Book Club

Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart

In September we planned to try a little thru-hiking to go along with our book selection Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart by Carrot Quinn, a memoir about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. The PCT is easy to access from Seattle and we had plans to hike from Snoqualmie Pass to Lake Valhalla for an overnight. We were excited to encounter some thru-hikers on their way to Canada. Mother nature had different plans, though, and the weather report warned of heavy rain in Seattle and the first big snowfall of the season in the mountains.

Rather than get rained and snowed on, our ever flexible group changed plans at the last minute and headed to Baker Lake instead. We all assumed it would still be rainy and stormy, but everyone was in good spirits and eager to get out for a backpack. We were especially excited to take Sulina, our member Rebecca’s 8-year-old daughter, on her first ever backpack! We bundled up at the trailhead and started on the trail through the gorgeously foggy forest.

Quickly we realized that a trail race was happening as several runners passed us. It was annoying at first to get the whole group to move aside but the runners were nice and polite and we soon started cheering them on with high fives and shouting, you’re doing great! We were hoping to be cheering on thru-hikers this weekend, but this was the next best thing!

We detoured off the main trail to check out the camping area at Anderson Point. The trees opened up to milky blue glacial water and we even got great views of Mount Baker across the lake. We scoped out some nice campsites and spotted what we thought may be lobster mushrooms. As we were getting ready to move along we came upon a female solo backpacker and struck up conversation with her. She quickly became our new friend Sue and she asked if she could camp near us. We obliged and looked forward to meeting up with her later.

As we hiked, there were times when the wind would gust from the lake and shower leaves on us. We thought that the storm would roll in any minute, but minutes later the sun would poke through the clouds. I love these kind of days between the seasons.

photos by Sulina R.

We found the Maple Grove campsite and decided to camp there. It has two(!) bathrooms, plenty of camping spots and a nice big beach with a dock and a spectacular view of Mount Baker. We left a note for Sue on a massive yellow maple leaf to let her know we were camping there, which felt like a real thru-hikery thing to do. As we put up our tents, we noticed a pair of hammocks and an interesting fire setup nearby. We lingered to the beach at our leisure and to inspect our neighbors a bit.

We snacked on unhealthy snacks as an homage to Carrot, took naps, read, and generally lapped in the luxury of nothing to do all day. I was worried our youngest of the group would get bored, but she was perfectly content reading her Harry Potter book (the fourth one- I know you are wondering) and combing the beach. She asked me several questions about my DSLR camera and I showed her how to use it. It was like putting a camera into little hands that were made for it. She quickly disappeared, finding all kinds of things to photograph. When she came to show me her shots I was very impressed. She has quite an eye for photos, and dang, there is nothing more hopeful and inspiring than to see the world from the eyes of an 8-year-old.

We had been giving our manly camp neighbors, seemingly shipwrecked and now living out of their kayaks and hammocks, the side eye all day as they kept their campfire going under what appeared to be a cauldron hanging witch-style from tree branches circled teepee style above. Next to it was a growing pile of empty beer cans. We watched them chop wood and they offered us beers. We politely refused and kept to ourselves.

Later, one of them came over to us with another offering. It was a thick juicy hunk of steak wrapped in a homemade tortilla. Our jaws dropped and we all looked at each other with widened eyes as Brenda took it. Red juice dripped as she took a bite and her eyes rolled back in her head out of pure joy. She passed it around so everyone could have a bite. It was probably the best steak I have ever had. They must have been slow roasting it all day long. They also came back later to give us more. It was the BEST kind of trail magic.

Sue found us and joined in on our book talk. Then we had even more visitors. A fleet of canoes carrying Boy Scouts made landfall by the dock. They swarmed the beach like ants carrying gear to the campsites and then returned for more. They were polite but mostly ignored us and we couldn’t help but listen as they struggled to assemble and cook a massive pan of lasagna which subsequently burned into a dark blob of cheese and noodle. One kid shook his head as he walked down to the beach and poured a packet of uncooked oatmeal into his mouth. We didn’t tell them about the steak.

