Perhaps for those who live near these wonderful parks the sentiment is different, but in all research on the mountains and parks of Northwest Washington the North Cascades National Park is overlooked. Ross Lakes grabs some attention, but Mount Baker simply seems to overshadow this park in popularity.
That's not necessarily a bad thing.
In June 2007 I was once again heading out to Seattle for the drop-off of children for a few weeks. I'd missed the trip in 2006 because I had major back surgery to try and repair the herniated and ruptured disc that caused debilitating pain. I was 50 weeks from the second of two back surgeries and like so many things in my life at that point, the result was far from all I could have hoped for.
I'll warn you now. If you're not up for a drop kick of past personal baggage, please type CTRL-F, type in "Day 1". Hit Enter.
Back surgery? Was that all? Well, no. In those 50 weeks I had a vertebral fusion, got engaged, bought a house, changed cities, school districts, had my company sold (luckily kept my job), accumulated tens of thousands of debt, and ... got married.
I was in shock and very unhappy. We married too soon. We moved in together too soon. We were not getting along well and very different expectations about what marriage and parenthood was like. As I write this in 2012 we are two months from our 5th anniversary. I can confidently say we'll make it whatever distance we're allowed, but brother was I close to having two failed marriages.
I wanted off the roller coaster. Really I still do. Want to hear some more? No? Tough. Take it like the good hiker you are. In 2002 I suffered through 9 months of an illness that nearly killed me, literally. 2003 came the divorce and single parenthood. The first rumors of our company being sold came up. 2004 I started having very serious problems with my calves. My running was cut from 40 miles a week to about 20. My adventure racing training was cut in half. Then my hip started to hurt. 2005 found that I had a herniated and ruptured disc. Now my left thigh was in pain nearly all the time. The pain increased in the hip and thigh until finally in September I had a partial discetomy performed. Following that, the pain was unbearable. I would need a fusion that would require 6 weeks off work. The rest you know, but the effect you don't.
Although I was never a great athlete, probably not even good by many folk's standards, that was my identity. Athletics was what I did when I did not work at my hobby. Yeah, I'm lucky enough to have a job in what I'd do anyway. I coached, I played, I ran, I skipped, I jumped. Since I was 10 years old that was who I was. In 2005 and 2006 that was gone, almost certainly forever.
As of September 2006 I had lost nearly everything important to me. I still had my kids, my job, and financial security. By June of 2007, financial security was gone and my job (and others) was in very dire straits.
There is your backdrop of a hiker in peril. So, what does this have to do with hiking? That will take fewer paragraphs to explain than the backdrop, which is a fortunate thing for you readers.
I could not run more than a half mile at a 10 minute mile pace without my calves or thigh screaming. Actually pulled my calf muscles twice trying. Biking brought pure agony to my left hip and lower back. I could not afford the time or money to make it to a pool to swim. My latest love, tennis, was a symphony of agony. I had to hang up the shoes, the bike, and the racquet.
What I could so, though, was put one foot in front of the other. If I took a break every 40 to 60 minutes I could go all day. Hours. I would be beat to pieces, stiff and sore, but I could put in 20 miles in a day.
That brought me face to face with the Mountains. Something, that if I planned well, I could tackle. Something that would challenge the physical ability I had left and still be something most people, and a lot of other hikers, would never consider attempting. Something I could still be proud to say I did.
I wrote an itinerary for the folks back home so that should I not come back they'd know where best to find my corpse on a particular day. Honestly, though, at that point I really didn't care whether those people came looking for me or not. I was about done with anyone close to me.
I had three days in which to hike and laid out a trail or two per day that I'd be attempting. I also had some backup trails in mind. Those became necessary. I actually ended up doing only about 1/3 of the trails I'd originally planned, ending up with some failures and a couple neat adventures.
Day 1 – Sourdough Mtn... Nope.. Thunder Creek & Fourth of July Trail
My original plan for this trip was to return to Mt Rainier. The entire of Northwest Washington had major snow fall and major flooding in 2006 leaving entire sections of Mt Rainier inaccessible. The North Cascades were very hard hit, but not nearly to the extent of Rainier. The choices for trails that I could attempt and finish at Rainier were limited to two or three. In the North Cascades there were still a dozen or more.
