White Chuck Mountain: Remote Beauty and Danger

Outside of Darrington, Washington, spires of beautiful peaks needle the sky.  Sloan and Pugh are sublime.  White Horse and Three Fingers are mantled in glimmering glaciers.  Among all of these impressive peaks sits a homely neighbor, White Chuck Mountain, a block of fracturing rock.  In geologic terms, it is dissolving in the mists and winds of the Cascades.  To us, with our relative, mayfly-flash of existence, White Chuck Mountain is an isolated monument robed (as the old hymn celebrated) in colors of blooming spring.  Certainly, for the adventurous, the mountain possesses intrigue.  From its slopes, amazing vistas open up.  The climb up bootpaths and goat trails cross exposed and slippery sections of rock.  Talus slides offer a fast exit to oblivion for the careless or unprepared.  Given its isolation and danger, a trip out to White Chuck Mountain will likely offer more solitude than any other of the alpine scrambles in the Central Cascades.  For the technically-skilled scrambler, intent on a quick peak to bag, or the cautious hiker who can be happy turning back before the summit, a half-day on White Chuck Mountain can offer a beautiful challenge.

Mt. Baker to the north

Mt. Pugh and Mt. Sloan

Getting There.  Begin traveling I-5 North from Seattle to the Arlington, Exit 208.  Take 530 East past the tragic Oso slide towards Darrington.  At Darrington, turn north.  Just before the Ranger Station, take a right onto Sauk Prairie Road.  ~1.5 miles turn right onto Dan Creek FSR #24 and follow this for 8 miles keeping left at the fork at 4.3 miles. The road switchbacks several times then begins a long traverse into the head waters of Dan Creek.  After ~8 miles on FSR #24, the road reaches a T-intersection. Turn left onto FSR #2430.  Shortly thereafter stay right at a minor junction onto FSR #2435.  From here-on follow FSR #2435 for 5.3 miles as it winds it way into the headwaters of Decline Creek.  It eventually reaches the ridgecrest, switchbacks some more, and comes to a fork.  At this last fork, stay to the right and follow beyond an impressive, stomach churning "devil's dip" to the end of the road. This is where the trail starts, elevation 4800'.  (Directions courtesy of Summit Post) 

Logging Trucks!

If you are making a list of reasons not to hike White Chuck, add logging trucks.  The trailhead is near actively logged forests, and independent truckers barrel down the narrow Forest Service roads with dollar signs in their eyes.  When we went up in early August, we were lucky to avoid any stand-offs the Suburu would have lost.  However, due caution with eyes down the road, and a runoff plan in place are necessary when timber cruising in working forests. 

The Trailhead

The trailhead is really nothing more than the stub-end of a logging road.  We turned around to face down hill before even starting the hike.  Obviously, a place rarely visited will not have a privy.  Bring your own trowel, and follow responsible wilderness practices. If you're primarily interested in photography, Ansel Adams could have spent a roll of film just where the hike begins.  

Heath along the approach trail

The Trail to the foot of the Mountain.  At the uphill corner of the trailhead, the trail climbs the ridge to the southeast and carries you through brush that tangles up an area logged fairly recently.  Soon you will follows the ridgeline to the south for a mile and half.  Blowdowns present obstacles in a few places as this is not a trail the forest service cares to improve.  Why entice more hikers out on roads with logging trucks, to untrampled mountain meadows, and dangerous, scree-skidded slopes?  That being said, enough boots have trodden the path to make it easy to follow to the northwest base of the mountain.  When you hit the avalanche field at the foot of the Northwest Peak, the trail veers up towards a gully. 

A mountain meadow and a turn up the gully
(photo by L. Eickhoff)

The Risk Factor Increases.  As long as you are not allergic the ubiquitous bees bumbling from blossom to blossom, the first part of the hike is relatively easy and safe.  Once you get to the gully, however, the risk profile is altered, and you make your way up among the scree fractured from the rock cliffs above.  Ascend the gully carefully.  A few traces of trails head north out of the gully.

