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North Cascades, Hwy 20

November 12, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Fall is a time for reflection. It’s time to take stock and prepare for the winter, time to set priorities and hunker down and get things done. It’s a time to bring back tradition and most importantly, it’s time to go look at the larch. Yes, that’s right, larch. In most places around the country it’s time to look at the leaves, but the Evergreen State doesn’t turn orange and red as much as it just gets a little less green. But the larch are an exception to this. So we don our puffy jackets, hats, and mittens and drive high into alpine country to seek out these unique golden symbols of fall.

Larch are coniferous which means they have needles and cones like our other NW trees: Douglas fir, hemlock, spruce, etc. But unlike those trees which stay green all year, larch are also deciduous meaning their needles turn yellow and drop off in autumn. This is unusual for a conifer, but it is actually a great advantage for a tree that lives in a harsh winter environment. Trees lose their leaves because they begin storing extra nutrients instead of using them to make leaves. This gives them a nutrient boost that helps them survive the winter. Some other advantages are that the snow will not pile up on their branches causing them to break and they recover faster from forest fires since they have the ability to regrow needles.

So where to find the magical larch? Well, one of my favorite places is the North Cascades. Larch tend to grow on the eastern slopes of the Cascades so I like to find them near Rainy Pass on Highway 20. The key is getting up high into the nearby passes: Easy Pass, Cutthroat Pass, Granite Pass, Maple Pass. These are all spectacular places to see larch and incredible views.

There is something special about seeking out the larch in the fall. There is something to be said about the importance of tradition, but more than that, there is a sense of calm and peace that comes with autumn in the mountains. You notice things more. The cool air on your nose, the crunch of the leaves, the frost clinging to the shadows. The sky is a deeper shade of blue as the sun hovers closer to the horizon and the dense air dampens sound.

The old trail follows the creek

past ancient trees

and the sound of water.

The sky clears, light fades,

varied thrushes sing their two-note song

deep within the forest.

Once again, like visiting friends,

I walk into familiar mountains.

-Once Again by Saul Weisberg, Headwaters

This year I didn’t get out to see the larch turning. I was traveling throughout most of October including a trip to the east coast to visit family and revisit an old childhood tradition of mine, driving into the mountains to look at the leaves with my dad (more about that trip later). But as I flew over the Cascades I looked down to see the jagged mountains topped with yellow and my heart filled with joy.

I don’t always like to return to my favorite trails. That’s why I love the tradition of looking at the larch. I could spend a lifetime visiting all the trails with larch, and each experience would be unique. There is a sense of returning to a familiar place but without the expectations of repeating the same experience on a beloved trail. Sometimes the memories of our favorite places are enough and these places are better left not revisited. Kind of like your favorite childhood books, they are never as good as you remember them.

Now as the snow begins to fall in the Cascades, I revisit the larch through my memories and old photos. Normally I would be disappointed with this, but I’m giving myself a break. Besides, it is much warmer here as I snuggle in a blanket and sip tea, remembering the way I felt on those hikes and my feet don’t hurt. Sometimes just thinking about my favorite places makes me just as happy as visiting them. I especially like to use this technique while at the dentist or getting a flu shot.

Headwaters, Poems and Field Notes by Saul Weisberg

As I read this collection of poems I got the same feeling I get when I think of my favorite hikes. The poems are short and succinct and evoke a sense of place with every word. This is the type of poetry I’ve been looking for, the type that I can understand and doesn’t try to be anything more than it is. Saul writes about the North Cascades and is the executive director of the North Cascades Institute. He has worked in the Northwest as a climbing ranger, field biologist, fisherman and fire lookout and lives in Bellingham, WA.

Hikes featured in this Post:
Cutthroat Pass
Easy Pass

Outdoor Life

Park Butte Lookout

September 21, 2015September 24, 2019
by Ashley Gossens

This crazy Northwest summer has me reminiscing of the Septembers with blue skies and blueberries. I guess I have spent too many weekends at foggy lookouts lately and deprived of my usual blueberry intake! But my trip up to Park Butte a couple years ago was anything but foggy. It was a bluebird day, the temperature perfect and there were blueberries for days. Ahh, how sublime.

The long drive to the trailhead gets you high into the alpine from the get-go. It’s not long before you come upon Shreiber’s Meadow, in most years full of blueberries. I once saw a woman here picking blueberries with a swedish berry picker and a 5-gallon bucket. She gave me the stink eye like, don’t even think about picking berries here, so I kept walking and a made a mental note of the berry picker. Later my husband would gift one to me for Christmas and it has changed our berry-loving lives. We now bring home gallon ziploc bags full of berries from the trails instead of a couple half-filled Nalgene bottles.

Once past the meadows, pick your way across an alluvial plain, an ever-changing waterway with shifting sediment that keeps the bridge builders on their toes. Look upriver for a metal ladder bridge. Here you will get the first glimpses of the white mass of Mt Baker if you are lucky. Continue up through forested switchbacks. Just when you start to think that you’ve had enough switchbacks, the way opens up to beautiful meadows and up-close views of Mt Baker.

