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

Vesper Peak: A Little Torture for Everyone

The hike and scramble up 6200' Vesper Peak has something for everyone to hate.  Like some medieval morality play that promises paradise after long suffering, ultimately, Vesper delivers heavenly views, but first you must be challenged on one of the worse trails along the Mountain Loop Hwy.  The mileage count to the top is under five miles, but it will feel much further because of adverse trail conditions.  Of course, for some, the travails of the trek will only heightens their sense of accomplishment once on top.  The challenges also provides a kind of living history experience as you clamber up the route just like the prospectors of old.

On a cool and overcast morning earlier in the week, my hiking buddy, Ernie, and I decided a penitential hike was in order.  After initially driving past the turn off for the FR 4065 (Sunrise Mine Road), we made it to the trailhead a little past 9 AM.  Note: if you get to Barlow Pass you've gone too far!

The trail begins nicely enough for 1/4 mile then the soft forest path becomes a root-tangled mess with broken-bridge creek crossings.  According to Harvey & Ira*, you will cross four streams in the first couple of miles.  In this dry summer of 2015, one was merely a dry culvert.  The others were easily forded by remnants of bridge boards, logs, and even a kind of root-bridge, courtesy of the local Ents.  I imagine in a wetter year, with more melt water, the creeks might pose a greater challenge.

After you emerge from the woods, you climb through a steep, humid meadow of ferns and elderberry.  We were lucky to be hiking on such a mild morning.  Even though the jungle humidity of this section can be an ideal milieu for deer flies and mosquitoes, we weren't bothered at all. Personally, since I hate high humidity, and found this micro-climate the least pleasant part of the journey.  I definitely needed to re-hydrate along the way.

For hikers with knee or ankle problems, the next section of the trail is trouble as it picks its way through a long avalanche field of boulders. Here, you need to vigilantly look for the next cairn while watching your step to prevent twisting a knee or barking a shin.

It was among the boulders that we ran into a hiker named Brad.  He was working his way back down through the blast zone to confer with his wife.  Apparently, pangs of guilt made him question his decision to go on without her. We had passed her in the woods where she told us this was her first real hike since recovering from an ankle break.  Ernie and I agreed this was not the trail to test freshly mended bone.  While we would eventually met the rest of Brad's party at the summit, it was the last we saw of the couple that day.  Undoubtedly, his marriage was strengthened by his decision to give up on bagging the peak.

After climbing through the boulder field, the trail turns to the northwest towards Headlee Pass.  Really, the pass is a clef in the wall almost invisible until you start up it.  The first 100 yards is loose dirt and gravel.  Stay left and you might find it easier to make it to the switchbacks that wend steeply up the grade to the pass (4720'--though the old sign says 4600').  It was on this part of the trail I found a Swiss watch in the dirt.  I surmised the owner was pushing hard on the trekking pole on the arduous climb when the wrist band burst.  Anyway, any excuse to pause on that part of the trail was alright with me.  The watch had taken a lickin' and kept on tickin', a lesson for all of us on the Vesper Peak trail.  Eventually, we reached the pass. From the trailhead,  we had ascended 2370'.

After Headlee, the trail traverses through a great talus slide to more boulders that mark Vesper Creek.  Pause for a moment to admire the spires of Sperry Mountain above you.  They look like castle turrets.  Downhill, below the talus, a green valley opens up like a hidden Shangri-la.

At the creek, more cairns need to be followed. If you stay on the right side of the stream, you'll end up at Vesper Lake, an over-sized tarn of glacial melt water devoid of vegetation.

Ernie navigates the talus slope

Vesper Lake

For those who demand even more punishment, crossing the creek will lead you to the summit.

Briefly, the trail is visible then is obscured by the heath.   We wandered after an errant cairn and momentarily lost the way, but regained the trail quickly.  It stays left of the ridge line above the lake, and climbs sharply through the heather for perhaps a quarter mile.  Here we interrupted a marmot having an early lunch. 