Finally after the excitement of the day, the sun sank behind Mount Baker and the air felt suddenly cooler. We watched the few clouds turn orange and then pink as the sky darkened. We retired to our tents unlike the boys who stayed up late stoking the fire and being regular loud prepubescent boys. I was glad I had my earplugs.

The next morning we gathered on the beach again for tea and breakfast. The scouts were quick to get up and get going in the canoes. Again they were ants now carrying gear in the reverse direction. We waved and wished them luck as they pushed off. Sulina took a photo of the group and then we packed up to head back to the cars.

Our trip was not exactly like Carrot’s PCT hike in the book. We didn’t hike many miles, we didn’t have the worries that come with a long journey like hers, but we did find some parallels. What often makes these overnight hikes interesting is the people you meet along the way. We certainly encountered many interesting folks on our trip and we even got to experience a little bit of delicious trail magic.

Thruhiking Will Break Your Heart

by Carrot Quinn

In 2013, Carrot Quinn was addicted to the internet. She felt herself falling into a pattern of being an observer in life and not a participant. On a whim, after discovering the world of long-distance hiking online, she decided to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail 2600 miles from Mexico to Canada. Like any thru-hiker she had her fair share of trials on the trail, but what most stands out in this memoir is the relationships she made on the way. She makes new friends, some of which she keeps track of through the trail registers, and others that just seemingly disappear after they leave the trail or adjust their pace. Carrot also conveys the sense of emptiness and depression that frequently follow a thru-hike like hers. She does not shy away. She finds that staying on the trails is essential for her and that is what she has been doing since.

Non-fiction (Memoir) // Published: 2015 // My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

Book Ends

Book Club Archive

*This post contains affiliate links. However, I always encourage finding books at your local library or favorite indie book store.

Book Club

The Nature Fix

As we gathered at the trailhead before setting out on our backpack adventure, I encouraged everyone to take time to look, feel and smell as we walk. I told them to pay attention to how the wind feels on your skin, listen to the birds. I told them that I love them all, but I am a true introvert and being social drains my energy. Being alone is what really fuels me. I know I’m not the only one. I told them to take time for themselves if they need it – and lets all respect each other’s needs.

We were embarking on a session of nature immersion for the weekend with an overnight backpack trip to Ingalls Creek. Our June book club pick, The Nature Fix, highlights research that shows the benefits of being in the woods. It’s amazing that you only need to be outside about 5 hours a month to reap the benefits: lower heart rate, lower stress levels, lower blood pressure, heightened cognitive ability, and even increased empathy for others. We were putting the research to the test. From the beginning of the hike, I could immediately tell this one was different. We all slowed down, we stopped to take more photos, we inspected and smelled flowers and trees.

The trail wanders along the creek and was teeming with a rainbow of wildflowers. We spied the usual orange of the tiger lily, red of the columbine and paintbrush, pink of the wild roses, along with some more unusual sightings: white Cat’s Ears, yellow paintbrush, blue penstemon, and the elusive Mountain Lady’s Slipper. It was my first sighting of the delicate orchid and we all squeezed together on the trail for a look.

As we progressed on the trail, we noticed that the flora was changing. The beginning of the trail traversed an old burn, still recovering with sun-loving plants dominating. Later we entered a more mature forest with huge ponderosa pine trees. We gave them hugs and smelled them. We discussed the best way to go about it and decided that it was to find a tree exposed to the sun and then get your nose into the deepest fissure in the bark you can find. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Ponderosa pines have the delightful scent of the most luxurious vanilla you’ve ever smelled. Brenda told me it reminds her of creme brulee. We immediately got hungry and proceeded to plot a way to bring and/or make backcountry creme brulee.