Hang a left to the lookout or go right to explore the railroad grade trail up to Easton Glacier, a popular climbing route. The railroad grade trail traverses the top of an arête, a knife-edge formed from two parallel glaciers pushing earth up between them forming a thin ridge. Gazing at the massive glacial-carved valley below will have you marveling at the wonders of this volcano and the power of it’s glaciers.

Head back toward the lookout while froliking through the gradually climbing meadows of heather and blueberries. After rock hopping a few creeks and wet spots, the way rises through a rocky outcrop. Head down to the tarns for picturesque views of Mt Baker reflected in the crystal clear water. Continue up while gazing down upon Pocket Lake, nuzzled below in a small cirque.

Finally, after a push up the rocky way, the lookout is in site and views abound. It feels like you could reach out and touch the glaciers on Mt Baker. To the south, feast your eyes on the Twin Sisters range and the Nooksack Valley. The lookout is open to the public and can be slept in at a first-come, first-served basis. This is a great place to linger, bask in the sun and take in the beauty of one of my favorite places, the Mt Baker area.

Outdoor Life

Winchester Mountain Lookout

September 14, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Every year for Labor Day weekend my husband and I go backpacking with another couple. It’s become a tradition for us and we look forward to it all year. I usually choose an epic hike in the North Cascades with spectacular scenery where we can roam and snack on blueberries for a couple days. But this year was different. We had a new addition to our crew- a little one-year-old. Hmph, well now, I had no idea how to plan for a baby. I don’t have any children and I don’t know the first thing about a one-year-old’s wilderness skills. I had so many questions. How far should we go? How much food do we need? Would the baby be miserable in the tent all night? Where do you put all those dirty diapers?

I was stressing to determine the answers to these questions. I immediately decided that I was not going to have anything to do with the dirty diapers, so in turn was not going to worry about their whereabouts. Our friends are amazing parents and I really didn’t have to worry about these kind of details. I just didn’t want them to be uncomfortable or to push them too hard. So I gave them some choices and was happy they chose an easy hike to Twin Lakes where we could base camp and explore as much as we wanted. Then I freaked out again because I checked the weather and it was going to be cold and rainy in the high alpine. Will baby freeze to death? Ugh.

We met our hiking partners at the charming Wake ‘n Bakery on the Mt Baker Highway and loaded up on delicious pastries and coffee. We then made our way to the busy Yellow Aster Butte trailhead and walked up the 4×4 road to Twin Lakes. The cold morning air gave way to sun and blue skies prompting us to take multiple breaks to shed layers. The road walk wasn’t so bad and we chose a particularly entertaining switchback to stop for a snack and watch the trucks struggle up the bumpy road. I’m sure they did not appreciate the audience.

We made it to the beautiful Twin Lakes but they were unfortunately surrounded by trucks and car campers. We walked to the far side of the upper lake to look for a more secluded site. A narrow boot path led around the lake and we followed it past a mine shaft (where we taught baby about echos) to a big camp spot. There was a faint path leading up to a tiny narrow saddle and we went up to explore expecting that it would just lead to a nice bathroom spot. Instead, what we saw took our breath away. The path came to an end abruptly and the ground plunged into a steep valley. Directly in front of us were the silvery jagged peaks of the Pleiades sprinkled with just a touch of fresh snow.

We quickly figured out that the farther down the road we went the more spectacular the views. We set up camp at Skagway Pass, an old mining route to the Lone Jack Mine which gave up $200,000 worth of gold to it’s original owners and is still active to this day, hence the high alpine road. The area is full of old open mine shafts in the ground and old cabins. The guys dropped rocks down the holes to see how far down they went. Not too far. We all laid in the heather and took a nice long nap. Later we made biscuits and pasta and squished water and chocolate pudding in ziploc bags for dessert.

That night as we went to sleep, it was so quiet you could hear a needle drop. It made me uncomfortable. I tossed and turned searching for just the tiniest hint of a breeze or rustle in the trees. I’ve been living in the city too long. Even in my quiet neighborhood I can always hear the soft hum of the I-5 highway, cars driving by, airplanes overhead. The baby cooed in the nearby tent and I hoped he was warm enough. I worried that the weather would turn bad the next day and snow on us. I knew I had to stop worrying, just let it go or I wouldn’t get any sleep. The baby fussed softly and his mom gave a long calm shhhhh. Rain (or was it snow?) began to lightly drum on the rain fly. I drifted to sleep.

The next day was foggy but there was no snow and the rain stopped. We packed up the baby and all our warm clothes and headed to Winchester Mountain. The trail climbs immediately between the lakes and we found ourselves shedding layers again. I was hoping maybe the clouds would burn off while we climbed, but I doubted it. I was disappointed. I was so looking forward to the stellar views. All we could see were the deep blue lakes below in a haze. The lookout was completely shrouded in fog when we arrived. We were only three miles from Canada as the crow flies. We could throw a stone and hit it but we sure could not see it.

