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Mt Whitney

April 5, 2016August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

What do you say when a friend calls and asks if you want to climb Mt Whitney with her? You say yes. You don’t think about how high it is, how long the trail is, the dangerous weather or snow conditions. You just say yes. Absolutely, yes.

It was 2013 and I was working on climbing 30 mountains before I turned 30 years old. My BFF in California scored some permits for September and thought that I might want to add the highest mountain in the lower-48 to my list. I hadn’t really considered it before, but of course I was in. I booked a flight to LA and then did a little research. I found that the Mt Whitney Trail is not technical (when there is no snow present) but climbs 11 miles and 6000ft from the trailhead at Whitney Portal to an altitude of 14,500 feet and we were doing this all in one day. Yikes!

I really didn’t know if I would be able to do it, but I was going to try. I was also nervous about the altitude since I hadn’t climbed higher than about 12,000 feet and that was when I was acclimatized. But I just decided to take it one step at a time and evaluate how I was feeling. If I didn’t make it to the top, I didn’t make it to the top, no big deal. It would still be an amazing trip.

So I hopped on a plane and stuck my head to the window looking at the Sierra below and wondering what it would be like at the top of Whitney. Then we packed in the car and headed north to Lone Pine. The one horse town sits on a plateau at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains near the Alabama Hills. It’s picturesque location is famous for the many western movies shot there. I remember our dinner that night like it was yesterday. We sat outside and looked up at the mountains. I had butterflies in my stomach and a big smile on my face. I couldn’t wait to climb the mountain the next day.

We awoke in the dark and checked and rechecked our packs then headed up to Whitney Portal around 4am. In single file we trudged up the trail. For a few hours all I could see was the gravel of endless switchbacks and my boots lit up by my headlamp. Eventually the trail flattened a bit and we got to a stream. I looked up at the sky and saw nothing but stars. I will never forget the moment I switched off my headlamp, looked up at the endless stars, the water gently trickling nearby.

Then we began to climb more. We were at about 11,000 feet when we stopped for a break and a snack. I was not feeling great and was starting to worry about the altitude. I was hoping it was just nerves. I forced down a sammy jammy and lots of water and continued on. Not long after that we began to see the sun rising. We reached a basin with a lake (where many people camp) just as the ramparts of Whitney and others around lit up in alpenglow. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it seemed like some kind of magic. We stood, huddled together for warmth as we watched in awe as the sunlight painted the mountains orange.

Now finally being able to use my preferred sense of sight, I got a boost of energy. We could now see the clear switchbacks that tracked up seemingly unclimbable jagged peaks. This is when the altitude really kicked in. My head began to thump and it felt like it was blowing up like a balloon, it was also much harder to catch my breath. We slowed down dramatically here. Take a few steps, stop. Take a few steps, stop. I was so thankful for the switchbacks with their gentle grade. We passed some young men working on the trail with tools. I knew they carried those tools up there and I couldn’t even begin to fathom it.

At the top of the switchback section, the trail begins a long traverse across a row of pinnacles and then gradually climbs once more to the broad summit. Along the traverse, the trail fell away thousands of feet between the tall pinnacles. It is not particularly dangerous if you stay on the trail, but I definitely scooted across them being sure to not look down. Once back on solid ground, it’s not far to he summit. Many people were coming down and encouraging us, announcing “you’re almost there!” I got another boost of energy, so excited to see the ugly shelter and to actually make it to the top!

We signed the register, took many pictures, woofed down some snickers bars and took a nice long nap in the sun. We chatted with others from all over the world and snapped group photos for them. I could not believe that we were at the top of the highest point in the lower 48! And better yet, I got there with my friends.

Outdoor Life

Granite Mountain Lookout

October 1, 2015February 23, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

I’ve been to this nearby lookout many times over the years, but the first time was my favorite. It was late September and Seattle was nestled under a chilly layer of clouds. I started hiking up in the shadows before entering the foggy layer. I was a little disappointed because I thought the lookout would be in the clouds. I wouldn’t see any views but I was looking forward to seeing the fall color anyway. To my surprise as I climbed I discovered that the cloud layer was not so thick and suddenly it was all pure blue skies. I was on top of the clouds and it felt like I was on top of the world.

