Month: July 2013

When Melissa extended the invitation to me to climb Mt. St. Helens with her and her friends back in January, I immediately accepted.  I've always wanted to ski it but timing can be tricky, especially when you have a full spring schedule.  Hiking with a group that already had it planned seemed like the easiest thing to do.

I debated carrying my skis up in order to ski down but ultimately took the good advice of others who had skied it in the spring and left them in the truck at the trailhead.  However, the attentive reader will notice that I bothered to pack them.

I drove the truck and camper down to Cougar, WA, which is a good 4 hours away through the megopolis of Seattle, Tacoma, JBLM (Joint Base Lewis McChord), and Olympia.  I timed my departure well enough but still traffic slowed through Seattle.  However, I arrived in Cougar approximately an hour previous to the rest of the party.  I used the time to repack for the 4th time.

At the appointed time I walked over to the pizza cafe and met 5 others who would be climbing: the organizer, Erin, and her co-Delta pilot friends Dennis, Kelly and Susan, and Melissa of course.  We ate our pizzas then packed up the rest for tomorrow's lunch.  I followed Dennis up to Climbers Bivuoac where we would both camp.  The rest were sharing lodging in Cougar and would have a 30-minute drive in the morning.

Climbers Bivuoac is a great place to camp prior to the climb.  There's a view of the objective, which I wish I would've photographed in the evening light rather than the bright glaring morning light. The other parties camped there have the same plan so the entire place gets quiet around dark.  At that time, Dennis went to his tent and I settled into my comfy camper and slept reasonably well in spite of dreaming that I missed waking up to my alarm.

At 0600 mostly everyone in our party arrived.  Introductions were made.  I loaned out a day pack and two ice axes from my climbing stash.  Group photos were taken and then we were off at a surprisingly on-time departure of 0630.

Melissa and I made the most of the easy trail and caught up on over a year's worth of life stories that we hadn't shared with each other.  And then we were above tree line, at the rocky shoulder of Monitor Ridge, our route.

For the most part, Melissa, Dennis, and I lead the way up the rocky part of the route.  I had a grouchy moment where I felt like my views were constricted by the darn boulders.  I kept expecting a wowza view over every rocky hump.  Instead there was more rocks in front.

Then finally we topped that last rocky hump and saw our objective up a steep pumice slope. The wind sandblasted us, knocked off my hat, blew any warmth from our bodies.  We put on jackets, long sleeves, battened down the hatches, attached loose hats firmly to packs.  And then we were inexplicably at the crater rim, where the wind was even more inexplicably calm.  Happiness washed over me, which I'd love to explain but simply can't at the moment.

The three of us attempted the summit but the final two snow patches were too steep and hard/icy to cross in hiking boots.  Even self arrest with ice axes would be unlikely due to the pitch and hardness of the snow field.  We went back to the non-windy spot on the rim and waited for the rest of our party, ate lefotver pizza (in my case), enjoyed the fabulous views of Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood and even Mt. Jefferson in the distance.

Around 1230, after we'd been on the summit for about 90 minutes, we started down.  The glissade from the top looked a little sketchy, again due to the hardnessof the snow but the lower snow fields looked promising.  Tromping down the pumice to the soft snow field went fast.  The snow was soft enough to plunge step and avoid the rocky route down. We made good time down to the point where there was no more snow.

At the top of the trail, Kelly opted to wait for his wife Susan. We hadn't seen the rest of the party since we left the summit.  Melissa, Dennis, and I continued down the trail at an easy, relaxed pace until we reached the parking lot.

I set up a lawn chair, blanket, and offered my backpacking chair for waiting for the rest of the party.  Not too long later they all came in.  Happy reunion!  Clothes changed, gear returned, trail dust wiped off, everyone off to their own obligations.  It was late enough that I felt like I wouldn't get stuck in megopolis traffic.  I had a brief, unintended detour in Woodland but then I was on the freeway for a solid 4 hours.

I'm happy to report that the truck with camper gets 15.5 mpg.  I drove over 400 miles on one tank.  I'm also happy to report that the Safeway in Shoreline has diesel, which I sorely needed at that point.

Here are the photos.  Tomorrow I'm off for another adventure.  Stay tuned!

We planned a backpack with friends Terri and David, who hadn't backpacked in about 6 years.  Terri found a route that satisfied all of our requirements, which is somewhat miraculous considering there are 4 of us with varying needs, limitations, and desires.

The route up the Big Quilcene River in Olympic National Forest was described in one guidebook as the "one hike to do in the Olympics" because it features a bit of everything.  That turned out to be true.  There were wildflowers, clear streams, big forests, grand views of the mountains, and a nice fishing lake.

None of us were sure what time we'd arrive.  Randy and I had to take a ferry; Terri and David drove from Olympia.  We arrived at the TH within 20 minutes of each other and we were all early!

The hike begins in the forest, an old growth forest along the Big Quilcene River.  I optimistically brought my fishing pole; Randy brought his skeptically.  Camp was along a river so what could possibly go wrong?