We met a friendly forest service worker and she told us the lookout was open, but asked us to remove our boots before going in. We complied. It was very zen. We had lunch in the lookout as we checked out every nook and cranny and I poured over the guest log entries and book collection. Mostly Edward Abbey and nature writing. I thought about what it would be like to spend the night there and decided that it would be incredibly cold. The layers started coming back on.

Later our friends and the baby would head down the road for a more comfortable night’s sleep and we bid them farewell at the lakes. It had been a successful first backpacking trip for baby and we were so happy to share it with them. We sat by the lake and watched the bats feast on the bugs surfacing the lake. They undoubtedly made their homes in the myriad of mine shafts nearby. We walked back to camp and climbed into our sleeping bags. It was quiet again without our friends but the rain returned and I drifted to sleep.

Backpacking Biscuits Recipe:

At home, mix the following ingredients in a ziploc bag:

1 cup biscuit mix (I use Fisher brand, but any will work)
2 Tbsp powdered milk
1 tsp dried parsley
1/4 cup dried corn
3 Tbsp grated parmesan (the shelf-stable kind that comes in a shaker, not fresh)

On the trail, put the mixture in a non-stick or greased pot approximately 6 inches diameter (the smaller the pot, the thicker the biscuits!). Start by adding 1/4 cup of water and add more if needed. Spread the mixture out and put on low heat covered for about 3 minutes or until the bottom is golden brown. Flip the biscuit “pancake” and cook covered for another few minutes until golden brown and cooked all the way through. Cut into quarters and enjoy them warmed.

Hikes featured in this post:
Winchester Mountain

Outdoor Life

Return to Green Mountain

August 27, 2015October 11, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

The first time we went to Green Mountain was in 2006. We had just moved to Seattle two months before and it was our second hike in the Cascades. My sister and her then boyfriend joined us for the drive up the long washboard Suiattle River Road to the trailhead. It was a hot sunny September day and we got a late start. We sweltered in the heat on the exposed switchbacks slowly making our way up. My sister’s boyfriend wore brand new leather boots that required many re-applications of moleskin and we stopped a hundred times for breaks like classic rookie hikers. We finally stopped for lunch on a rocky outcropping. We were nearing the lookout that crowned the top of the mountain but we couldn’t see it from our lunch spot. I didn’t know how much further it was, but I knew we weren’t going to make it there that day. That was ok, we were just beginning a lifetime of exploration in our new home, we would have plenty of time to return. And anyway the views were fantastic from our vantage point, could they really be that much better at the lookout?

We made our way back down the trail and re-traveled the long road in our old forest green Jetta, the muffler occasionally grazing the bumpy road. We watched the sun set behind Whitehorse Mountain and had dinner in Lake Stevens. By the time we got home it was dark. After that epic day we decided to stick to easier hikes before tackling a big mountain again. But I couldn’t wait to return to Green Mountain, the place where I fell in love with the Cascades and that mysterious Glacier Peak volcano. But just months after our hike, a strong winter storm washed out the Suiattle River Road and did not reopen until October of last year, a whopping eight years later. Over those years I longed to return and complete the hike to the lookout. So when I heard the road reopened I knew I had to return this summer.

While the Suiattle River Road slumbered and the wild encroached on it’s edges of gravel, bureaucratic controversy around the fate of the road and the lookout roared to life. First, repairs to the road were delayed for years by extensive environmental studies brought on by environmental organizations. Then, Wilderness Watch, a Montana-based environmental organization, sued the Forest Service in 2010 for violations to the Wilderness Act for using helicopters and other machinery to rebuild the 1930’s era lookout. This case went on for years until, shortly after the nearby Oso landslide in the spring of 2014, Congress passed a bill saving the lookout. Then finally, in late October 2014, the road was re-opened.

In late July of this year my husband and I returned to the Suiattle River Road. It still had it’s jarring washboard just like we remembered. It was cloudy but we were determined to get there so we headed up the trail anyway. We were the first car at the trailhead and as we climbed through the trees I jogged my memory for any recognition of the trail. There was little and it was different than I remembered and a little creepy. We heard something rustle in the brush nearby and Nali was on alert. Then just as we were about to clear the treeline we heard a loud clap of thunder. We were now in thick fog and it was beginning to rain. The trail ahead was brushy and ready to soak us to the bone. We reconsidered. We didn’t want to be on the tallest mountain around inside of a thunderhead. It didn’t seem like the triumphant return we wanted anyway with little to no views so we headed back down and decided to try again later.

I was really disappointed that we didn’t have good weather that day, but a month later (just a few weeks ago) we decided to give it another go for my birthday. Well, once again thunderstorms were in the forecast. We decided to car camp the first night during the storms and then backpack up to Green Mountain on the following day when the weather was supposed to improve. So we headed out with rain gear in tow to the newly re-opened Buck Creek Campground. The campground was about half open and the rest blocked off. We walked through the abandoned portion during a break in the rain to get water at the creek. It was eerie, like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. Picnic tables were turned upside down and fire rings removed leaving a circular scar in the dirt. Fallen trees criss-crossed the gravel squares meant for tents.

