Three Fingers Crossed Off The List

I was able to cross Three Fingers Mountain off my to-do list a few years back, before a slide closed the Forest Service Road 81/2 miles from the trailhead.  (Now it requires an uphill mountain bike ride before you even start hiking).  For me, the hike was more or less an anniversary gift from my wife.  Weather and opportunity seemed to align on our anniversary, September 4th, and luckily, she was okay with me spending the day in the woods.  Three Fingers is a sublime mountain with glaciers and prominence visible from Snohomish County.  In fact, I can see it from my house where it stands north of Mt. Pilchuck like an old loggers salute.  

Pilchuck is a great hike with a big pay-off for relatively little effort and time invested.  I've hiked to the top of Pilchuck one time in 90 minutes when I had an afternoon soccer game to coach.  Round trip for Pilchuck is under six miles with generally good trails except for a couple boulder fields. It has an elevation gain of 2200 ft. The summit is at 5324 ft. It offers great views and an historic look out up a rock scrabble and a ladder without too much exposure.  That being said, when my friend, Arie and I climbed it in one July, a woman in the party behind us was having nothing to do with the ladder.  Tragically, fatalities occur as inexperienced hikers wander off the trail or take undo risks along the exposed, east side of the ridge.  

Three Fingers is another thing entirely.  It is one of  most difficult hikes you can find in the region. The round trip is a little over 15 miles with most of it on bad trail.   The summit is listed at 6854 ft.  Forty feet were dynamited off the top to make way for a fire look out in the 30s.  Total elevation gain is 4200 ft.  Unfortunately, along the way, you have to regain altitude several times due to a number of ups and downs.  In the second half to the hike, you encounter snow and ice.  Depending upon the season, crampons and ropes may be necessary.  On Saturday I hiked, the snow was soft enough, so I only needed my trusty ice ax.

  

I was supposed to hike Three Fingers with some folks from my church hiking club.  They were going to make it a two night affair, camping at Goat Flats on Saturday, summiting on Sunday, and coming back on the third day. With the freezing level forecast to drop on Sunday, they cancelled, figuring hard snow would require crampons and ropes, adding more hassle than they wanted for a Labor Day weekend outing.  Given the beauty of Goat Flats, turning the hike into an over-nighter actually is a great idea.

I was really disappointed by the cancelation as this mountain has been on my list since my wife and I  moved our family to Snohomish.  I told her a lot of people do it as a long day hike (though they are probably most aren't in their 50s).  I decided I would go up to Goat Flats, check conditions and time, and decide whether or not to keep going up.  If I decided to try to go up, I would fall in behind another group and follow them up.  

I left our house after 8 AM.  I had planned at leaving at 7 but the weather in Snohomish was misty, and I couldn't see the mountains.  I vacillated, but decided I could at least drive out to the trail head, and hike to Saddle Lake 2.5 miles in.  What I didn't fully comprehend was the drive to trail head involved 18 miles on Forest Service roads.  Hence, I got to the trailhead after nine.  However, this might have a good thing since getting out of a truck at the same time was another guy about my age with the same plan.  

Ken from Port Orchard is a Civil Engineer with the State department of Transportation.  He is working on a list of prominence peaks, trying to hike/climb the most prominent peaks in our 39 counties.  Prominence is a measure from the summit of a mountain to its saddle. Three Fingers makes the list for Snohomish county.  It turns out Mt. Si and Mt. Pilchuck really don't rate because their neighbors overshadow them.  As a humanities guy, I like hiking Si, Pilchuck, mountain lakes, water falls--I am all about the beauty. Regardless, Ken and I made a pretty good hiking team for the day.  He's part Welsh and reminds me a little of Allan my brother-in-law for his capacity to tell a good story.  I also appreciated the fact that he enjoys history. We covered Chief Joseph's retreat and discussed General Mc Clellan's time in the Pacific Northwest.

We hiked to the 2.5 miles to Saddle Lake fairly quickly though the trail is horrible.  It is roots and rocks through salmon berries and Salomon Seal overgrowth.  Right before we got to the lake, we passed a big group of perhaps 12 hikers.  They were telling stories in Korean and laughing, and seemed to keep up the good spirits for the entire day.  We stopped at Saddle Lake for water, a snack and a picture of the lake, they passed us, and then on the way up to Goat Flats (another 3 miles) we passed them again.  By the way, Saddle Lake is lovely, but it has really no camp sites around it.  It's better to continue onto to Goat Flats.

Goat Flats is a beautiful alpine plateau of blue berries and meadows with wild flowers.  It is a worthy destination.  It has great vistas of the Three Fingers, neighboring peaks and their valleys below. It was a good place to eat lunch.  Here we decided to keep going, but established 4 PM as our turn around time.  Meanwhile, the intrepid Koreans came marching on.

Above the Flats is the next turn around point is Tin Can Gap.  The trail to the Gap is generally better than the trail into the Flats though you pick up some serious elevation, cross a couple of small snow fields and some areas of scree where the trail is little more than a trace on a fairly steep ridge side.

The top of the ridge is Tin Can Gap.  The other side is the Queest Alb glacier basin.  It was still cloudy and cool, so we didn't have a view to the top.  Our progress was good, but frankly, the snow looked a little worse than I expected.  As Ken and I discussed a possible route towards an invisible summit, along came the Korean contingency.  We decided to follow a short trail along the ridge that avoided the step exposure of the snow field, but we had our ice axes out at the ready. 