A Slip and a Reflection on My Life.  On our way up, we probably followed in the footsteps of others who followed the cloven trickery of a devious mountain goat.  A couple of turns took us across some shelves of rock that seemed too treacherously steep to be blazed by gentle hikers such as us.  Regardless, we ascended to the saddle between  the Northwest Peak and the summit block of White Chuck.  From there, we followed a trail that seemed to wend us out to the southwest.  Small cairns apparently guided the way.  At one point, I followed one across a broken talus field.  My  handholds disappeared.  Still a hundred feet from the next cairn, on a significant grade, I felt the scree slip beneath my feet.  30 or 40 feet below me, a cliff offered a fast trip off the mountain.  Unfortunately, at the bottom of the ride is an abrupt coming to terms with the physics of an object falling 1000 feet, 36 feet per second squared.  Gingerly, I turned back and told my hiking buddies this wasn't the way for us.  Perhaps light-footed elves or climbers with either protection or delusions of immortality could traverse this section, but not us.  Since it was getting late in the afternoon, we decided to head down rather than search for a less dangerous path to the mountain top.

Glacier on the northeast shoulder of White Chuck Mountain

We stopped at the saddle again, ate a snack, and took some pictures of the White Chuck Glacier, Mt. Baker, Mt. Pugh, and Mt. Sloan.  On the way down, we paid a little more attention to the lupine, columbine, and stonecrop in bloom.  Even a transient contemplation of mortality can help one's appreciation of beauty.

Vampires have nothing on these guys...  The way down along the lower trail to the car seemed humming with more mosquitoes, desperate to get one last bite of us before we left.  Of all the miles I tramped through the hills this summer, I encountered more bites per mile on the slopes of White Chuck Mountain.  Add bugs to your list of reasons to pick another hike.  The solitude of the place will last.

Pink violets

Smooth Douglasia

Bluebells

Indian Paint and avalanche lily

Yellow Stonecrop (photo by L. Eickhoff)

Lichen paints abstractions on the rock

The Oyster Dome: An All Seasons Hike

The Chuckanut Mountains are an ancient upwelling that shore up the Salish Sea just south of Bellingham. Washington.  Ancient and worn down, they predate their upstart and angry Cascade neighbors to the east by eons.  In the last ice age, some of the higher peaks of the Cascades asserted their prominence beyond the frozen sheet.  Alas, the Chuckanut Mountains slumbered beneath the deep and heavy winter.  Fortunately, for us modern folks, the ice receded and left us a few glacial polished high points worth a half day adventure anytime of year.  The Oyster Dome, on Blanchard Mountain,  is the most popular. At 2025 feet, the outcropping above the beach offers a unique vista from the San Juan Islands to Canada.  You can mark the slow progress of ships at sea while snacking on trailmix.  On our last trip up, two bald eagles put on an aerial display swooping and tumbling in the updrafts.

Close to the outdoorsy college town of Bellingham, the Oyster Dome trailhead is problematic. Year round, a lot of folks are eager to head up.  Unfortunately, there is no parking lot available on this side of the hill.  Cars must park on the shoulder of Chuckanut Drive, and it's been reported that  vehicles over the fog line have been towed.  The near-by Oyster Bar Restaurant is also off-limits, even for early morning trekkers.  The trails are on state lands, so a Discovery Pass is required.  However, a final, uncomfortable reality is the lack of a toilet.  Take care if you venture off trail to relieve yourself--the hill is steep.

Start early and you'll have a more pleasant start to the hike.  The first part of the trail is well maintain if a bit aggressive.  After all, the way ascends from a few hundred feet above the Salish Sea to just over 2,000 in a rapid three or so miles.  A few trail crossing can also be confusing. The Oysterdome Trail intersects with the Pacific Northwest Trail twice.  In each instance stay left as you make your way through a lowland forest of fir and hemlock.

