Blanca Lake

July 18, 2015

Blanca Lake is a strikingly beautiful, glacier fed lake found in a mountain-rimmed basin in the heart of the Cascade mountains. It's located about 20 miles outside the small town of Skykomish on Steven's Pass. From my home, it took just under four hours to make the drive to the trailhead. I hadn't been able to enlist any of my hiking friends to join me, so my hiking partner this trip was my Rottweiler/Lab mix, Zillah. She's usually enthusiastic to hit the trail, barking, bouncing and bounding all over the trail at the end of her leash. This day, this was not the case. Early on in our adventure I had to literally drag her up the trail, rather than the other way around. I don't know if it was the heat of the day (95F in the city), a premonition of the trail that lay ahead, or some heightened doggie sense, but she was not exactly thrilled to be hiking with me. Next time I'll pay more attention.

Described as 'well-maintained', the trail started off innocently enough, taking us on a stroll through a moss-draped second growth forest, but it quickly got down to business. After the first half mile, the trail started up. We made our way up, switchback after steep switchback. It seemed the further up we travelled, the worse the trail conditions became. Admittedly, the trail guide said this was a popular trail. However, it's popularity has led to extreme overuse and decline of trail conditions. Exposed roots and rocks, loose soil, and foot-eroded areas (that almost totally obliterated the trail) made navigation difficult. Still, I continued to climb, my unwilling partner begrudgingly walking at my side.

Columbia Peak

Eventually we reached the top of the ridgeline, where we came to a rock face. I thought I must have missed a turn of the trail, as it quite squarely ended at that wall. Behind us, Columbia Peak loomed. For about a nanosecond I wanted to wander closer, to give him a chance to reveal all his majestic beauty ... but there was this really big down and another ridge between us. Fortunately my brain has some sense and control over my adventurous spirit! Before us, however, we had this wee matter of a rock face that needed to be scaled. I enlisted the aid of a woman at the top, who called Zillah and encouraged her to scramble her way up, while I pushed from below. Another hiker reached down and grabbed her leash and pack harness to help haul her up. Once at the top, we enjoyed an easier pace for a half mile. We had just ascended 3,000 feet in 3 miles and both of us appreciated the break. The next leg of our journey was a half mile steep, 600 foot descent into the basin. The trail here is beginning to get rough as well, but WTA has put a lot of effort into rebuilding this section to make it safer. That didn't make the descent any easier, but Zillah and I picked our way downhill and eventually made it to the lake.

 It had taken Zillah and I 4-1/4 hours to hike 3.75 miles. Since we had a later start than originally planned, we didn't reach the lake until 4pm. Knowing how much difficulty I have on my descents, and how slow our ascent had been, I couldn't afford the luxury of a long break at the lake. I absolutely did not want to attempt to make my way down that trail in the dark. I fed Zillah her Lamb dinner, some dehydrated sweet potato and beef jerky, and made sure she had her fill of water. I walked her through the cold water to help cool her down, then we sat in the shade while I sliced myself half an avocado and ate a protein bar. I refilled her water bottles and by 4:20 we were back on the trail.

The climb back up out of the basin was grueling. At one point I sat on a log and questioned my ability to ever master any trail, let alone survive my upcoming St Helens climb. After my moment of doubt and self-pity passed, I looked into Zillah's eyes, drew a deep breath and resumed my climb. Once we were standing at the top of the rock face, a couple young men we had met at the lake offered to help me get Zillah down. One of them scooped her up in his arms and billy-goated it down the rock. She gave in with absolute trust, her head on his shoulder, and stayed absolutely still. Please realize that Zillah has trust issues - especially with men - and picking her up ... well, not many people try. He'd commented that if she wriggled, they'd both be heading all the way down ... and we could just pick them up at the cars! She stayed calm as a lamb and shot me a look that almost said "See? Other people will carry me!"

Zillah and I share a moment at the lake

From there we picked our way down the trail; over rocks and roots, trying to keep our footing where the trail has almost totally eroded away leaving only loose soil behind. I twisted my right knee and hyper-extended my left knee twice in all the roots. I rolled my ankle. I slipped on the loose soil and fell to the ground. At each difficult point, Zillah would make her way down one step then stop and hold, waiting for me to safely follow. Work her way down, then stop and hold. She found easier ways around some of the tougher spots. When I fell, she was right by my side, making sure I was okay. I have never been more thankful for a canine companion. We made it to the trailhead at 8:05. We were exhausted, hot, thirsty and filthy dirty. We'd both fallen victim to the deerflies who merely scoffed at my DEET. After ensuring Zillah had her fill of clean water at the car, we loaded up and headed home.

This trail was brutal. The lake was beautiful, but I can't say I'd hike up to it again any time soon. Honestly, the trail should be closed for a year or more so it can be rebuilt; roots filled in and recovered, eroded areas rebuilt and/or refurbished. Unless something changes for the better soon, the glacier will likely be gone in another decade due to climate change, and it wouldn't surprise me if we lost this jewel colored lake another decade after that. At least I will have the memories and photos from this trip.