Once through the heath and stunted spruce, you'll step out to an open granite slope below the summit block.  The final challenge of hopping boulders and scrambling up a tilted table top of granite begins. Cairns lead the way up, and we could see Brad's party already on top.  After stashing our trekking poles we began the scramble.  For the most part, the going was steep but rarely required hands.  

Brad's Friends waiting for him on top of mountain.

About half way through this portion, we were overtaken by a young man named Dylan who seemed to ascend nonchalantly past us. After maybe twenty minutes of heart pounding work, we made it to the summit where we found Brad's friends just finishing their lunch.  The watch was reunited with one of the party, a guy named Pete, who was disappointed we didn't recover the pin that holds the broken band to the watch.  Ernie and I caught our breath and drank in the views.

Vesper Peak

Copper Lake

The Glacier

Dylan, a 27 year old who had just finished a Masters in Microbiology, had been there maybe five minutes in advance of us.   We all ate our sandwiches together and had a great conversation about education, archaea, and switchgrass as a source for bio-fuel.  For me, the people I meet along the trail are often times as interesting as the scenery.  

The overcast was breaking up a bit and some blue sky was peaking through.  It wasn't a perfect vista, but it was rewarding.  The Vesper Glacier, Copper Lake, and Morning Star were all visible.  Glacier Peak and the other great monarchs of the Cascades were still veiled.   As we got ready to head down, Ernie remarked it would be nice to come back on a clear day.

We follow Dylan off the summit.

The trail out, given its various challenges, is nearly as difficult as coming up.  Certainly, the pressure on the knees is more acute.  For a short while, we kept up with Dylan, but it didn't take long for our creaking joints to slow us down.  Plus, I lost my hat, and had to re-climb a stretch of a few hundred yards to reclaim it.  When I got back down to Ernie, the kid was long gone.

It probably took us over two hours to pick our way back to traihead.  Gravity worked with our cardio but against our menisci.  Ernie took a couple of Advil along the way down, and we stopped at a stream and drank some cool, purified water which made the tired journey out a little more bearable.  All in all, Vesper Peak is a very challenging day hike, but worthwhile.

Here's the WTA Vesper Lake link for directions: 

http://www.wta.org/go-hiking/hikes/headlee-pass-and-vesper-lake

Tip on the directions:

If you plan on hiking Vesper Lake or the peak, reset your car odometer at Granite Falls.  Look earnestly for the road to the trailhead after 28 miles.  The sign for the turn off is obscured by brush and easy to miss coming from the west.   

The classic guide book:  

*Spring, Ira and Manning, Harvey.  100 Hikes in Washington's Glacier Peak Region,                                         Seattle: The Mountaineers, 2003.

Mt. Townsend: A view from crags to sea

     If you are looking for a great day hike with a different feel and look compared to the typical central Cascade trek, beautiful Mt. Townsend, on the west side of Puget Sound, offers a wonderful alternative.   Mt. Townsend,  named for explorer George Vancouver's friend, Marquess Townshend*, is a popular 6200' bookend to Mt. Pilchuck on the other side of the Sound.  Both have significant prominence as the first real mountains off the shores of Puget Sound.  Both are lovely hikes that move from old growth forest to a summit above a treeline with views of nearby peaks all the way to the water.   Townsend, however, belongs to a different geology and the  more ancient range, the Olympic Mountains.  In addition to hemlock, fir, and spruce that you will find on both hikes, on the lower third of the Mt. Townsend, grand  rhododendrons tangle up.  Higher on the mountain, scrub pine twists in to krummholz or elfin trees.  As one of my hiking buddies, Ernie, put it, the place just has a different green.  Finally, while both Pilchuck and Townsend have water views, because of its location, Townsend's vista seems to encompass almost all of Puget Sound.

  The many perks of the hike makes it popular if not easy to get to.  From the Seattle and neighborhoods east of Puget Sound, the journey begins with ride on a ferry.  For us, it was the 7:55 AM Edmonds-Kingston sail. We walked on, but I paid a pirate's rate of $15 to park in a lot across from the dock. Ernie parked where he could and was fortunate not to be towed.  In retrospect, taking the Sounder Train would have worked better for me since it offers free parking and an easy way to avoid traffic snarls to and from the ferry terminal.