We found the ridge line trail behind some stunted spruce and followed it to where it intersected with the upper part of the snow field.  Just as we started on upper half of the snow field, three hikers came from the other direction.  This section of the snow is still steep, but the snow was soft and the path well trod. None of the approaching hikers had an ice ax.  One was in trail running shoes.  Of course, the day before had been really warm and two of the three had spent the night in the look out.  The third guy had just started from the trail head at 7 AM, climbed to the lookout was hiking back with his friends.  Now that's some fast hiking!  Personally,  I think crossing a snow field or a glacier without an ice ax is like walking a tight rope without a safety net.

A few hundred yards across the snow, you come out on the ridge line trail again.  After a quarter mile, the trail leads to the moat above the glacier.  This is a challenging scramble down another quarter mile.  The elevation loss becomes disheartening on the way back when you have to scramble up the moat.  I left my gloves at home, so I avoided the rough industrial rope the Mountaineer Club placed in the moat as an aid.  Instead, I used my ice ax and free hand for balance.  Note-to-self:  Next time, don't forget your gloves!

After the glacier moat, a cairn or two leads to more decent trail that carries you to the large snow field below the summit block.  The sun came out briefly, so we donned our sunglasses across the snow. Ken and I zigged up the snow field though younger hikers leaned in and kick step straight up to the base of the summit block. This is where you begin a fairly hairy rock scramble.  As we stashed our ice axes in the rocks, we could see at the base of the snow field five Koreans continuing on, four men and a woman, still talking and laughing.  Apparently, and somewhat ironically, they were following us up the mountain.  

The dramatic exposure here causes some folks to freak out.  If you gaze over the edge of the ridge, you'll note it is perhaps a thousand feet to the valley floor below. At the end to the scramble, three ladders are bolted into the face of the rock.  It seems as if you are hanging in space as you climb them, but the ladders are made of sturdy, marine-treated lumber, and I figured a small ledge thirty feet below might catch a person before they slipped into oblivion.  Of course, thirty feet is enough distance for gravity to build up enough force to kill you, but it's comforting to think you might survive with only a broken leg or two.  

The transition between ladders is interesting.  Ladder #1 and 2 join at a narrow gap in the rocks that requires a twist and a shimmy to get through. On the way back, I actually took my pack off to fit through.  From ladder #2 and #3, a step onto a exposed rock is a bit of a thrill.  I wouldn't like to do it on an icy day.

Once you get to the top of the third ladder, it's a somewhat steep rhombus side to the flat base of the look out.  The look out was built in 1933.  They dynamited off the top of the mountain to make room.  It comes complete with an ancient forest service chair, wood bed, bookshelf, and lighting stool. Apparently, the stool provides insulation in an electrical storm. I can only imagine the sheer terror of balancing on a wooden stool while lighting explodes around you.
                            

In order to touch the actual high point of Three Fingers, you need to crawl out a window onto the "back porch."  I can't imagine it was easily provisioned in the era before helicopters. No wonder it was closed in the early 40s.
     

                                                                             
When Ken and I arrived a little after three, a couple in their 40s were making house, and settling down for the evening.  We made our way to the back porch. The sky opened up, off and on, revealing then veiling sublime vistas.  As we ate the rest of our lunch, our five Korean friends came up the ladders.  One required some assistance, and this played a factor in delaying our turn around at 4 PM.  It seems like the Koreans wanted just a photo op and then turned back down.  Unfortunately, the one who struggled on the way up was more reluctant backing down the ladder.  Ken and I chatted with the couple, signed the log book, and waited for the ladders to clear. By the way, the nice couple were not destined to have the lookout to themselves.  A couple of twenty-something dudes in sleeveless shirts were heading up with a pack of beer and Doritos as we were heading towards to glacier moat after 5.  

It was probably 4:30 by the time Ken and I were on the ladders going down.  Of course, the snow field descent was more direct, but our climb out was slow because Ken's legs were cramping.  He graciously told me to hike on if I wanted, but I had enjoyed his company, and figured following his 4 X 4 equip with its backroads lightbar down the Forest Service roads in the dark might be a good idea.

On the way down, the Koreans seem to pick up steam.  The rest of their party had stayed behind at Goat Flats and made a welcoming camp for them.  We saw them ahead of us twice.  Once as we were entering the glacier moat, and again, just after dropping below Tin Can Gap, they were climbing over the next ridge to descend into the Flats.

If I were to do it again, I would make camp at the Flats on the way up and hike down to it after summiting that afternoon like our Korean friends had done. It's beautiful place to spend the night.  Ken and I had miles to go before we would sleep, and the trail after the Flats grows progressively worse.  It was bad earlier in the morning light with fresh legs.  Imagine it in the dark.

We made Saddle Lake by 7:30 PM, just about sunset.  This meant the last 2 1/2 miles out would be by headlamp.  Definitely a miserable hour of tripping over roots and rocks with old growth firs shielding any slight after-glow of a cloudy dusk.  My eyes were fixed on the trail a few feet beyond my feet almost trance-like. Every now and then I would look back and have to wait a moment before Ken's light to emerge in the gloom.  

I would recommend a headlamp plus a flash light if you try to do this hike in September in one day. An overnight at Goat Flats would have been ideal.  Eventually, we popped out onto the Forest Service Road. The moonless sky was crowned with stars invisible only a few yards back in the woods.  A dry shirt, socks and shoes were waiting for me in my car.  It is amazing how luxurious dry clothes feels after a day of hiking.  We pulled the covers off the running lights of Ken's truck, and I followed him down the logging road.  It took the better part of an hour to get to the Mountain Loop Highway.  I was home about 10:45, apparently, so tired that I left my car door open.  My wife brought in my pack and shut the car door for me.

All in all, it was a great day in the woods-- hiking, scrambling on rocks, climbing snow, ice and ladders through meadows, glaciers, among peaks and precipices.  Ken and I both keep lists.  We were able to cross this one off of it.

