Olympic Discovery Trail / Sequim State Park

December 11, 2016


The snow has been falling in the mountains and I have been itching all year to break in my new snowshoes. Every time I look towards the mountains, I see the fresh snows accumulating and I yearn to go play outside. I had been working some extra hours at work, so a Saturday finally came where I could escape the shackles of my adult life and get outdoors. I was joined by Andrea and Carla for a snowshoe adventure up in the Hurricane Ridge area of the Olympics. When we arrived, however, the road conditions were hazardous and a severe winter storm warning had been issued for the ridge. Although at a lower elevation, the roadway to our Plan B destination wasn't much better. Since we were in the neighborhood of Sequim Bay State Park and the Olympic Discovery Trail, we totally switched gears, foregoing snowshoeing altogether. Enter Plan C...

The Olympic Discovery Trail is a wide, paved trail that currently covers roughly 75 miles of lowlands and shorelines along the northern coast of the Olympic Peninsula. When fully completed, it will span 130 miles, from Port Townsend to the Pacific Ocean. We parked our cars and headed out for a leisurely stroll along a mile-long section of the trail. We wandered through a lightly forested area before the trail carried us down to an area overlooking the tranquil waters of Sequim Bay. The skies were overcast, but hinted at the beauty hidden under their gray veil.

Once our walk had brought us back to our cars, we drove into Sequim for a delicious lunch then headed home.

Hike 56.
Distance hiked: 2 miles 

 

Upper Dungeness River

11/26/2016


The Upper Dungeness River Trail has become an almost magical place for me. Something unique and enchanting can be experienced along the trail with each passing season. To wander the trail alongside the river feels ethereal, almost whimsical and at times dreamlike. I have watched the river change in color and intensity, its personality transforming with the seasons, and experienced the forest as it has cycled through its own seasonal transformations.

Upper Dungeness River in winter

The original plan for the long Thanksgiving weekend had been a three-day pack trip along the Upper Dungeness River to Camp Handy. With the issuance of a winter storm warning for the mountains, we decided to swap our backpacks for daypacks instead. Our merry little band today consisted of myself, Evie, Cupcake, and dogs Zillah & Jax. I love hiking with my granddaughter. She carries with her the jubilance and enthusiasm of a seven-year old, and a sense of adventure that mirrors my own. She sees things through glittery, rose-colored glasses and could probably put a positive spin on biting the head off a beetle. She's just that awesome. This trip, however, would test her mettle.


Our adventure started out on a cold, dreary and overcast Saturday. There were only two other vehicles in a normally full parking lot, which meant we would almost have the forest to ourselves. We layered our raincoats over our fleece, grabbed gloves, leashed up the dogs and headed up the trail. We hadn't gone far before we encountered the first of many streamlets that would need to be crossed. By the time we had crossed a half dozen of them, Cupcake's feet were wet. Water-resistant boots only work in water that's not deeper than your boots are tall. By now a steady drizzle had begun and we were glad we had raingear. Before long the trail became a rapidly flowing stream of water that was a few inches deep in places. We splashed our way up the trail, skirting the water off-trail where necessary. The dogs, meanwhile, had been let off-leash and were romping up and down the trail, staying within easy recall distance and having a great time. 

Cupcake & Zillah at the river's edge

We were about 1/3 of the way up the trail when we encountered the first of the snow. At first it was just on the sides of the trail. Soon it was heavy enough that it mixed with all the water on the trail, meaning we were now sloshing through a few inches of slush. I was worried that Cupcake's feet were going to get too cold as they were already wet. When I suggested we turn around, Cupcake asked if we could please try pushing on to the shelter at Camp Handy. By the time we reached the bridge crossing the river, we were walking on compact snow and I could tell Cupcake was starting to get cold. We forged forward another 1/4 mile, but now daylight and the worsening rain became an issue. Evie and I made the decision to turn around for safety. We found a log where we could sit for some hot cocoa and a quick snack before heading back down.




Cupcake straddling the water rushing down the trail

Evie makes her way across the snow-covered footbridge

As we began our return trip, the rain turned into a light snow. Cupcake found it magical to be hiking along in it. We reached the car as the last of the day's light faded into evening and the snow began falling in earnest. The road that was clear on our trip up wore a sheet of snow for our trip down.

