Beckler Peak

October 17, 2015

Now that Mt St Helens is behind me, I have been struggling with the question "What's next? Where do I go from here?" I have enjoyed the challenges of the past few months, facing my weaknesses and overcoming my struggles. My answer was found in my unfinished bucket list of hikes. On that list, the pinnacle, so to speak, is the Pacific Crest Trail. Just uttering the letters PCT scares me - I know that the physical, mental and emotional demands would far outweigh those of Mt St Helens, should I endeavor to attempt the 2,663 mile expedition. One thing for sure, if I ever hope to attempt the PCT, I need to continue conditioning.

Thus, on a beautiful autumn Saturday in October, my boots hit the dust on the Jennifer Dunn Trail, which winds its way through a tranquil forest to the summit of Beckler Peak. This is a rebuilt trail that was opened a few years ago and hasn't made it into many of the trail guidebooks yet, therefore it isn't packed like so many close-in trails. The work that went in to the trail was evident at every turn, from the wide footpath  to the granite boulder steps.

The trail slowly and steadily climbs up the side of the mountain, never ridiculously intense, with well-placed stairs in the areas that are a bit steeper. From time to time you catch a teasing glimpse of the scenic treat that awaits you at the top.

As seems to have become commonplace, the gap between me and the faster hikers of our group became great enough that there were just two of us hiking together - myself and Stan. As we climbed, I found myself laboring more than I felt I should have been with a trail of this level. The effects of the four week hiatus were evident. Nevertheless, we continued upwards until we reached the false summit, where the remainder of our group awaited our arrival. The view from here was amazing. We could see Glacier Peak and, faintly off in the distance, Mount Baker. It was beautiful.

But we hadn't reached the summit yet, so we pushed on another few hundred yards. Let me tell you, if the view from the false summit was amazing, what was awaiting us at the summit was breathtakingly spectacular. The Cascade range surrounded us on all sides and every direction we turned offered another astounding scene. We could see Mt Baring, Mt Index, and the Monte Cristo range. Glacier Peak loomed in the distance, watching over us with stoic indifference. As we sat on the white granite boulders eating lunch, we were soon joined by a few other hikers. We finished eating, packed up and relinquished the summit to them so that they, too, could fully embrace the dramatic views.

Atop the summit

On the way down I found myself struggling ... again. What the heck? My hips and knees weren't cooperating and my quads felt weak. I started to get discouraged but reminded myself that I was just three weeks post-surgery. I did my best to pick up my pace when I felt it slowing, and drove myself on until our return to the trailhead.

Once back home, I got back on my stair climber and pounded out roughly six flights. Take that, you fickle quads!

Will I ever scratch the PCT off my bucket list? Only time will tell. I have set a goal date and will keep on hiking and climbing in pursuit of attaining that goal, crossing trails and peaks off the list as I go. I will continue journaling about my adventures here, in the event any of you readers choose to follow my exploits.

Distance hiked: 7.4 miles
Elevation gained: 2,263'
Highest point: 5,063'

Mount Saint Helens

September 19, 2015

After nine months of discussion, planning and preparation, the big weekend was here. This was it. It was Friday afternoon and I stood at the Climbers Bivouac looking up at the mountain. She stood there before me wearing a fresh dusting of snow on her summit and I was humbled. Would she find me worthy of a successful climb? Had I done enough to condition? Had I done enough to help my friends condition for their ascents? As I awaited the arrival of the rest of the group, I queried climbers returning as to trail conditions. I set up our group campsite, ate dinner, and enjoyed the quiet camaraderie of my friend Stan, who came early with me. Throughout the evening the rest of our group arrived, one car at a time, each filled with their own excitement and doubts. Once everyone had erected their tents, we climbed into our bags and attempted to get some sleep.

0330 - We awoke early and got dressed. Each person busied themselves double-checking their packs to ensure nothing was being left behind. Water was topped off. Radios were handed out and climbing permits affixed to packs, then each of us signed in on the Climbers Register.



Tips of fir trees glow silver in
the light of our headlamps

0450 - We then stepped onto the trail. We were officially on our way. Headlamps illumed the trail ahead as we headed through the forest of the lower portion of the trail. Other than the sounds of our boots on the soil, there were no sounds. I was quite sure I heard the tree knock of a sasquatch, but that very well could have been my famously over-active imagination having fun with me. Our goal was to reach the top of the timberline in time to catch the sun rising over the Cascades and Mount Adams to the east.