After the half-hour sail, Ernie's friend, Enrique met us at the Kingston dock.   From there we headed down Hwy 101 through a rock quarry and onto Forest Service Roads.  Enrique told me he taught Physics at the local high school,  but by the way he handled the twisting track in his Eurovan, I suspect he might also be amateur rally driver.   Despite the roller coaster ride of sometimes one lane roads, I counted five vehicles already parked at the trailhead when we arrived about one hour & 45 minutes later.  Please use the WTA directions linked at the bottom of the page.  I tried Google Maps, and the route that popped up was an torturous additional hour to another trailhead.  There are four starting points up Mt. Townsend.  From Seattle, #839 is the easiest place to begin.

Despite the difficult journey to the trailhead, it was, in fact, a perfect day for hiking.  The trail (#839) parallels Townsend Creek for awhile, and gets a lot of elevation early.  I belong to the "let's-get-it-over-with" camp, so I was pleased to knock out the UPs early.  If you prefer to build to a crescendo, you'll be annoyed by the early ascent.  The rhododendrons had bloomed much earlier in the season, so the soft forest trail was more like the nave of a great cathedral between holidays, sublime but not overly adorned. Six weeks earlier and we would have been in the midst of our state flower's blooming glory.   After about mile and half though the woods, the route takes you through meadow where a number of flowers where still blooming.  The trail is well-signed, but the way to the top stays right at Windy Camp, about 2.5 up the trail.

6200' Summit of Mt. Townsend

Just below below Windy Camp, in the open, but steep meadow, we ran into Dr. Mark, a retired General Practitioner.  It was somewhat serendipitous since we were having a discussion about various approaches to health care and their relative effectiveness.  Dr. Mark was catching and releasing bugs. The current state of health care helped push him into retirement.  Entomology is his new passion. Interestingly,  he is a disciple of Dr. Dennis Paulsen, the local bug expert, I had met once in Magnuson Park chasing dragonflies.  We talked briefly with Dr. Mark of health and diet. He advocated walking, red wine and chocolate. We also spoke of butterflies and deerflies.  Dr. Mark reminded us that you cannot keep the bugs you catch in a wilderness area.     I added,  "And you're only allowed to eat them accidentally."

Once at Windy Pass, the trail follows the ridge line up to a subtle summit.  The ambiguity of the high point here is probably a good thing since it diffuses the crowd somewhat.  The actual high point is located in what almost appears to be a man-made pile of rocks.   On top of Mt. Townsend, we were  treated to views of rocky crags, hazy distant monarchs of Rainier, Glacier Peak and Baker, and the sea.    The day of our hike, a cooling breeze scattered any menacing flies.   However, we were harassed by an angry chipmunk as we ate our lunch.   If you want to explore further, the north summit runs about a half mile away.  We, unfortunately, had a ferry to catch at 4 pm. 

View of North Summit

On the way down, I took some time to photograph flora and fauna.  More groups were struggling in the heat of the day, up the trail.  Always good to get an early start.  Further down, we ran into Dr. Mark again.  He had had a good day "bugging," finding a bluish butterfly and some red-eye winged insect with a scientific name of "e pluribus . . ." ( Sorry, I am a little rusty on my Latin).

Back at the trailhead, we agreed, Mt. Townsend has to be one of the most picturesque day hikes in the region.   For me it's in the running for one of my favorite day hikes of the summer.  With Enrique's driving, we made the 4 o'clock ferry with three minutes to spare.

Notes:
* Marquess Townshend was the brother of Charles Townshend, whose tax on tea started a little rebellion.  Overtime, the spelling was Americanized.  It's ironic that Townshend lends his name to one of the most patchouli-scented refuges for aging hippies in the region, Port Townsend

WTA Website: http://www.wta.org/go-hiking/hikes/mount-townsend

Hiking With My Brother Website: http://www.hikingwithmybrother.com/2013/08/mount-townsend-trail-839.html

Green Mountain: Beauty & Biting Flies

Recently reopened after an 11 year closure,
 Green Mountain outside of Darrington is a beautiful and verdant hike.  It offers sublime vistas from a historic lookout and beautiful wildflowers to provide some diversion from the steep climb to the top.