I have never been more proud of my granddaughter than I was this day. From her coat down she was soaked to the skin. Her wool socks were so wet that I wrung them out. I stripped her down and put her into dry clothes, layered on some warm coats and wrapped her shivering little body in blankets. Not once did Cupcake complain about being cold. Nary a whimper nor protest was heard. She toughed it out like the trail princess she is. On a trail as magical as this one, she could have slain a dragon...

Hike 55
Distance: 6.2 miles
Elevation gain, 600'  

   

Clear Creek

November 25, 2016


I hate Black Friday. I don't like dealing with crowds of nasty people, and I stood in more than enough lines in the military. Instead of fueling the greedy bottom line of corporate America. I, instead, prefer to put all the madness behind me and head outdoors. In past years I have gone paddling, wandered our beaches for some meditation and beachcombing, and climbed a mountain. This year I opted to take my granddaughter, Cupcake, on a short hike. Our original plans were thwarted by a subpar weather forecast (winter storm warning), so we resorted to our backup plan - 'hiking' the Clear Creek Trail in Silverdale.

By the time we arrived at the trailhead, the sun was shining brightly. (eyes rolling) Go figure. We laughed, chatted with our friend Evie, who was just leaving the trail, then began our mini-adventure. The Clear Creek Trail is an urban trail that winds through a small wetlands where you can often see many variety of birds, butterflies and dragonflies. Over the past decade I have watched it transform as trees and shrubs have been planted, natural water habitats restored, pathways added and benches built for peaceful viewing. A portion of the way is a gravel trail whereas the remainder of the trail is a nicely built boardwalk over the water. Educational boards are placed periodically along the route.

Cupcake and I walked in about half way, then stopped at a picnic bench to savor the beauty of the day. I hauled out our new JetBoil stove to heat water for hot cocoa, and we enjoyed some string cheese and grapes for our snack. She chatted with other 'hikers' and we giggled over girl things while sipping our hot cocoa. A few wintering birds flitted about the trees, pip-pip-pipping their greetings. We packed our things up, making sure we left no trace, and headed back to the car, our adventure done for the day. Although the skies were still clear at that point, we knew a storm was on the way and we wanted to be home before it blew in. 

Hike 54.
Distance: 1.5 miles
Elevation gain: ~20'     

Snow Lake

November 12, 2016


The trail to Snow Lake is probably the most heavily trafficked trail into a wilderness area in the Pacific Northwest, seeing in excess of 25,000 hikers a year. The reason why is no mystery - with Chair Peak rising on one side and Roosevelt Peak on the other, it delivers spectacular alpine scenery just 3.5 miles (and a mere 1800 feet elevation) from Snoqualmie Summit. The sheer number of hikers is the number one reason why I have held off so long in going. Evie and I thought we'd take advantage of the weekend's wet forecast, thinking we would have the trail pretty much to ourselves. 


Our day started out uneventful enough - aside from the dogs not wanting to play nicely in the back seat. The morning dawned gray and dismal, as expected, but with only a threat of precipitation. Upon reaching the parking lot, I was surprised by the number of vehicles already present - sadly we wouldn't have the trail to ourselves as we'd hoped. Nevertheless, we donned our rain gear and our packs, leashed up the dogs and hit the trail.

Talus field cloaked in autumn colors with
Chair Peak in the background

The trail to Snow Lake leaves from the parking lot and almost immediately begins a continuous climb up the ridge. We climbed through subalpine forest, our footsteps hushed by a blanketing mist. The trees gave way to an easy-to-navigate field of rock debris, called talus. I found myself looking about for a marmot or pika, finding instead a chipmunk scurrying away on its business. This is where I remembered I was attached to Zillah via a very thick leash. Fortunately she is easy to recall, otherwise this trip could have had a far different ending. She remained on alert the remainder of our ascent, at the ready should she need to protect us from any further vicious squirrels.

The trees began thinning out, allowing more light for berry-bearing bushes, ferns and ground cover shrubs. Most had died back to the burnt orange color of autumn in preparation for the impending snows. Before long we reached a steep and mercifully short climb which was our last leg to the top of the ridge. Once at the top, there is a short scramble over some large boulders to a glorious viewpoint atop an outcropping that overlooks the lake. The trail continues on down to the shore of the lake, but today's journey was only to the overlook. 