It was my first fall hiking experience in the Cascades and I was in love. It felt like being in an airplane up there above the clouds. The air had a crisp coolness that refreshed me from all the climbing. And the yellow, orange and red color of the foliage popped against the bluebird sky.

When we got to the lookout my dog Nali, then only 6 months old, was hesitant to go up the flight of wooden stairs to the lookout. I picked her up and she whined. Apparently my dog was afraid of heights. What kind of adventure dog is afraid of heights?

I was greeted by a couple dressed in forest service khaki and the most amazing smell, so out of place that I almost didn’t recognize it. It was chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. The woman handed me one and my jaw dropped. It was still warm and it melted in my mouth. I was completely blown away by this simple gift. It was officially the best day ever.

I discovered that the couple were volunteer rangers just up there manning the lookout for the weekend. They showed me the Osborne fire finder and how they lined it up to determine the coordinates of a fire. I lingered above it, matching up the mountains etched in the metal with the ones I saw out the windows. The space was cozy with a cot and blankets, a desk and chair and that all important gas powered oven.

This past weekend I returned to Granite Mountain. It’s the same time of year that I made that first visit and I had high hopes when I woke up to a marine layer in Seattle. But the clouds didn’t stretch its fingers past the foothills under the unseasonable warm sun. And the lookout was locked up, no cookies this time. But it was a beautiful day so Nali and I climbed up the rocks to find a nice lunch spot and looked to the north. Jagged brown peaks pierced the blue sky as I spotted Glacier Peak and Mt Baker, more interesting, at least to me, than the views of Mt Rainier to the south.

I’ll never get a repeat of that first hike to the lookout. But there is still comfort in returning to a beloved trail. I know exactly what to expect and where the hardest part of the trail is. I know that the last push to the top is easier than it looks but will take every last bit of energy out of me. I know that when I get about halfway up I will wonder why on earth I would ever succumb myself repeatedly to this leg torture of a trail. And I know that as soon as I hit the meadows I will forget all of that. Most importantly, I know that I can make it to the top and that the hard work to get there is worth it. And maybe, just maybe, there will be a warm chocolate chip cookie waiting for me at the top.

I haven’t had another cookie experience like that one on my first trip to lookout many years ago, so I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up. But you can create your own cookie experience with a recipe for my favorite version of the universally loved snack. Share some with strangers at the top to make it their best day ever.

Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookie Recipe:

1 1/4c flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
3/4c softened butter
3/4c brown sugar
1/3 c sugar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 egg
2 Tbsp milk
1 3/4 c chocolate chips
1 c quick oats

Preheat oven to 350F.
Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon and salt in a bowl.
In a separate bowl, beat the butter, brown sugar, sugar and vanilla until creamy. Beat in egg.
Gradually beat in flour mixture and milk.
Stir in chocolate chips and oats.
Drop onto baking sheet and bake for 10-14 minutes.

Hikes featured in this post:
Granite Mountain

Outdoor Life

But, Where Are All The Men?

September 28, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

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.

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.

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.

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

September 14, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Backpacking Biscuits Recipe:

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

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

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

Hikes featured in this post:
Winchester Mountain

Trailblazers

Robyn Davidson

September 4, 2015July 30, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

In the 1970’s, Australian Robyn Davidson decided she wanted to cross Australia on camel back. She didn’t know anything about camels or much about the desert but she was drawn to the desert and the way of life of the Aboriginal people. So she and her dog, Diggity, headed to Alice Springs to start the first part of her journey: learning everything there is to know about camels and finding camels to take on her trip.

There are some moments in life that are like pivots around which your existence turns – small intuitive flashes, when you know you have done something correct for a change, when you think you are on the right track. I watched a pale dawn streak the cliffs with Day-Glo and realized this was one of them. It was a moment of pure, uncomplicated confidence – and it lasted about ten seconds.

