Saturday, August 26, 2017

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.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

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.

Friday, August 11, 2017

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.