Our first glimpse of Chair Peak

 

The wind blowing up from the lake was brisk, carrying on its wing the bite of winter, and it cut right through us. The low-lying clouds through which we had hiked most of the day blew in and swirled over the water's surface below us. Chair and Roosevelt Peaks played a game of peek-a-boo, pulling the cover of the clouds over their faces, then revealing themselves to us again and again. Blue skies would occasionally taunt and tease us with the promise of an even more spectacular scene, then hide away again behind the clouds. Apparently they, too, felt the chill of the wind and wanted to pull the blanket of clouds up for warmth. Finally we gave in and retreated to the relative protection behind the outcropping where we heated some water for coffee & cocoa.

After warming ourselves from the inside, we packed up and headed back down the trail. Although we had encountered quite a few people (and their dogs) on our way up, our return trip was almost in solitude. The daylight was quickly waning and the clouds began a light, cold drizzle. The darkness overtook us as we made our way under thicker tree-cover, so we donned our headlamps and continued on. I am so thankful that we came well prepared with extra layers, rain gear, a stove (and Bailey's!) and headlamps. Before we knew it we had arrived back at the parking lot, another wonderful trail behind us.

 


Me and Zillah on the outcropping of the overlook

Hike 53! of 52
Distance: 5.5 miles
Elevation gain: 1800'
Max Elevation Achieved: 4400'

Lake Sylvia

November 6, 2016

When looking for a pretty, low-land hike for autumn, don't discount Lake Sylvia State Park. This is the second time I've visited the park, the first being via kayak a few Thanksgivings ago. There is a trail that wraps around the lake, hugging the shoreline and offering water views, autumn colors, and, if you're lucky, some waterfowl taking a break on their journey south.

 

My cousin's granddaughter wanted my sister to shoot her senior portraits, and the venue chosen was Lake Sylvia. I tagged along as my sister's assistant, looking forward to spending time with family and hiking the loop trail. The forecast was calling for mostly cloudy which, as any true Northwestern resident knows, could mean just about anything goes. Nevertheless, we threw on our jackets, grabbed Heidi's photo gear and headed outside. We hit a rain squall on the way, but the weather broke and looked promising by the time everyone arrived, so off we headed.

Not in a big hurry, we followed the trail at a more leisurely pace, which was nice. There are benches placed along the trail where visitors can sit to enjoy the serenity, soak in the colors or do a little bird-watching. We took pause at a few where the setting & lighting was perfect for portrait shots. The colors, though waning, were remarkable, matched in beauty only by the subject of the portraits. I carried a deflector shield with me and had fun bouncing light off things as we walked. The rain-swollen lake spilled over its banks, flooding a few hundred feet of trail with 6 inches or so of water. Our family isn't easily dissuaded, so we rolled up our pant legs and splashed our way through. Our feet may have been soaked, but we were having fun!

As the trail wrapped around the end of the lake, we encountered our only elevation gain - the trail quickly climbed about 3 stories. Just before dropping again and delivering us back to the lakeshore, we were treated to an adorable covered bridge spanning a small stream. Heidi shot a series of photos here, giving the rest of us time to more thoroughly appreciate the beauty of our surroundings. Autumn yellows, golds and browns blended with the darkness of the evergreens, standing in contrast to the deep blue of the lake. As I leaned against the railing, gazing out through the trees,  a small flock of Canadian Geese broke the glassy surface of the water as they swam past. Above us, birds chittered and flitted about. Below us a plethora of fungi grew profusely. It was enchanting.

Another stop was made at a picturesque location on the bank of the lake where a few more shots were taken, then we finished our day back at our cars.




I always enjoy watching my sister work, especially when it means time can be shared on the trail. We were blessed with good weather on a weekend with a stormy forecast, and the opportunity to spend time with family ... and Lake Sylvia was the perfect host.


Challenge Hike 52 of 52.
Distance: 5 miles
Elevation gain: 30'
Max Elevation Achieved: 170'

Iron Goat Trail

October 30, 2016

Tunnels of Terror. Who can resist a trail with a history that includes that phrase? Certainly not me!