Tracks by Robyn Davidson

When she arrived in Alice Springs she found a camel wrangler, Kurt, that she could work for and learn from. They made an agreement that she would work for 8 months in exchange for a camel. Kurt was a tough man and worked Robyn to the bone. She worked sun up to sun down seven days a week with the camels. He was cruel to her and the animals and once made her go without shoes until her feet got bloody and so infected that he finally allowed her to wear sandals. She stayed in a tent on the outskirts of the ranch and made friends with the neighbors.

She worked for Kurt for over a year and he refused to give her the camel they agreed on. Eventually he left the ranch without a trace and a new owner took over claiming he knew nothing of their agreement and refused her the camel she worked so hard for. She found another camel rancher, Sallay, and started over again. She was devastated about the delay but Sallay was kind and taught her valuable lessons about the wild camels. Finally, 2 years after arriving in Alice Springs, she got her camels: Zelly, Bub, Dookie and baby Goliath.

She met a photographer, Rick, through her friends and he mentioned that she should appeal to National Geographic to fund her journey. She sent them a letter on a whim and then found out that she got the funding. There was a caveat, though, Rick would meet her at points throughout the trip and photograph her for the magazine. She was looking forward to being completely on her own with no distractions, but she reluctantly agreed. But it didn’t matter, because she was finally ready to begin her long-awaited journey.

From the day the thought came into my head ‘I am going to enter a desert with camels’ to the day I felt the preparations to be completed, I had built something intangible but magical for myself which had rubbed off a little on to other people, and I would probably never have the opportunity to do anything quite as demanding or as fulfilling as that ever again.

She started her walk in 130 degree heat. She found her way, slept under the stars, kept track of the camels and figured out how to load everything so that the weight was evenly distributed. She stayed in Aboriginal villages learning from the people. She picked plants for food and mended her own things. Word got out about her in the media and tourists and photographers started following her on the trail. They called her “the camel lady.” She didn’t like the attention. She would have much rather been with the Aboriginal people or by herself.

All around me was magnificence. Light, power, space and sun. And I was walking into it. I was going to let it make me or break me. A great weight lifted off my back. I felt like dancing and calling to the great spirit. Mountains pulled and pushed, wind roared down chasms. I followed eagles suspended from cloud horizons. I wanted to fly in the unlimited blue of the morning. I was seeing it all for the first time, all fresh and bathed in an effulgence of light and joy, as if a smoke had been cleared, or my eyes been peeled, so that I wanted to shout to the vastness, I love you, I love you, sky, bird, wind, precipice, space sun desert desert desert.

After 1700 miles Robyn and the camels immersed themselves in the sparkling aqua ocean. They made it and their miraculous journey was complete. Many people didn’t think she could do it, that it was an impossible task, but she spent years preparing and learning. She did everything possible to make her goal a reality and put in the hard work needed to prepare.

Robyn’s memoir, Tracks, is a must-read for any adventurer and it’s perfectly sized for backpacking. Her story was also made into a fantastic movie in 2013 that is currently available on Netflix.

You must see the photos that Rick Smolan captured of Robyn, they are incredible:
Rick Smolan’s Trek with Tracks, from Australian Outback to Silver Screen on National Geographic

Outdoor Life

Return to Green Mountain

August 27, 2015October 11, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Green Mountain

Outdoor Life

Hiking with Strangers

August 21, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

One of my goals for 2015 was to hike with a stranger and I did it! Ok, I cheated a little bit. I didn’t go hiking with a complete stranger, but rather some of my fellow Northwest bloggers. I put out a call to see who wanted to meet up for a hike and much to my surprise I got some responses. I was thrilled, not only because technically these three lovely ladies were strangers, but because they are my kind of people: smart, outdoor-loving and inspiring.

I chose Snow Lake as our destination because it is easy to get to, not terribly difficult and just plain beautiful. I also chose it because it’s one of the first trails that I hiked alone. I hiked it back in July of 2009 when Nali was just a puppy. In fact, it was the first hike I took Nali on by myself. She had so much energy that we ran up most of the switchbacks and then kept going and going until we got all the way to Gem Lake, the next lake up the trail. I ate my lunch there and sat far away from other people because she was so whiny about stopping. She just wanted to keep going. She’s six now and hasn’t changed much really.