0630 - Since my first trip up the mountain three years ago I have wanted to catch the sunrise from the timberline. I'm not a photographer, and I rarely (if ever) have planned out a shot to this extent. I couldn't even be sure the sun would rise where I'd pictured it in my head. As we neared the edge of the trees however, I was thrilled beyond words. The sun was rising exactly where I thought it would. The previous grumblings from my co-climbers were assuaged by the glorious sight unfolding in front of us. All of a sudden our early departure was worth it. As we stood there on the trail, the day truly awakened in front of us.

 

 

 

 

Photo by Chris McGraw

 

0700 - We sat on the boulders at the transition between the timberline and the boulder field, watching the dawn unfold before us as we ate breakfast. It was one of those moments I will remember the rest of my life. We then loaded our packs on our backs and started the serious part of the climb. For the next two miles we would be tackling the boulder field. The side of Mount Saint Helens is littered with boulders and scree which were previously her top portion. They create the most difficult portion of the trail and words cannot begin to put into perspective the task that lay before us. It was this portion that did me in on my last climb. I stopped for a moment and said a silent prayer to the spirit of the mountain.





Photo by Steven Payne

Pat laughs at the seemingly endless boulder field. Photo by Holly Scheyer

1100 - After what felt like a small eternity, we finally made it past the boulder field. It was at this point, three years ago, that my legs were shaking from the exertion. I had almost given up, knowing that if I continued on I likely wouldn't make it back down. As we prepared for the next leg of our ascent - the scree field - I took a moment to reflect back on the journey that had brought me this far. I was tired, but my body was handling the demands of the climb to this point. I breathed a sigh of relief and quietly uttered "I got this." Then upward I pushed. We had half a mile left to go with another 1,000 vertical feet to gain before reaching the summit.

 

The challenge of the boulder field is difficult; it drains your strength and tests your resolve. In my case, every muscle group is used - legs, shoulders, back and arms. The boulder field is followed by a field of loose scree - small gravel, sand and ash - that is roughly 6 inches deep and difficult to get footing in. Add to that the degree of incline (40-45 degrees) and slushy snow, and you now have a whole new level of hell that Dante missed. The air here is thinner than we trained in (8,500 ft elevation) so our lungs had to work harder to fuel our exhausted muscles. Although only half a mile, progression is slow. Each stride yields little advancement as your foot slides halfway back in the scree. It can best be described as "one step forward, two steps back".

Working my way up the scree field with Mt Adams in the background. Photo by Stan Waldrop

1200 - Seven hours after leaving the trailhead the last of us reached the crater rim. Perhaps not the fastest time you'll hear for summiting Mt St Helens, but we weren't there to set records. We focused instead on the achievement - we all made it. At the top we rested, ate lunch and ... Typically the view from the top is phenomenal but the clouds had moved in as we climbed, pretty much socking in the top. They briefly parted for a moment, blessing us with a picture window view of the crater, the 'breach', and Spirit Lake to the north.

 

Picture window view from the top. Photo by Holly Scheyer

Our group; Joe, Chris, Holly, Pat, me, Mike and Stan.

1300 - As we prepared for the return trip, we heard the clattering of falling boulders from inside the crater. Stan witnessed a particularly large boulder break loose from the side, as if jettisoned, and tumble downwards. This happened two more times. Having experienced something similar on my previous trip, that time a new steam vent had opened up, I summed it up to a couple of mini-eruptions. Mt St Helens is still an active volcano and experiences non-eruptive occurrences such as this, however she isn't threatening eruption soon. Nonetheless, to be safe, we heeded her warnings and headed back down. Upon our return we looked up the seismic charts for that period and my assumptions had been correct - there was some small seismic activity for all three noted times.

 

Our descent back down the mountain was uneventful. There were no snowfields down which we could glissade, so we made our way back down the boulder field. My knees started feeling the exertion, but they held up to the demands being placed on them. The quads and hip flexors that tormented me all season gave me little, if any, trouble. However, I didn't sigh a sigh of relief until I was again at the timberline. From there it was a relatively quick 90 minutes to camp.

As I traversed the two mile trail through the forest, I felt an energized 'pip' to my step. It was here, three years ago, that my legs totally gave out. I required the help of my friend Becky and her son to make it back to the trailhead. This year I had strength in reserve.