The Iron Goat Trail was so named as it was once part of the Great Northern railway over Stevens Pass - and their logo was the mountain goat. This section of rail was considered, at the time of its construction in 1893, the best engineered of the transcontinental railroads. Seattle had just celebrated its 40th birthday, and was now connected to the Midwest by rail, providing a faster method to transport its main export - lumber. Trains struggled over the steep route, which required locomotives at each end of the train to climb the grade and negotiate the sharp turns. During the winters, snow 25 feet deep would immobilize the trains for days while dozens of laborers wielding shovels dug them out. In 1900 a 2.6 mile long tunnel was completed, as well as a series of snowsheds which somewhat helped. However, in March of 1910, a huge avalanche of heavy, wet snow came barreling down the mountainside. Two trains were waiting outside the small community of Wellington for the tracks to be cleared of snow and were swept up by the avalanche. All 97 people aboard were killed; the snows were so heavy that year that the last body wasn't recovered until July. The costs of constant maintenance and downtime of the trains was insurmountable - Great Northern finally gave up and built a 7.8 mile tunnel beneath Stevens Pass, which is still used today. In 1929, just 36 years after it was built, the old tracks were abandoned.

Work began in the 80's to restore the grade, and construction of a trail began in 1992. Built primarily by volunteers working weekends, it wasn't completed until 2007. The Iron Goat Trail is well built and well maintained, with many sections ADA accessible. All along the way there are the old tunnels and the concrete support walls of the snowsheds, the wood structures of which having long ago collapsed and/or been removed. There are interpretive signs placed along the route pointing out historical facts and natural points of interest. It has long been on my bucket list and, knowing its tragic history, I thought Halloween weekend was as good a time as any to hike it. My sister Heidi, and friends Andrea and Annelise (also sisters) joined me.

Timber Spillway

It was raining the day we chose to hike the Iron Goat Trail, which added to the ominous air of the route. As we hiked along the wide, mostly flat trail through the forest, we could hear the sounds of nearby trains making their journey across the pass. The fact we couldn't see them, only heard their sounds echo off the walls of the nearby ridges and peaks, made them seem like ghosts. It was hauntingly eerie. Ground water gushed over the edges of the snowshed walls, creating waterfalls.  That lumber of a spillway remains, with water freely flowing over it, fueling the decay that will someday devour it. Back in 1893, this spillway was the  pride of the railway, which was part of their firefighting system.The tunnels are collapsing and entering them is dangerous. Should you dare to venture in a few yards, however, you are immediately surrounded by absolute silence. From time to time we would encounter large pieces of steel left behind, their previous function a mystery.

Steep section of trail to the upper trail

There are three trailheads to access the Iron Goat Trail and multiple choices of route, which means you can choose the length and difficulty of your hike. We started at the Martin Creek trailhead and hiked to the trailhead at the other end (where there is a potty). From there we took the Corea Crossover, named for the small railway community that was once located here. This crossover led us via a steep climb to the upper trail. It was hard to imagine a train having to chug up that same 700' incline. Granted, they had steam and I only had two skinny legs, but I weigh a whole lot less. Under either scenario it was still a grunting ascent. From there we continued on a spur trail to Windy Point. We were buffeted by driving rain and gusts of wind. The valley below us was filled with misty clouds. Somewhere down there we could hear the sounds of another distant train travelling unseen. As it passed, its sound was replaced by that of a large waterfall that could be seen on the opposite side of the pass. We were at risk of losing daylight on our return, so we didn't travel the 3 additional miles out to Wellington and the site of the disaster. We'll save that visit for another trip.

Danger still exists along this long-abandoned railway. A few years ago a 15-ft tall avalanche let loose, demolishing a bridge and burying a large portion of trail. Had anyone been on the trail (which isn't advised after snows begin falling), their souls would have joined the 97 that still haunt the area.

Hike 51 of 52

Distance: 6 miles

Elevation gain: 700'

Max elevation achieved: 2,800ft

 

Rugged Gnarly Women; Me, Heidi, Andrea & Annelise

Fort Casey / Admiralty Head Lighthouse

October 29, 2016


Anyone who grew up in Western Washington during the 60's and 70's likely has fond memories of visiting Fort Casey in the sixth grade. We would packed our suitcases and headed to the enlisted barracks, now called Camp Casey, for an overnight field trip as part of our Washington History course of study.

Fort Casey, along with its siblings, Forts Flagler & Warden, has great historical significance in the Pacific Northwest. They were shortly built after the Spanish-American War to protect Admiralty Inlet, and subsequently Puget Sound, from attack or invasion by sea. They were armed with 10-inch guns on disappearing carriages, which would raise from their protective emplacements long enough to fire, then recoil back down out of sight. However, by the time construction was complete, the forts were obsolete due to the introduction of aircraft to the military arsenal. Fort Casey was utilized as a training facility in WWI and WWII, decommissioned in the 1950's, and sold to Seattle Pacific University. The forts are a wonder to visit. I have returned dozens of times in the years since sixth grade to explore and marvel. No matter how many times I visit, or how old I get, Fort Casey still brings out the little girl in me.