Distance hiked: 8 miles
Total elevation gain: 3300'

Mount Walker

July 12, 2015

Mount Walker has been on my list to hike for a couple of years, but always seems to get pushed aside by other trails. I've kept this trail in my back pocket to use as an alternate route or backup 'plan B' hike. Thank goodness, because I originally had Rock Candy Mountain on the schedule for this week but learned, after arriving at the trailhead, that there was a dirtbike event scheduled for the day. When asked if I had another trail we could hike, I immediately answered "Mount Walker!"

Mount Walker is only rises 2,804 feet above sea level, so it isn't one of great stature. The trail to the top is only two miles long. Those figures alone would make you think this trail is a walk in the woods. A shorter trail it may be, but an easy trail it is not. In that two miles you hike a consistent 20% grade and gain 2,000' in elevation. If you're looking for a nice conditioning hike that will make your calves and quads burn a bit, head out to Mount Walker - you won't be disappointed.

Since I had planned on hiking an easier trail, I left my trekking poles at home, something I will never do again. From now on, I take them whether I think I'll need them or not. It would have been nice to have them, but the trail is well maintained, so I didn't really need them. The temperatures were moderate with predictions of occasional light precipitation, which made the steep trek up more enjoyable. The understory of the forest is packed with wild rhododendrons, so should be stunning in June when they're blooming.

The view from the top is marvelous. There are two viewpoints, north and south, each offering different views. Both were equally amazing and made it worth the effort to get there. Even with the cloudy conditions, it was beautiful. We had our lunch there at the top, sharing conversation and appreciation for the scene that unfolded before us as the cloud cover lifted. A brazen little chipmunk scurried in close to check us out and to see what goodies we had to offer, then darted off under the groundcover when he realized we weren't sharing.

For those unable to handle hiking up this trail, don't despair - there is a road that will take you all the way to both viewpoints. In fact, next time I hike this trail, it would be great if one of you would drive to the top and have a nice, fat, juicy (gluten free) cheeseburger waiting for me. Cheeseburger and a glass of wine.

I didn't struggle at all, other than needing to stop frequently to catch my breath on the way up. Even without my trekking poles, the way down wasn't too hard on me. As of this writing my thighs and calves are a bit tight, but I'm experiencing no significant issues. I am loving my new boots and the support I get from them. I am still wary of my ability to make it over the boulder field to the top of St Helens, but will continue my conditioning to help ensure my success ... or at least as little difficulty as possible.

Distance hiked: 4.5 miles
Elevation gained: 2000'      

Tubal Cain Backpack

July 3-5, 2015

In an effort to get out away from all the insanity that surrounds Fourth of July fireworks, which typically send Zillah into a panicked frenzy, my sister Heidi and I donned our backpacks and headed to the mountains for a few days. Our destination this year was Tubal Cain Mine and Tull Canyon, located in the Northeast corner of the Olympics.

When hiking, my daypack typically weighs about 13 pounds. Knowing that I have been struggling with this weight on the steeper trails, I was very nervous about my 25# pack. I kept looking over my gear, trying to pare that number back as far as I could, envisioning myself straining under a monstrous pack, legs comically quivering with each laborious step. The lack of a hyperactive imagination has never been my problem. The morning of our departure finally dawned and the three of us loaded our packs (Zillah carries her own food, water & bowl) into the car and hit the road.

The Tubal Cain trail is a nicely maintained trail through an understory of wild rhododendrons with a gentle and steady elevation gain. I don't think I have been more thankful for a 'gentle slope' than I was this weekend. I won't say I didn't labor under my pack, but the trail was mild enough that I didn't struggle. My legs didn't quiver comically, I didn't fall over backwards like a turtle on its back, nor did my pack overpower me. For my first pack trip in a decade, with a new pack and new boots, the choice of trail was perfect. Roughly four miles later, we arrived at our campsite on Copper Creek, in the shadow of Iron and Buckhorn Mountains. We pitched our tents, filtered water for evening, ate dinner and hung our bear bag, then called it a night.

Day Two
There is something about sleeping outdoors in the woods that I love. My hips always hurt in the morning due to the way I'm built, but falling asleep to the sounds of the forest, with nearby Copper Creek singing its lullaby, just can't be beat. Morning dawned bright and beautiful and I enjoyed laying in my tent listening to the forest awaken. Varied Thrush whistled greetings, a hummingbird hummed past - the forest came alive with twitterings and buzzings. The peace and tranquility surrounded me like a cocoon and I felt the stresses of my everyday life waning with each breath. Eventually we crawled out of our tents, had breakfast and planned our day. We opted to leave our packs behind and just carry some water with us (and cameras of course).