Sourdough Mtn seemed like a nice challenge. 8.4 round trip would leave time in the day for attacking Steattle Trail down the road, another 7.2 miles round trip.
The trail entrances for both of these trail are near the Diablo Lake Dam. I drove up to the parking lot of the Diablo Dam to take a picture of the massive power transformers. That is where I saw my second person of the day. One of the dam workers gave me a good stare down until I drove away.
The National Park website describes the entrance to the trail as behind the Diablo Lake community center. I found the community center easy enough and there was even a sign for Sourdough Mountain right in front of the building.
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| Sourdough Mtn. Trailhead |
The trail literally is behind the building. So are about 6 others and they all look like trails made by someone just dashing off into the woods to take a leak. I picked one and hiked up a small cliff. This just didn't seem right and sure enough it dead-ended in the middle of a climb. Just stopped.
The next trail quickly became more likely the one. Using a topo map I was able to determine this quite likely the right path. The first half mile of the trail is UP. Quick, steep switchbacks wind their way up the side of the mountain. Steattle Creek is far below on the left.
The day was very overcast and mist drifted in and out of the woods. The peaks above were only very occassionally visible. Sourdough Lookout, my turn-around point, was at around 5700ft and was likely to be completely clouded in. The temperature was perfect, a solid 59F.
The trail description states that the first two miles of the climb are very steep and difficult. The first half mile was proving that in spades. The mountain rose to my right in successive steep ridges. This was looking like a more difficult climb than the climb back up from Lake Angeles in 2004.
The trail report stated that the first two miles were also affected by the flooding in that there would many downed trees encountered on the trail. Noted.
After a that first half mile or so, I rounded a switch back and had a view of the next area I'd be climbing before the trail drove straight up the side of the mountain for a while. The trail crosses a face of a ridge, rising at a steady 15 degree angle. That was not the daunting part. More than half of the trees on the face were flat on the ground, laying on each other. There were small trees, medium trees, big trees. Trees for you and trees for me. Trees so much the trail I could not see.
I had expected along that section to perhaps have to climb over or under a fallen log every 100ft to 200ft. There was not 10 feet of clear space anywhere on the side of that mountain.
The task of climbing over and under trees began. Spotting the trail was made difficult by deadfall and washouts. At times I had to climb straight up through brush and smaller trees to get back down and around a massive log that I had no hope of climbing over. After 45 minutes I'd gone about another half mile and was not even halfway through the debris. I was exhausted. My left leg was quivering. My back hurt. The real climb had not started yet. I'd been on the trail for about an hour and had gotten nowhere while the worst was yet to come. I decided to turn back and try another trail. By 9:30 I was back at the community center. Disappointed. Beaten again.
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| Flat part of Sourdough Mtn trail. Yes, that is a trail through there. |
The second trail of the day was to be the Steattle Trail, but down in the parking lot I decided I really didn't want to do that trail. The day was still early and I wanted to climb. I never did make Steattle Trail during the trip.
The plan for Day 2 was to hike the Thunder Creek Trail to the Fourth of July Trail up to the pass and back. I had that planned for a whole day because the total length was around 13.5 miles round trip and there was a climb involved. I decided I go up the trail on Day 1 and turn around at 14:30, regardless of where I was, to make sure I was off the trail by dark.
Across the river and a few miles down the lake Colonial Campground sits along the narrowing end of Diablo Lake and the mouth of Thunder Creek.
I arrived at the campground just before 10:00, repacked my pack, checked my food and headed through the campground to the trailhead. No one occupied the campground. The few camper units in the campground where shut up tight, except for one. The clothing on the line signalled occupancy, but there was no one to be seen, no one to be heard. I had the feeling that the gray day had simply put everyone but me and the dam worker to bed. The fact that it was only June 8th, following one of the snowiest Pacific Northwest Winters in decades, probably played a factor. Few lived here to begin with and the passes had only opened up a couple weeks ago.