We found a large camping spot in the trees to fit our group and set up camp. Some of the group continued up the trail a ways for lunch. Others stayed and cooked up lunch and made some tea at the campsite. For Mala, who we lovingly call our trail mama, this backpacking trip was a first. She went out and bought all new backpacking gear (she willingly commits to anything the book club does) and when we showed her our camp stoves and cookware she cracked up at how tiny it all was. She is used to cooking in large batches, whether for her family or while taking over our book club camp meals, and said she felt like a kid playing with cooking toys. She giggled the whole way through each meal and it made all of us smile.

Laura and I lazed along the riverside for a while and caught up on life. While we chatted a butterfly came to visit me. It sat on the rock beside me for a long time, giving me a sense of ease and comfort. I studied its colors and patterns. The others made their way down to the riverside as well. There we sat for a long time. We talked, napped, read, with no agenda, no expectations. Brenda studied for an upcoming statistics exam, one she was worried about passing (later she told us that she aced her exam and chalked it up to our nature fix). As the sun tracked above our heads and grew warmer, we all dipped our toes into the chill of the snow-fed creek.

As dinner time was nearing, I went and gathered some things around the forest and had everyone sit in a circle. I told them to pick an item- moss, sticks, pine cones, etc. I had them describe what they noticed during our hike on the trail and what they noticed about their items as they studied them. I welcomed everyone to take off their shoes and put their feet in the dirt (it felt so good!) for grounding and we did a short meditation together. Closing our eyes, relaxing our bodies, being in the moment.

We cooked our dinners (with Mala chuckles) and had our book discussion. One of the things that struck most of the group was that its not just adults who need to get into nature more, but our kids. Its hard to argue that time outside helps kids to focus and keeps them active and healthy. I especially enjoyed the chapters toward the end that talk about how being outside increases our sense of community and purpose in the world. And how just listening to birdsong, whether outside or through your headphones, gives us a sense of calm and peace. Birds only sing when they are safe and when all is right in the world.

I felt compelled, though, to share that I don’t think that nature is a “fix” for everyone. No one should feel that being outside will magically solve all of life’s problems. I prefer to call it the nature “assist.” Being outside can help to reduce anxiety and depression, but I don’t believe that it should replace medication and most importantly, no one should feel bad about themselves if nature is not a “fix” for them.

After dinner Laura got out her gorgeous Tarot cards and did readings for us. Laura and I shared our fascination with Tarot a while back and decided we should do readings while backpacking. I thought we might scare off our book club members, but everyone was pretty into it. After that we filtered off to bed. Rebecca and I lingered for a bit. She wasn’t tired and she didn’t have a book to read, her phone was dead, and we didn’t have any paper for her to write or draw. I smirked a little and gave her a challenge to just relax and enjoy being in the woods.

The next morning as we made breakfast and tea, Rebecca showed us the mountain that she whittled out of wood. My jaw dropped. She showed us all of the little things she made out of wood while we slept. They were beautiful and we passed them around and took photos. I turned to her, “you’re not the kind of person who can easily relax are you?” She replied, “no, definitely not.” We laughed. I guess some of us need a longer nature fix than others.

photo courtesy of Mala Giri
The Nature Fix by Florence Williams

Book Ends

Book Club Archive

Book Club

Yellow Aster Beauties

This month the book club went on our first backpacking adventure together. I chose a fun and quick read about a group of girlfriends who hiked the John Muir Trail back in the 1990’s. They just graduated from college and were taking a break before diving into real life. They spent 28 days hiking the 215 mile trail from Mount Whitney to Yosemite. When her friend Erika asked her to hike the JMT, the author Suzanne immediately agreed. She was not an experienced backpacker, but she had read a lot of John Muir, so she thought she knew what she was getting into. She climbed nine mountain passes, encountered snow, storms, and bears and dealt with food shortages, but mostly she had to learn to work together with two other women.

We opted for a much shorter hike than the JMT, Yellow Aster Butte, in the North Cascades. After a week of smoky skies in western Washington, it looked like the weekend was going to be a nice one with the smoke blowing off. When we reached the trailhead in a thick haze, though, I had a feeling that was not going to be the case. We decided to go on anyway, vowing to take our time and drink lots of water. We switchbacked up and up as we caught up with each other and what’s been going on since we’ve seen each other last. We didn’t have any new members come out with us this time and as much as I LOVE meeting new book-lovers out on the trails, it was kind of nice to spend extra time with some “regulars” and get to know these ladies better.

