Outdoor Life

Boulder River

“I am here today, mommy.” Uh huh, I say, distracted by making breakfast and packing up for our hike. “I am here today.” Yep, that’s right, I affirm while throwing our big and little backpacks into the back seat and buckling my not so little daughter up in her car seat. I speed off to the highway to get us to the trailhead for what would inevitably be a very slow toddler-paced hike.

Evie’s been really into waterfalls since I took her to Twin Falls a few months before. She walked by herself on that one, so I was sure we could go even farther on the Boulder River trail. I had high hopes as we pulled into the parking lot and got on the trail. We found her a good walking stick and she kept a good pace for all of five minutes.

She yelled “snail!” and pointed to a clump of green off the trail. She leaned over and stuck her nose down low into the foliage and sure enough, there was a big old slug. I told her it was actually called a slug and that we should see how many we can find on the trail.

I was excited to show her some of my favorite plants on the trail. Goat’s beard exploding in white like fourth of July fireworks, tiny little Pacific starflower, and my favorite of all, the maidenhair fern. “Can I touch it?” she asks and I always nod and say yes you may. Be gentle, please.

She picks up leaves and counts them out: one for her, one for mommy, and one for daddy. “Here you go, mommy.” She gives me leaves, sticks, pine cones, even a little yellow flower to put in my ear. When she twirls a rogue sword fern frond in her fingers, she yells, “oh, polka dots!” We put her treasures into her backpack until she stopped and asked for the moss out of her pack. I handed it to her and she smiled. “I want to touch it.” She just wanted to hold it.

She wants to sit on EVERY rock. To find the comfiest one, I suppose. Why else? Meanwhile, she’s still counting the slugs and I’m amazed at her ability to find them hiding in the leaves. We are up to six when she sits down in the middle of the trail. “I want a snack,” she says.

I find us a log to sit on and get out our lunch. We’ve been on the trail for hours and I assess how far I think we’ve gone. A mile, maybe a mile and a half. She is so content as she sits and eats her lunch, I can’t help but smile. This is it. This is toddler hiking. I am here today, I think. This is where we are right now.

After our lunch is eaten, I ask Evie if she wants to turn around. I’ve resigned myself to toddler pace and have actually been really enjoying it. But I knew the joy of the trail would only last so long and I was willing to turn back before our delightful hike turned not so delightful. But Evie was determined to see a waterfall. She got upset at the thought of turning around and insisted we keep going.

It was only another half mile or so, but that could take hours at toddler pace. So I picked her up and carried her a little ways. We found a hollowed out tree and took turns going inside. It completely blocked the sound of the river and was incredibly quiet. “It’s so dark in here,” she says and comes out, and then immediately says, “lets do it again!” I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a tree like that before.

We get to the waterfall and Evie is not really all that impressed. This day was all about the journey, not so much about the destination. I was okay with it. We made slightly better time on the way down the trail. While Evie investigated something on the side of the trail, I looked up into the trees. The sun lit up the trees in a warm glow. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A breeze rustled my hair and my skin felt tingly. Hi, dad.

I am here today. This is where I am.

Outdoor Life

Morels & Gold Creek Pond

Early in the summer, Evie, my husband and I got to spend the weekend with my pals Laura and Ingunn and their families too. We met at Laura’s cabin near Snoqualmie Pass and huddled around a map that felt very much like a treasure map. We were looking for treasure of the fungi variety. We picked a spot, made a plan, geared up and headed out.

Evie was so excited to hang out with her mushroom-hunting friends for her first foray. They started out great- identifying mushrooms, pointing to them and yelling. It was effective in getting our attention, but the identification skills were a bit lacking, at least for Evie. None of the mushrooms she found were edible and a few pine cones even found there way in there.

We split up and worked our way through the woods. We found areas of disturbance that seemed ripe for morels, but we didn’t have any luck. Finally, as we all met back on the forest road, I spotted one right next to the road on an old leaf pile. Then we found another. It seemed that the best place to look was not deep in the woods, but rather in the unlikeliest spot. We scrounged up a handful along the way. Not enough for a feast, but perhaps enough for a fancy snack.

On the way back down the mountain we stopped to frolic in lupine and balsamroot and to try our luck at more morel spotting. We didn’t add to our stash but we did find an animal skull. We all gathered around it for inspection. Our best guess was that it was a fox skull. We left it on top of a tree stump like a sort of talisman and hoped for better luck next time.