The first two miles of the trail are flat, with some slight up and down, navigating the shoreline of the creek. A timber bridge spans the creek. The bridge was brand-spanking-new. The old timbers had washed away during the melt and was nicely lodged in the bottom of Diablo Lake.
On the bridge I met a young couple taking pictures. They were headed back to their tents at a tent site just the other side of the creek. My first thought about their camping choice... two miles from the "finish" was that they had come from across Ruby Mountain on a multi-day hike and that was where they decided to spend their last night. Nope, that site was as far as they had gotten last night from the trailhead 2 miles behind me. That's as far as they were going to go. They were completely mystified that I was walking 16 miles in one day. That seemed like an insurmountable distance to them. Strangely, there were not the only ones before and since to have remarked on that. I frankly have no idea why people think 15 miles, 20 miles of hiking is an incredibly long journey, but if I was running a marathon they'd say "Oh, that's nice. My brother-in-law runs those." No big deal to run 26.2 miles in 3 hours, but spending 8 hours in the woods is incomprehensible? I do not understand that thought process.
The last that I had before leaving them was that they'd best hope a ranger doesn't pop by. Where they set up their tent was not a camping site, just a flat spot a few feet above a swollen creek.
Two and a Half miles up the trail was the Fourth of July campground. The trail from the bridge to the campground goes up right away. The trail description calls the climb "strenuous." I suppose, but there was never a point where I felt challenged. I rested every 45 minutes for 5 minutes. Stretched, ate, watered. I stepped over exactly one fallen tree!!!!
There is not much view along the Fourth of July trail. The way meanders up the heavily forested side of the saddle formed by Ruby Ridge and Elija Ridge. The low clouds hid any peak from view when there was a small opening. Somewhere up to my left was Ruby Mtn. At 7408ft.
I was excited about reaching the Fourth of July Pass and the Panther Potholes. I had grand expectations that at around 6000ft the Pass would have some neat views. Panther Potholes sounded grand and the topo map showed them to be a very unique feature.
The low clouds lightly opened up now and again send a few brief sprinkles through the canopy. Again, the day was nearly perfect for hiking, except for the clouds. 60F, no wind in the forest, not pouring rain. The view could have been better, but my attitude was in the right place.
I hit Fourth of July campground after about 90 minutes and decided I was hungry enough to eat lunch. I needed a break and the bulk of the climb was now over. The campground was completely deserted without even the remotest sign of recent occupants. I determined that in future hikes I needed to pack a small 24"x24" tarp to sit on (I haven't done that yet but continue to be reminded of it.) There was not one place that was not completely soaked from snow, thaw, and rain. The occasional drizzle kept things at their perfect level of saturation. Wet butt. No choice.
As I ate I saw only the 4th person I'd seen all day. A park ranger came hiking down from the direction of the pass with a large pack and a smile. He sat down by me, took out his lunch. We shared food, stories of hikes, and lots of personal stuff. He was not all shy about asking very personal questions and as you've noted from the first part of this post, neither am I.
I won't bother with the few things I learned about the guy, except to say that this was his first patrol hike in this forest, having only been posted here a few weeks ago. He'd spent several years Yosemite and Redwood. This type of forest, and weather, was all new to him. He loved it.
After 45 minutes we figured we'd both spend more time than anticipated and moved in our separate directions.
Not long after the campground, the Panther Potholes suddenly appear down to the right. I wouldn't have missed them, but almost. Not quite the site I was hoping for. From a hundred feet up the side of a sharp decline the potholes are two round ponds of black, log-filled, water. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this didn't quite meet those expectations. Maybe if there had been sun the lighting would have been interesting. Dunno.
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| Panther Potholes |
The Pass was just ahead. This would be great. From the campground to the Pass the trail was largely flat, inclining ever so gradual through the thick forest and mist. Ocassionally a view of the side of Ruby Mtn would be visible through the wall of green that surrounded the trail. A view of the peak was never possible.
After an hour I realized the last 10 minutes of hiking had all been downhill, sometimes steeply. The trail had been undulating, so going down didn't mean much. You can still go down, but be climbing up the side of a mountain. Ten minutes of down was different. I'd walked right past the Pass. I stopped to re-asses and figure out where I was. There was no feature visible enough to compare to the topo map. I hadn't reached the Panther Campground yet, so I wasn't too far down the mountain yet.