We chatted about our favorite parts of the book and we imagined which characters we would be. We even made plans to reenact our favorite parts later at the campsite. I imagined myself as Erika, of course, the leader and planner. I had to admit I was afraid that I scared everyone off a few weeks prior when I sent out a spreadsheet including an offer to pack the food. In the book Erika was ruthless with the food rations and the group regularly received meager tablespoons of oatmeal and often ate Powerbars for lunch. Nobody took me up on my offer. I laughed hysterically when I put two and two together, although the group promised they didn’t think I was an Erika.

Once we rounded the butte we found the trail that leads down to a huge open area filled to the brim with tarns. Kirstin spotted a campsite from above and it looked like the perfect spot perched on its own little island. We hustled down to stake our claim and have some lunch. Afterwards we felt like lounging among the sculpted rocks like marmots and reading and chatting. There was a tarn just below us, calm as could be, so we went down to lounge next to it. In the book, the girls have a “spa day” toward the end of their trip where they filed each others nails and braided each others hair. We thought that sounded lovely and decided to make our own “spa day.” We slipped into the water, one of us quite literally, and one of us quite purposely, and like Erika in the book, quite naked. I lingered on the edge with my feet in, squirming my toes into the thick oozy mud. I really wanted to get in, but I never swam in an alpine tarn like this. A small chunk of snow still clung to the far end. Then I just went for it. The alpine water washed away the trail dirt and smoke ash.  It felt like it washed away the stress and tension built up in my body over months or even years. I felt refreshed and renewed, better than any spa.

I didn’t want to leave our magical tarn, but when we spotted some strange bugs creeping along the bottom in the impossibly clear water, I high-tailed it out of there. I’m not usually afraid of bugs, but these were strange and we were pretty sure, just a few minutes before, that the tarn was devoid of any life whatsoever. They seemed to emerge from the mud. Yuck. So we headed back to camp and setup our three tents on our little island and just lounged some more. We had the perfect vantage point for people and marmot watching, both equally entertaining. The tarn basin tended to amplify the voices of the hikers coming down the switchbacks. We would hear voices and then get quiet to see if we could make out what they were saying. The basin amplified the whistles of the marmots as well and we watched groups of them play and roll on the steep slopes.

We discussed trail names like the women in the book had, and thought what ours might be. We gave other groups names too, there were the “dog people” who were yelling at their dogs the whole time they hiked down while the unleashed beasts terrorized the poor marmots. There were also the “rock people” who sat on a smooth rock across the way in a perfect circle, seeming like they’ve always been there and always will be. The next morning I discovered that the dog people were the same as the rock people and my head exploded. It made sense. The smoke had kept many people away and a normally very busy place was quite quiet on this weekend.

After we had enough lounging we moved onto dinner. We fired up our tiny stoves with a loud whhhhhrrrr, and I boiled my ramen noodles (I know you are thinking wow, those other ladies really missed out on a gourmet dinner. I know, right?) and we talked some more about the book. I first read this book about a decade ago and I remember totally relating to the author, Suzanne, who was obsessed with John Muir. I loved how she included a John Muir quote at the beginning of every chapter. Reading it again for this trip, I related more to her discovery that John Muir doesn’t have all the answers and its actually hard to relate to his stories, as fantastic as they are, because, well, turns out he’s not a woman. Suzanne discovered that her journey and story was not going to be the same as his. This self-discovery really stood out to me. I’ve realized how much I’ve been growing away from the “old, dead white guy” stories of nature and adventure that we are accustomed to, and have come to very much prefer stories from women’s perspectives. Simply because I am a woman and I can relate to them.