Back at the cabin we settled in around the campfire for s’mores and stick bread. I set up our gatherings to take some photos and I found, of all things, a perfect little morel under the wooden bench. Of course this spurred a thorough search of the area for more, but there was only one.

My husband couldn’t stay the night, and the next day the group headed out farther for another foray (I later learned that they found lots more morels). I decided to head home with Evie and Nali instead and on the way stopped for a walk around Gold Creek Pond. I had high hopes that Evie could even walk the whole one mile on her own.

To my utter delight, she did! I’ll admit that I shamelessly bribed her with a “special treat” if she walked the whole way. It totally worked. On the way home we stopped for a strawberry milkshake to share. It was the first trail she hiked all on her own, her first strawberry shake, and her first mushroom foray. A special weekend for sure!

The Way Through the Woods by Long Litt Woon

Long Litt Woon moved to Norway from her home in Malaysia at age 18 for school. There she met her Norwegian husband and settled down. But when her husband dies suddenly in an accident, she looks for something to fill the newly opened gap in her life. She devotes herself to mushrooms by learning everything she can about them. She joined mushroom societies and became an expert in edible mushroom hunting. There is a huge culture of mushroom hunting in Norway and I learned so much about mushrooms from this book. Ultimately, Long seeks a distraction from her loss but she ends up gaining a supportive community along the way.

Outdoor Life

Mother’s Day Hike

For Mother’s Day this year, all I wanted was to go for a hike with Evie and my husband. I got a bonus in that my husband made me a chai latte and French toast (my favorites) for breakfast. Evie’s Uncle JoJo and Aunt KK were in town too and joined us as well. My husband got out Evie’s backpack and she got right in even though it was sitting on the floor. We were worried she wouldn’t want to get in it later if she spent too much time in there now.

We headed to Heybrook Ridge, a recently built trail that we haven’t been on yet. As we drove, a train paralleled us on highway 2. Evie got super excited and when the train went out of sight behind the trees, she would say, “where’s the train? Where’s the train?” She squealed with joy when it came back into view. We even watched it go over a bridge from the trailhead.

Evie wanted me to carry her on my back, but my husband told her that I get a break today and he would carry her. So sweet. She obliged and we headed into the mossy trees. The forest floor was carpeted in the green of starry Solomon seal, sword fern, bunchberry, and bleeding heart. The trail climbed with switchbacks up and up.

It didn’t take us long to get to the ridge. Clouds obscured the views of Mount Index across the valley, but while we were snacking they started to roll away. The clouds disappeared faster than Evie smothered peanut butter and jelly all over her face. Before we knew it, there was not a cloud in sight.

We lingered for a while, enjoying the company of others hiking with their families, basking in the sun, and marveling at Bridal Veil falls from afar. From here you wouldn’t guess that the falls gently cascade jagged rock that are so gentle that you can walk right up to it. It’s been years since I’ve been to the falls and Lake Serene. Maybe I’ll see if Evie is up for more stairs this summer.

On the way down Evie found a walking stick (still our wonderful magical hiking device) and walked almost all the way down to the trailhead. She is entirely fearless. We had to stop her several times and make her hold our hands on the steep terrain or she would have just kept on going, leaving us in the dust. I both love and hate this about her. She is fiercely independent, brave, and a little sassy. She scares the crap out of me sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m a lucky mama.

Outdoor Life

Back to My Roots

As we walked my eyes darted from the trees to the leaves, moss, and rocks. I wanted to take it all in, study every detail. My dad knew everything about these woods. He had an eye for detail and he hiked this trail for decades. There was once a time when I would be looking for the differences between the Pennsylvania oak forests of my childhood and the coniferous forests of the Pacific Northwest Cascades, my adult home. But on this short hike I was desperate to find similarities. The way the granite sparkled on the trail, how the green moss gathered in clumps that were irresistible to touch, how mushrooms and lichen cling to the bark of the trees.

It had been five days since my dad passed away. Five days since we left the hospital in the wee hours of the morning under an almost full moon and a layer of frost. Five days since he squeezed my hand and gave me his bright and comforting smile. Five days since my sisters and I sang to him the last words he would hear in this world. Five days since the air was turned off, the mask removed, and peace enveloped him.

