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





Mount Ellinor

August 2, 2015

I've hiked to the top of Mount Ellinor before, although, admittedly, it's been a couple years. The trail is frequently hiked and very well maintained. A LOT of work went into the building of this trail, and efforts to maintain it are visible. That doesn't necessarily make it any easier to hike; you are, after all, summiting a mountain, but all that hard work by others is appreciated.

This trail is a perfect conditioning trail; it starts out going up and continues climbing all the way to the summit. I left from the upper trailhead, which cut my distance in half, but also cut out the less aggressive portion of the trail. From the upper trailhead, you are 1.6 miles from the summit and you gain 2,444 ft elevation; a grade that can best be described as 'character building'. Just when you thought you couldn't possibly have much more to go, you encounter another thigh-burning, knee-busting section to climb. Once the majority of the boulders are done, you get to traverse the face of the ridge on a lengthy section of stairs.

 

 

"Are you freaking kidding me????"

 

 

I hiked this trail solo, so took as many breaks as I needed to make my way to the top. The ascent took longer than I had anticipated but my slow and steady pace eventually carried me to the summit. As I got to the traverse section, a marmot watched from his perch in the rocks below me. That is the first marmot I've seen in probably five years; it brought back memories of hiking with my parents and made me smile. Upward I continued, heart and lungs working double time to get oxygen to my straining legs. 

The vistas from this trail are often amazing. On a clear day you can see across Lake Cushman and Hood Canal to Seattle and Mount Rainier. To the north you can usually see Mount Baker and the North Cascades. This day, however, there was too much haze for good photos. Nevertheless, the views were great and I paused a few moments to take in each one.

Eventually I found myself looking across at Mount Washington, Ellinor's immediate neighbor to the north. From here, I knew the summit was just a few minutes away.


Mt Washington, with Hood Canal in background

Onward and upward I continued, refreshed by the knowledge that I was almost there. I rounded a corner and ... came face-to-face with one of Ellinor's resident mountain goats. He was standing on the trail, directly in the path between me and the summit. I stopped dead in my tracks, raised my camera to snap a photo, for which he seemingly posed, then yielded the trail to him. As I backed down the trail, he popped up and over the ridgetop and headed down the mountain. What an incredible moment for me!

I picked out a rock and sat down for a well-deserved lunch break. The sun was at my back and the interior of the Olympics stretched out before me with Mount Olympus illuminated from above, his glaciers the only visible snow in the range. The insects buzzed around but didn't harass me. Two chipmunks scampered around in search for tidbits left behind by other hikers. Otherwise, I was alone there at the top for about 20 minutes which gave plenty of time for reflection. It had taken me over two hours to labor my way up to the summit, but I made it. Alone. I wasn't overly tired, and my legs were doing well. Eventually others joined me. I scrambled the last 7-8 feet to the summit, and had another hiker take a quick snapshot.

 

As I was preparing to leave, a small group of novice hikers made their way to the top. They had run out of water, so I filled one of their bottles from my hydration bladder, then gave them the last of the Nuun (electrolyte replacement) in my bottle. I made myself a fresh bottle, hefted my much-lighter pack on my back and started down. They started down right behind me. At some of the steeper portions, I would make my way down then hand a trekking pole up to the first in line behind me so they could steady themselves coming down, they'd pass it back to the next, and so on. As their muscles screamed, I supplied them with amino acid supplements. We chatted the entire way down about all the things strangers discuss to pass the time. By the time we arrived at the trailhead, they were calling me their 'Trail Angel'. I can live with that.

 

I was very pleased by body's performance on the descent. My legs held up under demands that will be similar to what will be expected of them on Mt. St. Helens. My speed on the return trip was 1-3/4 hours; less than the ascent. I am in love with my boots and wanted to hug the co-worker who bought them for me. They might not be cute, or stylish, or purple, but they performed as well as expected. Although stiff and sore a day later, I've been noticing that my recovery time is less with each hike.

 

Our climb up Mt. St. Helens is a mere six weeks away. I'm nervous and still worry that I will have trouble with the dreaded boulder field, but I think I may just make it.

 

Distance hiked: 3.2 miles
Elevation gained: 2,444 ft

Summit elevation: 5,944 ft 

 

  

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.