Rather than relying upon the language of men, a language that doesn’t take into account all the ways I felt about being in the mountains, I needed a language of my own to describe the landscape in all its complexity…

I love how Suzanne addresses gender in the outdoors quite frankly and unapologetically. She didn’t shy away from her 20-year-oldish boy crazy thoughts and daydreams, and also from her feelings of being uncomfortable and vulnerable around men she didn’t know on the trail. She doesn’t have an agenda, she’s simply telling her story from her female perspective. I adore these honest memoirs and it’s books like these that inspired me to go searching for more of them. I even made a list of my favorites that I’ve read and loved and will be adding to. There are so many great stories and it makes me so happy!

With the smoke it was hard to tell when the sun was setting, it just got darker and then all of the sudden we saw the moon. It was huge and full, like we could just reach out and touch it. And the smoke gave it a crazy deep orange glow. We retreated to our tents, and in true sleepover style, we stayed up late talking about anything and everything. I felt so comforted and safe with those ladies in their sleeping bags just feet from me. I am so grateful for the wonderful friendships I have with them. This trip, like Suzanne’s trip on the John Muir Trail, was not about the destination, heck we couldn’t see a thing! But it was much more about the journey and the connections we strengthened between each other.

We found our connection to each other, our place within wildness. The John Muir Trail was more than a completed goal. We didn’t conquer the mountains; instead, we learned to feel safe walking among them, to feel more at home in nature. And with each step we came closer to knowing ourselves.

 

Almost Somewhere by Suzanne Roberts

 

Book Ends

Outdoor Life

Pregnant in the Wild

When I found out in the spring that I was pregnant, the first thing I did was calculate my due date. The second thing I did was calculate how pregnant I would be in August. I had plans. I had a long list of hikes and mountains to climb this summer, including a multi-day backpacking trip complete with a summit of Mt Adams. But I would be 5 months pregnant in August. I naively thought perhaps these things were still possible. 

As the snow melted and trails opened up for the summer, it was clear that my hiking days would be limited. After a few months spent doing nothing but napping, I returned to outdoor life. But I was completely out of shape and out of breath on even the easiest of trails. Well, if I wasn’t going to climb a volcano while pregnant I at least wanted to do something besides hobble down an easy trail without passing out. I decided that I would try backpacking.

This was not an immediate decision and I went back and forth about it over and over again. Would it be comfortable sleeping on the ground? How much weight could I carry in addition to my growing belly? And of course, most importantly, was I going to hurt my baby? After doing some research, I decided that I could do it as long as I didn’t carry much more than I normally carried on a day trip. That wouldn’t be possible with just me and my husband, but luckily, we had some family coming to town who offered to carry the extra weight.

We set out on a hot August morning on the road to Mt Baker. We chose to hike up to Twin Lakes since it was an easy road hike and people would be car camping up there so we could get a ride down if we needed it. That gave me some peace of mind. It was also a short climb with stunning views and we could visit one of my favorite lookouts on Winchester Mountain.

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I shouldered my backpack and felt comforted by its heft. I knew I could take more but I let the others carry my weight. I would have to get used to this. I’m not accustomed to letting others help me and I know I have to let go of the urge to prove I’m strong by imposing unneeded suffering on myself. This just seems like an unhealthy parenting style to me and anyways, I don’t have just me to think about anymore, but my little growing baby too. I let it go.

As I trudged up the road at a snails pace and sweating buckets, I was instantly grateful for my light pack and for my husband who hiked slowly with me. I thought about giving birth and how it was going to be infinitely harder than this. I told my husband that when that time comes and I’m struggling, to gently remind me that at least there are not swarms of black flies in the birthing suite trying to eat my flesh. I vow to keep all things in proper perspective.

It wasn’t too long before we reached the lakes and had lunch. We found perhaps one of the best campsites in all the North Cascades and set up camp. We wandered back down to the lake and dipped our toes in the ice cold water. It felt so good. I found the most comfortable patch of grass and laid my head on a smooth rock and took a nap with Nali curled up at my feet. That night we cooked up some delicious food and played Yahtzee until the sun set and we had to use our headlamps. Before we went to sleep my husband and I snuggled on a blanket and watched the stars come out. 

