Necklace Valley

Necklace Valley,
July 28-31, 2011

Day 1 After a winter that dumped lots of snow, and one of the coldest springs on record, we finally get a chance to venture into the backcountry, knowing full well, of course, that we will be running into snow at lower than normal elevations, so for our first outing this year, we pick the hike that has the lowest elevation, hoping for the best. This hike, as we would find out, would become our most eventful hike yet, with probably a bit more excitement than we had planned on, so, stick with me as I ramble through the description of what transpired. We want an early start in the morning, so we decide to drive to the town of Skykomish to spend the night at the Cascadia Inn, a quaint hotel in town, near the rail road tracks. Across the street, actually. They are still doing their work to remove the contaminated soil from the ground, but the town is no longer up on blocks, all the buildings appear to have been put back in place, and they were in the process of pouring concrete for the new sidewalks. We have a great dinner here at the inn, and if you ever are in the area, and you’re plagued by hunger, be sure to stop by for the cure. We’ve eaten there several times now, and have never been disappointed. After dinner, we turn in, and…I’m reminded of the time we spent the night near the tracks at Money Creek, just down the road from town. The train seems to run on the hour, and as it comes into town, even at 3:00am, the engineer revels in blasting the horn, in fact, I’m sure if there’s a volume switch on the blasted thing, he’s got it cranked up to 11, cause 10 just won’t do…Needless to say, sleep was fleeting, in between the raucous blasts. Perhaps if we had kept the window closed, it wouldn’t have been so bad? Still, the people that run the Inn are pleasant, and they do their best to keep you happy.
Day 2. 3170ft gain 9 miles. After grabbing a nutritious Bearclaw and Powerade for breakfast, we pack our stuff, and drive the short distance to the trailhead, just a little over 4 miles up FSRD #68 to the trailhead, trail #1062 to Necklace Valley. As we pull up, we notice several official looking white trucks parked in the trailhead parking lot, behind yellow barrier tape, with a sign hanging off the tape. That’s odd, but I thought, “Hmm…Maybe they’re just servicing the bathrooms…” we pull off the side of the road, right behind another white Forest Service SUV that was also parked on the road. As we start pulling out our gear, I hear Greg say, “Uh-oh, here comes someone”, and the guy that had parked on the road walks up and introduces himself, as the head PR guy for the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie Natl. Forest Service. Evidently, he’s here to do a piece on the trail crews that are up the trail working from Earth Corps. He hadn’t gone up the trail yet, as he was waiting for another van load to show up. We talk for a bit, and then he asks us if we know why the trailhead has been closed. Well, now, that got our attention. “Uh…Nope, I have no idea.” So, he tells us that it’s closed due to an “aggressive bear” in the area that tore up someone’s tent the night before. By this time, the Earth Corp van showed up, and as they are making introductions with the Forest service guy, they notice that we are still gearing up to go, so a woman with the group walks up and gives us more info. Apparently it’s a young bear, she said, and afraid of people, but it had become food acclimatized from last summer, when someone left food in their tent and the bear destroyed the tent, looking for food. Later, we would find out that someone last summer had left bacon grease in their tent. Now, the hungry bruin is sure that all tents hold delectable morsels, and attacks unmanned tents with relish…Ok, maybe those weren’t the exact words she used, but…She said the Fish and Game dept. had been here yesterday, with bear dogs, trying to track it down, but were unable to find it. Well, it didn’t really sound as if they were telling us not to go, so we took that as a, “as long as you’re careful…”, and crawled under the tape. Not before I managed to crack the windshield, though…This is what happens when you’re lazy. And in a hurry… As I was getting ready to lock up the car, I noticed I had left the glove box lid open, and it seemed a no brainer to me, (since I had just gone to the trouble of getting the backpack on, that I reach across the car with my trekking pole, and close the glove box. It was all going well until the pole slipped off the glove box, and the tip of the pole hit the windshield with a sharp “tic” sound, and now I’m the proud owner of a new star shaped crack in my glass! Dang it! Who knew that would happen? Not wanting to try for two, I sighed, shrugged off my perfectly adjusted load, and