The trail emerged from the forest into the flowered meadows.  The river dropped far away from the trail as we hiked up toward Marmot Pass, which came into view as fog blew in behind it.

Soon we arrived at Mystery Camp, where Randy had scoped out a couple sites for both our tents.  We set up camp then hiked the last half mile to Marmot Pass and admired the views across the Dungeness River drainage.  Randy and I recognized the moutainous spires we saw from our 4-day hike along Grey Wolf and Dosewallips Rivers last fall.  Then the fog moved in and we couldn't see anything.

We; hiked back down to camp in time for cocktail hour (how civilized!) and then started a delicious dinner of something freeze dried.  I only eat half so I get to see the same meal for breakfast.  Fortunately freeze dried meals have come a long way, even for breakfast!  Terri treated us to reconstituted cheesecake, which was very good, surprisingly so.  Which reminds me, I need to order some of those meals!

Yawns by 8:00 p.m. so we all turned in even though it was still sort of light.  I was able to read in the tent without my headlamp.

In the morning we had a leisurely breakfast with Starbucks Via coffee and reconstituted something.  I believe I had the second half of my chicken teriyaki.  Then we packed for a day hike back up to Marmot Pass then north along the ridge toward the Copper Creek drainage.  Our goal was to reach Buckhorn Lake so Randy and I could fish.

The terrain was inviting so we left the trail and dropped down into a meadow, heading in the general direction of the lake, which was not visible.  Soon we began second guessing our decision, thinking we were going to miss it because it was situated in the forest and we couldn't see it.

However, we hit the trail on the other side and ran into another party who told us at the next junction the trail was well-marked and we'd find the lake.  And so we did.  It was a beautiful little lake, in that curious blue-green high mountain color that comes from melting snow and eroding granite.

Randy found a fishing spot then I found one at the mouth of a stream that drained into the lake.  Two brook trout, one right after another, grabbed my hot-pink Dick Nite fishing lure (if it's not Dick Nite, you're not fishing right!).  I let them go, even though they were decent eating size, mostly because I didn't want to carry them 3 1/2 miles back to camp.  They swam off, probably wiser about pink lures.

We packed up and hiked back, switchbacking up the trail then over the ridge while the fog rolled in.  Again we made it back to camp in time for cocktail hour and were pleased about how the day went.  I had some kind of cheesy lasagna for dinner.  The cheese impossibly coats the spoon so cheese is a feature in every meal for the remainder of the trip.

We had more reconstituted cheesecake and the chocolate mousse.  Better to eat it than to carry it out!  The cheesecake was superior, even to chocolate mousse.  Again, yawns by 8:00 and to bed in the light.  Randy's air mattress developed a leak so there was some squirreling about for the next hour to remedy that problem.  David had duct tape on one of his hiking poles so Randy put that to good use and settled in around dark.

The next morning I had the other half of my cheesy lasagna for breakfast along with Starbucks Via coffee.  We packed up camp and walked out on a beautiful morning.  The Big Quilcene drainage was clear and sunny.  Lots of hikers were coming in — we could tell when we were near the end of the trail because everyone coming up smelled freshy showered and laundered.  We wondered what we smelled like but kept the windows down on the way to Hoodsport.

We ate Mexican food at the restaurant in the center of town.  Big margaritas and a giant platter of fish tacos.  There were no leftovers and I still had room for about two pounds of tortilla chips and homemade guacamole at the fireworks potluck later that evening.  And a hotdog!

Stats:

Total elevation gain is about 3500' from the TH to Marmot Pass.  Camp Mystery is about 500' and half mile before Marmot Pass.  Camp Mystery has several established sites with several springs and a creek nearby.  If the camps are full, there are many sites near Marmot Pass but water is back down the trail by Camp Mystery.  There are snow patches for melting but this time of year the snow is rather pink from bacteria.

Buckhorn Lake is 3.5 miles from Marmot Pass.  Trails are well maintained and signed.  The mosquitoes had not yet emerged.

Here are the pictures.

Jenny invited me to tag along on a scramble up the North Twin Sister (southwest of Mt. Baker) with her and hubby, Chris, on a blistering hot day in June.  Blistering for the PNW, that is.

I arrived at their house at 0700 Sunday morning and loaded up into my old Toyota pickup, which is now owned and enjoyed by Chris as a hunting, boat-towing, scouting narrow Forest Service roads vehicle.  She (the truck) lives!

We arrived at the TH above Dailey Prairie around 0930, if I remember correctly.  We walked up the old road and stopped to admire a nighthawk, which made a distinctive diving-jet sound as it dove for an airborne insect.  Very cool.

And then the road turned into trail with alders closing in.  Chris found some kind of frog in a little wet area and then the trail got steeper.  I left my hiking pole against a tree because the shrubs were grabbing it and soon I'd need both hands for scrambling.

Soon we were above tree-line, at which point we donned our climbing helmets and started the route upward using both hands and feet, and avoided looking down the landscape that fell sharply away.  Concentrate.  Focus.

At one point, not very far up, I asked Jenny if we could see the summit.  No, she said.  How much more do we need to scramble, more than 300'?  Oh yes, she said, but probably not more than 1000'.