The bat caves at the base of the rocks are closed now for fear of spreading white nose syndrome among the native bat species.  By June, the turn off sign had been removed.  After the old turn off point, the trail is ridiculously steep--really a scramble up 200 yards of roots and rocks.  Here, all hikers can benefit from trekking poles, on the way up, and especially on the descent.   At the top of the scramble, take the second left, across the creek, and you are a quarter mile from the through thin but dense second growth  to the top.  The other way leads to Lily Lake.

The Dome is a bit of a misnomer.  This is not an orb sculpted from granite, but rather a edge of a folded crust.  Still, it offers a stunning view of the Puget Sound.   Take care along the edge.  The exposure is real enough, 300 feet to the foot of the bat caves.  Thousands of  panoramics and selfies are snapped at the Oysterdome every year.  Don't be distracted by the view.

Even when its not a perfect day in July, the 1900 foot accent is worth the effort.  When we were there in late winter, the elevation was enough to put us in snow while the lowlands endured drizzle.  The snowfall has its own beauty but it obscures the point of the hike; we made our way down fairly quickly after the flurry began.

Our last trip in June, we made the side trip to Lily Lake where we enjoyed the wild irises among the pond lilies.  The work of beavers is evident everywhere making the short excursion a fun destination for kids. Fall spruce giants provide piers almost to the middle of the boggy lake.  A few minnows scattered from our shadows while dragonflies patrolled the above the water.

For the ambitious, other trails can lead to the other side of the mountain, Lost Lake Fragrance Lake, and even Lake Samish, but that would turn a half day adventure into a full one.

From Seattle, getting to the Oysterdome Trailhead is simple.  Head north 75 miles on I-5 for an hour and 15 minutes or so, then take Exit 231 to Chuckanut Drive (Hwy 11 north) on the west side of the freeway.  The trailhead is just past mile post 10 on the uphill (east) side of the road.  Be careful making the u-turn to face your car in the right direction--motorcyclist and BWM drivers love to ride the curvy road fast, and make sure you are completely off the road, so you don't end a great hike searching in vain for a towed  vehicle.

Beckler Peak's Fantastic Vistas

  The Forest Service Road (6066) to the Beckler Peak trailhead is rutted and rugged.  Chunks of granite brought in by the Forest Service to patch the holes sometimes rudely announced their resistance to traffic by thumping against the underside of the sedan I was riding in.  Clearance is everything on this road.  It's over six miles of single lane, slow going from Hwy 2 to the start of the trail. With reports of late winter blow downs blocking the road (though cleared some weeks earlier) and heavy snow on the trail (perhaps a bit overstated), the parking lot was almost empty--one other car when we arrived on the last morning of June.   Apparently, solitude here should be cherished--the new trail to Beckler Peak was only opened a few years ago, but the word has gotten out that the vistas are well worth the effort.

The trail to the summit is a bit more than 3 1/2 miles.  It begins on a converted longing road, at the edge of "working forest," but the cool shadow of hemlock disguise the fact well.  Lupine and tiger lilies adorn the trail.  When we were on the trail, the fireweed was a week or two from blooming into profusion.  The way up the first part is un-apologetically steep. Our minds were distracted by discussions of botany and potential herbal remedies, but our calves were not.  The ascent can get your heart pumping to a beat your feet can't keep pace with.  Fortunately, the road relinquishes the way to a carpet-like trail that sashays towards the west and ridge where the Beckler finally made his point at 5062 feet.

We encountered patches of snow, four feet deep in places, but trail was well trampled.  Like many middle-aged hikers, I am a convert to trekking poles.  On snow, they help you keep your footing and spread the load a bit.  If you should post hole down, poles can keep you from twisting a knee or breaking an ankle.  They also help you burn a few more calories as your arms become more involved in your life.  For me the biggest pay off is the stress they take off the knees especially on the down hill.