The trail was a bit more aggressive, but neither of us was carrying a load, so we had little difficulty climbing to the top. Our first destination of the day was Tubal Cain mine, a copper & manganese mine that was built at the turn of the century and abandoned in 1920. We found the secondary entrance to the mine, but the main entrance eluded us. What we happened upon, instead, was the site of a WWII B-17 that crashed during a blizzard in 1952. We had planned on visiting the wreckage this trip, but later in the day. I hadn't counted on the wreckage affecting me the way it did - as soon as I touched the twisted metal, I was overcome with sorrow and started weeping uncontrollably. I respectfully asked permission to climb aboard, then sat in what remained of the fuselage, sobbing. This was sacred ground and due far more respect than most visitors bestow it. As my tears began to subside, I used my buff to dry my eyes as I headed back across the meadow to rejoin Heidi.



Tull Canyon as seen through the B-17 wreckage

Sitting in the secondary entrance to the mine



From the crash site, we continued up the trail, deep into Tull Canyon. Iron Mountain stood guard over us, squaring off against an unnamed ridge on the other side, creating an isolated piece of heaven few hikers bother to explore - most turn around at the crash site. As we hiked further into the canyon, our eyes were ever scanning the mountain wall in search of another mine entrance, but none was found. Nevertheless, we were so very glad we decided to wander out to the trail's end. The meadows were splashed in color like a painter's canvas from all the wildflowers. Butterflies fluttered by. The quiet broken only by the chirp of an occasional bird, the clicking flight of grasshoppers and the disruptive sound of a jet passing over us. We had the trail entirely to ourselves, and we appreciated the solitude.



Back at camp we enjoyed a late lunch in the shade of the forest. The creek was so inviting that we took off our boots to soak our feet in the icy waters. Any weariness was washed (numbed) away in a few seconds. The setting there reminded me of the fairy tales of my youth; I could picture fairies and wee forest folk dancing about; unicorns and other mythical beings sitting down to a feast of berries and pine nuts. Yep. Imagination intact.


We relaxed and napped in our tents for a bit, then returned to the trail in hopes of finding the main entrance to the mine. We learned after the trip that we were, in fact, camping in the area of the original mining camp. Anyhow, off we went, traipsing through woods that could be best described as "Hansel and Gretel" woods (Heidi informed me she was feeding me to the witch if we found a house made of candy!). We wandered uphill, zigged this way, back-tracked, zagged that way, crossed a stream and up a rockslide that ended up being the tailings of the mine. There at the top of that mound of loose gravel, in the middle of a solid face of mountain, was the main entrance of the mine. The mine has been experiencing collapse and cave-ins since the 20's, so is unsafe to enter and explore, but I was able to stand just inside the entrance and shine my flashlight as far as the light would penetrate into the darkness. About a foot of water flows freely from deep within the mine, and the floor was littered with mining debris (pipe, ore car rail, etc). The curious, adventuresome side of me wanted to explore more, but the self-preservation side won out in the end.

 

 

It was then back to camp for dinner and playtime with Zillah before turning in.

 

DAY THREE

I lounged in my tent as long as I could Sunday morning, knowing that once I got up it would signal the beginning of the end of my weekend. I wasn't ready to head back to the chaos that is my daily life. Heidi and Zillah were up and about long before I decided to face the inevitable. We ate another trail breakfast, filtered our water for the trip out, and started packing up our camp. I rearranged the weight in my pack in the hopes of making it easier to carry, which worked out quite nicely. As I continue backpacking more, gaining more experience and lighter equipment, I will continue to tweak my load until it is as optimal as possible. 

 

Once we had ensured that we left no trace of our visit, including packing up trash left behind by other campers, we struck out for the return trip home. Normally I struggle significantly with the downhill portions of these hikes, but the grade of this trail was so nominal that such was not the case. We stopped only once, and that was so I could zip off the legs of my pants. We rested there longer than we needed to, simply because we could, allowing us more time to soak up the quiet and reminisce on the finer points of our adventure. We reached the car without incident or difficulty, stripped off our packs, grabbed lunch and headed back up the trail about 1/10 of a mile. There is a shelter there, set back off the trail a bit and surrounded by the forest. It was here that we enjoyed a lunch that included some fresh-caught, home-smoked trout supplied by one of my friends. Eventually our desire for hot showers won out over the desire to linger longer, and we again packed up and headed for the car.

    

 

 

What an absolutely divine weekend. I tested out new boots and a new pack, and love both. I put my body under an additional load and it performed better than expected. I spent quality time with my little sister and our shared dog, doing what all three of us love best. As I reflect back on the weekend, I realize how blessed Heidi and I were to have parents who not only loved the outdoors, but instilled that love in their daughters. Our mother was there with every bootstep. She sat alongside us on every "sittin' log". Her toes dangled in the water with mine, and I could see her smile on my sister's face. Every time I squatted to pee in the woods, I thought of my mother - odd time, I know, but you really had to know her to understand. I may struggle on my climb up Mt St Helens, but my mother will be right there with me, spiritually, every step of the way, and that knowledge has re-fueled my belief that I can do this. The best part will be my sister there at my side, where she belongs.  

 

In loving memory of Patricia A. Pfeifer.