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.