We spent five days with him before that day. At first he seemed well and we talked late into the night. We combed his hair and rubbed his feet and made sure he was comfortable. We watched Jeopardy, something we did together daily when I was a kid, and golf and a Phillies game, his favorites. We snuck sweets in for him and made him tell us all of his favorite things. Evie sat on his bed and blew him kisses. His room filled up with family daily. He greeted them all with his bright smile and cracked jokes. At one point we had the whole waiting room filled with family, laughter, and kids running around. We all sat around him and told our favorite stories and laughed and cried. My sisters and I told him that he was an amazing dad and we were so lucky to have him raise us all on his own. I made him promise he would always be with me and I told him I would take him everywhere, on every adventure and every mountain top.

Back on the trail, my Uncle Jack led the way as Evie yelled, “follow Uncle Jack!” We stopped at a small clearing near a large pine tree and he pointed down into the woods. That’s where your dad’s tree stand was, he told us. Everyone continued on walking and I lingered for a little bit. I was secretly hoping for a sign that he was there, like a visit from an animal or a sudden breeze. But there was nothing, no sign, just a comforting silence.

My dad often wrote poems for us and about spending time in the woods. As the family gathered in a circle to spread his ashes on his favorite mountain, my sisters and I read some of his poems aloud. We all held hands and my uncles and cousins shared their hunting stories and we prayed together. We brought some of the flowers from his memorial service and the kids took some of them and stuck them in the remaining patches of snow.

A month later, on another night with an almost full moon, I sat by the window and read my dad’s hunting journal. I didn’t know about the journal and I especially didn’t know he was such a great writer. My heart swelled as I read the entire thing in one sitting that night. He started it when I was 3 years old and kept it going for thirty years through the 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s. Every winter he and his five brothers along with his nephews would go up to the hunting cabin on his favorite mountain. He enjoyed the hunting part and spending time in the woods, but mostly he loved getting the family all together.

There is a passage that he wrote that I think captures him perfectly.

“I spent several hours in my stand without seeing anything and decided to go back to the cabin to see if the others had any luck. On my way back along the trail several chickadees were in the laurel just a few feet away from me. I stopped to watch them move about from branch to branch. My rifle was tucked in under my right arm with the barrel pointed down toward the ground. I stretched my left hand out to see if I could coax the closest one to bite on my glove. He looked closely at it and flew instead onto my rifle barrel. He sat on the end for a half minute cocking his head back and forth looking at me as if to say Hello, what are you doing here? They are one of my favorite birds.”

I miss my dad terribly, but I feel fortunate that I got to spend time with him before he passed. It gives me great comfort that he was surrounded by family and treated with dignity and respect in his last days. I am forever grateful for my amazing family who helped us during this difficult time. No matter how far away I am I will always feel that pull back home. And until I return I’ll be seeking out the glittering granite, the pillows of moss, and acorns that bring me back to my roots.

“I can safely say that I never left after time in the woods without feeling all the better for being there.”

Outdoor Life

Return to Twin Falls

There was the time before my dad got sick and the time after he got sick. My dad was in the hospital two thousand miles away while I drove Evie and myself down I-5 through downtown Seattle. The sky was clear and blue, but something felt wrong. I panicked a little. I searched the skyline for something that was missing. Did the city always look so small and brown? It seemed that everything was dull and diminished, like someone turned the saturation down and zoomed out on my world.

A few days earlier I got word that my dad was in the ICU on a breathing machine. It wasn’t the first time. Three months earlier he had collapsed from a heart attack and lack of oxygen on Christmas Eve. He was sent home with a portable oxygen tank and some medications and seemed to be doing better in the new year. My sisters and I planned a big family trip to Cape May in March. Dad said it would be too cold to go to the beach, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to wait any longer to see him. I felt terribly guilty for not being there on Christmas and the miles between us were palpable. It felt like there was a rubber band between us, stretched as far as it could go.

So I drove on to an old favorite trail in the foothills outside of Seattle, the one I took Evie on for her first hike ever. With all that was going on with my dad, I needed to be on the trails. I was also hoping that maybe Evie could walk it herself this time. We started at the icy trailhead and Evie immediately wanted me to carry her. So much for my plans. With a two year old I am getting very accustomed to a change in plans. I shrugged it off and happily carried her up to the falls.

