Book Club

The Long Path to Wisdom

In August we celebrated our beloved book club member, Mala, and her Burmese heritage. Mala first joined the book club at our camping outing last July at Mount Rainier. We had just met her but she immediately took over Laura’s camp cooking and took care of us like we were her own. If you know Mala, you know that she is up for anything and will take on any challenge that we plan for the book club. But mostly you will know her for her endless compassion and gratitude.

We chose to read The Long Path to Wisdom, a book of collected fairy tales set in Burma and spent the day at Laura’s cabin. We started, though, with a leisurely walk around Gold Creek Pond. The first thing we noticed was an abundance of goldenrod, the rich color of turmeric. The clear pond reflected the blue of the sky and the surrounding mountains.

We returned to the cabin and got a firsthand lesson of Burma from Mala. She showed us some videos of her favorite places to visit including the natural wonder of Golden Rock, a huge boulder perched on the precipice of a cliff. A tiny golden pagoda was built on top in some kind of unimaginable feat.

In true Mala fashion, we feasted on Burmese food that she made for us. The first was an “everything” salad, where pretty much anything is chopped up into tiny pieces and mixed with delicious spices and a little fish sauce. The base is caramelized onions which filled the cabin with a comforting smell and cilantro and turmeric brightened it up. Delicious!

Next we talked about the folk tales in the book while savoring our next course of Burmese chicken noodle soup. The stories in the book felt familiar, similar to stories we’ve heard growing up like Cinderella, Paul Bunyan and even biblical stories like Noah’s flood and David vs Goliath. But these stories featured elephants, monkeys, tigers, and Banyan trees. The author points out though, that though the characters may be different, these stories carry the same themes of folk tales from around the world: Love. Faith. Greed. Trust. Betrayal. Forgiveness

One thing is certain: The following pages represent a journey into another world, a world sometimes alien, sometimes quite familiar. As authors we have learned from this project that – all cultural and historical differences aside, all exoticism and foreigness notwithstanding – there is much more binding people of the world together than keeping them apart.

Jan-Philipp Senker, The Long Path to Wisdom (Preface)

Laura, Mala and I read our favorite stories out loud. Mala told us about growing up in Burma. She recalled her mother making special food for the monks as they would come around for their alms. She told us how the Burmese people are very superstitious and find meaning in everything, including the day of the week you were born. She even had a book to look up what day of the week you were born on. We patiently waited for her to tell us which animal we were and what it meant.

I have to say that when I started the book club I never imagined doing something like this. It was so much fun to learn about Mala’s cultural upbringing and to get a little slice of her life. I am so proud of our group and their willingness to read and learn and be open and welcoming to everyone. I feel so lucky to have these women in my life.

The Long Path to Wisdom by Jan-Philipp Sendker

Book Ends

Book Club Archive

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.

Book Club

On Trails

I was worried when I arrived at the trailhead. For one, I was running super late (nothing new there) and what was normally an insanely gorgeous view from the parking lot was completely obscured by fog. Our group was unfazed and cheery as always. As we started walking, our view was narrowed to the trail and the trees just around us. We stirred up some grouse and they exchanged deep staccato bellows that made someone ask what the heck that was. We stopped to inspect spider webs. What was regularly invisible was now illuminated in silver mist. Someone suggested that we call ourselves the Cloud Hikers and I had flashbacks to our hike in the clouds last year.

We were on our July book club outing to one of my very favorite places, Cascade Pass in the North Cascades. Our book of the month was On Trails, a philosophical journey through the history of trails all over the world, from the very tiny trail of one of life’s first travelers 565 million years ago, to a modern extension of the Appalachian Trail that spans the world and everything in between. The author pays special attention to Native American trails and searches for the remains of an old Cherokee trail. The problem in finding old Native American trails, he says, is that they are so efficient and effective that they have evolved into roads. Cascade Pass is one such trail heavily traveled by indigenous people for at least 10,000 years. It was commonly traveled from the east side up the Stehekin River valley, the river name itself meaning “the way through.”

For many indigenous people, trails were not just a means of travel; they were the veins and arteries of culture.