The hike begins right off of Forest Service (FS) Road 2680, which is 19 miles of mostly gravel from the Hwy 530 via FS Road 26.  As of the summer of 2015, most passenger cars shouldn't have a problem with the surface, but always check with the ranger station.  My altimeter read just under 3500 feet at the trailhead, and the summit is listed at 6500.  With some simple math, the fours miles of trail climb about 3100 feet, but it plays longer. Just before the last mile or so to the summit, the path drops at least 100 feet to a couple of spring-fed tarns.  While the change in pitch might be appreciated, the elevation debt will need to be made up.  After the spring, a few long, aggressive switchbacks through open mountain meadow takes you to the top.

The trail is in good shape, and suitable for hiking shoes or sandals.  Heavy boots weren't needed when we hiked the trail.  Once you leave the forest, the brush and fern edge over the path.  As a mid-50s hiker, who likes the knee-cushioning benefit of poles, I found the overgrowth along the trail made it too narrow in places to use them.

The bugs arrived early to Green Mountain.  When I hiked Green Mountain with my friend, Ernie, in the second week of July, we ran into an Egyptian plague of flies.  Barely noticeable through the first mile or so as we hiked through the woods, the bugs became an increasing nuisance as we ascended into dense meadow of fern and wildflowers below the springs.

At the springs and above, the flies became a pestilence.  Perhaps a few hundred meters from the top, we saw a strange apparition hiking towards us.  Coming down off the summit of Green Mountain seem to be a bee keeper in a netted hood, but it was in fact only "Pink Sushi," the intrepid Cascade hiker who proved better prepared than Ernie or I. The deerflies and blackflies were out in force on a warm and hazy 9th of July.  Pink keeps careful records of such things, and he said he thought the flies on Green Mountain were clouding at least two weeks early this year. Typically, they don't achieve this level of nastiness until later in July.  Moreover, by Mid-August they will have had their fill of human blood, and begin to wane.  Little consolation that served on the 9th.  We suffered through bite after bite on the lush and verdant hillside.  To make matters worst, we hoped the restored lookout my provide some shelter from the attack.  Instead it was padlocked.  If anything, the flies owned the summit more than the meadow.

Glacier Peak through the Haze

We didn't stay long on top.  The flies were relentless, and some British boys were chanting about a ritualistic killing of a pig--no, sorry, see my South Pacific blog.   The early fires created an opaque filter to our panoramic views.  Even Glacier Peak, though nearby, was almost mirage-like in such conditions. In compensation, a riot of wildflowers was blooming along the way.

A few lupines, a pallet of Indian Paintbrush, a chorus of harebells, penstemons, and even the Dr. Seuss' favorite, Old Man of the Mountain provided moments of diversion from the pain and inching.

Another older hiker, working his way up the hill as we hiked down, pointed out to us that bug juice won't stop the ravenous deerfly, only long sleeve shirts and pants offered any protection.  It was too hot for that.  Mercifully, the trail is fast going down hill, and the flies couldn't keep up.  We made it to Ernie's SUV in good time, killing one or two flies that followed us into the car.  We both agreed Green Mountain is a beautiful hike, worthy of a return trip, after the flies are gone.