reached in and closed the glove box. We locked the doors, and climbed under the yellow tape, hurrying up the trail before we hear the sounds of, “Hey, what do you guys think you’re doing?” No one calls us back, and we continue on up trail. The trail begins in second growth timber, and is very flat, the first 1.5 miles are supposed to be on an old railroad grade, but the only clue that you’re given as to it ever being here, is the fact that it is a nice flat bench cut into the hillside. Ghosts of the past stand sentry on either side of the trail, stumps of humongous old cedars, with springboard notches cut into the sides, some looking like sunken eye sockets and toothless old grins. There are several scattered along the way, reminding you of what helped fuel progress here long ago. After 3 miles of fairly flat trail walking, the trail veers towards the East Fork Foss River, and what was once only faintly heard, now is more insistent, as the river courses over a rocky bed. It’s a river of varying personalities, as here, through large boulders, the river creates rapids that create the rushing sound we hear, and further along the trail, it becomes lazier, flowing over a sandy bottom. Then, as it approaches the hills that lead steeply up, and the small tributaries that flow together to create its headwaters, it becomes more energetic, leaping over jumbled rocks, and eating at the banks that contain it. In 5 miles, following this watery chameleon, we reach the end of the flats, and the beginning of the constant ups to come. The trail appears washed out here, and if not for the surveyors ribbon on the opposite banks, across an old log that spans the gap, you would spend time looking for where it wandered off to. Across the log, the way starts up immediately through a large talus slope, which sometimes resembles a trail, as rocks have been moved around to make it easier to pass. After about a 100yards or so, the trail shows up once again, and you continue your steep hike towards the lakes. From this point on, the trial (trail?) rises steeply, for you will gain 2400ft in elevation in the next 2.7 miles over tree roots, rocks, boulders, mud, and occasionally a small stream or two that pass for trail. Lots of high stepping to gain purchase over the jumbled collection of tree roots and large rocks only add to the ways in which this trail becomes a challenge. From the first boulder field on this side of the river, the trail is relatively in the open, and only occasionally visits small copses of old growth timber, giving you some shade if you’re on the trail midday. With sun, of course. And, “in the open” means, of course, that there are no large trees. Everything else seems to grow here, and the biggest culprit for entanglement is the vine maple, which in these openings grows in abundance, crowding the trail at every opportunity. A couple times, as we bend over to try and clear the grasping branches that grow over the trail, one of these branches would grab the top of your pack, and not let go until you bent it past 45 degrees, and then, mid step, try and hurl you down the slope. More than once, I almost lost my footing and plunged backwards off the side of the path, towards certain doom. After cursing the meddlesome maple, I would look downhill, searching for possible remnants of backpacks, shoes, hats, etc., to see if anyone before me had suffered the same fate, with more disastrous results. I was sure that I would catch the telltale signs of some brightly colored fabric. Nope. No sun bleached carcasses down there… that just meant, to me that, either I was too tall for this trail, or that no one else was nearly as clumsy. Sighing, partly from disappointment, mostly from increasing exhaustion at fighting brush and my imagination, I limped uphill after Greg. The trail follows one of the small streams that help create the Foss River, and it is a constant low roar, making conversations that are further than 10 feet apart hard to hear. At 6 miles in, you enter old growth forest and the generations of falling needles and branches, have helped to create a nice soft duff on the forest floor to walk on, much preferred to these weary feet. It continues like this, with an occasional short flat spot for you to catch your breath until you reach the Michael Nesby memorial bridge, built originally by the Trailblazers in 1973 in his honor. I believe the original had deteriorated, so a nice new one was built in its place. You will see the memorial placard on a boulder before crossing the bridge. Finally, after another grueling mile, you reach the first of the lakes at 7.74 miles in, and it was easily the most beautiful of the lakes we saw on this trip. Its surface was smooth as glass, and reflected the alpine firs and distant La Bohn Peak which towered over the