During planning I had toyed with the idea of taking this route all the way down to the highway, but the way back was further than I thought I'd be able to manage. In reality I probably could have managed the trip, which would have added another 8 miles to the whole hike. The trail was soft and fast, the climb had been relatively easy. Again... only one downed tree!!!
I hiked back up to where I thought the Pass might actually be. Green on every side. No views, a wall of mountain to the North. A steep slope of green to the South. Back down I went.
I made incredible time going down. Normally, after the back surgeries, downhills have been my nemesis, but on this particular one I was moving fast. I'm sure I took a break somewhere, but I don't recall it. There was really nothing to see and the drizzle had turned to light rain. I made the car by 14:45.
Now what? I had expected to be on this trail for 7 hours and it had been less than 5. I was looking to get back to where I was staying by around 17:30 or 18:00 and that was a half hour drive away. Not enough time for another long hike. Not enough leg power, food, or water either. My knees were stiff and my feet were sore. My back was pretty tired too.
There were a couple of smaller trails in the area, like Thunder Point Trail. I took them. Thunder Point Trail was actually a nice little trail with what would be a very pretty view on a better day. The wind and rain had increased making being outside a little less than pleasant. By 16:15 I was heading back for the day.
Along the way I passed a road that had a very brief mention online; Diobsbud Rd. On the map this road looked very cool. More twists and turns than any other road in the area before splitting into two and ending in a plateau on the side of Diobsud Butte. I did not know if the road was paved or for how long and I did not have a 4WD vehicle. I thought how neat that might be to go until I shouldn't anymore. PLUS... there was a unnamed trail on the map that lead off the road down along the Diobsud Creek. That was my hike for tomorrow, definitely. Find that trail and go into the woods until I couldn't or shouldn't anymore.
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| Lower section of Thunder Point trail |
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| Thunder Creek |
As I wound through the Skagit Valley to the Skagit Resort and a 15' foot camper, I noticed a lack of light and people. I met no cars, except those already parked. No people were outside and the rain was on and off. The buildings had no lights despite the thick gray outside. I had seen five people the entire day.
I had rented a small camper at the Skagit Valley Resort for about $35 a night. A very simple place for a very low price. There did not appear to be another soul in the campground. There were two cars parked outside one of the cabins. Also the cars of the owners outside the office. At the camper there was no lights, no hot water. After I discovered that and just started unpacking the owner came over and let me know that power was out. Yep. A creek had flooded and taken out a large run of power line. The whole valley was dark. Might be a day or two before there would be power again. He invited me to a gathering they were having at the office building at 19:00. Sure.
The gas worked, so I was able to light the stove and cook some stew. As usual in the Pacific Northwest, I was wet and cold. And hungry. A cold shower, some food, some reading and wow it was already 19:00. I was dead tired, but I'd said I'd come over.
Once or twice a month during the "season" the owners would find a performer, typically a musician. They would invite anyone at the resort and some of their local friends to come over, for free, and spend an hour of two. This night they had brought in a folk singer from Los Angeles. A friend of friend's friend, this lady had agreed to come all the way up here to perform for this one night. I'd never heard of her and she admitted she wasn't a big name. But she was pretty talented and had played studio for some bigger names occasionally. Her music wasn't exactly my speed, but her talent was undeniable. Through her music and betwen her music she spoke a great deal about the small tragedies of her 40-some years of life. Divorces, illnesses, business failures, raising kids, and just waking up day after day to do it all again. I could only grin in acknowledgement as I snacked on cookies and orange juice.
After a couple hours I waddled over to the camper, nearly falling asleep on the 300ft journey. The power was still out, the temp was just above freezing. Drizzle falling. Darkness around everything. I put on sweat pants, sweat shirt, a hat and crawled into the sleeping bag provided as bedding.
On the trails that day my thoughts were very seldom on the event of my life at the time. That was odd for me. In years of running my best thinking was done on my feet, winding along a path or carving through residential neighborhoods. Two years ago while at Olympic Natl Park, my every thought was on what had happened recently and figuring out a plan to deal with it.