Once we were at the upper falls, she was ready to walk. She put on her backpack and marched right up the icy stairs. Brave girl. When I managed to get her to stop and turn around, she hesitated, perhaps realizing just how far up she was on the slick ice. I recognized this reaction. The ‘oh crap’ feeling when you realize how steep the terrain is after turning around and looking down. I scooped her up and brought her back down, steady on the ice with my yaktrax.

After that taste of danger, she wanted more. She insisted on walking down the trail, forcing me to do a half hunch while holding both of her hands as she walked, and slid, down the trail. My back wouldn’t be the same for a week. We detoured down to the lower falls viewpoint and she got down all the stairs on her own while holding onto the lower wooden railing proclaiming, “it’s my size!” As she climbed back up we counted the stairs – 104! I was a proud mama.

On the way back down the trail we stopped for a closer look at the South Fork Snoqualmie. We played Evie’s favorite game of picking up rocks and throwing them into the water. I picked up the biggest rock I could handle and underhanded it with two hands between my legs as high as I could. We giggled and I taught her the word “kerplunk!”

On the drive home I called my dad and reported the impressive number of stairs that Evie climbed on her own. I called him everyday while he was in the hospital, usually during my commute home from work. He was always upbeat while we talked and after a few days he sounded much improved. But then suddenly he started getting worse. It was beginning to look like I would have another change in plans. Instead of a family vacation at the beach, we would all be heading back home to the hospital.

Outdoor Life

Larch March to Blue Lake

I am worse than my nearly two-year-old. She smiles right to me as she climbs up the stove and I pull her down and say no for the millionth time. She’ll make perfect eye contact and touch something she’s not supposed to touch, putting just one finger on an item and then looking to me for approval. I give her my disapproving mom look for the trillionth time. Like her, I push and push at boundaries compulsively without seeming to learn a lesson. I find the limits of myself and my daughter and then I inch up against them, just just to make sure we can’t squeeze out a tiny bit more. This is how I once again found myself alone in the middle of the trail with a screaming toddler wondering why I keep doing this to myself. And then I did something I’ve never done before.

The forecast called for blue skies. When this happens on an October weekend day, it simply must be taken advantage of. I’ve been itching to see some larch and I knew this weekend would be my best, if not last, opportunity before the fall rain comes. I decided to take Evie up to the North Cascades, a good 3 hour drive from our house, to a short trail filled with brilliant larch. I had the genius idea to wake Evie up before dawn and slip her into the car seat where she would go back to sleep while I drove. She didn’t go back to sleep. So I gave her snacks and entertained her as much as I could on the long drive. She did really well until the last 20 minutes or so when she finally had enough. She cried until I pulled into the trailhead and looked back to tell her we’ve arrived. She was fast asleep.

I woke her up and gave her more snacks with the promise of adventure and golden trees. She seemed up for it and padded down the trail pointing at rocks and trees. Though the sun was out, there was frost on the ground and I showed her how the iced-over puddles crackle when you step on them. She was doing great and I had high hopes that she would walk far on her own. She didn’t. She walked a little ways and then asked me to pick her up. I asked if she wanted to get in the backpack and she said yeah. With her in the pack I hustled along to cover some ground until she changed her mind and wanted down. I let her down but then she wanted up, but not in the backpack. I held her in my arms and walked a little but told her that I couldn’t carry her like that the whole way. Then she had a full on meltdown while I cycled between putting her in the pack, carrying her in my arms, and letting her walk. Then I gave up and just sat with her for a while, trying to console her and making sure she was warm in the cold shade of the trees.

This seemed to work and we walked a little ways more. Then she started crying again just as we passed someone who said we were close to an open area with sun. I picked her up and walked to the sun, promising a break and a snack. Sure enough, we found the sun and some lovely views and even a log to sit on. I gave Evie her lunch and we watched people and dogs pass us by. We were not even a mile up the trail. I coaxed her along offering her more peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the way. Then she would hunker down and sit to eat her sandwich at a snail’s pace. Each time I took a deep breath, summoning patience. It’s the journey, not the destination. It’s the journey, not the destination. I repeated this mantra, pushing out the counter thought: did I drive us all the way up here for nothing?