Robert Moor, On Trails

In the early 1920’s, the state of Washington contracted the Cascade Wagon Road from Marblemount over Cascade Pass to Twisp. During the road’s construction, a group called the Cascade Pass Pilgrims (from both the east and west sides), gathered at the pass for camping and speeches to promote the building of the wagon road. But after the stock market crash of 1929, funds for the road were rescinded and construction was halted. In the 1930’s, the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) maintained the road and made improvements before the Forest Service and Washington Highway Department officially abandoned it in 1940.

The idea of building a road over the pass was revisited many times, but never materialized. Instead, the current trail was built to the pass and over to the east side to meet up with an existing mining road from Stehekin to Horseshoe Basin. Soon after the trail construction, in 1968, the North Cascades National Park was formed and Cascade Pass was preserved. Since the 1980’s, significant archeological sites have been found at the pass including a particularly spectacular unearthing of a 9600 year old cooking hearth. Scientists now think that contrary to popular belief, people my have lived here and spent more time here than just passing through.

It is impossible to fully appreciate the value of a trail until you have been forced to walk through the wilderness without one.

Robert Moor, On Trails

Back on the trail, Brenda wanted to show us something she noticed on a previous hike on this trail. The book mentions how people can’t tolerate being on a trail where they can hear water, but can’t see it. Brenda stopped us and we could hear the water. Sure enough, there was a little footpath up a large boulder with a view of a waterfall. We all took turns to climb up and spy the cascade. While we took our water break, the fog began to disperse giving us peek-a-boo views of the dramatic and glaciated mountains across the valley from us.

We rose with the fog and found ourselves rising above the treeline as the clouds rose above the mountains. Pink heather and sitka valerian blanketed the meadows. We stopped to identify other flowers- monkey flower, columbine, spirea. Up ahead, Brenda and Kirstin were stopped and looking at something with binoculars. As the rest of us approached, they pointed out a marmot doing its marmot thing above us on a rock. We watched for a while and saw little baby marmot heads popping up over the heather. Baby marmots! We gushed over them and pointed them out to others walking by.

While we continued our climb, I noticed a distinct chill to the air. It felt more like an autumn day than a July one. We spotted pika in the rocks as we approached a lingering patch of snow on the steep, narrow, trail. I was worried that some of the group may not be comfortable crossing on the snow, but we all supported and helped each other across. I was so proud of the group! Not much farther, though, and we had a scare of the furry kind.

It was marmots! Yes, more marmots. But these marmots were right on the trail and had zero interest in yielding to us. They were busy gnawing on something in the trail dirt and couldn’t be bothered to budge. As we got closer to them, instead of scurrying away like normal marmots, they ran toward us! Kim walked with her hiking poles out in self defense as we finally passed them. This was clearly their territory and they were clearly not afraid of us in the least.

The attacking marmots were our last hurdle to the pass. There we shed our packs and got out our snacks. Brenda shared her favorite pastry she picked up on the way to the trailhead, and we passed around a fancy chocolate bar to share. We talked about the book and I slipped on my dad’s fuzzy sweater for warmth and comfort. We chatted with some climbers who just came down from Mix-up Peak. They pointed up to it. “That one,” they said, “next to Magic Mountain.” From where we were, one could be convinced that not many people have been here, or to the tops of the mountains around our heads. It feels so remote and wild here, and yet the dirt that we stood on was packed down by thousands, maybe tens of thousands of feet before us?

The trail had taught me that good designs – like old-age tools and classic folk tales – are trail-wise. They fulfill a common need by balancing efficiency, flexibility, and durability. They streamline. They self-reinforce. They bend but do not break. So much of our built environment, by comparison, seemed terribly, perilously inelegant.

Robert Moor, On Trails

A trail is a beautiful thing. Trails allow us to reach places that would not seem possible otherwise. The mind can focus on other things while the body simply follows, not having to choose a direction or make a decision, the trail does it for us and keeps us safe.

Ironically, I feel closer to humanity in this wild place than I do in the highly populated city. Not just closer to my book club pals and the other hikers on the trail that day, but to our ancestors and to the Okanagan Nation who claim this area as their traditional territory. The ones who made the trail a little better with each foot step.

photo courtesy of Mala Giri

I now see the earth as the collaborative artwork of trillions of sculptors, large and small. Sheep, humans, elephants, ants: each of us alters the world in our passage. When we build hives or nests, mud huts or concrete towers, we re-sculpt the contours of the planet. When we eat, we convert living matter into waste. And when we walk, we create trails. The question we must ask ourselves in not whether we should shape the earth, but how.