Most people just visit the fort batteries where the guns reside. Many also walk up the hill to visit (and maybe tour) the Admiralty Head Lighthouse. Few, however, venture to follow the trail down to the old storage bunkers, which are built into the hillside. Even fewer wander down the hill to the beach, from where you can view the platforms that once housed big searchlights. Although more of a stroll than a hike, if you plan your adventure right, you can link everything together in a big loop that includes woods, nature (deer) and pretty sights. 


This particular Halloween weekend my sister was part of a group who were haunting the fort. I was in the mood for a good scare and couldn't think of a better reason to re-visit one of my favorite haunts. My co-worker, Corinne, and her friend Tim had never been to the fort, so they joined me for this Halloween adventure. I bundled up for the weather and started my adventure aboard a ferry bound for Whidbey Island. 


I met up with my sister, Corinne & Tim in Coupeville where we had lunch. We wandered the small shops along the waterfront, taking in the historical buildings and marvelous smells wafting from the doorways of the small eateries. These aromas mixed with the sea air for an olfactory treat that can only be described as heavenly. From there it was a short drive to the Fort Casey State Park. We left from the lower parking lot and walked up the grassy knoll to the lighthouse.

The Admiralty Head Lighthouse was originally built in 1856, moved in 1897 and replaced. The current lighthouse has stood in its this location since 1901. With ships' power moving from air to steam, the marine traffic lane shifted more to the western slopes of the inlet. Thus, just 19 years into her service, the Admiralty Head Lighthouse was extinguished. At the time of its construction, it was considered one-of-a-kind as it was of stucco construction and 'fully modernized' housing both an indoor bathroom and laundry room. It's sturdy construction has helped it survive the forces of nature for over a century. It is lovingly preserved, maintained and cared for by a volunteer force of 'friends'. These volunteers keep it open for visitors to tour, and are always happy to answer questions about the lighthouse and its neighbor, Fort Casey. Unfortunately, due to the Halloween event being held at the fort, they had closed the doors of the lighthouse early. I was disappointed that Corinne and Tim weren't able to climb the tower and gaze out the windows of the Fresnel housing across the inlet and into the Straight of Juan de Fuca.

The next leg of our adventure was the fort and its guns. We headed back down the hill to the cement walls of the fort, climbing the stairs up to the emplacements. We ran our hands along the walls, the ammo carriers and the guns themselves. The fort may be a sight to see, but you can actually feel the history under your fingers if you take the time. The craftsmanship that went into pouring the walls and mounting the heavy iron & steel hardware can best be appreciated by both looking and feeling. We wandered the length of the structure, exploring rooms and lookout towers as we went, then followed the route taken by the soldiers to the storage bunkers. We entered two of the bunkers, walking from end-to-end in total darkness. Our footsteps echoed against the cement walls, fueling the eeriness. I was thrilled that a compartment was open that hasn't been in my past visits ... we were standing in one of the enlisted waterclosets (toilet). On the floor were the remaining signs of the two commodes that once stood there, as well as a urinal on the wall. There was no sink for handwashing. Privacy was afforded by wood partitions, the hand-crafted outer framework of which remained, worn smooth and stained a dark brown by time, water, and visitors' hands. Tim walked into one of the guardhouses, which looked upon both the bunkers and out over 'Crocket's Lake'. If I'm correct, this shallow body of water is where the ferry from Port Townsend now docks. 

Taking aim along one of the 10-inch guns

 

View from one of the Lookouts

We continued on our journey, winding back around and up the hill, returning to the Lighthouse. The sun was beginning to set. I took the opportunity to shoot a photo, then we headed back down to the fort to partake in the 'Haunted Fort' event.

   
After playing some kid's games, eating some awesome cotton candy and having the bejeebees scared out of ourselves in the fort, it was time to call it a day. The volunteers did a fabulous job haunting the facility and I look forward to returning. As we crossed the field some very ominous and creepy music was being broadcast. We looked up to see a line of cars proceeding slowly down the hill ...


Well played, Fort Casey. You transported me back to sixth grade and left an everlasting impression on me yet again.


Hike 50 of 52.
Distance: 3.5 miles
Elevation Gain: 150'
Highest Elevation achieved: 200'