It was only two miles to the lake and three hours had gone by now. I kept thinking we had to be getting close. If I could just get Evie in the pack we would be up there in no time. I decided that I just needed to get her into the pack. I filled her up with even more food and changed her diaper and then told her how we could see the golden trees and the big mountains and the pretty lake if she got into the pack. She refused. I began to worry. We were a ways up the trail and it was getting late in the day. I was going to have to get her in the pack eventually to get back down the trail. That’s when I planted the pack right in the middle of the trail and decided she was going in no matter what. Of course there were hikers going by from both directions that got to witness the lovely sight of me forcing my screaming child into a pack. I waved them around us and they gave me sad looks. A couple with their young kid came along and gave me some words of encouragement and then I did the thing I never do. I asked how much further it was to the lake. They looked at each other with a gaze that I recognized. They said, “oh man, you’re getting there. You’re doing great!” This was hiker code for, “oh man, this lady doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into, poor thing.”

I finally got Evie in the pack and decided that I’d hike five more minutes up the trail. If she was still crying and screaming, I’d turn around and go back to the trailhead. If she stopped, I’d keep going to the lake. I walked for about 2 minutes and she was quiet. I glanced back and her head was hanging down, fast asleep. I hiked just a few minutes more into the magic of the golden larch and spectacular views all around. The larch gods blessed me with this quiet time all to myself the short way to the lake. I relished in it. I didn’t linger long at the lake though, and as I started back down the trail I felt guilty for being so happy that Evie was asleep. She was missing out on the best part, all that I had promised her.

Just before we left the larch forest and views, though, she woke up. She exclaimed whoa! and wow! as I pointed to the golden trees and pretty mountains around us. I let her touch the soft needles of the larch and she mimicked my enthusiasm. Pretty mountains and trees! she said in her tiny little voice. All of the worry, hesitation, and impatience I felt earlier melted away completely. Then she said, sing, mama!  So I sang. The ants go marching through the larch, hurrah, hurrah.

Maybe one day I’ll learn my lesson and find our limits. But until then I’ll keep pushing. Just a tiny bit.

 

Outdoor Life

Hiking History: Lake Crescent

Legend has it Lake Crescent is haunted. In 1940, some fisherman found a mass floating in the water that ended up being a body. It was perfectly intact, preserved by the near freezing temps of this deep glacially carved lake. The woman’s dead flesh was described eerily as “Ivory Soap” caused by a chemical reaction between the minerals in the lake and the fats in her body.

The woman was identified as Hallie Latham Illingworth, a Kentucky native and waitress at the Lake Crescent Tavern. Three years earlier she had disappeared just before Christmas. She was married to a local man who was well known for his womanizing and who had regularly beat her. It is said that she showed up to work with black eyes and bruises on her neck and arms. Her husband was eventually arrested for her murder, which occurred after a particular fight got too violent and he ended up strangling her to death. Her body was weighed down by weights and thrown into the depths of the lake. She became known as The Lady of the Lake and is still said to haunt the lake that entombed her after her horrific death.

The reason this lake perfectly preserved Hallie’s body and has such frigid temperatures is because of its depth. It is the second deepest lake in Washington after Lake Chelan with a max measured depth of 624 feet, although some unofficial measurements boast depths of over 1000 feet. According to the local native people’s history, Mount Storm King, the mountain that looms over Lake Crescent, was formed because of a battle between two tribes, the Quileute and the Klallam. The Mountain Storm King became angry at the fighting and threw a big boulder at the men. The boulder blocked the river and formed Lake Crescent, killing all of the warriors. Geological history backs up this native story. There is evidence of a landslide occurring that would have been big enough to raise the level of an older smaller lake, into the lake it is today.

The Spruce Railroad Trail, ambling along the northern shore of the lake, is a great place to get to know this lake. The trail has its own history. It was built in 1918 to move highly sought after spruce trees to be used in airplane construction for World War I bi-planes. The war ended before the trees could be used for their intended purpose, but the line remained open for logging until it was abandoned in 1951.

The trail is flat with peek-a-boo views of the sapphire colored water of the lake. The highlights of the trail include a quaint wooden bridge over a crystal clear pool known as the punchbowl, a popular swimming and diving spot. There are also some remnants of former railroad tunnels and even one that has been restored that you can walk through. It is just long and curved enough to get very dark inside for a brief time. I walked through it alone without a headlamp and definitely felt out of my comfort zone in the pitch dark for a minute or two. But I held onto a handrail, scooted a little quicker, and survived to claim a small victory.

Another area to explore is the Storm King ranger station on the western side of the lake. The ranger station made a home of an old settler’s cabin that has been restored over the years. From here there is lake access and a dock, where on a crisp autumn morning, I sat alone for a long while watching fog form and cling to Mount Storm King and Pyramid Peak and disappear. Interestingly, Pyramid Peak once hosted a lookout built in 1942 that was used as a spotter station to spy any possible approaching Japanese aircraft during World War II.