Robert Moor, On Trails
photo courtesy Mala Giri
On Trails by Robert Moor

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Book Club Archive

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

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.

 

 

 

Outdoor Life

Mount Sawyer

As the weekend rolled around I realized that I need to hike three more peaks in ten days to get to my goal of 50 peaks by 35! This time my husband and Evie came with me to Mount Sawyer. I chose this one because it is relatively easy for carrying up a toddler and I saw from the latest trip reports that lovely wildflowers were blooming.

It was a cool day, one where the fog hung lazily in the valleys and the vegetation on the trail was covered in perfect little drops of water. Evie walked about a quarter mile, investigating the ferns and practicing a new word she learned, “up.” Once she plunked herself down in the middle of the trail, we knew it was time for her to go into the carrier. After a little coaxing with a snack, she settled in for the ride.

The trail gently follows Tonga Ridge through hemlock with occasional openings to the south revealing Mount Hinman and Mount Daniel, both capped in snowfields. Fireweed lined the trail along with large red paintbrush, the occasional tiger lily. The farther we walked, the more diverse the species got. I spotted some white pine and fir trees and it seemed like each clearing revealed different flowers: purple penstemon and aster, sitka valerian.

After a couple miles we reached the turn off for Mount Sawyer. The trail climbs steeply up on eroding tread before returning to a more gradual incline. It was not too long until we were above treeline with sweeping views of the valley. The flowers gave way to a hillside full of blueberries. They were not quite ripe yet, but I managed to find a handful of good ones. I snacked on a few and carried the rest to the top to share with my husband and Evie.

The trail takes a long sweep along the backside before the last push to the summit. From there, you could see the views to the north along with a distinct layer of hazy smoke from wildfires. We just made out Glacier Peak in an orange hazy glow and Sloan Peak along its side.

There are lots of little spur trails on the summit and I wandered around to find different perspectives. We lingered for a while as Evie explored and climbed on rocks and ate her usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When we had enough, we packed up and headed back down the mountain through the flowers again.

Outdoor Life

Mount Catherine

I was not excited about this one. I decided to go at the last minute and wasn’t mentally prepared. I needed to find a peak for 50 by 35 with a short trail that I could take Evie on. This one seemed doable, but the guide book gave it a rating of 2 out of 5 stars. I mean really? I figure any hike that gets you to the top of a mountain with some decent views should get at least 3 stars. Anyway, then I also read that the road to the trailhead was rough and some people were parking along the road adding an extra 2 miles to the round trip. Lastly, I found that there was a steep section at the top that required a little scramble with a cable rope. This normally would not be an issue, but could I do it by myself with Evie on my back?

I decided to try it anyway. I could always turn around if I got uncomfortable. I packed up Evie and tried to figure out what I forgot while I drive to the trailhead. I tripled checked that I had my hiking boots since just a few weeks ago I forgot them (yep, I was that lady hiking in flip flops with a baby on my back, oops) and realized that I forgot my hiking poles that I like to use with Evie. Oh well, could be worse.

 

When I got to the rough part of the road I got out to take a look. It seemed not too bad and I was driving our high clearance wagon, but when I’m by myself with Evie, I tend to get extra cautious. I sat and waited assuming someone would be coming up behind me soon. Sure enough a big Suburban came by. The driver, a seasoned mom with a gaggle of kids in the back got out to look. She decided it was no problem for her and asked me if I wanted a ride. I said no thanks and watched her go on with little hesitation, admiring her confidence. I sat and waited a little longer. Sure, we could have just walked from there, but I really didn’t want to do the extra road walk, especially in the heat of summer. Then I just started up the car and went for it. And was completely fine.

 

The short trail heads up from the beginning. It wasn’t terribly difficult, but Evie is getting terribly heavy. I had put her sun shade on and she was grabbing it, pulling it down onto my head. Whatever, I thought, at least it’s a short trail. When she started screaming and pulling my hair, I stopped and put her down. I realized she had dropped her prized fox lovey. I was debating between going back to find it or to just continue and find it on the way back down, when a kind man found it and brought it up to us. Crisis adverted, but just for a few switchbacks until she started screaming again. I put her down, tried to feed her everything in my bag, checked her diaper, offered water, did all the things and nothing worked. I just sat there thinking about what to do when she calmed down a little bit and started walking up the trail. Of course, why didn’t I think of it before? She just wanted to walk on her own.