The next day we trekked up to the lookout on Winchester Mountain. I had no pack this time but I was still incredibly slow. Young couples glided past me and I envied their normal-sized bodies and their infinite energy. A few fit young moms carrying their toddlers on their backs passed me and I thought it insane that a body can go from this to that and decided there is no way that my body will ever do that. I decided to just not think about it and have a snack instead. Pregnancy is humbling in so many ways…

I used the following day to rest while the others went to hunt for mines. I took out my sleeping pad and sleeping bag and piled all the soft things I could find up at the top to prop myself up. The air had just a hint of coolness that made it the perfect temperature to put on my beanie and lay in my sleeping bag and read. I was reading about mindfulness. I read through the body scan meditation and really felt every sensation happening to and around me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more relaxed than I was right there snuggled in my bag, Nali curled up next to me with nothing else in view but mountains.

I thought about getting up to grab my camera or phone to take a picture so I could remember that moment forever. But I knew if I got up the spell would be broken. Instead I took a moment to commit it all to memory. The contours of the peaks on the horizon, the waving evergreen limbs of the trees, the hum of the bees buzzing in the wildflowers nearby. It’s all in my head now, there to recall whenever I need it. When the pain comes, this will be my happy place.

 

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Mindful Birthing by Nancy Bardacke

This is the mindfulness book that I was reading on this backpacking trip. I really recommend it for anyone who is pregnant and anxious about the birth. Bardacke teaches meditation to prepare the body and mind for relaxation during the birthing process. This is a whole new way to think about pain and endurance. The jury is still out for me on whether it works or not, but I know that it has already helped to calm my worried mind in preparation for birth and I can only hope that it helps someone else as well.

 

 

 

 

Hikes Featured in this Post:

Winchester Mountain

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Outdoor Life

But, Where Are All The Men?

Yes, sigh, I was asked this a few weeks ago when I took my lady friends backpacking. We were not in any sort of trouble. We were not lost, injured, hungry, tired or struggling in any way, shape or form. We were just hiking along after a fun and adventurous night in the mountains. No need for men here, we weathered the storm perfectly well on our own, I said. The old man chuckled and I rolled my eyes as I kept on walking. Damsels we most certainly were not, thankyouverymuch.

After a few years of casually mentioning a backpacking trip with my friends, I finally decided to make it happen. I rounded up a few of the adventurous ones and we picked a weekend and a trail: Yellow Aster Butte in August. Some of them hadn’t backpacked since they were younger so we discussed what to bring and what to expect on the trail. I mixed up many dried meals into tiny bags and borrowed a big tent. I pictured group photos at the top of the butte with blue skies and jagged peaks behind us. I could not wait to see their faces as they watched the pink and orange sunset behind Shuksan. Everything was planned. And then I checked the weather.

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The first rain storm was coming after a drought of a summer. I checked the weather everyday that week and every day the prognosis was worse. Chance of showers changed to 60% chance of rain with lows in the 40’s. Ok, fine, we’ll be cold and maybe a little wet. It will be an adventure. By Thursday it was 80% chance of rain and by Friday it was full blown storm’s-a-coming, 3-4 inches of rain and 60 mph winds. And it might even snow. I literally laughed out loud when I saw this. How silly of me to think I had it all planned out.

One out of the group bailed and others seemed hesitant. I wasn’t about to take them into that kind of rain. We would be miserable. I needed a back-up plan. I looked to the drier east side of the mountains. The North Cascades were experiencing unprecedented wildfires and huge areas of National Forest were closed to hikers, so that left few options. It looked like there would be less rain in Leavenworth and I thought maybe we could score a coveted Enchantments permit to some of the lakes in the area. It was a long shot on a weekend but I figured we’d give it a try. My friends were all on board, confident that their leader knew what she doing. They were certainly more confident than I was.