The next morning the rain stopped and we headed out early to hit the trailhead. Again we were the first ones there, and again it was cloudy and foggy. But we had faith that the forecast would be correct and that it would burn off any minute. So we climbed through the trees and this time continued into the open meadows above treeline. This time the trail was thankfully brushed out, but we still got wet. That was ok, we would dry everything in the sunshine later. As we climbed the switchbacks I tried to recall what is like the first time we were there and I remembered the slopes just full of green ferns now beginning to brown after a harshly warm summer.

Before long we made it to a tarn, the rain beginning to come down harder and steadier now. We stopped at a bench to rest and scout out a camping spot. Wow, that’s funny, I said, I have absolutely no recollection of this tarn at all. My husband remembered that we sat around the lake for a long time snacking on blueberries. It’s funny how our memory plays tricks on us.

We set up camp near the lake and I thought how lovely it will be in the oncoming nice weather. We then headed back up the trail, our loads lightened for the increased grade. As we climbed I had the sinking feeling that we were going to be socked in at the lookout. But we climbed anyway and I looked forward to lunch and checking out the lookout itself. Sure enough on the last bit to the top, we watched the basin below us fill with white. But we made it to the top! Finally after all those years. But it didn’t feel as victorious as I hoped for. But then I thought we could return in the morning when the weather will surely improve.

As we headed back down to the tent I started to get the feeling that the weather was not going to improve. My husband felt it too and suggested we move the tent to a more protected spot in the woods. I reluctantly agreed. It was better under the trees and we could sit outside and cook dinner and make hot chocolate. It would do. We stayed in the tent and read out loud to each other and eventually dozed off to sleep. The fog encased us while the rain dripped, dripped on the tent. It was cold and the dog was shaking so I zipped her up into my sleeping bag with me. Summer, sadly, was coming to an end.

We didn’t end up trying again for nice views at the lookout, as the top of the mountain was still shrouded in fog in the morning. We instead packed our bags, skipped breakfast, and looked forward to a nice hot meal in town. As we descended on the trail I thought about how much has changed in the nine years since we first climbed those green slopes, how much I’ve changed in almost a whole decade. I realized that the mountains have made me a better person in those years. One that cares about the environment and saving our special places (including historical lookouts), one who is healthier and who has overcome fear and anxieties to accomplish goals and climb even bigger mountains. Green Mountain may not have spoiled me with it’s lovely views for my birthday, but it has given me so much more than that. Thank you, Green Mountain, I will return again and one of these times I will finally bask in your lookout’s glorious views!

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Green Mountain

Outdoor Life

A Birthday on Glacier Peak

August 12, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Two years ago I turned 30 on top of my favorite mountain. I effortlessly walked to the top of Glacier Peak and held up my ice axe in defiance and celebration. I was in the best shape of my life and 30 felt so good. My husband pulled cupcakes from his pack, the vanilla ones with confetti inside AND the confetti icing and they were surprisingly intact. My brother-in-law revealed a bottle of champagne and he shook it and we all screamed as it exploded and we drank straight from the bottle in celebration. As we posed for pictures my normally frizzy hair was miraculously smooth and I looked amazing and refreshed. It was everything I wanted it to be. It was perfect.

If that sounds ridiculous to you, that’s because it’s not true. But that is what I wanted it to be like, a total dreamfest. In reality, the only thing that happened is the part where we made it to the top of the mountain. My husband wasn’t toting cupcakes nor was there champagne, of course. I was certainly not in the best shape of my life. 30 hurt. A lot. My hair was a mess and we didn’t even summit on my actual birthday. And to be honest I was pretty terrified on that mountain and I couldn’t wait to get off of it. Like usual there were mishaps, misapprehension and a good dose of reality checks. It certainly wasn’t perfect, but in it’s own special way, it was better than perfect.

In 2013 I decided I wanted to hike up 30 mountains before I turned 30 years old. I’ve told you this before and I told you how my husband thought it would be a great idea to climb up Glacier Peak on my 30th birthday, my favorite mountain in the Cascades. I was a little reluctant but I agreed and we poured over the maps to find a good route. We would have to go a long way just to get to the mountain so we thought why not make a big loop of it while we are out in the remote Glacier Peak Wilderness? Why not? So we planned out a 6 day, 50 mile route complete with Glacier Peak summit and invited my brother-in-law. I thought maybe the plan was a little ambitious, but it was winter and August felt forever away. Surely we had plenty of time to prepare.

Well, August came around and I didn’t feel all that prepared. I had been hiking a ton that summer but we only went for one backpacking trip in the spring. I was worried about the pack weight and mileage. Not only that but I had never climbed a big glaciated mountain before. I knew how to use an ice axe and how to tie knots. The rest we learned from The Freedom of the Hills and a guided glacier trek on Mt Baker. We practiced roping up in the backyard. We made prusiks and learned crevasse rescue. We showed my brother-in-law these things when he got here. Even after all that, I was still nervous. But soon enough, we were packing our bags and my nervousness turned to excitement.