 

There are a few trails that start from the rangers station, including one that heads south across the highway to Mount Storm King and Marymere Falls. The trail crosses Barnes Creek and Falls Creek in deep woods that makes you feel miles from the highway. I had a particularly magical moment watching a young deer on this section of trail that will stick with me for a long time.

After a short distance, the 90 foot high Marymere Falls ribbons down through rock and forest and flows down to a placid creek, punctuated by yellow and orange leaves in the fall. The lovely name was bestowed to the falls by Charles Barnes, a homesteader and member of the Press Expedition through the Olympic Mountains, in honor of his sister Mary Alice Barnes.

 

     

Outdoor Life

A Lookout, Rocks, and Pumpkins

These are a few of my favorite things…

What is not my favorite thing? Being in the car with my almost two-year-old for any extended amount of time. But the crying, the screaming, the throwing things (mostly her, maybe a little bit me), was all worth it in the end. I was excited about this one. A super short little trail zigs up a for hot minute to Red Top Lookout and some spectacular Teanaway scenery. I had high hopes that Evie might even walk herself all the way to the top. She didn’t, but she walked about halfway up the steep trail and I was super proud when she said “backpack, backpack” for the first time, as in, “put me in the backpack and give me a snack now before I have a meltdown.” We put her in the pack, gave her a snack, and she was happy.

First built in 1952, Red Top lookout stands watch at roughly 5400 feet. It was restored in 1997 and is kept up by wonderful volunteers, making it one of the best kept lookouts I’ve been to. Some volunteers were there for the weekend and opened it up for us to peek inside. The two young men, swimming in their green Forest Service vests, described themselves as “lookout junkies.” A fuzzy blond dog was curled up on the cot as we swapped lookout stories.

After taking in the views of Mount Stuart, Rainier, and evens Adams, we continued on to go rock hunting. I thought this was the appropriate description until we reached the agate beds complete with a sign board listing rules and tips. It is actually called “rock hounding” according to the board. I was so excited, especially now that I knew what it actually called! I already felt like a pro. The instructions asked rock hounds to refill any digging holes and recommended using the “15 minute rule” to prevent harvesting too many rocks to carry back with you. It suggests holding the rock in your hand for 15 minutes and then looking at it again. If you love it, keep it. If you’re not sure carry it another 15 minutes. It then reads, “by this point, you should be pretty sure this is a rock you want to keep. If not, toss it back.” I love this rule.

Some folks passed us carrying shovels, grates, and hammers. “Going rock hunting?” I asked. Rookie mistake, surely true rock hounds don’t call it “rock hunting.” They entertained my question with a vague answer and I mentioned we were looking ourselves, we just don’t know what we’re looking for. My husband and I exchanged a glance with an awkward chuckle, hoping they would offer us a little advice. They didn’t. We made note of their gear to bring next time.

We picked around in the rocks looking for anything unusual or shiny. We were banking on beginners luck and Evie is really good at picking rocks. She picked them up and shoved them in my face saying, “ock, ock” until I looked at her and gave her my full attention, saying, “oh yes, that’s a nice rock.” Then she would point to more rocks and say, “nice ock.” Unfortunately, she didn’t find anything unusual or shiny.

We found a big hole that was already dug and decided that the mother load was once found there. We sat down and settled in, Evie between my legs babbling and picking away. We dug for awhile and were getting ready to move along when my husband found something interesting. I remembered reading something in the guide book about rare Ellensburg blue agate and thunder eggs being found here. We remembered that the sign board gave a hint: crystals are shiny and agates are translucent. This little nugget was blue and translucent. NO WAY! I yelled and then promptly dug in the same spot for more. We found a few more translucent white agates. They were tiny and mottled in muddy clay. I had to spit on them to see any color, but I was over the moon. We found something, maybe even some rare blue agate! We were officially rock hounds!

I could have stayed there looking all day and I think Evie could have too. But the blue skies had been slowly clouding up, the wind cooling with a fall crisp. We headed back to the car with our loot, just a pocket full or two of rocks. Later that night at home, I rinsed the rocks in the kitchen sink. The smell of earth released from the rocks overwhelmed my senses, I felt like I could taste it. Then in the shower, the same smell came from my hands. I breathed it in, the mountain colliding with my home, everything connected. I felt whole.