A glimpse of the Restored 1933 Lookout

Accurate directions for the hike can be found here on the Washington Trail Association website:
http://www.wta.org/go-hiking/hikes/green-mountain

Information about the road reopening can be found here:
http://www.heraldnet.com/article/20141023/NEWS01/141029578

Getting Past the Snoqualmie Pass Crowds

View of Rattlesnake Lake from the ledge

On a recent morning hike with my hiking buddy Gary up Rattlesnake Ledge, we encountered a phenomenon I had previously only heard about but never experienced--the stereophonic day-tripper.  A thumping bass could be heard around the next switchback.  As we approached, we discovered a jolly band of twenty-somethings struggling up the hill.  The alpha dawg had small but powerful speakers attached to his rucksack.  Apparently, our new urban hikers come complete with their own sound track they feel compelled to share with the rest of the world.    The dance music, in the right context, might have been fun, but on the trail it was an annoyance.  Luckily for us, the self-appointed MC of the trek and his posse were not in the best shape, so we were soon able to leave the noise behind.  However,  on the short but popular trail we caught up with another boogie monster within ten minutes.    As we passed this dude, too,  I wondered why he didn't use earbuds.  New metal doesn't seem compatible with the atmosphere.   Personally, I would rather hear the birds, the wind, or, of course, another one of Gary's lectures on the various geologic phenomenon we encounter along the way than screaming angst from der fatherland.

The popularity of hiking has increased tremendously in last several years.  Simultaneously, Seattle's booming economy is drawing more people to the Puget Sound region--sort of like a black hole sucking in galaxies. The Rainier factor brings out the nature lover in the legions of the new comers. Whether they hail from flat and bug infested lands east of Montana or writhing freeways of SoCal, not long after they arrive, many of the transplants discover nature.  Of course, this means that the once lonesome trails turn into Disneyland lines, particularly on the weekends along the I-90 corridor. To be honest with you, it has dampened my former missionary zeal for hiking.  Now I am inclined to a quieter Zen approach.  Like a savvy traveler, I don't want my favorite destination ruined by popularity.

It is absolutely the true that popularity has its price.  Litter and trampling of meadows have grown more common.  Feeding of wildlife, noise and just generally bad trail manners all are coming to your favorite hike. What can be done?  On an individual level, we can adjust when and where we hike.  A lot of my friends won't hike on the weekend, especially around Snoqualmie Pass.  They leave early midweek in an attempt to find solitude.   If they do hike on a weekend, they head to the Olympics or North Cascades.   For folks working a traditional week, this can be difficult.  They must hike early, or backpack beyond the maddening crowds.

A pretty good day-hiking book by John Zilly, called, Beyond Mt. Si suggests hiking on less popular trails.  Ironically, since the book was published in 2003, most of the alternatives suggested have become too popular, too.  Blame social media.    It is easy for newcomers and neophytes to learn about hikes on their own.  In fact, the Washington Trail Association (WTA)  web page creates tremendous wear and tear on trails they want to protect.

In the old days, friends and hiking groups introduced folks to the outdoors.  In the process, they taught the hiking ethic.  Without a guide, it seems that new hikers are heading into the woods without a clue.  Not only is this potentially destructive, but it can dangerous.  I have been on some trails where I have come across hikers not carrying a ounce of water let alone the rest of the ten essentials.

As experienced hikers, we need to teach the ethic of leave no trace.  As the leader of a high school hiking club, I gently remind my students to pick up and pack out everything, even their orange peels and bread crusts.  One boy told me, as he peeled his orange, it will biodegrade . . . eventually.   I responded by suggesting that no one is interested in communing with old eggshells, apple cores, and orange peels from this season's hikers.  We want the next party to feel as if they are stopping in pristine wilderness.

Better signage at the trailheads could also help. Friendly, but pointed reminders, could teach different aspects of outdoor ethics and etiquette at different trailheads.  The "Leave No Trace" lesson at Rattlesnake might focus on turning off the music.  At Granite Mountain, it might emphasize not picking wild flowers.  In the Issaquah Alps, letting the gray jays feed off of deer ticks instead of your trail mix would be beneficial to trail travelers and feathered friends alike.

Finally, we need to build more trails to keep up with the growth of the population and the interest in the outdoors.  Alternate routes to lakes and summits could diffuse hikers and create greater solitude.  New trails to new destinations could be blazed.  Working with the State and Forest Service, the WTA, Mountaineers, or Scouts, could provide a real service by increasing the miles of trails available.  The rest of us can contribute money, time, or both to make it sure happen.