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
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.
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. 