We took the long way home from Red Top. As Evie slept, we took a side road to explore the old ghost town of Liberty. We drove through the farm fields and small towns of the Cascade foothills. We found a pumpkin patch just after Evie woke from her nap.

We let Evie roam free in the pumpkin field as we each chose our favorites. My husband chose a large one, perfect for a classic moonshine face, I chose a smaller pastel orange one reminiscent of Cinderella’s carriage and we chose a little green one for Evie, one she pointed at a few times and we took as a the chosen one. However, we soon realized that she pointed at ALL of the pumpkins.

It wasn’t a perfect day. I’m fully convinced that any day with a toddler could never be bestowed with such a word. But it was a great day and an undeniably fall one. The very best kind: one full of my favorite things and my favorite people.

 

Outdoor Life

Hidden Lake Lookout

For my birthday weekend my husband and I packed up Evie and doggie Nali to go camping at Marble Creek Campground. We planned it so that I could go for a solo hike on my birthday to get to my goal of 50 peaks. I decided on Hidden Lake Peak as the grand finale. It’s arguably one of the most beautiful trails in the Cascades and I wanted something challenging. And for an added bonus, there’s a lookout at the top.

We snagged a river-front spot and set up camp. Evie helped me set up the tent (she did actually mostly help!) and we lazed around eating snacks. We brought an Evie-sized chair, but she mostly just wanted to sit it one of our grown-up chairs, sitting up and very proud of herself. One of her favorite things to say these days is “sit down.” We had a bit of a panic moment when we couldn’t find her binky. We only brought one and we knew that getting to sleep was going to be an issue if we didn’t find it asap. We searched for like two hours, scouring the cars and campsite but couldn’t find it. We decided it was just going to have to be the day she gives up the binky cold turkey.

We went for a walk and found a path leading down to Marble Creek. There were gorgeous sandy beaches and the water was cold and turquoise. We sat on the shore and threw rocks for Nali to chase in the water. We had to keep Evie from walking straight into the water. That girl has no fear. We played in the sand and collected rocks until it was dinner time and headed back to camp for a dinner of burgers.

I was very nervous about the missing binky as bedtime approched, but it turned out fine. Evie fussed and cried but eventually fell asleep and I was actually happy that it happened this way. It is much harder to resist giving into her when I have a choice, but this time I had nothing to give her. As I’m writing this, it’s been four days and last night was the first time since that fateful day that she went right to sleep without a peep. Yay! My husband and I distracted ourselves from her cries with a game. We’ve had Bananagrams for years and finally decided to get it out and try it. It’s basically a speed version of scrabble and got hooked.

The next morning my husband made breakfast and I geared up for the day’s climb to Hidden Lake Peak. I lingered for a while before convincing myself that it was time to go off on my own. I said my goodbyes and headed to the trailhead, just a few miles down the road. I noticed that the sky was white and wondered if it was fog or smoke from forest fires. As I started out on the trail, it was clear that it was smoke. The smoke affects the sunlight differently than fog. It filters the sunlight, where fog tends to fully block it. The sun appeared as an eerie orange orb and a fiery orange glow lit up the forest.

After a short and steep climb through the forest I popped out into an open meadow. Now the severity of the smoky haze was apparent. I could hardly see across to the peaks above the valley and looking down was a complete white-out. It was even worse than I thought. The flowers in the meadow made up for the lack of views and the filtered sun made for nice photos, but I was really hoping the smoke would go away.

The trail climbs, sometimes quite steeply, through an open avalanche chute covered in flowers. It was a spectacular display, one of the best I’ve seen in the Cascades. I stopped to catch my breath and took way too many photos. There were lots of small water crossings and I plunged a bandana in the cool water to wrap around the back of my neck. It helped. Eventually, I was above the gulley and the trail mellowed a bit through high alpine heather and granite. Although there were plenty of people on the trail, it was quiet. So quiet. I didn’t hear even a single bird call or pika squeak. With the lack of wildflowers up high, the white of the sky and the white and brown of the granite and trail, it felt like sensory deprivation.