far tree line. The trail hugs the east side of the lake, next to a granite wall, and the way was blocked by snow that had run up the side of the granite for about 50 feet or so, creating a snow bridge between the lake and the granite wall. Greg nervously stepped onto the snow first, afraid to kick a step in too hard, for fear of collapsing it, which would result in an unscheduled bath. Luckily, for both of us, the snow held, but it looked as if it would not last for long, especially after a few more hot days…From here, the way became more and more snow bound, until finally the trail pretty much disappeared under the white stuff. Within half a mile, we reached the Necklace Valley shelter, built in the 50’s, and it too, showed it’s age. Very dilapidated, not something that I would stay in, unless it was an emergency of last resort. Just beyond the shelter we were able to see Emerald Lake, a shallow lake that glowed orange from the accumulated iron deposits, I think. We continue to pick our path up to Opal Lake through small snow fields that after melt out, are probably pretty, small meadows, with small waterfalls feeding veins of water that wind their way down to the lakes. Where the snow is melted out, we can see the clear water running in carved out course ways. Very pretty, even in their current winter blanket. From the southern banks of Opal Lake, we can see a small spit of land on the eastern banks, between Opal and Cloudy Lake that looks to be bare of snow, a possible site for our camp tonight, so we pick our way carefully through the marshy, snow covered edges of the lake to find a great spot to pitch our tents on the divider between the two lakes. A large campsite, big enough for 3 or maybe even 4 larger tents, a flat rock to lay out on, and incredible views of the surrounding peaks and granite faces. Looking ffrom the site across the southern reaches of the lake, the skyline is dominated by nearby La Bohn peak, draped in snow, it’s right flank trailing off over the ridge that runs from there all the way north to Locket Lake and beyond. The ridgeline is also still covered in snow, occasionally being broken up by bands of bare granite, creating interesting patterns of white and dark in the afternoon sun. To the east, behind the boundaries of little Cloudy Lake, rises a sheer granite cliff that looks nearly vertical, with small outcroppings of alpine firs growing in the small step about halfway up the face. And, pretty much wherever life could find a spot to cling to, trees and vegetation sprout precariously, seemingly impossible to us, as it appears they are growing on solid rock. The dots of green speckle the granite all the way to the top. If you follow this cliff all the way back towards La Bohn Peak, your eyes find a gap between the ridgeline, and La Bohn Peak, and it’s this that we hope to use to reach the upper La Bohn Lakes, and beyond. The snow fills this gap, and from here it looks steep, but we figure we’ll have to wait and see when we’re on it, just how steep it really is. We can see large fractures running across the snow field, and we hope that it is all stable. You see, we hope to climb nearby Mt. Hinman, a peak that appears to be scalable without proper climbing gear…But, we’ll worry about that tomorrow, for now, we’re tired and ready to set up camp, so that we can prepare dinner. Dave was up first, so, lacking the foresight of Greg for trying new recipes, I settled on an old favorite, our Parmesan Noodle with Summer Sausage recipe, with mashed potatoes. Still not bad for trail fare!!! Cleanup, and we sit around talking about the day’s events, and what’s to come tomorrow, and at around 9:00, as it’s getting dark, Greg stares, and says, “look! There’s someone walking over there!” Startled, I turn around, and sure enough, there’s a guy walking with trekking poles, and no backpack across the snowfields at the southern edge of the lake. Did I mention that it was 9:00pm? It was already getting dark, and Greg and I both were amazed to see someone else out here, at night, with no headlamp and backpack…Seemed strange, I know that we would not have pulled such a stunt, unless it was an emergency. And, before we could wonder any more at the strange sight before us, he entered the tree line and was gone. I kept blinking my eyes, trying to re-focus, not really believing what I saw, and then with him gone, I started wondering, “Did I really just see that?” We’re nine miles from the trailhead down a steep and rugged trail, we saw no tents or other people other than the trail crew today, and yet…Here’s this stranger striding quickly into the enveloping darkness, by himself…Not what we expected to see way out here. Finally, our eyelids grow heavy, the stars are out by 10:00, and we hit the hay, hoping for clear weather tomorrow.