On the first day we had 11 miles and a 4000 ft climb up to White Pass ahead of us. We strapped on our packs (mine was 40 pounds, a good 10 pounds more than I’ve ever carried) and climbed through the trees to open meadows. We passed a group on their way down carrying climbing gear and asked them if they made it to the summit. They had, but they said it was tough. And long, so long. Their eyes looked tired and I tried not to think of them as I climbed the switchbacks.

It was unbearably hot even in the early hours of the day and I was slow. I had to take many breaks and sit in the little available shade to give my shoulders a rest. I felt like I was going to pass out. This was not like me, I was tougher than this. I hated making the guys wait for me. The sun beat down on us, the horse flies were feasting on my legs and we were running out of water.

The trail finally leveled out a bit into a boggy meadow with even more bugs. I felt like we had to be getting close to the pass. Then I looked up. The ridgeline towered above and I realized that we still had a long way to go and at least another 1000 feet. I took off my pack and sat down killing as many flies as possible and holding back tears. What was I doing? If I can’t even make it to the pass, how was I ever going to climb the mountain?

We kept going. We found a stream to replenish our water and eventually made it to the pass. We set up the tent and made some food and shared a liter of gatorade which made me feel better. From the pass we could see just the very tip of Glacier Peak peeking out over the ridge above us. We stared at it for a long time. It seemed so impossibly far away. There was a group with horses camping near us and we watched them trot by in the alpenglow. We snacked on gummy bears as the sun disappeared behind high mountains.

As tired as I was I didn’t get much rest that night. We all woke up to a hellish thunderstorm. The ground we were sleeping on rumbled as lightning lit up our tent. Then the rain came. Big loud drops evolved into sheets battering the tent. We could hear the cries of the nearby horses in the storm and my heart broke for them. We looked outside to make sure water wasn’t pooling beneath the tent. Thankfully we were in a safe spot.

The next morning the horses were gone. The campers must have packed out early with the terrified animals. We packed up and prepared for our first day off trail. We studied the GPS and the map. There were lots of ways to get up over the ridge but only a few good ways down the other side. We did our best to find a good route but still had to scree slide down the other side. We ran into two guys and they gave us some tips on camping spots. We crossed a snowfield and found a nice spot near a glacial lake. It was lunch time and I was thankful for the low mileage day even if it was over some tough terrain.

All day we watched the clouds build up and we waited for the storms to return. They did. This time it hailed on us before it downpoured and we didn’t pick a good spot. We had to get out and move the tent to higher ground. We cooked in the vestibule and ate and played Yahtzee as the bands of storms came by one after the other. I relaxed a little bit because I thought there was no way we would climb the mountain the next day.

The next morning after getting battered by more storms, my husband woke me up at some ungodly hour. Hey, the storms are gone and the clouds are clearing, let’s give it a try. I grumbled and rolled over. Can’t we take a zero day and just relax? I replied. I wasn’t ready to go up the mountain. But deep down I knew I never would be. He poked and prodded before I finally rose and went through the motions, the ones I had been preparing for all summer. Put on hat, jacket, headlamp, check and re-check gear. Start up GPS.

We walked silently in the early morning glow over the rocks. So many rocks. Big rocks, little rocks, giant rocks, all types of volcanic rocks. We walked for miles over rocks, we climbed up rocks and down rocks until we finally hit snow. The going was much easier on the snow. We climbed and climbed until finally the full view of the mountain and the route was in front of us. It was truly a beautiful sight. We looked around for other climbers but there was no one around. We switched back and forth between snow and ashen dirt and scree. Crampons on, crampons off. Rope on, rope off. We crossed an icefall on pure blue ice that did not seem real. We looked down into crevasses that seemed infinite. It was so quiet up there. The only noise was the snow crunching under our boots.

After countless hours we were climbing up the last bit on rotten rock and snow. We were careful not to loosen rocks down onto each other. And then we were at the top. At 10,541 feet we were the tallest things around and it felt like we were on top of the world. We took some photos and tried to eat some food but I wasn’t hungry. My adrenaline was pumping and I felt happy, strong, scared and tired all at the same time. I didn’t think it was possible to feel so much at once. But I knew one thing and that was that the clouds were building up and the storms would come again. I wanted to get down and fast.

We reversed our route and glissaded down on our butts when possible. I was amazed at how fast we descended something that took all day to climb up. But when we hit the rock fields again we slowed down to a glacial pace. It was rough going and we were so tired but we could see the clouds settling in so we tried to hustle. Soon enough though we were in a whiteout. We had no choice but to ignore our intuitions and trust the GPS. Thankfully, after a little searching, it led us back to our tent.