But I continued on and soon the lookout was in view. The descriptions of the trail warned me that it would seem like there is no possible way to get up to the lookout. I already knew this yet I still gaped up at the mountain and wondered how the heck I was going to get up there. It seemed impossible. I was tired and the smoke was giving me a headache. I couldn’t see any of the spectacular views that were supposed to be had and now the trail was getting hard to follow. I emerged on a saddle above Hidden Lake and looked at it with disgust. I could barely make out the outline of the lake and the jagged peaks that surround it, my beloved North Cascade peaks, were obscured by thick smoke.

I thought of turning back, but then I reasoned that getting up to the lookout would brighten my spirits. I followed cairns that led me back and forth between a steep exposed trail and a scrambling route. I did my best to not look down and just go up. I saw that the lookout was much closer now but I still wondered how the heck I was going to get up there. It is vicariously perched on a pile of boulders. They didn’t bother to put a catwalk or even an entryway for that matter on the thing, due to the shear drop-offs on all sides. And when I reached the door it was closed. I could hear people inside, but didn’t want to bother them. I shuffled back down the rocks to the saddle, waited for my nerves to calm and then ate some food.

Instead of appreciating my alone time and reflecting on my 35 years and whatever, I really just wanted to get down the mountain. I was sad that I was expecting an epic hike and didn’t get it. I was sad about the smoky air and that the whole state (and British Columbia for that matter) seems to be on fire. This is not what it was like when we moved here over a decade ago and I’m worried that the smoky summers like this one and last year will become normal or worse.

But as I hiked down the smoke began to clear just a tiny bit. I could make out the green of the meadows and as the wildflowers came back into view, I realized just how beautiful it really was. I even noticed later that there was even some blue sky in my photos. After all these years, it is still an important reminder to find beauty everywhere, even if I have to work to seek it out.

Outdoor Life

Shriner Peak Lookout

An old friend and I hiked up to the Shriner Peak Lookout on a foggy August morning. It’s been a dry summer. The moisture collected on the leaves and trees, though the forest still clung to a dryness that was palpable. My friend is an avid birder and we listened for bird calls as we walked. He called them out as we heard them: raven, steller’s jay, junko, robin.

After a few miles, the trail opened up to what I imagined were fabulous views, though all we saw were occasional masses of trees layered in clouds. Fireweed towered overhead and my friend picked a leaf for me to chew on. I didn’t know that fireweed was edible and I enjoyed its nice peppery flavor. We climbed on, the fog allowing us to only focus on what was immediately around us. Glowing white orbs of spider webs, soaked mushrooms, and ripe huckleberries. A spritely pika alerted us to its presence just off the trail and we watched as it collected some vegetation and scurried off.

Higher on the mountain, pristine green meadows revealed themselves. Although we had seen plenty of sign of deer or elk, they did not grace us with their majestic presence in the meadows. Bummer. In one particular area, though, it seemed we had been temporarily transported back to my childhood. Emerald green false hellebore towered over my head. The large stalk with wide flat leaves and its trailing clustered flowers made me feel like I was in a foggy cornfield back in Pennsylvania. I had never seen such a dense field of it before.

Finally we spotted the lookout as it emerged from the clouds. One of four in Mt Rainier National Park, the charming two-story lookout was built in 1932.  The fog was starting to clear in patches and we sat on the catwalk and watched the clouds roll by. It felt like we could have been sitting in an airplane. We sat facing where we knew Mt Rainier was, as though we could clear the clouds with our minds. It didn’t work, so we ate our sandwiches instead. A stiff cold breeze froze us until the sun broke through to thaw us again.

We didn’t linger very long in the cold and soon headed back down the mountain. The weather seemed to change with every switchback. The sun came out and we were sure that the mountain would come out for us as we picked some blueberries on the high slopes. As we re-entered the forest, we turned to see a wall of clouds and rain that seemed to come out of nowhere. It showered on us just long enough for me to consider getting out my rain jacket and when I finally decided I should, it stopped and the sun came out again. I shed a layer instead. We soaked up all the sun we could to justify a stop at Wapati Woolies for arguably the best huckleberry shake on the planet.

Hiking Washington’s Fire Lookouts by Amber Casali

As you can imagine, I was SO EXCITED to see this book released recently. Amber Casali has given us a gift- an updated guide book to the lookouts of Washington State. This full-color book has all the details you need to visit as many as you can, including how to access them and some history. There is even a checklist in the back of the book that makes my list-making brain happy.

 

 

 

Copyright Ashley Gossens 2023
Theme by Colorlib Powered by WordPress