We met up Saturday morning and did last minute prepping. We checked for all the rain gear: jackets, tarp, backpack covers. And warm stuff: hats and fleeces and gloves. Check. We divided up the gear and most importantly, determined how much alcohol we would be sufficient without overloading our packs. We decided, realistically, that we needed very little. Sarah brought us freshly baked blueberry scones to fuel us on the long drive (check out her lovely food blog, Little House Pantry). After all the planning and re-planning, we were finally on our way and I was so excited for my first ever all women backpacking trip! Two hours later we arrived at the Leavenworth ranger station and asked for a permit. They said they only had permits left for Lake Stuart as they eyed us up and down. Have you checked the weather?

The hike started out great. We had sun, rain and clouds all in the first few miles. But we were hardly paying attention as we caught up on what was happening in each others lives. We stopped for a snack and covered our packs when the rain became steadier. Once in a while a big gust of wind would come try to blow us off the trail, reminding us that a storm was brewing. We were stopped by a duo of rangers asking to see our permit. Have you checked the weather? they asked.

We circled the lake until we finally found a camping spot, set up the tent and tarp and devoured a late lunch of turkey and avocado pita sandwiches. It wasn’t raining so we sat by the lake sipping cider with rum and cocoa spiked with peppermint schnapps. Later as it started to get dark we whipped up some backcountry biscuits to warm us up. Then we saw the most spectacular thing. We noticed a strange bright light coming from behind the mountains straight across the lake from us. We were mesmerized by it lighting up the bottom of the clouds. Suddenly the clouds parted just enough to see the top of the super moon cresting over the mountain top. It was so big and bright it felt like you could reach out and touch it.

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It was getting cold so we snuggled up in our sleeping bags. It was quiet and there was still little sign of the forecasted storm. The tent was so bright from the moon that we didn’t need our headlamps. Someone said it was eerie and ominous, like the beginning of a horror movie. But we drifted off to sleep anyway. Later I woke up to the roar of the wind coming up the valley. I waited. One, two, three, four, five…it grew louder and then suddenly slammed into us. My eyes shot open to check the deflection of the tent poles. Then it was completely silent. This repeated a few times until the rain came. It rained and blew off and on all night, but we were cozy in our dry tent, the tarp deflecting the water away.

The next morning we took turns going in and out of the tent between rain showers. The wind died down and the rain came and went. We made oatmeal and ate it as we stood in a circle with our rain jackets on. The low clouds lifted enough to expose the tops of the mountains and they had just a touch of fresh overnight snow. We headed back and grabbed lunch in Leavenworth when we found out that the storms were bad in Seattle and that thousands of homes were without power. I was so glad I chose to go to the east side. But most importantly, we all made it through the storm and I am so proud of my friends. They are badass backpackers. They knew it would be an adventure with the weather but they didn’t back out. I think they even preferred the stormy weather since it makes for a better story. And no, we never once wished we had a man around to do something for us. We were perfectly fine on our own.

Backpacker’s Oatmeal Recipe:

1 packet or 1.5 oz instant oatmeal
2 Tbsp dried blueberries or cherries
1 Tbsp slivered almonds
1 Tbsp powdered milk
1 tsp brown sugar

Mix all ingredients in a ziplock bag (the snack bag size works great). On the trail add about 1/2 cup boiling water. Use less if you like a thicker texture and more if you like it soupy.

 

51UjKlxXZoL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_Two in the Wild by Susan Fox Rogers

Solo journeys are great and I believe much needed, but sometimes you just want the company of a good friend. This book is a collection of essays about spending our valued outdoor time with others. There are stories of adventures with old friends, new friends, mothers, daughters and even ghosts. There are stories of finding friendship in unlikely places and encouraging each other to be brave. Anyone who has enjoyed the company of others on an outdoor journey will appreciate this book.

 

 

 

 

Hikes featured in this post:
Lake Stuart

Outdoor Life

Winchester Mountain Lookout

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.