Park Butte Look Out: Mt. Baker's Best Day Hike

Kuma Kulashan from the Park Butte

From the Seattle area, beautiful Mt. Baker, called Kuma Kulashan by Native Americans, is a two hour drive to the north. The hike along southern shoulder of Baker to the Park Butte Lookout is one of the best day hikes in the North Cascades. Of moderate distance (~7.5 miles) and elevation gain (2200'), the well-maintained trail features crossing Rocky Creek, raging with glacial melt water, mountain meadows of blueberry and heath, wildlife, views of rocks and glaciers, all terminating in a restored lookout that's available for overnight stays on a first come basis. In a more typical year, snow lingers late into summer even at the parking lot.  For the more adventurous, the trail branches about a mile before the lookout where the railroad grade will take you to the glacier.  Mountain climbers sometimes use this route to begin a different path to the summit.

On Wednesday morning of last week, I found a little window in the weather between haze, smoke, and rain squalls.  I was treated to a sublime apotheosis of Mt. Baker though like any vision quest, the journey was not without some challenge.  The first of which was the distance to the trailhead.  I started early from Snohomish.  The direction from the WTA are fairly accurate (WTA Park Butte Lookout), but unless my tires are over-sized, the distances to crucial junctions are slightly overstated which means you might drive past the turn off to the trailhead then have to double back.  At 11.9 miles up the Baker Lake Road (not 12.3 as reported), after you see the Mt. Baker National Rec. Area sign, take the immediate left after the bridge onto FS12.

After the bridge, take an immediate left.

Under 4 miles up FS 12, take a right on FS 13.  Again, the sign says, "Mt. Baker National Rec. Area."  This road terminates in about five miles at a nice parking area with campsites and  privies.  The trail to Park Butte begins left of the privies.

 Just before the proverbial fork in the road, I met a pepper-bearded trail sage walking up gravel in full gear.   I rolled down my window to see if he was okay.

                           "Yes," he told me,  "Hiking the Pacific Northwest trail."

                           "Cool--is this the turn-off to Park Butte?" I asked, half out of courtesy.

                          "Don't know," he stated tersely.

 I think I said it looks about right and continued on, feeling bad about the dusting he was about to get.

When I arrived at the parking lot before 9 AM there were maybe a dozen cars in the lot.  However, I didn't encounter anyone hiking for nearly an hour, and they were coming down the trail from the lookout.  I am sure I looked a little scary to them, more caveman-like than usual.   I was still carrying a boulder in each hand after using them as paleolithic cymbals to encourage the rapid flight of a black bear away from the trail's edge moments before.   I had left my trekking poles in my truck, and I didn't think about them until I was a half-mile up the trail.  The conditions of the trail were excellent, so I figured my old knees could survive without them.  Naturally, this would be my first bear encounter of the summer.

Interestingly enough, I had thought about bear on the early part of the trail as I crossed through open meadow.   The last of the blueberries were still on the bushes.   I found out later from one of the women after my close encounter of the ursine kind that they had seen one on the edge of the parking lot the day before.  Blueberry season is a great time to be a black bear in the North Cascades.  Hikers be cautious.  Noise helps.  Hiking alone can make you dangerously stealthy unless you sing or have an imaginary friend to talk to.  I surprised several hikers with hellos, especially on the way down.  I surprised a berry brunching bear on the way up.

Out of the parking lot, the trail crosses through Schrieber's meadow and broken forest.  In a wetter summers, mushrooms proliferates.  To the right of the trail, muddy Sulphur Creek roars.  It didn't take long before I could see Baker through the trees.  Just under a mile, Rocky Creek's two main channels need to be crossed.  The first part is a rock hop. followed by a ladder bridge, followed by more boulder balancing.  Once you cross the bridge, look up stream for a pink blaze on a tree and some cairns to guide you to the next section of  trail which actually ascends a dry channel on the opposite side up stream a bit.    This is the only rough part of the trail.  Once you cross the stream and get back on the main path, it's like walking on carpet though the pitch begins to increase as you ascend a forested ridge.

 Near the top of the ridge, the trail Ys.  Stay left.  Just about two miles into the hike, you enter a broad plateau known as the Morovitz Meadow.  Again you are faced with the existential question, left or right.  As Bernie Sanders would like of us all, stay left, again. Going right leads up the Railroad Grade trail.

It was between these two junctions where I disturbed a bear feeding on blueberries.  It shot off like large, fuzzy black rocket down the slope and further in the woods.  I, on the other hand,  jumped two feet into the air and on my ascent, grabbed two rocks to clap together to further cheer on Yogi's spring through the brush.  Two minutes later,  graying Glen Close twins with close-cropped hair came down the trail.  Both were clenching their trekking poles, as I dropped the rocks from my hands and explained how I chased off a bear moments before.   If one hadn't seen a bear the day before, I can't imagine what they might have thought of me.

"Be careful," I called after them.

"You be careful, too," they responded.

I took the left for the look out at the sign.  I half contemplated heading up to the glacier, but without poles, I thought the better of it.  Like that malingerer Robert Frost, I left the other trail for another day.

Three amigos came down the trail next.  They looked five years out of the frat house, and gave each other high fives when I asked how the hike was going.  They sobered up when I told them about the bear.
             One was pretty philosophical.  "Those two older women were hiking in front of us, right?"

I love the camaraderie of the trail.  What are the chances of getting mauled by a bear after it just ate half the senior editorial staff of Ms. Magazine?  Pretty unlikely, right?   Move on out, bros.

Next, it was the young family of five.  Mom, Dad, and three little girls.  Even though they had spent the night in the look out, all five looked clean and pressed.  Dad wore a Y hat that that was a statement not a question.   I discretely informed the parents about the bear.  The incident had only taken place twenty minutes before and the story was already becoming mythic.    The young family moved on cheerfully as I leaned into steeping grade that led up to the final ridge.  I could see the lookout now.  A lot of the 2200' of elevation gain is reserved for the end.