My original intention was to find a hiking buddy through an online forum where people post wanted-type ads for hiking partners like NWHikers.net. But as I started finding other blogs and started my instagram and twitter accounts, I found that there is such a generous and supportive community of writers, bloggers and outdoor-loving people online, I just never realized they were there. So I thought why not meet up with these great people that I already kind of know?

I met Jill, Laura and Lainey at the resort-sized parking lot of the Snow Lake trailhead. We were early enough to get good parking and there was a coolness to the air that was much appreciated by all in this relentlessly hot summer. As true Seattleites we relished in the distant clingy fog, yellowing foliage and the thick smell of autumn in the air. We discussed knitting projects, favorite baked goods, books and trails, all my favorite topics.

By the time we reached the top of the ridge you would have thought we’ve been hiking together for years. Jill showed us a gorgeous lookout spot on top of a giant rock where we lined up in a row to take photos. Later we would all stop to admire the drops of dew on the leaves lit by the morning sun. We reached the lake and after getting chilly in the shade, we basked in the warm sunshine. I brought banana bread to share and we chatted for a long time. But the temperature was rising, the trail was getting busier and we had to climb back up the ridge, so we made our way back to the trail. The conversation never skipped a beat.

I thought that after this meet up it would be clear which I like better, hiking alone or with others. But the truth is that both fulfill different needs for me. I crave alone time so I can think clearly. But I also thrive on meeting new people, learning from them and being inspired. I can go further and faster on my own but then I miss out on the tiny beautiful moments like stopping to find a squeaking pika or as Lainey so elegantly described it on her blog, “pass[ing] through fields of nearly-spent fireweed that were busy sending their seeds aloft on silky threads; the downy clusters ascending straight into that blue sky as though they were stars racing to claim their place in the heavens.”

I am so thrilled with the new friendships I gained at Snow Lake and I hope to make more. I will continue to organize meet up hikes for whoever is interested and maybe we can expand our lovely group. Maybe even start an outdoor book club? A girl can dream. Let me know if you are interested in a meet up and I will start a list. And don’t be afraid to go out there and make new friends on the trails!

My new friends:
Jill – PNW Seasons
Lainey – A Day Without Rain
Laura – Tiny Pines

Banana Bread Recipe (from my sister):
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
1 cup mashed banana
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cup flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup milk

Cream sugar and butter
Add eggs one at a time.
Add banana and vanilla, mix well.
Sift dry ingredients together and stir into batter alternating with milk.
Pour batter into greased loaf pan and bake for 55 min at 350F.

MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche

After getting married and moving to Chicago, Rachel had a great life but felt like she was missing something. She had lots of good friends but they were spread out all over the country. She wanted to find new friends in the city but wasn’t sure how. So set out on a year long mission to go on a “friend date” once a week in hopes of finding a new best friend. The story of her quest is a hilarious, charming and satisfying read as she meets an array of characters. But what is important is her message that making new friends, much like dating, means you sometimes have to put yourself out there in ways that can be uncomfortable. This book showed me that there are many people out there looking for friendship and encouraged me to find them.

Hikes featured in this Post:
Snow Lake

Outdoor Life

A Birthday on Glacier Peak

August 12, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds;

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

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

at least fails while daring greatly…” – Theodore Roosevelt

See Also: Setting Goals: 30 by 30

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

Daring Greatly by Brené Brown

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

Outdoor Life

Alpine Lookout

August 10, 2015July 30, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

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.

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.

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.

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

Sourdough Mountain Lookout

July 31, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

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

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

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

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

Things to Do Around a Lookout

Wrap up in a blanket in cold weather and just read

Practice writing Chinese characters with a brush

Paint pictures of the mountains

Put out salt for deer

Bake coffee cake and biscuit in the iron oven

-Excerpt from poem by Gary Snyder

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

Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems by Gary Snyder

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

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Sourdough Mountain