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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

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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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2006

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2015

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Green Mountain

Outdoor Life

A Birthday on Glacier Peak

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

 

indexDaring 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

Alpine Lookout

A few years ago during a summer much unlike the current one (there was actual snowpack), we wanted to go for an early season backpack trip. It was the last day of June and we thought we would give Alpine Lookout on Nason Ridge a try. We packed up our gear and headed to the trailhead off Highway 2. From the parking area we looked up to the ridge and saw that it was snow-free. So far so good. We headed up the purple lupine lined switchbacks, the air warm and thick with vanilla ponderosa pine scent.

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There are two ways to get to Alpine Lookout, from the east or the west, on a long trail that traverses the length of Nason Ridge. We opted for the western approach with it’s easier trailhead access and it’s inviting alpine lake, Merritt Lake about halfway up the trail. We didn’t get far before we ran into snow.

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We continued up looking for signs of a fork in the trail at about two miles (check) and then a creek (check). We crossed the creek on a sturdy snow bridge and then followed it up to the partially frozen lake just as our map indicated. We stopped for a snack and looked over the map. We located a saddle on the map and knew if we could find the saddle then we could follow the ridge to above treeline where the snow would give way to bare trail. It was right about then that we started noticing the mosquitoes.

We continued up the snow slapping bugs off our arms finding bits of the trail here and there and double checking the contours on the map to make sure we were heading the right way. After some bushwhacking, we found the saddle and the way was then obvious up the ridge. But I was agony. I’ve never encountered the kind of swarming mosquitoes that we encountered on that snowy trail. I swatted, slapped and cursed. I rubbed snow all over my exposed limbs and face. I showered myself in a fog of DEET. I finally yelled at the top of my lungs GET OFF OF ME! and then dropped my pack and rolled around in the hard crusted snow like I was on fire. It was not my proudest moment. My husband and the dog looked at me like I was crazy. But it kind of worked. Without another word I accepted my bitten fate in some deep down zen-like way and let the little jerks bite me.

I was rewarded for my (slightly) calm state when we broke out of the trees and onto the open ridge. The snow, and the mosquitoes along with it, gave way to lovely flower-lined trail. It was a glorious moment. We traversed through an old ghost forest. Skeletons of trees towered above, their crooked pointy limbs resembling the outline of the fire that burnt them long ago. But where there is death there is also life and I reveled in the uncountable varied species of plants and flowers growing on the steep ridge side. I discovered several plants that were new to me on that stretch of trail including the tiny pink steer’s head growing right in the middle of the trail. I laid down on my belly to get a photo.

Soon we pushed up the last bit of trail to the lookout. The views were incredible. Lake Wenatchee, Wenatchee Ridge, the White River and Little Wenatchee drainages were all right before our eyes. To the east we could see the tall mountains make their way down to Leavenworth and the plains beyond. No wonder this was a fire lookout site. The lookout itself was boarded up so we pitched our tent just below it hoping it would give us shelter from the wind if we needed it. We cooked dinner on the catwalk and watched rain showers sweep over the deep valleys. We heard far-off thunder and eventually the clouds headed our way. We sat in them for awhile and then took shelter in the tent. Nali curled up at our feet halfway on each of our sleeping pads and I read out loud to my husband as he slipped off to sleep.

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The next morning I woke up and my right eye felt strange. My eyelid felt heavy and puffy. Ah! What’s wrong with my face? I asked my husband in a slight panic. He inspected it closely for a while and then laughed. You’ve got a huge mosquito bite right on your eyelid. You’ve got to be kidding me. Not only was my entire body covered in mosquito bites, but my eyelid, really? Ok, mosquitoes, you win this time. You win. I must have looked ridiculous coming down from the lookout but I didn’t care. I wore my droopy eyelid as a badge of honor as I collected more bug carcasses on my skin and added another adventurous backpack trip to the books.

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Alpine Lookout

Outdoor Life

Lake Chelan

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.

 

936834_589502984402825_301687843_nLake 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

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