We celebrated with a big dinner and Yahtzee but as thunderstorms battered the tent for the third night I was unsettled. It was as if the universe was reminding us that although we may have climbed a big mountain, we are still just little itty bitty breakable humans. Two days later we celebrated my 30th birthday at Blue Lake on Pilot Ridge. The lake was freezing but the guys jumped in to wash off the dirt and sweat. I rinsed my arms, feet and face but didn’t go in the frigid water. There was a mysterious small red bag at the bottom of my pack that I was instructed not to open until my birthday. I got it out and my husband told me to go away for a bit. I smiled. Fine. I came back and found that they made me a cheesecake topped with freshly picked blueberries. It was such a great surprise and oh so delicious. There was a duo of men camping nearby and we invited them to share our dessert. They were surprised to see such a delicacy and happily dug in as we swapped our hiking stories.

When I got the idea for Alpine Lily I was so excited, but I recognized a feeling I felt on Glacier Peak and it made me uncomfortable. It was vulnerability. I enjoyed telling my friends and family about my adventures and climbing Glacier Peak, but I always left out the parts where I was scared and weak. I left out the bugs, the pack weight, the struggles, the storms and the fear. I told everyone about my goal to climb the peak like it was no big deal. But it was really hard and I struggled on the mountain.

I didn’t tell anyone about Alpine Lily at first, not even my husband. I was scared of putting myself out there, sharing my weaknesses, free to be judged by anybody and everybody and especially my friends and family. Then one day I just decided to put Lily out there, just like the day we decided to climb Glacier Peak. And I did it. I climbed the mountain, created Alpine Lily and now I told my story. The story isn’t the perfect tale I had in my head, but it’s better than perfect because it’s real and it’s mine.

As I publish this post I will be on my way to celebrate my 32nd birthday on a mountain. A smaller mountain than Glacier Peak and one with a lookout on top. I will certainly be snuggling with a blanket, reading a book and sipping tea. Nali will be incredibly well behaved, and when the sun sets my husband and I will lay on the rocks with our heads together as meteors blaze before our eyes into the atmosphere. He’ll take out a perfect little vanilla cupcake with confetti inside AND the confetti icing and I will smile and say, how did you know, and how did you get that up here intact? And it will be perfect.

When I get home I will tell you the real story, and it will be better than perfect.

“It is not the critic that counts; not the man who points out how

the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust

and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,

because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds;

who knows great enthusiasm, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails,

at least fails while daring greatly…” – Theodore Roosevelt

See Also: Setting Goals: 30 by 30

Note: We found out later that the hail and thunderstorms on the night after our summit climb ravaged the North Cascades. 70 people were stranded at the Cascade Pass trailhead when the Cascade River Road was washed out and a separate landslide blocked Highway 20.
Cascade River Road Washout
Slide Blocks Hwy 20

Daring Greatly by Brené Brown

In this profound and eye-opening book, Brené dispells the myth that being vulnerable is a weakness. We are bombarded with so many messages these days that perfection is ideal, so we often hold back on putting ourselves out there for fear of being not good enough or being criticized by others. I’ve certainly felt that way, but this book and Brené’s TED talk helped me to realize that the people I most admire are bold and never play it safe, they dare greatly, and if they fail at least they did so by giving it their best, and that is better than perfection.

Outdoor Life

Sourdough Mountain Lookout

July 31, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

When I decided I wanted to hike up 30 peaks before I turned 30, I knew I had to put Sourdough on the list. This hike has a reputation for being tough but incredibly beautiful and bonus: there is a lookout at the top! And not just any lookout but a lookout made famous by the poet Gary Snyder with views of the endless jagged North Cascade peaks as well as Ross Lake and the emerald green Diablo Lake. It’s nearly a vertical mile to the lookout but worth every last excruciating step.

In 1952, Gary Snyder was looking for work through the Marblemount forest service and requested to be sent to the “highest, most remote, and most difficult-of-access lookout” in the district. They all laughed at him and sent him to Crater Mountain. He fell in love with the lookout life on that sharp-peaked mountain with a non-existent trail. He had to stash his supplies farther down the mountain and take many trips scrambling up and down to the lookout. But he relished in the solitude and practiced his zen buddhism. At the end of the season he didn’t want to leave the mountain and couldn’t wait for the next summer to return.

But the forest service decided not to man the Crater Mountain lookout in 1953. Turns out that the over 8000ft summit of Crater Mountain was too high to make a good lookout. Often the high lookout was obscured by clouds while nearby lower peaks were clear of the ceiling. So Gary was assigned to Sourdough Mountain. Gary called Sourdough “so mild in comparison” to Crater Mountain, which is hard to believe, but he no longer had to scramble up to the lookout with supplies. The mules dropped it all off at the front steps. Unfortunately, that summer would be his last at Sourdough or any other lookout for the matter. It was the McCarthy era and Gary was black-listed from government work for having relationships with alleged communists. Heartbroken and determined to work in the outdoors rather than have a regular 9-5, he resorted to a logging job in Oregon. Some of his best poetry came from this hard time in his life.