Day 3. 2688ft gain 5.63 miles. The night gone, we wake up to clear skies! Awesome! Our wishes granted, we set around waiting for the sun to peak over the ridgeline behind us, and watch as the sun begins to bathe the western ridgeline with the morning rays, gradually creeping down slope to reach the shores of Opal Lake. As we’re sitting here, having our cup of joe, and whatever morsels we brought for breakfast, suddenly, we hear “CRAA-AA-AACK! CRAA-AAACK! CRAA-A-AACK!!!” As if a monstrous creature was making its way across the snowfields behind us. We both stand up, and start scanning the shoreline for what could possibly be making all that noise, certain it was something huge and fur covered…”CRAACK! CRAA-AACK!” Is it getting closer? I can’t see it, and Greg and I look at each other, puzzled, because we can’t see what is making the noise, until it dawns on us. As the sun finally reaches the frozen shoreline of the lake, it’s the ice, cracking under the intensity of the morning sun. Relieved to know that nothing was coming to thrash us about, we set back down and finish our coffee and breakfast to the sound of splitting snow and ice. We pack light, carrying only what we will need to peak bag Mt. Hinman, and set our course for the gully between La Bohn Peak, and the eastern granite face. The ground to cover between our lakeshore camp and the gap is completely covered in snow, which covers the huge boulders that form the talus field that has tumbled from the granite cliffs above. The sun has not reached this part of the valley yet, so the snow is consolidated, but we still are cautious around the broken granite boulders that poke up above the snow, littered with the broken remains of trees blown down, and we can hear water rushing under the snow in places, as it courses everywhere here at the end of the valley. Within .6 miles, we’ve reached the bottom of the gulley, and the snow that fills the gap. “Whattya think, should we continue up? It doesn’t look too bad...” We decide to go, and begin kick stepping our way up the snow wall. The further up we go, the steeper it gets, and as we reach the bottom edge of an outcropping of granite here in the upper middle of the snow field, like a rock island, we decide to pause for a rest, and take pictures of the ever expanding horizon. Large waterfalls with many threads wind their way around the granite outcroppings on the cliffs around us, as if the mountains here were a giant ice cream cone, melting in the sun, creating rivulets that cannot find their way fast enough to the ground below. In the distance, to the north, away from our perch here, we can see the prominent peaks of Silver Eagle, Screeching Eagle, and Bald Eagle, the last being the most interesting, as it forms an almost perfect triangular peak piercing the sky. Rested, and ready to tackle the kick stepping again, we venture out onto the snow once more, and it’s not long before we really realize just how steep this is. I get out my inclinometer, and measure the slope here, where I still dared to take a hand off my trekking pole, and find that I’m on a 43 degree slope. Ahead, I can see it’s steeper still, and as we get closer to the fracture that runs across the entire top portion of the field ahead of us, we decide to angle across from the east side, below the granite cliffs across to the west side, to reach the crack. I notice it’s getting harder and harder to kick steps in, as the snow is firmer, not getting much sun, closer to ice now than snow, and it takes quite a bit of work to get to “the crack”…I reach it, and look into it, and it appears to be filled in with snow, but a test step reveals that it gives easily, causing me a bit of consternation. Will it hold my weight? Not really wanting to chance it, I decide instead to kick in a step/platform to stand on in the downward edge of the fracture. With this platform, I can now step up and across the 2 foot gap. I notice my heart is racing now from the exertion, and from being a little nervous. Can’t let the thought of, “What if we slip?” enter my already doubt riddled mind. Once across “Le Crack” (since we couldn’t remember the proper terminology for what a large fracture in a snow field is called, we came up with “Le Crack” it seemed good enough at the time), I was able to breathe easier, until I finally looked back to see Greg safely across the gap, and I took a picture, hoping to convey just how steep it is here. Once home, I measured the distance as best I could with our GPS and map contour lines. It seems this ravine is about 500ft tall, and the distance covered is .13 miles, or 686 feet, if I did the math right…That should help give you an idea of just how steep it was, being steeper towards the top near the fissure, as that