Little Si, A Safe and Fun Family Hike

Little Si is a safe and fun family hike.  From a geological and botanical perspective, it is also fascinating.  When we arrived at the trailhead at 8:45 AM, the parking lot was already full.  A couple of our friends ended up parking in the near-by overflow lot.

The trail lives up to expectations and climbs quickly away from the road.  We were impressed how quiet the hike was this close to I-90 and North Bend.  The trail gets heavy use, so there are some jagged spots along the way.  Since the hike is close to the city, you will encounter new hikers who cut the trail and  either don't know or don't care about trail etiquette.   By in large, though, most folks, and their dogs, were friendly and courteous. As you work your way up, you'll find that some of the granite walls are reminiscent of Yosemite.

The middle of the hike flattens out a bit under a canopy of mossy maple, cedar and hemlock.  The last steep section jogs around granite faces until you reach the top.   We stopped for some photo ops looking up at the haystack on Big Si.  At the summit you can look down on North Bend and the Cascades.  Parents should be aware that a few of the side trails run out to the edge of cliffs.  We also found it very gusty on top and were happy we brought  heavier jackets. In the valley, it was almost a dead calm.

At the summit,  scrub pine looks out of place in rainy Western Washington, struggling among the rocks.  Drainage makes the landscape more arid for plants. The manzanita, also unusual for the region, seems to flourish in the moonscape, too.  You can recognize manzanita by its smooth tan branches that resemble a smaller bushy version of the madrone tree.  

We were back in the parking lot before noon, and headed into town for a burger less than ten minutes away.  Probably half the customers at the Dairy Freeze were hikers when we were there.  I hope the local businesses appreciate our economic impact.

Gothic Basin in the heat, again!

Austere and other-worldly landscape of Gothic Basin

On every hike, sweaty hikers working their way up the hill will ask some variation of the question, "How far?"  to folks already on their way down. On the steep, dusty Gothic Basin trail, desperation sharpens the edge of the question.  That was especially true today, as smoke tinged the air.

Haze from Wild Fires Above Gothic Basin

As the guide points out, the old miner's trail goes up in a hurry after the first mile or so, and doesn't let up until you reach the basin.  Nearly three thousand feet of vertical over three miles on rough trail makes this hike far more difficult than the numbers indicate.  If you want to add some parkour to the endurance test of the first half of the hike, continue on to Foggy Lake.  On the way, you'll follow cairns over boulders and glacier smooth rock to slip down. When we finally reached the lake, we heard the plunges of plenty of outdoor enthusiasts looking for relief from the heat in the snow-fed water.

Filtered water from a snow-fed stream cools down hot hikers.

Here are five important notes from today's hike to Gothic Basin:  

1.  We went through a lot of water and filtered more at the lake and at the falls where it was cool and refreshing.

2.  The trail is dusty, steep, and rugged before the basin.  It is some work.

3.  At the basin, we stayed left of the tarns and rocky prominence to get to the lake, and found it to be a better route, at least in late summer.  We went back the other way, and were saddened by the sight of the damned (who stayed right of the tarns) grunting and cursing their way up a very steep, Sisyphean trace of glacial till and boulders.

4.  Be very careful with your dog.  Animal rescue was on their way up the trail as we were heading down the hill.  They were trying to reach an injured dog whose paws were singed by the hot rocks of the basin.  If you can't hold your hand against the rock for 5 seconds, your dogs pads with burn.  I was told by one of the volunteer rescuers that the rocks can reach 160 degrees.

5.  Finally, Gothic Basin is a beautiful, other worldly place to visit.  This is why so many people head to there, and sadly, why many aren't ready for the work or trail conditions.

Bandera Mountain in Early Autumn

The beautiful photograph of Mt. Rainier, from the top of Bandera, enticed us with a false promise.   Earlier in the week, deciding where to hike, we came across the picture of majestic Rainier.   As late as Thursday, when it was 80 degrees in Seattle, we were hopeful that we too would enjoy an amazing vista from the top of Bandera Mountain, with far fewer people than nearby Mailbox Peak.  Unfortunately, this was not the case. 

What a difference a day or two makes.  Despite the intermittent drizzle at the trailhead, the top of the mountain was beyond socked in.  We were pelted by wind and hail.   Fall may have arrived in the lowland with a misty morning, but we hiked into winter.  Be prepared!  We piled on layers and gloves, and spent maybe 15 minutes at the false summit before quickly descending 500 feet to more moderate conditions.  Another 500 down, and we were peeling off layers.  