She walked up the switchbacks like a champ. We even passed some nice folks who were taking a break and they were impressed. She walked much longer than I expected, and as we neared the top, I knew I would have to get her back in the pack for the last scramble. Getting her into the pack was as difficult as I thought it would be and I apologized to other hikers for all the screaming. But finally she settled and I carried her up to the cable rope. It was a very short section and like earlier in the car, I just went for it without thinking about it too much. As I took the last few steps up, the group we saw earlier were there cheering us on. I looked back and wondered how the heck I was going to get back down, but for now I just needed to find a shady spot that wasn’t too close to the edge. When I put Evie down I realized I was shaking.

 

We took in the views of Mt Rainier, Snoqualmie Pass, and the surrounding peaks. Butterflies fluttered by without a care in the world. While Evie ate her PB&J, I discovered the summit register in a box under the tree that was shading us. I made our climb official and carefully tucked the register back in the box. It was nice, but I was eager to get down. I struck up a conversation with a nice couple who had a 4-year-old at home. They gave me some tips and I asked if I could go with them down the initial scramble. They found an easier way for me to get down and followed behind me to make sure I got down ok. When they headed off ahead of me they told me if I needed anything to just holler down the trail. This small act of kindness made my heart sing.

 

I sang to Evie on the descent and she quickly fell asleep. At the trailhead I gingerly scooped her up out of the carrier. Her head rested on my shoulder and I hugged her in tight for a minute before lowering her down into the carseat still asleep. This had never happened before, she always wakes up when I pick her up. But every day now she is changing and growing. No longer satisfied with the constraints of the backpack, she is becoming independent and strong-willed. My baby is now a toddler.

Book Club

A Weekend in Paradise

The waterfall took my breath away. I was perched on a steep slope as close as I could get to Comet Falls. The air was full of spray, my face instantly soaked, and it was hard to breath. I leaned in, yelled AHHHH and then signaled for the others to come see. They leaned in too and I pointed and yelled, RAINBOW! When we stood in just the right spot a brilliant rainbow appeared at the bottom of the waterfall. We put our arms around each other’s shoulders and closed the circle.

This month our book club group took a weekend trip to Paradise, quite literally. We drove up the long road from Ashford to Paradise Inn in Mount Rainier National Park, following in the footsteps (or rather, snowshoe steps) of Floyd Schmoe and his wife Ruth. Floyd and Ruth spent a winter on their own in the inn back in the 1920’s. Floyd then became a guide and naturalist and the couple spent many summers in Paradise and even took their 3-year-old son around the Wonderland trail on horseback. Floyd wrote a memoir about his time at Paradise, our book of the month, A Year in Paradise.

No place on earth except in a few similar alpine settings can you find such gorgeous wild flower gardens as along the streams of Paradise Valley: white water singing songs, gray water ouzels building nests, and massed flowers nodding approval – a combination of sounds, sights, and odors that lacks only an Adam and an Eve to make of it a little Garden of Eden within the larger Paradise.

 

Our adventure weekend started at Comet Falls and Van Trump Park. We spotted a few avalanche lilies about halfway up the trail and swooned. We spent several minutes snapping photos and getting the best angles, only to find out later that the avalanche lilies were in full bloom all along the trail. I’ve never seen so many of the delicate white flowers on a single trail. They blanketed the forest floor, giving the trail a magical feel.

We climbed up and up in the heat of the day until we topped out and finally got a glimpse of Mt Rainier herself. We could see icicles hanging of the glaciers that must have been massive. As we ate lunch we heard the crash of avalanches and rocks in the distance. We reluctantly tore ourselves away from the view and headed back down to set up our campsite at Cougar Rock and meet up with some others in our group.

After settling in and making introductions over delicious snacks, we geared up for a sunset hike to Pinnacle Saddle. Floyd mentions climbing the peak in the book and how from its vantage point on the Tatoosh Range, you can see a perfect view of Paradise Valley. We climbed up, wondering how far we would get before hitting snow. The views of Mt Rainier are non-stop from the beginning and only get better with each foot of elevation. We crossed just a few spots of snow and were thrilled to make it all the way to Pinnacle Saddle.

 

In the evening when the sunset glow climbed quickly up the ice dome of the mountain and was reflected across Paradise Valley, the pearly gates stood wide-open and all our streets were really paved with gold.