is what in French “crack” means…I looked it up…Finally reaching the end of the gulley, it starts to flatten out and we are treated to breath taking views, it’s like a mountain cathedral up here!!! Jagged peaks fill the horizon in 3 directions, and the way north, towards our little camp on the lakeshore, is the only wide open view of skyline, and the clear blue skies allow you to see into the far distance. It’s breathtaking to be here, so beautiful. Looking south from this vantage point on the flats above La Bohn lakes, we can see a ridgeline that follows from the Hinman glacier above us to the shoulder of Bears Breast Mountain, steepled in granite spires too vertical to hold much snow or ice, instead it lies in large bunches at the run outs of the spires. Allowing your gaze to wander from the impressive peaks of Bears Breast, you turn southwest, and see the many named peaks that make up Summit Chief, another massive collection of chimneys, spires and broken granite that juts into the sky with all the pride of an ancient warriors jaw line. And, further southwest of Summit Chief, we can make out Chimney Rock, and it’s attendant peaks, also with massive snow fields at their bases, making us think that perhaps we have wandered into some higher reaches of the Himalayas…Wow and Wow…Seem to be all the words that Greg and I can muster as we take in the sights to the south of us. Time to move on, if we want to reach Mt. Hinman, so we continue towards La Bohn lakes, and happen across two sets of footprints in the snow. Could one of these set of mystery prints be the guy we saw last night? They still seem pretty fresh, you can actually make out treads in the snow, the sun has not yet melted them out, blending them into the sun cups that dot the snowy landscape here. We notice that they are coming from the direction that we have chosen to go, to reach the summit, so we follow them, and are now above the incredible ice blue waters of La Bohn Lakes. The first one we come to, we cannot believe the color of blue, it’s like looking at the deep ice of a massive glacier, the blue that only thick glacial ice can have, yet it’s in liquid form. Very eye catching. The biggest of the lakes, is still covered in ice, except for a narrow band of this same ice blue waters around its edges delineating its borders from the white snow that still covers everything here. The footprints continue upward, and we climb another steep section to gain another ridgeline, this one runs north to a peak that sits atop the sheer granite walls that lead to Cloudy Lake below, called Moonstone Mt. However, we still have a ways to go, as the footprints in the snow urge us on, leading us across massive snow fields. At some point we realize that we must be on the upper reaches of the Hinman Glacier, yet it’s impossible to tell, for there is no break in the snow to give us clues as to our whereabouts, only the peaks of false summits are bare, more piled granite boulders than anything, the dark colors helping to melt out the snow that once covered them. Finally, we see a ridgeline of stacked and shattered granite, piled high above us. Surely, this must be the summit! We clamber up onto it, only to see that once more, it’s not. But, from here, it appears that it is in reach, as the highpoint is now easy to see. We clamber back down off of this teetering pile of loose rock, carefully, for it seems as if every step dislodges a flat boulder. In one’s yard back home, these flat rocks would be great stepping stones, but here they are one step away from getting really scuffed up on the ride down…Back on the glacier, we make the summit, and put our rock in the cairn at the top. We look for the register that we thought was here, but could not find it to sign our names to. A bit of a disappointment, but all the same we feel the sense of accomplishment. Mt. Hinman is more a ridge line with these heaps of broken granite shards piled up to a point, than a real pinnacle. In fact, it seems that there might be two summits; it’s hard to look at the GPS or maps to really see which is the tallest. To us, it seems we are on the highpoint, but it’s hard to tell… North, the ice covered Glacier Peak glints in the sun, and further west is Mt. Baker, and miles and miles of distant peaks and mountains still covered in snow. Looking south again, we can see beyond Bears Breast to iconic Mt. Rainier, and further still, Mt. Adams is visible. It seems that we are on the highest point from here to distant volcanoes, and it is truly an inspiring view. We bask in the sun here while we take a quick lunch break before retracing our steps. As we sit here, we wonder at all the names of the valleys, lakes, peaks and mountains that stretch out as far as the eye can see, in