Bandera is solid work.  Before the turn off to Mason Lake, the trail pushes up hill aggressively.  Between puffs of breath, we enjoyed the bright fall colors of the vine maples.   After the junction to the lake, the trail becomes  ridiculously steep.  It is nearly straight up.  A switch back would have been a welcomed relief.    You will cross a boulder field a few under feet before the false summit.  If you are more observant than I was, you'll notice the trail restarts to the right (southeast) of the boulders.  We ascended the rocks further than necessary.

Conditions on top were miserable.  One guy, who followed us up, was in cotton jeans and an old coat, feeling a little hypothermic.  Lucky for him, dropping a thousand feet would warm him up.  That being said, he was moving up towards the pointless, no-view summit, definitely looking for a place to chill out, as we were descending to warmer conditions.  

On the way down, the steep rocks and mud on the trail (?) created a kind of treacherous slip-n-slide.  However, we were reassured by my friend's 17 year old son, who told us he had just learned to tape ankles in his Sports Medicine class should we sprain one.  Fortunately, we were all wearing quality boots, and made it down safely.  

By the time we made it back to the trailhead, it felt balmy at 53 degrees.  Despite the early and extreme weather on top, the hike is an excellent fitness test.  The absurdity of the last mile or so matches the blunt cardio check of Mailbox with a somewhat more moderate crowd.  Try to go there when the sun is shining.  I understand to view of Rainier from the top is awesome.

Winter Arrived Early Mt. Pilchuck

Winter has arrived early on Mt. Pilchuck where snow covers the trail about a mile out of the trailhead. We guessed that at least ten inches of snow has accumulated at the summit.  Last year, we hiked to the top in a snowless November.  In fact, I can't think of a season in the past 10 or 15 years, when we have seen more than a dusting of snow this early in autumn.

Despite the snow, we found the conditions on the trail good in the morning as we worked our way up the mountain.  The path was easy to follow and the snow was firm and not too icy all the way to the top.  The "summer trail" which turns south (right) of the lookout and brings you to the summit ridge is still in use.  In other words, you don't need to worry about the "winter route" scramble to the lookout up the boulders to the north.  That being said, snow on the rocks before the lookout ladder required a little extra care and caution.

The lookout was open, and crowded when we arrived just before noon.  Since the cloud cover hadn't lifted, and a cold wind whistled outside, hikers stayed inside eating lunch, and perusing the historic photos.

Heading back down the trail was a lot more treacherous.  People were slipping and falling all over as foot traffic had iced up the compact snow.  I was glad I had poles and was wearing boots.  Even so, I sat down once involuntarily on the hike down when my footing gave out.  I almost donned the Yaktrax (microspikes), but decided I was okay without them.

Mt. Pilchuck is turning into Mt. Si north with crowds of new hikers on the trail. Needless-to-say, going down was slow.  I also noticed that the folks hiking in blue jeans, cotton hoodies, and running shoes in freezing, wet conditions, outnumbered experienced hikers in proper gear.  Apparently, not everyone knows that cotton sucks the heat out of you when it gets wet.  Old running shoes lead to twisted ankles on a rugged terrain, not to mention cold feet, especially when the snow is shin deep.  Regardless, we all enjoyed the preview of what promises to be snowy winter.

Tolmie Peak Lookout and the Invisible Mountain

My twenty-something son, Dave, and I wanted to find a hike that my 12 year old nephews would find fun and rewarding without feeling like a death march.  On paper, Tolmie Peak looks like it fits the bill.  With only 1,100 feet of climbing over 3.75 miles, the trail offers enough work to make feel you have accomplished something without creating an aversion to hiking among the youth of America.  In addition, the two lakes, the historic lookout, and the in-your-face beauty of the mountain offer a big payoff for your effort.  

On Federal Lands.  The Carbon River Entrance.