But before Gary Snyder there were the Davises. The nearby Davis Peak is named for Lucinda Davis, a single mother with three children who moved from Colorado into an abandoned cabin which she turned into a supply store for the busy mining areas of Thunder and Ruby creeks in the 1890’s. Lucinda and her son Glee made the first horse trail up to the summit of Sourdough where they would go for picnics. In 1915, Glee set up the first fire lookout site in the North Cascades on Sourdough. It was just a tent camp then before Glee built the first lookout structure in the cupola style of the time in 1917. The lookout stood watch until the 1930’s when it was replaced by a more modern style. This modern structure is the lookout that Gary Snyder would later man in 1953 and still stands today.

Things to Do Around a Lookout

Wrap up in a blanket in cold weather and just read

Practice writing Chinese characters with a brush

Paint pictures of the mountains

Put out salt for deer

Bake coffee cake and biscuit in the iron oven

-Excerpt from poem by Gary Snyder

I climbed for what seemed like all day through the ghost forest on Sourdough when I broke out into the high meadows. I was yet to see another person on the trail and I stopped in my tracks to gaze upon the glacial green Diablo Lake almost a mile below. The sitka valerian and spirea swayed softly in the wind as my skin soaked up the sun. I tore myself away with the promise of even more rewarding views at the lookout. Just as I crested the summit I passed a man and his son just starting their descent. “You made it all the way up here on your own?” he asked. “You bet I did,” I replied.

Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems by Gary Snyder

This is Gary’s first book of published poems and it is the one that made him famous. There are a few poems in the book about his time as a lookout and as a logger in Oregon, but most of the poems are about his time spent in the Sierra Nevada in California where he still lives today. His style is heavily influenced by the beautifully simplistic Japanese style and was a revolution in American poetry in it’s day. This collection is a wonderful example of his great nature poetry and makes a great addition to the outdoor book lover’s bookshelf.

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Sourdough Mountain

Outdoor Life

Lake Chelan

June 12, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Oh, Lake Chelan, you sparkling emerald among mighty peaks, you snake of a sea! Adventure awaits behind your every curve, mystery fills your depths. Your Lady carries us as we crane our necks in wonder. Oh, Lake Chelan, you beauty of a lake, you jewel of a sea, you are the greatest lake, perhaps the greatest that will ever be!

I’ve been intrigued by Lake Chelan since I moved to Seattle in 2006. I heard about tiny isolated places only accessible by boat like Stehekin, Holden Village and Lucerne nestled In the towering North Cascade mountains along a sparkling lake. From there you could access the remote Glacier Peak Wilderness and places like Lyman Lakes, Spider Gap and Image Lake. These distant and hard to reach places are just far enough away from Seattle to be truly remote and I was fascinated by them.

Finally a few years ago we decided to check out Stehekin. The tiny town sits at the northernmost tip of the lake and the only way to get there is to fly or take the ferry boat, Lady of the Lake, fifty miles from the town of Chelan at the southern terminus of the lake. So I booked a couple nights at the historic Campbell’s Resort and reserved our spot on the boat for a day trip to Stehekin.

When we arrived in Chelan in April the weather was beautiful and sunny, a welcome contrast to the spring rainy season in Seattle. I received a notification that there was an issue with the ferry boat and that we would be traveling on the ‘slow’ boat since the ‘fast’ boat had a mechanical issue. I called them and the very nice lady explained that the trip up the lake would take 4 hours each way with only a short layover in Stehekin. She suggested we reschedule the trip (free of charge) and I did so, this time I arranged it for an overnight so that we could backpack the Chelan Lakeshore Trail in May.

Needless to say, we did not suffer in the least by our change of plans. We happily lounged in the pool and visited the local wineries. We hiked up nearby Chelan Butte through the blossoming balsamroot and marveled at the lake and the Columbia River. We drove to Manson and visited more wineries, enjoying the intimate and friendly atmosphere. With the windows rolled down and wine bottles clinking in the trunk, we made our way back to Seattle. We smiled at each other, our pink noses kissed by the sun. We would be back soon.

We returned in late May, this time with our backpacks to hop on the ferry boat. It was the weekend before Memorial Day and I felt very clever as I told my husband that we were totally beating the crowds. I carefully inspected the fellow passengers, trying to determine how many trekkers we would be competing with for camping spots. As we pulled away from the dock I breathed a sigh of relief, I counted only three other groups that were possibly hiking the Lakeshore Trail as well. I was confident that we would outpace them.

After about a half hour the boat slowed as it came upon another dock. My husband and I looked at each other. Huh, must be another pick up spot… As we got closer my eyes grew wide in disbelief. There were at least 30 backpackers on the dock waiting to board. We looked at each other with our jaws dropped as the others packed themselves on the boat. As we scooted to make room I thought so much for having our pick of the campsites.

We waited our turn to debark the boat at the quaint landing at Prince Creek. Even with 30 of our fellow backpackers the place felt remote. As soon as we hit the trail the crowds dispersed and we hardly saw anyone on the whole trip. It’s a 17 mile hike to Stehekin from the drop off point and the trail rises and falls along the shore of the lake. We made our way through lupine and rock-hopped across numerous creek outlets: Rattlesnake, Pioneer, Cascade, Meadow, Fish, Hazard carving their way down the high mountains. We set up camp at the Moore Point campground and lounged on the shore. We built a fire and studied the map excited to continue on to Stehekin the next day.