 

We cheered each other on as we reached the flat saddle in the golden glow of sunset. In front of us were sweeping views of Mt Adams, Mt St Helens, and even Mt Hood. We snapped photos and turned around to see The Mountain herself, in full glow. The timing was perfect and we relished every second, even though we were getting swarmed by mosquitoes. When we’d had enough we tiptoed back down the scree, quickly realizing just how much we had climbed. Above us, Pinnacle Peak blazed a fiery red. By the time we reached the trailhead, it was dark.

 

 

We returned to the campsite, excited by the sunset hike. We fueled up on Laura’s amazing homemade chocolate chip cookies and chatted about our day. I was exhausted from the heat and all the hiking we did that day, but also energized. I leaned back and counted the stars. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore I snuggled up in the tent, sleeping for the first time in a long time, without the rain fly.

 

 

The first patch of bare ground had appeared on the south slope of Alta Vista, and the first creamy-white avalanche lilies were nodding a welcome to us and the warm spring sunshine.

 

The next morning we lazily prepared our breakfasts and slowly sipped tea. Most of us weren’t finished with the book so we took advantage of the morning to sit and read while we ate. Some people might think it’s rude to sit at the table with others and read a book, but here, it was perfectly acceptable.

After breakfast we headed back up to Paradise for the last of our hikes. The Skyline Trail was lined with avalanche lilies, pasque flowers, and heather. Marmots popped up and bid us good day, even sometimes showing off by posing majestically on rocks. We found a perfect spot for lunch with a view of Mt Rainier, of course, and the valley below. It was the perfect spot to chat about the book. I couldn’t help but wonder what Floyd would think of a group of women reading his book and hiking in his footsteps almost 100 years later. From his book he seems like a very forward thinking man for his time and I like to think that he would have got a kick out of it. Later we learned that Floyd lived until 2001 when he died at the ripe old age of 105(!). I like to think that his time on the mountain had something to do with that.

Before leaving Paradise, we had to go visit Paradise Inn, where Floyd and Ruth spent the winter of 1919. The historic inn is much as it was back in their day, and as we approached, we heard piano music coming from inside. It was easy to close your eyes and imagine Ruth playing it. One of our sweet group members treated us to cold water and ice cream. It was the perfect ending to our weekend in Paradise.

 

… we were both acutely aware of the healing calm of the wilderness around us, of the forests below and the skies above, and of the great silent mountain which stood over us.

 

A Year in Paradise by Floyd Schmoe

Book Ends

 

             

Outdoor Life

Independence & North Lakes

Most people say that Memorial Day is the unofficial start of summer. In the Pacific Northwest, it’s actually the 4th of July. While many find the cloudy and rainy month of “June-uary” to be frustrating and depressing, I secretly adore it. The mornings are foggy and cool and the afternoons sunny and warm. The mountains are just beginning to melt out and the crowds are still somewhat small. You can start a hike off in a fleece and end it with a tan. It’s really the best.

Thinking about this reminds me of a hike we did a long time ago to North and Independence Lakes. It was so wonderfully foggy as we climbed through the towering Douglas Fir to Independence Lake. We skirted the lake and emerged into a flat grassy field at the far end of the lake. A few tents and families appeared out of nowhere and being the first people we’d seen on the trail, I wondered if they were ghosts.

From here the trail switchbacked up into the unknown before topping out and descending into a basin. We couldn’t see how far we were going down and in places snow obscured the trail. I truly felt like we were on an epic adventure. Small tarns reflected lonely trees like a painting and I half expected to meet a fairy or gnome.

As we neared the larger North Lake with its turquoise water, we stumbled upon a solo camper fishing along the shoreline. We gave him space and found a spot along the shore to sit and eat lunch. Nali splashed in the water (and probably scared all the fish away) and I spotted a little black ball on the far side of the lake- a black bear. I pointed it out to my husband and I watched it for a long time, a little black ant against the green meadow, probably searching for roots to eat.

We made our way back through the magical tarns and early marigold blooms, still in the fog. We didn’t get to see any sweeping views, but I’m sure the ones in my head were even better than the real thing. Sometimes, a little mystery, a little fog and obscured views are more exciting than the blue bird days. So says the woman from the Pacific Northwest.

 

Happy Summer!

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