A couple of caveats are important to note.  First is the question of whether or not Tolmie Peak is truly a kid-friendly hike.  Ron C. Judd's book, Day Hike: Mount Rainier, published in 2009, compared the middle part of the trail to Eunice Lake to a tar pit for all the misery gung-ho parents put their kids through when they force march them up the hill.   Of course, Judd was writing only a few years after the devastating floods of November of 2006 when 18" of rain fell in 36 hours.  Trails, roads, and campgrounds were destroyed. Since then, things have recovered. Undoubtedly, the trail feels longer than it is. Roots trip up tired legs.  Mud might be an issue earlier in the season, but yesterday, a cool August day, we encountered none.

The second concern is trail access.  Mowich Lake Road access also earns a lot of loud raspberries in guide books and in the WTA trail reports for its gut twisting bumps and potholes.  It is not the worst mountain road I've been on this year, but it does have some serious wash boarding. We were happy to be cruising in our Highlander.   The road also provides access to the Evans Creek Offroad area, so you can count on some speeding four-wheelers kicking up dust as they roar by.

After our jarring ride up the washboard, we parked along the road, and headed down to the trail along Mowich Lake around 10:40 AM.   The trails were busier than we expected for a mild and misty Thursday morning.  Mowich is a big lake (118 acres) with a campground (permit required) but apparently, lousy fishing.  Had it been warmer, we were planning to jump inat the end of our hike.  Instead, we appreciated the cool hiking conditions as we climbed the saddle between Mowich and Lake Eunice. 

At the Ipsut Pass junction, stay left.  This marks the high point of Mowich ridge.  The few hundred feet you  have gained climbing the ridge drop away along some switchbacks.  You'll have to climb back through roots and rocks, plus another 400 feet to reach Eunice where she presses up against Tolmie.  The elevation totals are understated.  The hike will feel more challenging than its listed distance and elevation gain.

Can you find the striped coralroot among the detritus of the forest?

Western Hemlocks dominate the forest between the lakes.  My nephews were telling me about sixth grade science and studying photosynthesis.  I told them to look for striped coral roots that live in the decomposing fallen needles of the conifers.  Coral roots have no chlorophyll, yet flower anyway in the half-light of the forest.  It wasn't until our hike out that we found afew about where I expected.

Judd's guidebook describes a muddy mess of a trail regaining the ridge towards Eunice Lake.  We didn't find this, though it has been a dry summer after a record rainy wet winter.  Luke and Sam were the only young people hiking the trail, but we saw no tantrums or meltdown along the way.  A large group of Senior women, denying they were from Renton, were keeping a steady pace along the way.  One explained to that she didn't see the point of racing up the hill.  "You miss so much," she told us.  A trailrunner passed by almost on cue.

The misty top of the mountain

Higher up, a few flowers were blooming, paintbrush and bluebells, but an abundance of ripe blue huckleberries tempted us along the way.  A breeze kept the bugs away.

Coming into Eunice Lake cirque was sudden.  Eunice is a gem of a sub-alpine lake fringed with sandy beaches.   I imagine on a hot summer day the cold waters would bring some relief.  

Eunice Lake from above edged in sandy beaches

We snapped some photos, drank some water, and rested a bit before heading up to the top of Tolmie Peak, still half hidden in a gauzy fog cover.  The last push to the lookout wasn't as bad as some guides make it out to be.  It is a 600 foot climb in about a mile.  My 12 year old nephews easily handled the climb, with only a couple of pauses along the way. 

Regaining the elevation to Eunice Lake

When we arrived at the top, it was windy and misty.  We put on jackets and ate our lunch.  We were a little disappointed the lookout was locked up. but the big windows offered a look into the austere past on the fire watch including a manual from 1957.

Plenty of Daylight in the lookout.

A manual on fire, smoke and mist.

In the hour or so we were at the top of the peak easily thirty people were coming or going.  Three friends from France scrambled along the ridge, perhaps killing time, waiting for the apotheosis of Rainier.  The mist was slowly, slowly burning off, but we had a rendezvous with cheeseburgers at Wally's Drive-In in Buckley.  When the Renton Ladies Auxillary arrived at the lookout, I asked them to kindly post a picture of the mountain from Tolmie on the WTA trail reports.  They were going to hold out, they assured me, for the unveiling of the mountain.

Three friends from France tagged the next peak.

God Bless the Renton Women's Auxiliary Hiking Club, but on that particular Thursday afternoon, it was going to be awhile before the sky cleared.  It wasn't until were driving out of the park three hours later that the main act appeared on stage. Eunice was pretty, the ridges sublime, but the mountain remained invisible while we were on top of Tolmie Peak.