Reflecting now, I think it was simply that I could not fathom a plan, at least not one that didn't scatter the debris of destroyed relationships all over several lives. I was trapped without a plan. As I fell asleep that night, and I did so quite quickly, I simply wanted to be left alone. I wanted to walk away and just be lost.
That wasn't meant to be a prayer, but God was listening. I'd see.
Day 2 Diobsud Creek, Rainy Pass, and End of the Road
I was awake before my 06:15 alarm went off. The power was still not on and the temps were probably in the low 40s. Everything was cold and damp. The air, the floor, everything. The stove still lit, so at least I could have some sizeable amount of warm food before heading out. I wanted to get on the road by 06:45. That gave me time to eat a few packets of oatmeal, a bagel with cream cheese, and a banana. Gatorade. Yum. Breakfast drink of champions. That's sarcasm that is.
Normally on these hikes I pack one pair of socks and wear one pair, changing them at some nice half way point. Today I packed two pair. The rain outside had stopped, but there was gray nearly to the ground. The likely case was that my feet would be very wet, especially if I got into a narrower trail. Wet? I had no idea.
Diobsud Rd was just up the highway a few miles. The little rental car worked it's way up the tight turns and climbed with little whines. Twice I had to get out and move a downed tree out of the way. The second one I wasn't sure I was going to be able to move, but I was not going to have a tree spoil a hike two days in a row. I always carry about 20ft of nylon cord with me. I double strung the cord around the tree and then around a standing tree on the side of the road. With considerable effort I was able to swing the tree enoug to get room for the car to go by.
There was no sign for this trail. The description online said there was a turn-out about a mile and a half up the road and the trail would be on the other side of the road from the turn-out. Wait.. was that a turn-out? Back up very carefully. Well, that looks like a trail diving into the woods over there. That's got to be it. Yeah, the road takes a decided right turn from here and the trail is right at that spot. Yep. Gotta be and it was.
By 07:30 I was on the trail. The trail ran up and down for a small while, dropping gradually. After a half mile the trail turns to run along the side of a very high ridge with Diobsud Creek about 30 feet below. On the map the trail runs only for about a mile and ends. At about the 20 minute mark there was a steep, narrow, but well-worn footpath that dropped down to the creek. I marked the place in my memory and would stop by the creek on the way back. On the map, the trail ends about here, but in reality the trail kept going.
Things were a little different today than yesterday. I'd overcome the fallen trees. The sun was making brief appearances. Temp was right around 55F at 07:30. I wasn't thinking one thing about life, just about the trail. Soaking in the forest around me.
Actually, the forest was soaking me. The trail was never more than 3 feet wide, usually just wide enough to actually hike on. The forest allowed this trail to exist and only just barely. Trees and rocks rose up over my head by many meters. High walls of sheer rock stood next to the Trail. Thirty feet above a flood swollen creek the trail ran through a small moss encrusted bog.
Many places along the trail ferns rose up a foot or more above my head. God had answered me. I'd seen ZERO people this morning and I was on a trail that was ready, at any time, to swallow me and take me away.
I'd been in the green rainforest before, especially at the lower elevations of Olympic Natl Park. This trail was something altogether more. The greatest view afforded was the creek below, which at times, was something worth looking at. I take that back. The greatest view was not the peaks (which were hidden by trees and clouds), not the creek, which was frequently obscured. No the greatest view was the vegetation that hung above my head.
This was spectacular. The trail was frequently an inch or two of standing water. Every time I put a foot forward, a branch or fern would drag across me. Within an hour I was completely soaked through. I was also completely at peace. I felt such a positive energy within. I had to remind myself to stop and take breaks. I felt compelled to just keep hiking through this overgrown Land of the Lost. I passed a fern that rose three feet over my head. The base of the fern started about 18 inches above the trail, granted, but a 7 foot high fern!! Wow. I passed by a 25 foot high rock that had a 3 foot split all the way down from a tree growing on top of it. This un-named trail is one the finest of gems in the North Cascades.