1730 - A fire awaited us in camp. We were blessed to have Sarah and Chris as our 'Camp Angels' this year, and they had worked for hours preparing for our arrival back at camp. Not only was a comforting fire going, but dinner was simmering away on the stove. We toasted our adventure, our journeys to get to where we were and our success. We roasted marshmallows, shared stories, laughed and celebrated our accomplishments. I sent up another silent prayer, this time of thanks. I had been judged by the mountain and found worthy.

 

 

Distance hiked: 10 miles
Elevation gained: 4,910 ft
Maximum elevation achieved: 8,365 ft

Pratt Lake

September 5, 2015

Looking out over Pratt Lake - photo courtesy of HIWalker Photo

Our original plan this day had been to hike the trail to the summit of Dog Mountain, a 9 mile trek with roughly 3800 feet of elevation gain. It's an abandoned trail, so we made a pit stop at the Ranger station in North Bend to glean what information we could and to purchase the necessary maps. What we learned is the road out to that entire wilderness area is impassible ... unless you have a (very) high clearance vehicle, which my Mustang is not. He recommended, as an alternative, the trail out to Pratt Lake which is 11 miles round trip.

The Pratt Lake trail shares a trailhead with the route to Granite Mountain, which we hiked a few weeks ago. We shared the trail for the first mile, then split off onto our own adventure, while the majority of our fellow hikers headed up to the lookout. The first leg of our hike was on a nicely maintained trail with moderate elevation gain. A few of the puncheons (foot bridges) are beginning to show signs of decay, but the WTA has had work parties out on this trail stripping cedar logs in preparation for replacing them. The dedication of volunteers to the maintenance of our state's trails is beyond compare.

The higher we climbed, the more the colors of the foliage changed, reminding us that we were hiking in that spectacular season known as autumn. I breathed deeply, partly because I was almost out of breath, but also to take in the aroma of the forest. The mosses, trees, stream beds and forest floor all add aromatic tones to an olfactory symphony that just can't be described. We stopped at the junction with the Olallie Lake trail, where we enjoyed a moment's respite and a quick bite to eat.

Eventually we reached the ridgetop, where we had views of Olallie Lake below us, as well as our first peek at Pratt Lake. The evergreens here were adorned in cloaks of lacy Spanish moss, which made them look as if covered in hair, and the maples showing their autumn color. We met a pair of older hikers, in their mid-seventies, who have been hiking together since their boy scout days. They regaled us with tales of hiking in the old days before bidding us adieu as we parted ways.

Olallie Lake

From the ridgetop we began the descent down into the Pratt Lake basin, and we gave up most of the 2,300 feet of elevation we had just gained. We had to make our way across a boulder field as we worked our way down, and we kept hearing the "Eep! ... Eep!" of pikas. We stopped and trained our eyes up the hill for a glimpse of one scurrying around the boulders taking care of business.

We finally made it to the shores of the lake, where we enjoyed a delicious lunch. There's just something about hiking in the woods that makes food taste better. We spent a full hour there, soaking tired feet in the icy coolness of the lake, taking photos of the astounding scenery. The only way it could have been more remarkable would have been to have blue skies. You'll not hear me complain though, as the milder weather meant no bugs.

We spent an hour at the lake before cleaning up, making sure to leave no trace, and donning our packs for the return trip.

Heidi and Zillah climbing the boulder field

Just as we were nearing the end of the trail, the forecasted rains hit. We quickly tossed our packs into the car and called it a day.

Looking back, I am very pleased with how well I did on this trail. The elevation was less than what I was hoping for, but at eleven miles, this was the longest trail I've done yet. We were on the trail eight hours (not counting the hour for lunch), which means our pace was faster than it has been all year. Due to the gradual elevation of this trail, I really didn't struggle much with either ascent or descent. Looking back over my year, I can see that I have come a long way in my conditioning. Have I come far enough for Mt St Helens? Only that trip will tell.

Distance hiked: 11.0 miles
Elevation gained: 2300 ft
Max elevation achieved: 4100 ft

Mailbox Peak

August 29, 2015

Mailbox Peak. It is an uninspiring peak in the Alpine Wilderness area of the Snoqualmie-Mt Baker National Forest that bears an ominous reputation. Amongst the hiking community, the trail is legendary and the name uttered with quiet respect. The 'old' trail ascends 4,000 feet in a little over 2 miles; it's unrelentingly steep and treacherous. More rescues have been performed on this trail than any other trail in the state. Trip reports from many hikers simply state "I did it." Last year a new trail was completed that is longer, safer, and easier on the knees. My ascent up Mailbox Peak utilized the newer, saner route.