Between the meadows and the lookout, I crossed paths with five more hikers.  A young couple almost running down the hill, and three more dudes twenty years out of shop class a few hundred yards behind them.  The sloppiest of the three was shirtless, his pink skin darkening to red in the mountain air.  He might explain the urgency of the younger hikers ahead.

A half mile from the look out, I could see folks on the narrow balcony around it.  As much as I enjoy meeting people on the trail, and learning a little bit about their journey, I was hoping to have the place to myself for a few minutes.

Climbing up the fire lookout can be a challenge.  Three fingers is probably the most notorious.  Even the popular Mt. Pilchuck requires some bouldering and balance.  Park Butte is no problem at all.  Two steps on the rocks and two rungs of the ladder, and you are there.   As I climbed up, I said hello to Levi, a lad of 18 eating lunch  by himself on an outcropping.  His dad, Gary, was with two friends from work, Rick and Clint were pouring over a topo map of Baker, and discussing summit routes.  It turns out they were all my age, and worked together at WWU.  One of them even worked with a childhood friend of mine on a daily basis.   I had a very enjoyable lunch with them and got some great ideas for future hikes around the mountain.  Meanwhile, the skies grew hazy with smoke, then clouds that seemed to promise a thunderstorm gathering in the east.  It was time to head down.  Levi was gone like a flash.  The dad and his friends, enjoying their conversation, made their way off the ridge more slowly.

After I passed them, two young Irish nuns were working there way up.  One was in a full length shirt with a fleece draped from her head over her shoulders to keep the sun away.  It seem all very unnecessarily warm.  When I asked how she was doing, she affirmed my she was a little too warm.

Further down the trail, about where I met them a couple of hours earlier, I encounter the young family eating lunch.  I thought for a moment I had frightened them out of going down the trail, but it turns out they tried the railroad grade up to the glacier for a spell, but the girls didn't like how the trail dropped off on either side.

Past the turn off for the railroad grade, near where I spotted the bear in the morning, I ran into another strange apparition.  It was Ray, the through-hiker, whom I met coming up the road on my way to the trailhead, He didn't recognize me in hat and sunglasses.  He had managed the five miles of the road and nearly two miles of the trail since I saw him last.  We chatted a bit here.  I found out he had started in Montana, and was going the distance.  He was taking a break as a full time caregiver to his wife, a former high school teacher, who had been bedridden from Parkinson's Disease.  Recent brain surgery had allowed her to regain some mobility.  Their son was caring for her during his break.   I wondered if he was blogging the trip, No, just using a Go-Pro.  He lost the lens cap, so he was using a bluebag to cover his camera  We tried my a lens cap from my small binoculars, but it was too big for the Go-Pro lens.  I wished him luck, as he continue on his pilgrimage.

Here's a link to his route:  http://www.pnt.org/trail/

The skies were clouding up as I made my way down the easy trail, passing an equal number of folks going up and down.  If you are looking for solitude, you won't find it here--the price of beauty.  The WTA advises if you want to spend the night at the lookout, get their early.  It features one full-size bed.  Personally, I prefer a tent.

I was back at the truck before 2 PM where a dry clothes and cooler with ice water awaited.  The road out went relatively fast, and I felt pretty good at dodging major potholes along the way.  Once I hit Highway 20 I went through the first of three cloud bursts along the way.  I felt fortunate to see the mountain out in its glory, and avoid the rain at elevation.  By 4 PM, I was home.

Maple Pass Loop: Popular and Family Friendly

Lake Ann

Most of the hikes I have written about this summer have not been exactly family friendly.  Vesper Peak, Gothic Basin, and Hidden Lake Lookout are all wonderful and challenging hikes, but unless you are the Swiss Family Robinson, you probably don't want to try to navigate the rough trails and scrambles with small children.  Our hike on Thursday would have a much better choice for family fun.  My friend and hiking machine, Ernie, and I hiked to Maple Pass, via Heather Pass on a trail that definitely fits the criteria of family friendly.  The trail is good without excessive rocks, roots, or washouts.  The distance is reasonable (under 8 miles) and climb not overly strenuous (less than 2400 feet) to make it accessible for anyone moderately fit from ages  8 to active Seniors.   On our way,  we saw a great mix of folks including several families and a significant international contingency.   The Maple Pass loop has much to offer hikers of any age, abundant wildlife, lakes and streams, and an amazing view of snowy mountains. 

One caveat to consider with this hike is the long drive to the trailhead.  Nestled in the heart of the North Cascades National Park,  Rainy Pass is a long way from Seattle.  50 miles past Marblemount on Highway 20 means an early start from the Puget Sound region.  Lucky for parents of today, on-board DVD players, handheld games, and headphones provide entertainment enough to stymie the frequent "are-we-there-yets" from the backseats.  

Through the alder

The distant trailhead is right off the highway, making it easy to find and apparently very popular.  When we visited, the accommodations were clean and functional with vault toilets and a drinking fountain.  The WTA guide suggests hiking the loop counter-clockwise to help mitigate the trail's steepness somewhat.   We elected to follow their advice though I suppose if your knees work better going up, it might be better to follow the sundial up Maple Pass first.  On the busy day we hiked the trail, we met people going both ways.  One mom and her daughter told us it was shorter going up Maple Pass first, but then it appeared as if they were hiking the entire loop anyway.

When we arrived at the trailhead after 10 AM,  the rain and fog from the previous day had lifted, but the humidity was still noticeable.  Fortunately, the temperature was mild.  We had to laugh as we were trying to find the right starting point because we ran into a Park Service biologist and his friend armed with butterfly nets.  Bugs have been a recurring theme on this summers hikes.  From entomologists on Mt. Townsend to jungle attired hikers on Green Mountain, the summer of 2015 has been buggy.