Turns out I was more than optimistic about my estimation and Jenny guessed wrong.  I couldn't even say how long it took to get up to the top but there were several times along the way that I doubted I was in the right place, that my skill level was appropriate, that I even wanted to be there.  I considered stopping and waiting for them to summit and return.  Except there were no comfortable places to stop.  It was steep, exposed, the bugs were out, and it was hot.  At one point I thought that simply backpacking into a nice lake and fishing were fine objectives.  No need to scare myself silly on climbs like these.

However, I was never really scared and not really tired.  I was focused and very deliberate, careful to not grab any loose rocks, careful to not step into thin air.  Chris coached when foot and handholds were not obvious.

And then we reached the summit.  Chris sat on the side facing Mt. Baker, which is glorious when it is that close and the view so clear. Unfortunately I was too dazed to snap a picture.  Oh well, I have lots of pictures of Mt. Baker.  The breeze kept the bugs away, yet it was warm enough to sit without a jacket.  I kept staring in disbelief at the route we had just ascended.  My altimeter indicated that we had scrambled at least 1500' and possibly more like 2000'.  More disbelief.

After lunch we started down the route.  Down is scarier than up in most cases, and this descent followed the rule.  Sometimes I wasn't sure whether I was still on the route but I kept Jenny and Chris in view not far ahead.  Once I really wasn't sure about the route but Jenny assured me that it was the same way she and Chris had come.

And then I ran out of gas.  Jenny promptly shoved some Honey Stingers at me, gave me some Gatorade, and life began to look bright, even happy again.  Thankfully we were fairly close to the actual hiking part when that happened.

It's weird when you run out of gas, or bonk, or hit the wall.  Suddenly you can't take care of yourself even if you have the means.  I've recognized this in my hiking companions in the past and thankfully Jenny recognized my condition immediately.  The caregiver simply must forcefeed any kind of sugar available on the victim.  I often carry little Snickers and packets of Gu, even a small container of honey sometimes.  It's hard to remember to eat when you're constantly focused on placing hands and feet on solid rocks and then suddenly you're too nauseous to even try to eat until someone else practically shoves snacks in your mouth.  Then the magic happens, light returns to the world.  You might even feel like singing a little song or laughing outloud.

Alas, my pole was not where I had set it.  I've never had anyone walk off with poles when I've left them before.

By the time we got down to the truck I practically felt like skipping but then my left leg cramped.  And Jenny came to the rescue again, this time with ibuprofen.  I drank about a half liter of water and was careful to not put my legs in an awkward position, like you do when you are trying to put on sandals.

We stopped at the Nooksack River to soak our feet for a minute then went on to the Blue Mountain Bar & Grill for beers and snacks while viewing the Twin Sisters from the deck.  Here are the pictures.

Postscript: my fingers were raw for nearly a week from scrambling up and down that grippy rock, my entire body was sore for at least two days, and I was covered in scratches and bug bites.  What a grand time!

Yesterday when I heard the news about the deaths of 19 hotshots in Prescott, AZ I was immediately angry and sad.  Angry that this has happened yet again, fighting fire in a forest, scrubland, possibly defending homes that are not defensible in that environment.  What a waste of young lives.

I've calmed down a bit and put my feelings where they belong.  I remember when I was an active firefighter people would ask me why I did it because, after all, it's very difficult and dirty work, not to mention dangerous.  At the time my co-workers would say they were in it for the adrenaline rush and I'd shake my head, pretending to be knowing, and say that's a dangerous attitude.  Quite honestly it is but the people who said they were in it for the adrenaline rush were being honest, perhaps more honest than I was.  What was my answer to that question?  Well, I couldn't quite bring myself to be altruistic and say that I wanted to help people because then I'd really be lying.  I used to say that I loved being out in the woods, the hard work made me feel like I accomplished something.  I mean, really, I just put out a fire!  Now that is an accomplishment!  All those things were true, and probably the most true thing was the feeling of accomplishment.  I will not deny that it was exciting.  And very meaningful when the knots tied up my stomach out of fear of what we might face and then loosening when we methodically dismantled the "dragon".  That feeling of facing the fear and working through it was very important to me too. 

Now that I've moved from firefighting and have a far less exciting job, although it is very interesting on most days, I spend my free time skiing the backcountry and climbing mountains.  Again, facing the fear and working through it in a methodical way to accomplish something that is difficult and fun is very important to me. 

Pondering the deaths of 19 firefighters who died on the job… is it any different than skiers dying in an avalanche?  Or climber falling off a mountain?  I'm not sure about that right now.  I mean, they're all out there for more or less the same reasons.  I could probably add people who ride motorcycles to that category.  And this is where my brain stops for now and goes to the place where I feel really bad for the families and the one survivor from that crew.  What an awful place they must be in. 

I want to add that I have a very strong sense of self-preservation and so have have obviously known when to turn around and go back when whatever I was doing became too much for me.  However, the knowing comes with experience and some people just don't get to become that experienced and some are very experienced and perhaps become careless or simply unlucky.