Sahale Arm to Sahale Glacier: A Mercurial Mountain Trail

The hike up Sahale Arm  to the Sahale Glacier has been on my list for awhile.  After all, the trail is absolutely picturesque, with mountain vistas and deer grazing among the wildflowers.  My hiking buddy, Ernie and I had talked about climbing up to the glacier earlier in the summer, but were diverted by smoke from Canadian forest fires.  After the air had cleared, the possibility of Ernie hiking with me this week was overruled by his wife, Caroline.  Turns out, she holds absolute veto power over all of the legislation of the Ernesto, hiking or otherwise.   Understandably, he texted me to say he would be backpacking with his wife this week, thank you very much, instead of hiking with the boys.  

Disinclined to drive that far and hike by myself, I sent a note out to Warren.   I have gone on long and distant hikes by myself before, but the conversation gets old and the sleepy drive back a little dangerous.  Luckily, from far away Lake Forest Park, Warren answered the call.  Sure, the deck needed to be stained, and weeds needed to be pulled, but his answer to his wife, Lindsay was, in his best Muiresque, Scottish brogue, "The mountains are calling and I must go."  

Then came a text message from my oldest hiking buddy and best friend, Arie, domiciled on the East Coast:  "In town to see the eclipse in Oregon next week, what's up?"  Naturally, Warren and I extended an invitation to him.  Warren was a good sport to be hiking with a couple of old guys on the down side of 50.

From the Seattle area, Sahale Arm requires an early start.  Deep in the heart of the North Cascades, it’s 125 miles away with the last 23 miles up the narrow and slow Cascade River Road.  The trip from my house in Snohomish to the trailhead runs 2 1/2 hours.  Despite its remoteness, and ample parking, the trailhead lot fills up quickly.  Warren was at my house around 6 AM.

After picking up Arie, we were arrived at the trailhead just after 9.  The parking lot was more than half full.  Since the trails are in the North Cascades National Park, a permit is only required if you are camping overnight.  While a  pass is not necessary for day hiking from the Cascade Pass trailhead, other popular trails along Cascade River Road are on US Forest Service land, and require the Northwest Forest Pass.

As the three of us put on our hiking boots, the morning air was mild but humid.  Arie and Warren elected to start off a little cool in shorts and tee shirts.  I began with long pants, mainly for bug protection, but zipped down to shorts after a mile.  The trail starts up emphatically through the trees.  If Ernie were with us, he would have counted 42 switchback up to Cascade Pass.  Eventually, the woods give way to steep meadow.  

The hike to Sahale Glacier can be divided into two distinct sections.  The first carries you from trailhead to Cascade Pass, then to the base of Sahale Arm.  From there, you can either go up to the glacier or down to Doubtful Lake.  This first half is a typical Cascade affair of good trails through woods and meadows with a solid climb.  The second part of the hike takes you up the arm to Sahale Glacier Camp where real climbers finish the job by bagging the peak, typically after overnighting at the camp.  Here the trail from the Arm up is rutted, rocky, and steep.  The intensity of the hike increases significantly the higher you go on the mountain. While this might seem obvious, it is a consideration when planning for this hike in terms of time and equipment.

Even though the parking lot was pretty full when we arrived, we encountered only a few hikers on the trail.  We passed a couple in the first quarter-mile who looked like they were starting off on a backpack trip, perhaps to Stehekin.   Along the way, Douglas squirrels and chipmunks wondered if we might have a handout for them.  Pika poked their heads up from the rocks as we worked our way through slide areas.  Even a vole scurried across the trail.

Katie, a 20-something superhiker from Milwaukee, passed us with ease before the one-mile point.  It is always humbling for men of  a certain again to be left in a cloud of dust by younger hikers, especially ones from the flatlands of the Midwest.   In our minds, we're just a few years older, not a whole generation.    It wasn't until a blind and deaf marmot stopped Katie in her tracks that we caught up with her and learned her back story.   

We came around a corner, and found her stopped completely in her tracks in what appeared to be a semi-preyingmantis, defensive pose.   For a moment, we thought she halted for a bear stripping blue huckleberries on the side of the trail.   Arie and I had run into that situation at least once before.   A black bear had been reported a week ago in the area, but when hiking with Warren, and his penchant for peanut-butter and honey sandwiches, I never worry, even if he can outrun me.