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| Trail through ferns |
After about 4 miles in, the trail runs down in a valley along a smaller tributary creek. That smaller creek was often overgrown with vegetation, but when visible was not easily approached. The trail was winding through some very swampy ground. I'd left the trail shown on the map about an hour ago. This was the same trail, but it was clearly not taken often. The little tributary wasn't even on the map. Although the trail was discernible I couldn't simply wander along. The width of the trail narrowed to a nearly a game path and I'd long since seen any footprints in the mud. The time to turn around had come.
The sun was peaking out occassionally through clouds and framed nicely against the rising stand of birch on the other side of the stream. This setting was an excellent place to take a break. Serendipity placed a flat boulder just off the trail that was nearly dry on top. I hopped a few boggy spots and clambered up the rock for a good long break. Changed socks and shirt, had a large snack and took in what little sun there was to dry off my upper body and feet. By 09:45 I started back from where I'd come.
I nearlly missed the trail down to the creek that I'd though to mark on the way out. I was feeling good and moving pretty quickly through the soaking forest and completely missed my trail tape. I came to a point on the trail about 200m past that spot and realized that I'd certainly missed the spot. Backtracked and found my way down to the creek.
Early June in the mountains made this creek anything but a creek. In the Northwoods of Wisconsin/Minnesota, Wisconsin, a creek is narrow and slow. This creek was anything but a creek by Northwoods standards. Shore to shore spanned nearly 30ft. The water was a few feet deep in most places. Mostly, though, the amount and force of the water running down the side of the mountain was awe-inspiring. I carefully made my way out to a rock in the middle of the "creek" to sit and watch the water and birds. I'd seen almost no other signs of wildlife today. I didn't spend more than 15 minutes before I was restless and ready to move on. Back at the car at 11:10.
The time explore another part of the park had come. I could see that off to the East the sky was clear. The edge of clouds hung directly over my head. After a day and half of rain it was time to find some sun.
Rainy Pass is right on HWY 20 in the Okanagon Natl Forest. A little 7 mile loop trail, the Maple Pass Loop could be found right there and I thought that might just fit the bill. The drive over was spectacular, taking me back past Diablo Lake and then past the lower shore of Ross Lake. The highway twists and turns through the valley with 7000ft mountains on both sides. Waterfalls were around every turn, and finally a few deer.
As the highway left Ross Lake and the Natl Park behind the ground cover changed rapidly from green to white. Most places along HWY 20 still had substantial snow cover. Not inches but feet.
A few trails start at this part of HWY 20. Jack Mountain Trail climbs a few miles up to Crater Mtn at 8128ft and then continues North to meet up with several other trails in the Okanogan Natl Forest. The Pacific Crest Trail runs parallel to the road for several miles, but is nicely tucked in a few miles East, hidden in forested mountains. Eventually, at Rainy Pass, the PCT makes an appearance on the road.
Easy Pass, at 6562ft, splits Mt. Arriva (7985ft) and Mesahchie Peak (8215ft) only a 3.5 mile hike from the road. Two cars were parked at the trailhead, leaving their drivers to hike nearly 2000ft in 3.5 miles. I wasn't up for that today. My feet and legs were pretty beat and the amount of snow cover made certain that trail was a tougher one that I cared to tackle that day.
Finally, Rainy Pass at 4860ft. A nice large parking lot, except nearly 2/3 of it was covered in three feet of snow. A car was already at the lot. The trailhead the Maple Pass Loop was covered in 3 to 4 feet of snow and there were no prints at all. The only other prints lead along a 1.0 mile nature trail to Rainy Lake. I did not have topo maps on hand so I had no idea what awaited.
I started following fresh footprints in the snow. There was no trail and the footprints went up and then came back and then off to the left, only to backtrack. Whomever I was following was having problems finding their way. Road to the left; mountain to the right, but plent of rolling terrain and low ridges between. Hiking on snow pack like that takes great care and a skill called "route finding."
