in perfect shape. And the weather could not be beat. It was a great way to start the summer.

Thunderous moss.

Stats: ~20.4 miles from Colonial Creek Campground to Tricouni Camp to Junction Camp and back, spread over 3 days, with at least 1900’ of elevation gain. This trip made me want a GPS.
Day 1: ~7.7 miles to Tricouni Camp, ~4:30 hiking time, ~800’ gain–plus: ups-and-downs.
Day 2: ~5.0 miles round-trip to past Junction Camp, ~4:00 hiking time, ~1100’ gain/loss.
Day 3: ~7.7 miles out, ~3:35 hiking time, ~800’ loss–plus: ups-and-downs.

As always, more photos at Flickr.

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

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

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

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

Tamanos Mountain from the lower Summerland trail.

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

Mt. Rainier in the clear, blue distance.

All trails lead to Little Tahoma. Not literally.

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

Goat Island Mountain on the initial side of Fryingpan Creek.

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

Cold and lonely marmot sentinel.

The view back over Summerland.

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

Waterfall at the end of summer.

Brrr.

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

A rainbow of rocks.

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

Up to the gap.

The clouds come rolling in.

Nicole retreats from the wind and cold of Panhandle Gap.

But stops for a cold pose near the steep snow.

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

A bridge at the top.

The path down through Summerland.

And a bridge at the bottom.

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

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

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

As always, more photos at Flickr.

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

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

Mt Si from North Bend.

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

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

Along the lower trail.

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

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

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

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

Snoqualmie Valley from the viewpoint. Seattle is visible.

The Haystack summit.

Mt Si.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Esmeralda Peak, as seen early on.

The red rocks of Ingalls-Iron ridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicole looks over a meadow in Upper Headlight Basin.

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

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

Mountain goats. Who would've thunk it?

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

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

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

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

Working our way up out of the basin.

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

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

Down to the lake.

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

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

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

The waters of Ingalls.

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

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

This kid's got balance.

Nicole vs. Goat.

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

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

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

Mt. Stuart from the Lower Basin perspective.

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

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

Nicole emerges victoriously from Lower Headlight Basin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old burn, new life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our first close mountain goat sighting; he was closer.

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

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

The Alpine Lookout, Nicole, and Glacier Peak.

From the Alpine Lookout to Glacier Peak Wilderness.

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

Jeremy climbs some rocks for a better view.

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

The mountain goat: friend, or foe?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trees along Thunder Creek.

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

Thunder Creek and the view north from the bridge.

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

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

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

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

Portion of a small waterfall along the trail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reflections in Diablo Lake from Colonial Creek Campground.

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

Nicole at North Cascades Highway viewpoint, and Colonial Peak.

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

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

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

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

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

Only a few more pictures at Flickr.