Civilization began to reappear the following day as we skirted the backyards of cabins and spotted boats anchored offshore. We stopped at the ranger station to learn a bit of history as we moseyed to Stehekin. Sadly, everything was closed for the season including the Stehekin Pastry Company (they would open a week later on Memorial Day) and we didn’t get a chance to go into town since we had to catch the boat. We did manage to get some burgers and beers and ate outside overlooking the water and seaplanes. I sat and took in as much as possible as the boat approached, savoring every mountain peak in sight. Although I was a little disappointed we didn’t get to fully experience the town, I smiled to myself. Once again my lack of good planning turned into an excuse for another trip up Lake Chelan. We will be back soon.

Lake Chelan: The Greatest Lake in the World by John Fahey

Fahey, who spent a good portion of his life on Lake Chelan, goes on a mission to prove that his beloved lake is the greatest lake in the world. Each chapter alternates between his quest around the world, the natural and cultural history of Lake Chelan and his stories from living on the lake. The best part is that it’s laugh-out-loud hilarious. I was so sucked into this book that I stayed up very late one night to read it.

Hikes Featured in this Post:

Chelan Lakeshore Trail

Outdoor Life

Artist Point Snowshoe

January 22, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

I first laid eyes upon Mt Baker when I was 22. I was in college and visiting British Columbia for an internship trip and we stayed in the coastal town of White Rock. The tiny, beautiful, tourist town is nestled on a bluff overlooking Boundary Bay, just across the U.S.-Canadian border. I stayed in the nicest hotel room I ever had to myself and watched stunning sunsets from the pier. Here I caught glimpses of a far off volcano shrouded in the pink and gold of August alpenglow. This place was absolute heaven compared to Houston where I was living for the summer. I closed my eyes and savored every cool water breeze. We drove daily from White Rock to the Abbotsford airport on a sleepy two lane road called Avenue 0 that parallels the border. We stopped to look at monuments identifying the uncrossable border between two countries. I looked south to Washington, to open fields and flowers and to the white-capped Mt Baker, unknowingly looking through a window into my future.

Six years later on a cold, clear and dark February morning, my husband and I packed up the car with skis, snowshoes and the dog and commenced our first road trip to Mt Baker. The stars gave way to twilight and fog clung to the Nooksack valley as we made our way on the Mt Baker Highway. We climbed gradually along the river and finally up the steep switchbacks with hairpin turns protected from the steep drop offs by towering walls of snow on either side of us. On one of the hairpin turns I caught a glimpse of something in the rear view mirror and turned around. A huge and magnificent mountain filled the rear window. Holy crap, I said to my husband. I was introduced to Mt Shuksan.

The Mt Baker highway is a bit of a misnomer. The road goes to the Mt Baker Ski Area which is not on Baker at all but on Panarama Dome and is actually much closer to Mt Shuksan. The road was built in 1893 as a wagon road for what most roads were built for back in those days, gold mining. The road originally terminated at Maple Falls and then was later extended past Glacier and up to Heather Meadows then finally in the 1930’s extended up Austin Pass to Artist Point. There was talk of extending the road over the cascade crest to a gold mine on the east side, but a suitable pass was not found. In the winter the road is closed at the ski area making Artist Point a perfect snowshoeing destination.

I strapped on my snowshoes as my husband attached skins to his skis and the three of us made our way on the famously deep snow (this area holds the world record for recorded snowfall in one season- a whopping 95 feet in the winter of 1998-99). It wasn’t long before we crested the hill and beheld a feast for the eyes. The aptly named Artist Point is perched high on a ridge with 360 degree views of the North Cascades. To the left is Mt Shuksan and to the right is Mt Baker, seemingly within arm’s reach. Behind us, I take in the jagged guardians of the same invisible border I gazed across years ago, this time from the opposite side. As Nali and I ‘shoed down, my husband carved long smooth curves in the powder of a steep bowl high above the snow-covered Bagley Lakes. On that perfect bluebird day I decided that this was my favorite place in the Cascades and vowed to return as much as possible.

Koma Kulshan: The Story of Mt Baker by John C. Miles

The story of Mt Baker is one of lore and mystery, conservation, exploitation and amazing races. The mountain was considered sacred by Native Americans and was first spotted by travelers from sailing ships in the Straight of Juan de Fuca. It lured a forty-two year old librarian named Edmund Coleman to climb it’s glaciers to the summit for the first time in 1868. By the turn of the century, the mountain felt the steps of hundreds of climbers from the Mountaineers and the Mazama climbing groups and more. The apex of this epic climbing era occurred in 1911 & 1912 as a publicity stunt: marathon races to the top of the mountain. A far more tame version of the marathon exists today with the Ski to Sea multi-sport relay race every Memorial Day weekend. This is just a small snapshot of the fascinating history of the Mt Baker area told in this book.

Hikes Featured in this Post:

Artist Point, North Cascades, WA