Route Finding, yeah. Reading trail conditions for the mountain trails, whether in the Pacific Northwest or the Rocky's or where-ever you will come across a statement such as "snow free to X. All snow to Y. Route finding skills required." I never full grasped the meaning of this term. My thoughts go back to bush-whacking in the Northwoods where you pick your way through bogs and swamps by following game trails and trying to find some landmarks. Once above the treeline and on a completely snowed over ridge, none of those things apply. I posed that question to the ranger I'd met the day before. His definition of "route-finding" was to find your way across a snow field that did not put you into crevasse, slide you down the side of the mountain, or put you in a mountain creek. I pushed a little further for some techniques to that skill. He replied, "I don't know. My hope is I never have to worry about that."
Well, "route-finding" skills such as that were not going to be needed in this forested ridge-side, but there were some things that were of concern.
The area was generally flat, but from the road to the very steep side of the moutain was only about 800m. Several narrow spurs jutted out from the mountain creating valleys and ravines at various points. This also meant a few established streams and dozens of run-off flows. All of this was buried under 3 to 5 feet of melting snow. Walking across that slippery snow you might suddenly punch through a weak spot and find yourself knee deep in freezing water. Wet and cold you now have to pull yourself up a 3 foot snow bank that is crumbling at your every exertion.
The snow melts around the base of larger trees creating 4 foot drop-offs that you can easily slide down. Once sliding you become tangled up in the soaking wet undergrowth. Perfect for twisting ankles and knees.
Aware of all this, knowing my "route-finding" skills on snow are mediocre at best, and understanding that the two sets of prints I'd been following were unsure of the way (and were wet – found a place where they punched through to a stream), I made the most direct and careful route back to the parking lot for another try. On the way back I saw something and then another something. The first something was that hopping the stream as I had intended was not necessary. Fifty feet away was a nice wooden bridge; no rails, but still a bridge. I could see the edge of it now that I was above the stream from the bridge. The bridge itself was buried under 4ft of snow. When I got to the bridge I saw the other something. That was the last two inches of the top of a wooden bench. The nature trail had benches set up every so often, maybe every 300ft or so. Route-finding skills!
After the third "bench-mark", the two other hikers in the area saw me and came hustling over. They were wondering what I was looking for so intently with binoculars and naked eye. I explained my method and the three of us quickly made it to Rainy Lake.
Rainy Lake is nothing short of exquisite. The lake itself is small, perhaps 500m across and 800m long. The North and West shores are heavily forested, but the South and East are straight up and eventually reaching Kangaroo Ridge and the top of Frisco Mountain at over 7500ft.
Waterfalls cascade down the steep rocky slopes splashing into the icy deep blue water of the lake. The sun was fully out, the snow melting, and the waterfalls were full throttle. The two women had camera equipment and fishing poles and seemed like they were done with my services. A few pictures and I hiked back out to the lot.
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| Rainy Lake |
The day was still young and there were a few hours of sunlight remaining. One more place I wanted to check out today.
When planning the trip I had a hike on the candidate list that did not make the cut. The Sahale Glacier sits on the SouthEast part of the park, right on the slopes of Sahale Mt (8400ft). Trails lead in all sorts of directions and would provide a great higher elevation hike. I'd also taken a look at the Hidden Lakes trail a few miles North of Sahale. Both of these trailheads are along the Cascade River Road.
The trail conditions revealed in mid-May ruled out both of those areas. The Hidden Lakes area was still under significant snow, the road not completely open. The route to Sahale had hit a bit of a more significant snag. The flooding Cascade River had completely closed the Cascade River Rd just South of the turn-off to Hidden Lakes. I was interested to see just what "closed" meant.
I drove back through the park and then into Marblemount. The Cascade River Road is picked up on the other side of a narrow bridge and then follows along the river for miles. The scenery was fantastic and at several points I had to stop to just get out and look around. The clouds had once again completely taken over. There were going to be no visible peaks, but the forest and river provided enough on their own. I drove by a couple of groups camping along the turn-outs in the road. This section of the road was outside the National Park in the Snoqualamie Natl Forest. Pretty much camp where you can.
