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.