The newer trail up Mailbox Peak is longer and not as severe, but it's still steep. We climbed for about four miles up switchback after switchback, through a second-growth forest with little understory. At some point in the past a forest fire burned through this area, but it was hard to tell how long ago by the size of the trees through which we hiked. I trudged uphill at my slow-but-steady pace, stopping only occasionally to catch my breath. My legs continue to strengthen and I'm happy with how well I am doing with the ascents.

Just when we thought we'd never get there, we came to the junction with the old trail and the real fun began. In the next half mile we covered 960 vertical feet. To put it in perspective for my non-hiking readers, we stair climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Realizing that this 'combined' section of the trail was indicative of what we'd passed up by hiking the new trail, we were happy with our choice.  


Portion of the combined trail

Storm brewing on the horizon

Watching Jorge finish his ascent

As soon as we emerged from the relative protection of the tree line, we encountered the day's forecasted wind storm, which wasn't supposed to hit for another two hours. We were hit with steady 15-20 mph winds with gusts of 25+ mph. The winds made an already difficult hike much worse. I would take a few steps forward and a gust would almost knock me off my feet. I had to turn my back to the wind, dig my trekking poles into the ground and lean into them with my chest just to stay upright. I'd wait until I could stand more or less upright, take a few steps and repeat the process. With roughly 200 vertical feet to go, and no reprieve in sight, I chose to stop where I was and retreat to one of the few available trees to wait out the storm. My hiking partner forged on ahead and eventually made the summit. 45 minutes he returned to where I was taking refuge from the storm. The winds continued to build, the gusts intensified, and rain and hail had joined the party. This, apparently, was not my day to summit. We turned to face the wind and started down the mountain.

I continue to be pleased with the progress of my conditioning as I noticed less difficulty with the descent. We stopped for lunch about midway down as our bodies were screaming for recharging nourishment. Refueled and energized after a meal of salmon, cheese, eggs and nuts, we continued our journey down the mountain.

I didn't summit Mailbox Peak, but not because I wasn't physically able to. I didn't summit because it simply wasn't safe for me to do so with the weather conditions such as they were. I am okay with this fact. The mountain isn't going any where and I definitely plan to return. Soon.

Distance hiked: 9.25 miles
Elevation gained: 3800 ft

Granite Mountain

August 22, 2015

Strolling through the subalpine meadow

 

As the goal of Mt St Helens draws ever nearer, the difficulty of the trails we're hiking continues to increase. The distances are getting longer and our elevation gain is increasing. The obvious payoff is being in condition for our trek to the crater rim. There is also an additional bonus of spectacular views. After a few hours of muscle strain and sweat, you get to gaze out over mountain tops, ridges and valleys those travelling below in cars whiz past, oblivious to what they're missing; sights they likely don't even know exist because you simply can't get there by car. You feel enchanted, empowered, and somewhat humbled by the scenery that lays before you. Granite Mountain offers such a payoff. The view from the fire lookout at the summit is astounding.

We hit the trail at 7am. There were few cars in the parking lot, and the trailhead services two trails, so we knew we wouldn't encounter too many fellow hikers for a while. As with most of our hikes, we started off walking through a beautiful forest and we left the stresses of the world behind. It quickly got down to business and we soon had climbed out of the lush forest and our vertical adventure began. The trail became increasingly steep, with boulders around and over which we had to navigate. Up and up we hiked, our lungs and hearts working to get fuel to our muscles. It felt good to look back on our training and realize how little we were actually struggling, in comparison to where we were just a few weeks ago. We crossed an old avalanche chute and eventually came to a beautiful alpine meadow drenched in autumn colors and dotted with large granite boulders. We stopped here for a few moments to catch our breath and rehydrate. From the meadow we could see the fire lookout at the summit and it seemed close enough to touch. I remember thinking "Ok. All we have to do is push up that steep chunk right there." We were, alas, still an hour away as you have to hike around the summit and come up from the other side.





Feeling ginormous, towering over the subalpine firs!

 

After our quick break we continued up the trail, making our way through a field of rather impressive granite boulders. I looked over to my right and had one of those moments that take your breath away. I had to stop to take in the wondrous sight before me and tears came to my eyes as I thought of my dad. He would have loved that spot, looking over the layered sawtooth ridges ... I don't know if I was overlooking the Stuart or Tatoosh Range, but I felt so close to him right then. Was his spirit hiking with me that day I wonder? I'd like to think he joins me on every hiking adventure and I could picture him alongside me in his red-laced Waffle-Stompers.  