Once you're in the second growth forest below the summit, the incline has been nicely mitigated by a few strategic switchbacks.  Well placed rock steps keep the trail from spreading into a quagmire during the melt out.  After nearly two hours of work, summit came suddenly.  It seemed as if we were in the rocks and spruce one moment, and in the next, on top of the world. Leonardo diCaprio, however, was no where to be seen.  Mind your step when you reach the top.  Between you and Glacier Peak to the north is a unbridgeable chasm.  The views here are 180° of peaks,  valleys and the little of town of Skykomish clinging to its namesake river.

Beckler Peak compares favorably to other vista hikes in the Central Cascades.  It is a little stepper and longer than Mt. Pilchuck, but the trail is nicer, and there are far fewer people on a weekday.  On Beckler, we met a retired couple coming down the hill.  After spending a hour or so on top, we headed down, and met a couple of college kids heading up.  A half day on the trail, and we encountered a total of four people.   Compared to last week's hike on Pilchuck, on a misty day, when we crossed paths with scores of other hikers, this was solitude.

Mt. Pilchuck is a favorite hike of mine.  Coming from Snohomish, it's easy to get to.  It also has an historic lookout and plenty of room for everyone at the summit.  Beckler, on the other hand, has no look out, and only room for six or eight hikers on top.  That being said, the view from Beckler is unrivaled. It is definitely worth the effort.

To get to the Beckler Peak Trailhead, take Hwy 2 East (about an hour out of Everett).  Approximately, two miles past the Skykomish Ranger Station, you'll see the sign for FR 6066 on the left.  It is an abrupt turn off the highway, so use caution.  Stay right at the Y 1.8 miles up the road, and head up hill.  The trailhead is just under 4 miles of rough road away.  Unless you are in a Range Rover, it will take at least a half-an-hour of dodging and weaving potholes and rocks to get there.  On the day we were there, much to the irritation of the ladies,  the privy was inexplicably locked the entire time

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Cherry Creek Falls: Pretty and Easy

Cherry Creek Falls is a mellow, lowland hike of five-mile (round trip) that is lovely in summer and accessible in the winter when heavy snows close most mountain trails to all but intrepid snowshoers and backcountry skiers.

Recently, we hiked the old logging road that has devolved into a ruburban trail to Cherry Creek Falls. Along the way, we passed the wreckage of rowdier times when the sons and daughters of dairy farmers and loggers went joyriding on back roads.

 I can imagine how on a rainy day the trail might become (in the words of ee cummings) mudluscious.  On the day we walked the path, it was half frozen by a week of cold weather.  The route is flat, but in certain times of the year, a branch of Cherry Creek rises high enough to require a bit of log balancing and rock hopping to cross.

 The trial to the falls forks to the right after fording the creek, but there is no sign posted, so it's easy to miss.  Turn right past the creek.  After a few hundred yards of descent, the trail will first bring you by the crest of the falls.  When we visited, the rush of water was impressive.

A deadfall allows passage across the top for a view of the maelstrom crashing into the pool below.  Best not to cross.  It's slippery on a good day.  In the rain, a broken neck is almost guaranteed.  If you must have a look, you'll realize that you are not at Snoqualmie Falls, but the scene is pretty enough and probably sufficiently treacherous to nearly qualify as sublime.

Recrossing the the log, and a quick jaunt to the left brings you to a small meadow and cool waters at the base of the falls.  In summer, locals claim the swimming hole.  In winter, it a nice place to pause for a picture or a picnic.

Cherry Creek Falls is just a short way beyond the quaint town of Duvall.  Bring a change of shoes, so you can browse the book store in town, or grab a bit to eat.

TO GET THERE:  (compliments of the WTA)

From the junction of SR 203 and Woodinville-Duvall Road in downtown Duvall, head north on SR 203 for about 500 feet, then turn right on NE Cherry Valley Road. Follow this road for 4.3 miles to Mountain View Road, turn left and park immediately at the junction (Cherry Valley Road becomes Kelly Road here and there is a blue gate marking the entrance).