Armed with their nets, Tanner and Michael were a couple of young scientists from Federal Way out to inventory the meadows that are currently being love death.  We encountered a number of closed-for-repair signs along the way.   Tanner ushered Ernie, me, and a 40-something couple onto the trail that would take us counter-clockwise first to Heather Pass then up to Maple Pass.  The husband was in orange which is good practice in August what with bear hunting season starting.  While the park is closed to hunting,  you can never be too careful. Hence, I decided against wearing the bear costume.  Dangerously, his wife's shirt matched the purple of the asters and fireweed she was constantly photographing, so she ran the risk of getting hauled in with one of Tanner's butterflies, or at the very least pollinated by a mountain bumblebee.

The trail starts out gently climbing through the forest of spruce and mountain hemlock.  With a starting elevation of  over 4600' it doesn't take long to move into the subalpine zone after crossing a grove of alder.   A clearly marked branch of the trail will lead you to Lake Ann.  Views of the lake are visible most of the day as you climb around it.  Along the trail, the kids will be delighted by the prevalence of squirrels and marmot even if a grizzly old backpacker might show some contempt for mountain rodents.  Ernie had spent the previous week out in the wilderness.  Between the squirrels thieving antics and the paranoid marmots constantly whistling piercing alerts, he had cloyed of their cuteness.

Below Heather Pass, we were treated to the rhythmic work of a Hairy Woodpecker (Leuconotopicus villosus) just off the trail.  I wondered about the trailrunner we saw bombing by.  While I was in awe of his stamina, I think you miss a lot of  wonderful moments along the trail traveling that fast.   On the way down, a mother grouse kept a vigilant eye on us from the brush as her chicks gamboled about.  I doubt he noticed.  Sure, for the trailrunner, the endorphins no doubt rush in, but I think pausing and watching a woodpecker or even a ground squirrel is closer to why we wander in the woods.

Approaching Heather Pass, the work load increases a bit.  It plateaus briefly at the pass then starts up again as you ascend the ridge towards Maple Pass.  Well above the zone for maples, the name of the pass seems a bit inexplicable.  Below Heather Pass we passed a couple in their 60s.   "How was the view?" I asked.   The husband, a little bored perhaps, responded with, "Oh, you know, peaks and mountains with snow."  It might have been ironic understatement.   For the rest of us, the view was spectacular of distant ranges pushing against one another.   An elusive marmot clambered into the heather then whistle a nonstop alert like we had arrived there to barbecue her entire family.

The hardest work of the day is the series of switchbacks that carry you up from Heather to Maple Pass.  Fortunately, before your cardio actually redlines, you reach the high point of the hike at nearly 6700 feet.  Ernie and I passed 3/5th of a family on our way up.  The two boys, perhaps 10 and 12, had run ahead of their parents and sister.  As I approached the pass, I yelled to  Ernie, "Those are the two boys we couldn't catch on the way up."  They condescendingly smiled at us.   "Of course," I continued, "they didn't know to win they had to touch the sign."  As I touched the sign, I quipped, "Guess I win." I used to played this game with my own kids twenty years ago when they were little, but I don't think it translated well into Dutch.  Even though the boys were dressed in American mall decor, they were in fact from Holland.  The family had spent four weeks in the USA, mainly in Montana.  Mom told me after she caught up that she had interned in the US.  Great country etc, but everything is a competition.  Ah, yes, the American Rat race, or up here, squirrel race.

Peaks and Mountains with Snow

I was sorry I had inadvertently confirmed her bias about Americans, so I quickly changed the subject: "When my dad flew in the war, the scariest thing he said he did was to kick out food over Holland from a B-17."

                       Things improved rapidly after I volunteered this information.

"Your father or grandfather?"  asked the husband.  "No, my dad,"  I told him, "I'm the youngest son."
He seemed to now beam with admiration though I don't think I ever won his wife over.  She pointed to her husband,  "He tells the kids all of the time he wouldn't be here if not for the Americans."

"No, it's true, " the husband retorted, "My mother still wells up with tears talking about how the Americans saved her from starvation."  20,000 Dutch starved to death in the final  months of  the Nazi occupation of their country.

We were able to introduce ourselves and explain we were teachers enjoying the last weeks of summer vacation.  They had been visiting Bozeman, Montana, and working their way to Vancouver, B.C. to save money on a discount carrier, not KLM: "We are Dutch, you know."  Sadly, they were skipping Seattle on this trip.

Ernie and I moved off to eat our lunch as they started down the trail.  Among the best sandwiches in the world are peanut butter and jelly consumed at least 5,000 feet.  As we ate, a young man came by to scrambled the prominence above the pass.  Just as we were getting ready to leave, the orange and purple couple arrived.   They had passed Tanner and Michael unscathed, but the butterfly survey was paused for lunch.  I halfway considered hiking back towards them to find what the found, but we were a long way from Snohomish, and Ernie had a dinner party that evening.  In our own inventory, the squirrels and marmots vastly outnumbered the butterflies.  We saw only a solitary butterfly flutter by.

Grouse keeping watch over her chicks

The trail down from Maple Pass is steep.  I took out my trekking poles for the first time that day.  The trail up was so well-maintained, and the climb moderate, I didn't feel like I needed them.  Ernie argues that an over-reliance on trekking poles can adversely affects balance.  Be that as it may, going down from the pass was definitely steeper.  I became a double-fisted hiker.