We finally made it around to the back side and made our final push to the summit, arriving at the fire lookout a whopping five hours after leaving the trailhead. We took advantage of the shade under the lookout to eat lunch and recharge. Surprisingly, the sound of vehicles travelling on I-90 below us was still audible although, at this elevation, it was nothing but a distant hum. The smoke from the fires consuming our state was visible in every direction we looked. To dwell on the situation was disheartening so we focused instead on our accomplishment of attaining the summit. We ate, laughed, and rested. Chipmunks scurried all around us, hoping for handouts and entertaining us with their whimsical antics. They scampered and darted all around us, over and under the boulders, and a few of the bolder fellas actually ventured up onto our packs and legs for a moment before zipping off again.

Eventually it came time for us to pack up and head back down. The descent wasn't as difficult as I had expected, and went more quickly than the ascent had. Considering the struggles I've had with the descents all year, this made me happy. Chris, who hasn't hiked with me since late June commented on how much better I was getting with the descent, which pretty much made my day. My quads and hip flexors felt the strain of their labor, but weren't in a condition of over-exertion. Once back at the trailhead I walked around to cool down and stretched out. Nonetheless, everything stiffened up almost immediately upon climbing into the vehicle, so climbing out was almost comical.

I'm feeling much better about my conditioning and preparedness for the upcoming climb up Mt St Helens. I remain skeptical that I will be at the level of conditioning that I need to be, but I'm beginning to think I'll make it.

Standing atop Granite Mountain

Geological Survey Marker at the summit

A typical portion of trail

Distance hiked: 8.6 miles
Elevation gained: 3,800 ft
Elevation at Summit: 5,629 ft

Colonel Bob Peak

August 15, 2015

For me, hiking is about the journey, not necessarily about the destination. I have hiking friends who make it all about the destination, powering up and down trails, stopping for the occasional photo, and proudly crowing their dominance over yet another mountain. That's not me. I am there for the experience of hiking through the woods with a goal of making the lake or summit at the end. My journey up Pete's Creek Trail to Colonel Bob was one of those trips. I didn't make the summit - not because I couldn't, but because my hiking partner couldn't. I wasn't going to push her beyond her limit, nor was I going to leave her behind. I've been the person struggling. I've been the person left behind. There's no feeling worse than being abandoned on the trail. The decision to turn around was a mutual one, and not one I regret one bit.

 

The trail up to Colonel Bob can be divided into four equal parts of about a mile, each section steeper and more difficult than the last. Each section of trail offered up differing terrain; the lower section on nicely maintained loam-style trail, transforming to a steeper trail of rough baseball-sized rock (I call them ankle rollers). The third section was steeper yet, with a surface of gravel and hardpan. It switchbacked through a valley between two ridges, an area through which, many years ago, a fire swept. The trail then carried us up and over one of the ridges and down the other side to a nice creek and back country campsite. Portions of the trail were heavily overgown with ripe huckleberry, thimbleberry and wild blueberry (mountain smorgasbord!), with the added bonus (you know, to keep things interesting) of stinging nettles. The fourth and final section was the last mile up to the summit and is reported to be the steepest and most difficult portion. It was here that we turned around.

 

 

I took a wee tumble on the rocky section of the trail when a stone rolled and tossed me to the ground. I lay there for a moment thinking "Ow. This one is going to leave a mark or two" then got up, brushed myself off, checked my minor injuries (skinned knee & elbow) and headed back up the trail. There was no way I could have avoided or foreseen the incident, it wasn't a matter of not being safe, and Zillah in no way contributed to my going down. It was just my time to hit the ground. I think a rock saw me coming down and reached up with it's pointiest part to help break my fall because I have a tender spot and bit of a bruise starting just below my hip. I enjoyed a good laugh at myself and am still laughing now. I can only imagine how I must have bounced!

 

I love hiking with Zillah. There is just something about venturing with a canine companion that can't be explained. It can be a unique bonding event, if your dog develops good trail manners. I am ever thankful to my sister Heidi who introduced Zillah to hiking and worked with her for the first years of her life. Zillah is an amazing trail dog in her own right - she won't likely ever be featured in any publications for her acts of heroism, but she is top dog in my book. When I fell, she was right there making sure I was okay. When our companion began struggling, we attached Zillah's lead to her pack's waist belt and Zillah gently towed her up the trail, pausing to allow her charge to safely navigate obstacles and ever vigilant in her duties. On the way back down the trail, I rolled her leash up into her pack for everyone's safety. Knowing how I struggle with the descents, she stayed glued to my hip, her head within reach if I needed to be steadied. She's a great dog.