                                       

 "What is it?" Katie she asked us quietly.  Admittedly it was a king-sized marmot that might have been mistaken for a porcupine or even a bashful badger, if you had never seen a marmot before.   He was big and bulky with a severe overbite like John Elway in retirement, but harmless unless you happen to be lupine.  

Wearing a Greenbay shirt, Katie fully admitted her Cheesehead allegiance, and that she hailed from Milwaukee.  When we told her we were impressed at how well she climbed up the switchbacks for a flatlander, she kindly told us, she had been hiking all summer.   After four years of working, she was spending the summer exploring the mountains of the west.  This month she was hiking in the North Cascades after Glacier and Olympic National Park in June and July.   Katie thanked us for standing up to the marmot, but she was gone.  The next time we saw her, two hours later, she was heading down from the glacier camp as we struggled upward.  Ever gracious, she let us know that it was steep up there.  We wished her well on own personal journey of discovery.

 

At Cascade Pass

At Cascade Pass, we took a left towards Sahale.  One sign pointed straight for a 23 mile trek to Stehekin.  Another pointed to the right to a composting toilet, nestled among some spruce, a BYO-TP affair.    From the pass to the base of the arm, the trail climbs through open, sun-burning meadows. Lupine, columbine, some paintbrush, were blooming among the heath and huckleberry.  We were treated to another Wild Kingdom moment when all of a sudden, marmots hidden all around us began to whistle in panic.  Were we scary enough to elicit such a response?  A bald eagle swooped down in answer. 

Still further up the trail, a doe, and at a safe distance off, her fawn, grazed among the flowers.  We also encountered, Travis, the hipster hiker, who had climbed the peak in Vans sneakers.  He was cool if a little reckless, and rescued Warren's sunglasses a few hundred yards down the trail. 

My best surprised came at the top of ridge, at the existential crux of the hike.  They spotted me before I recognized them.  It turns out that when Caroline said she wanted to go backpacking, she meant up to the Glacier Camp to overnight.  They had a spectacular evening there, above us all, with an amazing sunset, the stars and moon.  Now they were heading down.  Ernie explained how the ever-shifting light of a night on the mountain was worth the discomfort of the constant wind.  

Caroline told us that they had met Travis, too, and watched his ill-prepared climb across the glacier:  no traction, no poles, certainly no ice ax.  They half expected their beautiful experience on the mountain to be ruined by Travis taking a disastrous fall.  Instead, they watched his impromptu glacade back down the snow.   No harm, no foul.   We let them know Trav was pretty proud of the X-games maneuver, telling us to look for his skid marks on the ice.  Ernie and Caroline also told us a mountain goat came up to their camp, but by the time we made it up that, it had moved on.

Bugs really weren't a problem on Sahale Mountain.  The winds kept them mostly grounded.  On one rest break, I did knock a large if lethargic horsefly out of its orbit around Warren head with my hat, only to watch it shake off the dust, and rise again.  We brought bug juice along because we had read about a plague of flies from reports just a week old, but on our hike, it really wasn't an issue.

From the trailhead to the Sahale Glacier, weather conditions changed from a mild and sticky spring morning to a blustery, winter afternoon.  Worse still, the trail degenerated to a trace.   Be prepared. Bring layers if you are going to glacier.  Don't be Travis.  Poles and microspikes are essential.

On paper, with an elevation gain of 4000' over six miles (one way), this hike appears to be some work, but not exactly epic, like Mt. Pugh or Three Fingers.  However, comparing it to hikes of a similar distance or climb, say the Kendall Katwalk  or Mt. Si overlooks an important factor: trail conditions.   Up to Cascade Pass and to the base of Sahale Arm, the trail is in good shape. However, as you ascend the Arm, the trail becomes a muddy rut then degrades into a trace among rocks and boulders. A section below the glacier camp brings you through loose glacial till scattered across a steep slope.  It was like climbing up a gravel pit, or a Bruce Springsteen song, "One Step Up, Two Steps Back."   

As we made our way up the Arm, the wind picked up, and we felt the temperature drop precipitously. Feeling the chill, we added on layers. The jacket and long-sleeved insulated pullover that seemed like extra weight at the sultry trailhead proved essential on the Arm.