Tracing the ridgeline, you get a perspective of the lake from high above the opposite shore.  Then, you descend through the heather and scrub pine to forest.  In the heather Ernie caught sight of a grouse with her brood.  Further down we crossed paths with a German family and then young college students from Bothell.  It seem like rush hour had hit the Maple Pass trail.  Folks of all shapes and sizes were storming up the trail.  I am pretty sure some Australians passed with a "Goodday, mate."

The last mile or so on the trail, you can see the road which diminishes the wilderness effect of the hike somewhat earning one half of a demerit even if the road is the beautiful North Cascades Highway.   Before you know it, the trail spills out onto an ADA asphalt nature path.  I looked a little silly with my trekking poles still in hand dodging a elderly woman using a walker.   Folks paused at the little signs placed along the path to read about the way a forest is made up of trees like mountain hemlock and Englemann spruce.   Staying left on the nature trail, we eventually ended up in the parking lot and found the car.  Even though the hike wasn't especially arduous, it was nice to have dry clothes to change into for the long drive home.

Trail Down from Maple Pass

Links:
http://www.recreation.gov/permits/Enchantment_Permit_Area/r/wildernessAreaDetails.do?page=detail&contractCode=NRSO&parkId=72280

Gothic Basin: Rough Road To an Unreal Landscape

Del Campo Above Foggy Lake

Recently, in record breaking July heat, I climbed up to Gothic Basin for the first time in almost a decade with  my friend, Warren.  The last time I hiked up to this rocky planet was in September of 2006.   I had been meaning to get back up there since Foggy Lake, Del Campo, and the surrounding moonscape are amazing, but in the intervening years, other trails hearkened.  Gothic Basin is a short but tough climb. According Craig Romano, it logs in just under five mile with nearly 2900' of joy to ascend.  This would not be a great hike for out of town guests who have never hiked unless you've tired of their company.   Like the trail to nearby Vesper Peak, this one was cut by miners intent on fortune.  Consequently, the path is less than gentle.

Back in '06, I remember I had missed the Ebenezer Lutheran Hiking Club van on the morning of the hike, so I drove there on my own.  Before slides interrupted,  the Monte Cristo Road was open to the trailhead.  When Warren and I hiked, we had to park on the highway.  There's space for maybe 10 cars with more parking across the road at the Barlow Pass trailhead.  By the way, the walk along the road, while easy, adds over a mile each way to your hiking distance.

The first time I hiked the trail I remember thinking it would begin with gentle switchbacks through the forest.  Wrong.  Ken, from my church, had planned the hike, so I never bothered to read the description of it. Sure, it starts along the river, but in a hurry things get steep.  There were parts of the trail where I stopped to laugh at the 9 percent grade that went on for a quarter mile.  It was like the slog up to Camp Muir on Rainier, only in dust.    Along this pitch,  I found the first of our party, daughters of Norway making their way slowly up trail,  happily chatting, oblivious to the agony.  I passed them with the intent of moving towards the front of the group since I had a Husky game to catch that afternoon.  As Warren and I trudged up the slope this summer, I remember thinking, at least we're in the shade.  It was probably almost 30 degrees warmer than the September morning in '06.

Back then I was a mere youth in my mid-40s.  I pushed up the hill because I still suffered from the ravaging effects of over-competitiveness common among men my age.  As I worked my way up the hill, I began to pass a few of guys a little older than me.  I smirked at their trekking poles.  I had used ski pole on snowy volcanoes, but it seemed a little silly at the time to use them on a day hike.  However, I would be converted  after the hike when my knees screamed at me, "You Idiot!"   Fast forward nine years:  Warren is barely in his 30s.  He rejected my offer to lend him a spare set of poles, a decision he would later come to regret.

After leaving the woods, and crossing the creek, the trail gets rougher.  The last time I crossed the stream it was a semi-torrent.  This year, it was a pleasant decorative water feature.  It was right about here in '06 that I caught up with a group of younger folks.  They were hiking with a older man in his 70s, named Bill.   How kind, I thought, for these kids to keep the old guy company on the trail.  Once again, my interpretation of the situation was wrong.  It turned out the old guy was slowing down for them.  I learned this as the trail got rough and even steeper, crossing through a small water falls and climbing rocks and boulders.

Weeden Creek Falls in the Dry Summer of '15

As I work nearly breathlessly up the trail, I listened to Bill talk about climbing the various peaks in the area.  If you could see it, he had climbed it.  One summer he cashed in all of his vacation days and spent over a month on Denali only to encounter weather so dangerous, he and his party needed to shelter in a snow tunnel.  To make matters worse, as the blizzard intensified, two more climbing parties crowded into the shelter they had built.  After the stench of several days, the storm broke, but foggy conditions allowed for only one member of their party to summit. It wasn't Bill.  As a family man, he promised his wife not to take any undo risks.  Later,  I would learn he is a pretty big deal in the world of running, a master champion who routinely wins his age group in runs from 10 K to marathons.  This answered my question, "who is this guy?" as I was trying to keep up with him on the trail.   In fact, Bill was on the cover of Sports Illustrated after the Boston Bombing.  Caught up in Bill's stories, and working to keep up, I didn't realized we had pulled away from the younger hikers.

Bill Absolutely Got Up Again!
And Ran the Boston Marathon this year.

Bill (center) enjoying lunch on the rocks (2006).

Warren and I probably had more focus on the heat of the day than any conversation as the temperature neared 90 degrees even at elevation.  He wore his bandanna like a Bedouin in the desert, and soaked it in water as we crossed streams.  I was only wearing my trusty baseball cap, and as much as I tried to keep sunblock on my ears, it was a near impossibility due to sweat.  Consequently, my ears burned.  On subsequent hikes, I returned to wearing my floppy hiking hat with a brim all the way around.  Comfort before fashion.

One of the bigger tarns probably troutless.