 

The descent was taken at an even slower pace than the ascent, out of consideration for the struggles of my hiking partner. This allowed time to really soak in the environment. It had rained the day before, so the air here was still moist and smelled divine. Every so often I had to stop and just inhale. Zillah had fun pouncing on something that was scurrying around in the underbrush. I enjoyed watching her at play for a few moments before recalling her to my side. We saw tree frogs and gazed in awe at the devastation of a years-old rockslide. We looked for shapes in the moss growing on the trees. We witnessed the severity of our region's drought as evidenced by a bone dry creek bed. Always at the back of my mind was concern for my friend's worsening struggles, but otherwise, the trek down was almost relaxing. 

 

 

 

 

Although I didn't push myself hard on this hike, I feel good about it. I was able to manage the different challenges as they presented themselves. My knees and hip flexors definitely felt the exertion of the downhill descent but, due in part to the much slower pace we adopted, they did fine. I had zero recovery time - by the time I awoke the following morning, my legs were feeling normal and ready to take me wherever I wanted to go. I didn't make the summit this trip, but I very much enjoyed the journey. The summit will still be there waiting for me to return. And return I will. Meanwhile, Mt. St. Helens beckons.

 
 

 

Distance hiked: approx. 6 miles.

Elevation gain: approx. 2300ft

 

Mount Rose

August 8, 2015

The trail to the summit of Mount Rose is one I have avoided for a few years, due to reports from hiker friends about how steep it is, and allowing them to convince me it's too tough for me. The trail guides classify this trail as strenuous, challenging, difficult, and expert; the one term they all agree on is 'steep'. I am so glad I put those comments aside and struck out for the top. The view from the summit was well worth the journey to attain it.

Friends Holly, Jeanne and I left the trailhead at 8am - not an overly early hour, but early enough to take in the lingering smell of morning in the forest. Heavenly. They need to bottle that aroma. The trail began innocently enough, allowing us a little time to stretch our legs before the trail started its meandering climb up the mountain.

We hiked uphill, through a forest that has seen two fires in the past 100 years. Survivors with scorched bark, and new growth stood side-by-side with the skeletons of the trees that succumbed to the flames. The silence, near absolute, was only occasionally broken by a lone bird and, for a short time, a nearby stream. It gave plenty of time for personal reflection and quiet conversation amongst ourselves. From time to time our efforts were rewarded with views of Lake Cushman below us, and the neighboring peaks that surrounded us.

Taking a breather

Each section of the trail grew increasingly steeper, carrying us closer to the summit with each step. At one mile we had climbed 1,200 feet and attained 1,990 in elevation. Less than two miles in we hit 3,050; we had one mile left to go, with another 1,300 feet to gain! I huffed and puffed my way up, stopping occasionally to catch my breath. At one point we stopped to watch two squirrels playfully chasing each other all over a small tree. Throughout the entire ascent, my legs didn't protest at all - a sign that at least part of my conditioning these past few months has paid off.

The fireweed was blooming in the areas of burn - such a simple little plant but so very pretty. The bright pink was starkly contrasted by the white, green and black of the trees. It was beautiful to behold.

As we drew nearer the summit, the trees thinned and we got sweeping views of Lake Cushman, Hood Canal, Puget Sound and, in the distance watching over us all, Mount Rainier.

Eventually we made it to the summit where we enjoyed the solitude for a bit before being joined by a few other hikers. This isn't a heavily hiked trail, so there were only a half dozen of us at the top. We ate our lunch, chatted to our fellow hikers, rested and rehydrated before we began the knee-challenging descent.

The last little push to the summit

 

 

I was extremely pleased with my ability to hike this trail. It was steep, and in places challenging, but I feel good about my performance. My legs and lungs are taking the ascents with less difficulty, although I definitely have my pace. As usual, I struggled with the descent, but not as much as I have in the past. A short distance from the trailhead I was having trouble lifting my legs high enough to step over roots so will need to give more attention to further developing those muscles over the next few weeks. I noticed, for the first time, my left knee audibly clicking as I ascended. As we sat eating ice cream after the hike, it had gone numb.

What I have noticed these past few hikes is that my recovery time has dramatically reduced. With this I am extremely pleased!

 

Distance hiked: 6.2 miles
Elevation gained: 3,500 feet

Elevation at summit: 4,301 feet