As a middle aged man, in pretty good shape, from hiking all summer, I found this part of the hike to be quite strenuous-- ass-kicking, perhaps.    It was a little disheartening when we were passed by another Wonderwoman, a quarter mile below the camp.  She was Summer from Oregon, adorned in dream-catcher earrings and gauges.   A snowboarder in the winter, Summer worked on a trail crew in the off season.  She was kind enough to take our picture among the sand and gravel then headed on up to camp. Even for her that last quarter mile was slow going.  

By the time we reached the camp, we hunkered behind the rock wall of a camp enclosure.    We meet Summer again behind the rock enclosure, and shared our lunch with her.  I don’t think she expected the kind of conditions we encountered.  She probably needed to pack more food.  After a ten minutes or so, she headed down to warm up.

 

Camp enclosures to slow down the wind a bit

Sadly, fog shrouded the peak, and we hoped that the peak baggers above, whose empty tents were rattling in the wind, were fortunate enough to stand on top during a window of clear weather.  We didn’t spend much time on the ice.  Our fingers were going numb, and we knew the first mile down would require focusing on each step to prevent a broken ankle. 

 As we went hiked down the mountain, the sky darkened, but the air warmed up.  Just before we left the arm, we crossed paths with a young couple, heading up.  They were toting their three-year old with them.    We let them know it was cold and rugged ahead.  They decided to press on.  Arie took a picture for them while I worried about their decision to drag a little guy into those conditions.  Fortunately, my faith in parenting was restored with they passed us on the way down, just after Cascade Pass. 

 

On the glacier

Even though it’s down hill, the hike out, especially on the top half took some time.  With tired legs, those switchbacks seemed to double or triple in number.   Eventually though, we made it out.   Back at the trailhead, clouds owned the skyscape.  Despite the work, we agreed it had been an awesome adventure.

Daying Hiking on the Shoulder of Mt. Rainier: Summerland and Panhandle Gap

For those of us who hail from north of Seattle, a trip to Mt. Rainier National Park at least doubles the drive time to the trails and back.  Consequently, we rarely make the trek.  Despite the great sublimity of the mountain, the drudgery of Seattle traffic diverts many of us to the crowded paths of Snoqualmie Pass or points further north.  

Active BC Wildfires from
 http://openmaps.gov.bc.ca/kml/wildfire/map.html

However, as the British Columbian wildfires of 2017 fumigated the trails from Mt. Baker to Snow Lake, Ernie suggested we head towards the great Tahoma.  After all, his best friend, Chad, from the last Antediluvian period, was in town, and Seattleites have a long tradition of dragging our friends from the flatland to the park.  Actually, as an avid alpinist, Chad was eager to go. 

It was great to hike with him.  As an accomplished poet, editor, and publisher, Chad naturally is a fount of knowledge on American poetics, and a great story teller to boot.  The conversation about writers and homesteads helped to make the drive down 405's early morning rush hour seemed like an escape from the banality of the burbs and an assortment of potential smoke-induced, pulmonary diseases.

White River Entrance (courtesy, NPS)

South we headed with the hope that while there might be smoke on the water in Seattle, along the trail to Summerland and Panhandle Gap, the air would be perfumed with wildflowers. However, as we worked our way through outer rubria, against the great morning exhale of the Maple Valley commute, and into the real country beyond Enumclaw, a lingering haze caused some concern about the invasive Canadian smog.  Luckily, our hike on the sunny-side of Mt. Rainier was tinged with only a hint of haze in the upper atmosphere.

Entering the park through the White River Entrance to Rainier was easy--only a couple of cars in line in front of us.  $25 is the cost of admission, but an $80 investment in annual pass allows you unlimited access to all of the National Parks and an assortment of other Federal lands. Northwest Forest Passes are not accepted in Mt. Rainier National Park.

High Tech Composting Toilet at Summerland

The last chance for indoor plumbing is just past the gate.  The trailhead has no facilities other than spruce and hemlock.  However, Summerland camp does offer a clean and efficient composting toilet 4 miles up the trail.

The woods are lovely, but not really that dark

As the guides indicate, the first mile or so is completely canopied in dense forest.  The trail up to Summerland is wide and well-maintained.   In fact, a crew was working on the tread just past the river crossing.  The creeks and rivers are easily crossed up and down the trail.  In the next few miles, the riot of flowering asters, lupines, paintbrush, and yarrow begins. At Summerland, the blossoms are in hysterics.  This is the time to go.