After quite a bit of work across the open slope, the trail hops the ridge onto a rocky, unworldly plateau.   This is the Gothic Basin.  Austere and beautiful.  We moved counter clockwise along the loop trail, crossing a landscaped scraped clean by glaciers and tarns of melt water towards Foggy Lake and Del Campo.  Near one of the bigger tarns, Warren and I found some young fishermen camping.

Del Campo , left of Foggy Pass

Staying to the right of the tarns, we followed cairns across granite to the Foggy Lake at the foot of Foggy Pass.  On that day, it was blue skies as far as the eye could see.  A light breeze blew across the lake.  We ate lunch, and I baptized myself in the cold waters, a full dunk despite my the tolerant latitude of my theology.  Only a few patches of snow remained at the end of lake below the pass, but the temperature was still cold enough.

Cold and Pure Foggy Lake 

After a good rest at the lake, we decided to head out.  Warren was supposed to pick his wife up from work, and to be honest with you, it was too hot for me to consider a scramble up Foggy Pass let alone Del Campo.  Trekking poles proved their worth again on the way down.  Warren wished he had a set. but true to his Germanic heritage, he fashioned an alpenstock out of a stick he found.  This seemed to somewhat mitigate the impact of the slope on his knees, ankle and hip.  I personally think two poles better balance the load, though.

On the slow way down, we worked our way across the granite basin onto the rugged trail.  I was surprised at the number of folks coming up in the heat of the day.  Two dads loaded down with camping gear struggled over a boulder as their daughters gave instructions on navigating a trail-blocking boulders.  One of the dads looked up and asked the question of the weary, "How far?"  We were almost an hour out of the lake by then.

The rough trail isn't any easier descending, but we splashed our faces in the small streams and passed more tattooed hikers than I have ever seen on a trail.  The heat had brought out a graphic indicator of the popularity of the trend.  In a splashing stream, Warren re-soaked his bandanna, and used a filter straw to sip water cooler than the air.  Used to the typical moderate weather of Western Washington, I hadn't thought of the advantage of a filter over bottled water on a short hike.  Ernie, one of my other hiking buddies, who earned his Eagle Scout as a teen hiking in So Cal, swears by bringing both: There's nothing as refreshing as water from a snow-fed stream.  On that hot afternoon, I sucked on a piece of hard candy instead.

I look forward to the reopening of the Monte Cristo Road.  After a hot day on the trail, I have to say that it's discouraging to have another mile to slog along the road after reaching the trailhead.  Fortunately, it was mostly shaded.  We reached Warren's Subaru where he had cold water in a cooler.  Eventually, the anemic air-conditioner began to work, and it was a good thing since we got stuck behind an accident on Granite Falls Highway going home.  Warren was late picking his wife up from work.

Hidden Lake Lookout: Worth the Distance Traveled

The vast majority of the folks who hike the Hidden Lake Trail never actually make it to the lake. Instead, they look down on it like a jeweler looks at a sapphire, appreciating its color, brilliance, and setting.  No, the real destination for those who trudge up the trail is the historic lookout hundreds of feet above the lake.  From there, a great range of perspectives is revealed, an uncommon vista for most Seattle day hikers.  Glaciers from  Sahalee and Boston shimmer in the sunlight.   For me, it was wonderful seeing Glacier Peak from another side.

Sunrise over the Cascades from Snohomish

Hidden Lake Lookout requires an early start from the greater Seattle area.  While it is promoted as a great hike done in a day, the trailhead lies 15 miles out of Marblemount.  I left my house before 7 AM, and wasn't actually moving up the trail until almost 10 AM.  The trailhead is out there.   Over 70 miles from my place, and nearly 100 miles from Seattle. This is probably why some Seattle hikers turn it in to a short backpack trip or camp nearby, along the Cascade River.

Be careful about the directions in guide books and websites.  I wasn't, and added at least a half hour to my initial drive.  Without GPS on my phone, I jotted down the directions on the back of an envelope. Here's a direct quote from the WTA website directions "From Marblemount on Hwy 20, drive the Cascade River Road just short of 10 miles to the junction with FS 1540."  Those directions actually work provided you don't assume you'll be staying on Hwy 20, the main road through town, like I did. At the crucial intersection, just before the bridge, the highway banks due east, and heads towards Winthrop.

 If I had gone straight across the bridge, I would have been on the Cascade River Road, but I took the road everyone else was taking, and that put me at least a half hour behind schedule.   In my defense, the sign for the Cascade River Road, (and I admit my eyes are not what they used to be) didn't appear until I was 1/2 mile down the road.  In fact the sign by the bridge says, "Hatchery Road."  To add to my doubts, after doubling back and finding the right road, the first sign after the bridge points right and it says "Cascade River-Rockport Road" which of course is also not the Cascade River Road.  Don't be deceived.  Stay the course straight out of Marblemount.

Hidden Lake

Of course, travelers with modern GPS face none of the adventures and existential delights as old schoolers like myself who scribbled down directions on the back of envelopes.  I might add, you can indeed find a dirt road ten miles out of town on Hwy 20.  I did,  but it was unsigned and takes you no where.  Paranoia enters into your head: whose taking down all the signs?  Fortunately, I figured out I had made the wrong turn in Marblemount.

Around 9:15 AM or so,  after 9.7 miles on the Cascade River Road,  I was finally turning up the dirt road (FS 1540) to the trailhead,   It is steep and narrow, and a sign reminds you of this fact as you proceed, wondering if your spine will remain straight enough to hike today.   On the lower half of the road, my old pickup shook like the Millennium Falcon  refusing to go into hyper-space, which was okay by me since the five miles of gravel road to the trailhead offer maybe ten places where you can pull over to let a car coming down the hill pass.  Moreover, brush encroaches the road reducing visibility and obscuring any small shoulder that might provide refuge from speeding hiking-hipsters in their Suburus.