Along the way the road continually narrows. Starting out as a wide dirt/stone road, within a few miles the road is narrow enough that two cars could not comfortably pass. I was in a spot where the road was narrow enough to hit branches on the passenger side a sign appeared "Road Narrows Ahead". I thought how could the road possibly... oh, that's how. This was now more the width of an narrow ATV trail. Branches and ferns brushed against both sides, but the road itself was solid and flat, albeit wet. I found a little parking area where two other cars had parked. Knowing the wash-out was no more than a half mile ahead I parked and begain trekking down the "road" further. I gave a quick wave to the campers just beyond the parking area and trudged on. A bit over a quarter mile later I came to the literal end of the road. I stood at the end of road and looked across a few hundred feet to where the road picked up again, sort of. Several hundred feet of the road were simply gone, leaving a twisting maze of sharp banks and torrents of water.
I snapped a few pictures and made my way back to food and sleep.
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| Where'd it go? |
Day 3 – One Last Look
I woke up quite late on this morning. I was really sore the night before and that kept me from being able to fall asleep easily. I finished the book I had picked up at the airport and still could not get to sleep. By 8:15, though, I really needed to get up. I was pretty much done hiking, but was not done with the Cascades quite yet. My flight was early the next morning and I'd booked a hotel across from the airport. I still have several hours before I needed to head down to the hotel in Seattle. Still, cleanup, pack up and shove everything in the car.
The first few strides across the gravel to the car told me I wasn't going to spend much time on my feet. My left hip and thigh were next to useless and both knees were stiff as could be. This wasn't a stiffness and pain that was going to work itself out after a couple miles. This needed three days of rest.
Mt Baker is a massively huge chunk of Earth dominating the skyline of Western Washington. Although the sky was once again densely overcast my desire was to get as close to Mt Baker as possible. The time required to get there from the North side was far longer than I had. I set my goal as Schriebers Meadow on the Southern side of Mt Baker.
Baker Lake Rd is picked up off HWY 20 at Birdsview Siding, just West of Concrete, WA. The road travels between the high ridges of Bald-Sauk Mtn, Mt Shuskan, Lake Shannon and then up to Lake Baker and the lower spurs of Mt Baker.
At the very Southern end of Baker Lake FR 12 is a left turn off Baker Lake Rd. FR 13 runs off of that after a few miles. Both forest roads were in very good condition. Muddy, but easily passable in the little front wheel drive, low clearance rental. The elevation climbs gradually along FR 12. Once on FR 13 the elevation begins to climb a bit more dramatically.
Every 200ft of elevation climb I watched the temperature drop. 56F, 52F, 48F... Somewhere along FR 13 I began to see snow in the forest. Small piles among the pine that had not yet completely melted. 38F.
The end of FR 13 is a parking lot and a campground. Trails leave the campground to climb the ridges and slopes and find their way to Schriebers Meadow.
The snow increased now and the forest was now mostly in snow. I drove over a snow bank about 8 inches high. The car turned a bend and I stopped. I didn't stop because that pickup truck was blocking the road. No, I stopped because the pickup truck was blocking the path to beginning of snow that closed the road. I parked, got out the camera, put on the hat and went over and talked to the two cross country skiiers putting on their gear in the back of the pickup.
The campground was still 400m up the road and I was game enough to go. I walked up to the campground where most of the campsite posts were not visible under several feet of snow. At times I was walking at the level of young trees. The cloud cover made seeing anything more than 200ft above me impossible. I took in the view of the snow and the creek that cut it's way through the snow. Hiking to Schreibers Meadow would have been a bad idea. Time to go.
I stopped at the Dam, Horseshoe Cove, made a local mad for driving too slow. Around 14:00 it was time to head for Seattle, leaving the mountains to be just another memory.
A great memory. I have some excellent stories from this trip. This trip also gave me some much needed confidence in my physical ability. I now knew what my capabilities were, physically and mentally. How many miles I could put on. What kind of terrain I could deal with. How wet I could become.
I was bothered that I gave up on Sourdough Mtn, but I came away with a very good understanding of what my new body could deal with. Perhaps five years prior to this I would have pushed on. Today, unless it was life or death, I wouldn't.
This was also the beginning of a different way of thinking on the trail that has persisted to this day. On the trail, I think about the trail. I seem to simply shut off the other parts of life, those thoughts. I'd never been able to have that kind of focus before. The hike along Diobsud Creek ranks among my very favorites hikes and one the favorite days of my life.