A broad swath of flowers in Summerland

Hiking in a National Park has the added advantage of meeting people from all over the US and the world.  He met hikers from New York and Illinois.  A father and son team, who were about to complete the Wonderland Trail in nine days, were from Idaho.  They suffered through a plague of flies for a few days though honestly, there weren't any flies on us. Perhaps the gentle breeze grounded most of the swarm.

A thousand feet higher, only stonecrop blooms

Beyond Summerland, the real work up to Panhandle Gap takes you across a much more austere landscape.  A turquoise eye was opening in a tarn at the base of the arete.   Melt water rushed from a massive snow field in the first iteration of the White River.  Only fleshy yellow stone crop bloomed in the moonscape.   Here two trail runners passed us, on their way to Box Canyon in only running shoes and shorts.  We looked up towards the wide couloir above us and wished them luck. Apparently, they were sure-footed enough not to need it, and were up and over the steep snow without a serious slip.

The last part of the route beyond Summerland requires a traverse across this fairly steep snow field.  Our trail runners climbed it in running shoes, and another came down from the opposite direction.  However, we notice he was down to just a single nipple ring, so perhaps he had a snag along the way.  Nipple rings or not, UV rays at elevation deserve some respect.  Several women came down, completely covered, with longsleeve shirts, long pants, big hats.   One with a scarf across her face.      "Lots of flies?" I wondered.

Chad and Ernie head down the couloir

"No," she replied, slightly annoyed,  "only to protect myself from the sun and the albedo bounce from the snow."

Despite the daring or fool-heartiness of the trailrunners,  we felt microspikes, poles, sunglasses. and probably shirts were advisable.  It may be tempting to slog straight up the field, but working our way left along the ridge seemed like a safer bet to us.

The White River Begins in white

At the gap, the wind picked up.  I looked down to try to spot the first pair of runners, but they were gone.   A twisted mountain spruce the might have provided a bit of shade for us had it not been turned into a impromptu privy for someone leaving behind a large, fetid trace of them self. If you need to shit on the mountain, BLUE BAG it out, or at least use a trowel.

At Panhandle Gap

We moved away into the broken boulders, and focused on the Little Tahoma and Rainier above.  An experience climber, Chad pointed out a potential route to the crater.  It looked so easy, even if we were not even half way there.  In a quick scramble, I  pointlessly tagged the higher edge of the ridge.  A bank of smoke was rising in the east.  It was lovely and hot as chinook winds blew towards us.  We decided to head back down.

Tarns melting open

Bring plenty of water.  We filtered a couple of additional quarts in silty glacial waters at the head of the White River. The cold water was a relief in the heat of the afternoon.  The hike out ran a couple of hours, longer than we remembered, but what an awesome hike!  Definitely a 10.

Mount Dickerman v. Mt. Si. Which is the better summit hike?

Your Destination, the top of Mt. Dickerman,
still 800 vertical to go!

Woke up yesterday to a heavy marine overcast in the lowlands, so I considered changing my hike to a lake or waterfalls.  After all, summit hikes are a little pointless if the peak is socked in. However, the purpose of this hike was primarily conditioning for a later backpacking trip in August, so I decided to stick with Mount Dickerman.  It turned out to be a great decision.  By 10 AM, the clouds had burned off, and on top, it was absolutely glorious with views from Baker in the North to Rainier in the South.

The trail is fairly rugged in places with rocks, roots and a couple of easily maneuvered blowdowns.  The little streams and cascades that cross the trail are mostly dry now.  There's really no safe and easy way to filter water on the hike.  Bring plenty of water with you.  

The Woods are lovely, dark and STEEP!

Along the way, I passed a few people struggling somewhat on the trail.  I think folks, perhaps new to hiking, don't recognize the fitness level required to enjoy a trek of this rigor.  Build up to it with less aggressive day hikes.  I would suggest hiking Lake 22, or Lake Annette then heading up to Pilchuck, etc.  If you can hike a trail of week, and make each one a little more challenging, in a matter of weeks, a grade like Dickerman will feel like work, but not a death march.