The trailhead is just a bulge at the end of the road without even a pit-toilet.  A scolding sign at the trailhead alerts hikers that a Backcountry Pass is required for overnight stays, and can only be obtained back at the Ranger Station.  The trail begins outside of the national park, enters the park, but the Lookout is outside of the park, so overnighting at the lookout doesn't require a pass.

Boardwalks through the woods.

The first part of the hike takes you through a forest of mud and small streams. On the day I hiked, the creeks had been  recharged by weekend  rains, but the day was mild and mostly sunny.  Regardless, a nice boardwalk keeps your boots dry through the longest sections of mud.  As I worked through the woods, a couple of backpackers coming off the hill reported no bugs, but they had spent a cold and foggy night at the lookout.  Another group, higher up on trail said they hadn't actually seen the hike until this morning.

Acres of Fireweed

After the woods, you enter a long verdant avalanche zone that continues to climb aggressively.  After all, the climb to the top requires an acquisition of 3300 feet or so.  The lower part this section is overgrown with alder, solomon seal, and red elderberry.  This part of the trail could give you a soaking on a dewy morning that might warrant rain gear if the day were cooler.

On the upper half of the slide, an impressive swath of fireweed stretches from the upper slopes of the mountain all the way to the creek nearly a mile below.    Bees and butterflies flutter and tumble about drunk on pollen.  In the morning, I encountered no biting flies.  That afternoon, on my way down, deerflies began to cluster in wetter sections of the trail waiting in ambush.  Since the vegetation holds in humidity, and the warming afternoon rouses pestilence from its slumber, I think it's a good idea to get through this part of the trip in the morning.

The Scramble Begins (note the hiker right of the notch)

By 11 AM I was hiking in the open aspen zone of heather.  As noted, the year of 2015 set records for a lack of snow.  In some years, snow can be an issue, but here the trail is good and easy to follow. The first views of Boston Mountain open up along with other peaks.  I passed a couple of hikers who wondered about the distance to the top.  It might have been disheartening, but I noted we still had another 1000 ' of elevation to gain. Still, everyone soldiered on even as Nick, a trim 50 year old, from South Seattle ran past us all.

In the section just below  the lookout, the trail becomes somewhat ambiguous with up slanting slabs of  granite and a great pile of boulders.  I followed the line of one cairn only to double back when I discovered the route led over the edge.  Instead, I moved west (left) and recovered the trail.  Here I ran into Larry and John, two intrepid retirees from Anacortes, discussing the best route.  Larry found a way up, and he his friend followed.  We all arrived at the lookout nearly together.  Nick had been there awhile.  Next up, was young Drew Martin, a musician from Maui.  We opened up the lookout, and investigated.

Built in the 1930s, it was part of the Forest Service vigilant fire suppression policies of the day.  No doubt the building and manning of the lookouts served as some small stimulus for the economy during the Great Depression because there were hundreds of them once upon a time.   In fact, across the valley, through binoculars, Larry was able to make out the lookout on Lookout Mountain.  Outside of going into town occasionally, I wondered if the firewatchers manning the lookouts flashed messages by mirrors across the chasm to communicate with someone besides the marmots.

Glacier Peak from the Northeast

After lunch, some good conversation about music and mountains, and an ill-advised little bouldering on some slanting slabs that marked the high point of the peak, I made my way back down.  Apparently, the force was not with me that day, because, I followed a false path through the rocks.  I ended up too far down, and  missed the merger with the trail again, adding some work and a bit of danger to my afternoon.  A couple of marmots whistled at my ineptitude, then proved camera shy.  Fortunately, avoiding a falling rock kicked up by climbers higher on the hill, I traverse some slippery rock and gravel to regain the trail.  The guide book advises to look for blazes and cairns, and they appeared in a random fashion.

The rest of way down proved relatively unremarkable.  I would occasional stop to drink in more scenery and sip water.   College kids I never saw at the lookout went flying down past me.  A young couple with a 6-month old baby was working their way up the trail.  I couldn't help but wonder how the mother was going to scramble with a baby slung to her chest.

More backpackers in longsleeves, pants, and hats came up the trail.  While it wasn't especially hot, it seemed warm enough to wear short sleeves and zip off the legs of the hiking pants.   Deerflies ahead, I thought.   So here's the advantage of the early start:  Get going before the bugs do.  The drudge up the hill offers them plenty of time to land and dine at their leisure.  Fortunately, gravity was my friend.  While I saw the flies congregating knee high on the jungle trail, I was going fast enough to avoid being bitten.

The stream at the bottom of the slide let me cool down with a few splashes.  By 3:45 PM,  I was back at the trailhead.  Normally, I change into a dry shirt and socks, sitting on the tailgate of my truck. However, enough flies followed me out of the woods to make me decide to wait until I was back on the infamous Cascade River Road before attending to all of my normal post-hike rituals.  I might add that I also wanted to be clear of the Forest Road 1540 before any late travelers came bombing up the road when I was trying to get down it.

On the way home, not caught up in following scribbled directions, I enjoyed the beauty of the region,
the hills and mountains.   With as little rainfall as we've had, I was impressed with the milky green power of the Skagit River.  By 6 PM, I was walking through my front door, thinking about supper.  My wife asked me to please shower first.  Fair enough.

Directions:
From Marblemount, proceed south over the bridge onto the Cascade River Road. In 9.7 miles, past the  Lookout Mountain trailhead,  turn left on to FS 1540.  The sign says Hidden Lake Trail.  Follow the rough road to its bitter end, about 5.4 miles.

North Cascades National Park: http://www.nps.gov/noca/planyourvisit/wilderness-trip-planner.htm