About 45 minutes into the woods,finally a viewpoint

The Mt. Dickerman trail is steep for the first hour through the woods.  It flattens out for a short section, then gets steep again near the summit.  Nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain over four miles is a lot work, especially on less than perfect trails.  For comparison, Mount Si climbs 3150 feet over the same distance, and people call it "a slog."  My friend, Ernie, the Calculus teacher informed me that the Dickerman trail has 55 switchbacks.  I have not counted them, but I trust his numbers.

The trail flattens out in the middle

On trail with me yesterday morning was a scattering of ten or so older and wiser hikers who knew to start early before the blazing sun begins to roast everything on the southern slope. Most of the people on the trail were also Seattleites  who had headed north to the Mountain Loop Highway because of growing mobs on Snoqualmie Pass trails.  I suppose in five years, crowds will hover around Mt. Dickerman like they do around Mt. Si.

A bear had been reported on the mountain earlier in the month.  More than half way through the woods, I was stopped by a dark stirring in the vinemaples, very reminiscent of my last bear encounter on the shoulder of Mt. Baker last summer.   I paused, and raised my trekking poles to clang them together.  I turns out my bear was a rather petite woman, returning from a call of nature. She looked at me aghast.  I told her, thinking of an old Remington drawing, "I took ye for a bar."

                 She growled at me.  I certainly didn't mean to compare her features to a bear:  she would have been more of a petite cub, but the rustling in brush gave the effect of a bigger bruin.

A couple of women further on trail took exception to my comparing Mt. Dickerman to Mt. Si.
"I am not sure how they are even in the same paradigm," one scolded me.  My point, of course, was Mt. Dickerman was well worth the extra work.

Another of my fellow travelers was a retired Medieval Literature professor, 12 years my senior. He made slow and steady progress up the slope, summiting perhaps 45 minutes after me.

Mount Rainier beyond Big Four

Only  few folks had been to the top that morning before I arrive.  One was a trailrunner who was up and down in probably 3 hours.  He was 2 1/2 hours on the trail 3/4th done when I met him.

Baker to the North

Closer to the top, a friendly millennial told me to look for a mountain goat 100 yards from the summit.  I was excited to see mountain goats for the first time in two year.  Sadly, the old billy must have moved off, for I never saw the goat, or a real bear on that mountain this trip.

Bear grass, lupines, asters, and Julie Andrews

I must be getting closer to mid-summer form, because it took me a little over 2 hours to reach the summit.  The views and blues were awesome.  In other words, haze hadn't altered the color of the sky, and visibility went for 100 miles north and south.  To the east, Glacier Peak sits just 12 crow miles away.   I like to move to the eastern edge of top ridge, where I can almost touch the mountain as I eat.  Three or four swallows were practicing acrobatics above me.  As they jet past,  I could hear the very audible swoosh of wind over their wings.

Glacier Peak

It turns out my favorite spot on the ridge is precisely where the professor likes to end his weekly pilgrimage to the mountain, and snooze for awhile.  He mentioned that I stole his spot, but my meal was nearly over when he arrived, and I told him I was getting ready to head down. He unrolled his sleep pad to prepared for his siesta at elevation.  As I was packing up,  we conversed a bit more about teaching.  It turns out that  he and I had a least one student in common, Johanna, who ultimately became a colleague of mine.

      The professor told me Johanna was "bright, a spark, and a real go-getter."

    "Absolutely!" I agreed and gave him an update on her life.  I think we were both happy about the our small world moment.  Hopefully, he slumbered to memories of a time when the humanities seemed to matter more in America.

As I wondered back across the summit ridge, I said hello to folks I had met on the way up.
Bearwoman gave me a friendly growl, and the other women reminded me how the view was so much better here than on Mt. Si.  I tried to again to agree with her, as I had earlier: the payoff for Dickerman is greater than any other hike of the same effort in the region.  She wouldn't let me--she needed a strawman, and I was it.   Certainly,  once you break out of the woods, the meadows are teeming with wildflowers, and on top, nearby Glacier Peak holds court over the Central Cascades.  

Reluctantly, I headed back down after enjoying a leisurely lunch on top.   At my age, I nearly always hike with trekking poles.  The steep up is a steep down, with ankle-rolling rocks and roots all the way to the trailhead.  Enjoy the hike, but bring plenty of water and your trekking poles.

EPILOGUE:  When I got home, I texted Johanna about my chance meeting with her old professor.  She told me she was flattered that he remembered her after 17 years.   She said he led hikes every week up Mt. Si, and all were welcome.  Very cool!