any direction, almost as if we were passengers on an airplane. It’s 2:30, time to head for camp, so we retrace our steps without incident across the large rolling and sometimes steep snow fields back to La Bohn Lakes, baking in the full on sun, it reminds me of crossing the desert, your feet sink in with every step, no water in sight, and the hot sun overhead beating down. The only reminder of course, is the ice cold slap of snow as it’s turned up by our trudging…A few steep sections later, we’re at the La Bohn lakes flats, where we take a quick breather, then head down the depression towards the way down through the gap. During our trudge back to the lakes, especially as we were heading down some of the steeper sections, I was thinking about this return trip down, and hoping that the afternoon sun would have softened the snow some, making it easier to plunge step down, as it had for the return trip so far. Now we stand on the edge looking down, and as the slope disappears over the edge below us, we’re struck as to just how steep this is…I nervously go first, plunging my heels as hard as possible into the snows crust, and as I approach “Le Crack”, I’m not seeing that the snow is getting any softer…It’s just about as hard as this morning, and that does not allay my fears any. In fact, by the time I reach the fissure, and step down onto it, I turn to Greg, and say, “Boy, that’s pretty scary”, to which he replies, “Yeah, and it’s not over yet”, then…It happens. No sooner had the words left his mouth, when I hear him yell, “Dave! Look out!” then a sound like a cheese grater being drug over a solid block of ice, “Shrrrrrch!” and I see Greg go hurtling downhill, skip right over the crack, and continue headlong in a flurry of snow! Time slows down in moments like these, and my heart surely stopped for a few seconds, he was going too fast! He rolled over, to attempt self arrest, but by then his trekking poles were now already littering the slope, and like a cat, he was clawing at the slope with hands and feet trying to slow his rapid descent. It wasn’t working, and then he rolled over onto his butt again, and as he did, he really picked up speed again. I started yelling, helplessly, for it was the only thing I could do…”Self arrest! Self arrest!” trying to keep the frantic out of my voice, mouth almost too dry to speak, watching my friend hurtle towards certain destruction. I had plenty of time to think a thousand thoughts, about what to do when he lay broken on the rocks below, what we were going to tell our families, and plenty more that I’m thankful I’ve forgotten about by now…Heels dug in, he was now within 20 feet of the jagged granite island that we had stopped to rest at on the way up, and I held my breath. He hit the end of the snow, lurched forward, and for a moment I thought he was going to continue right on over in a head over heels tumble, but he bear hugged the large granite boulder and came to a halt. I’m still holding my breath at this time, waiting for interminable seconds before he stands up, and gives me the all clear wave…Breath rushes from my lungs, and I think, “Thank God!” He’s ok! A feeling of total relief washes over me, until I remember I’ve still got to get down…Adrenaline is now pumping through my veins, and I’m having a hard time keeping my knees from knocking, but I know that I’ve got to start moving. I take that first plunge step, too tentatively, and almost lose my footing. “Stop it!” my mind is screaming at me, and I have to talk myself through the first few steps, until I’ve convinced myself once again that I can do this…I head for Greg’s poles and bear spray, another piece of his gear that bailed on his wild ride downhill, and I hear him yell at me, “don’t worry about the poles!”, but I have to get them. All I can think is, “We’re only partially down, we’ve still got a ways to go, and he is going to need those…” “No problem, I’ll get them,” I reply, and make my way carefully down to the first pole, keeping away from his slide mark. I reach the first pole easily, as it’s not far away, grab it, and toss it down hill towards him, then get to the next one. It’s across his slide area, and I try one step in that direction, and realize that’s not a good idea, the little snow that was soft has been plowed away, leaving ice underneath. I lean over as far as possible, hook its loop in the end of my pole and fling it downhill again towards Greg. I repeat the process with the bear spray, and then, thankfully, reach the rocks, where all I can do is collapse to a boulder, and sit with my head in my hands, shaking. That was truly the most afraid I’ve ever been in the backcountry. Period. I told Greg so, and we sat there, laughing and exchanging what was going through our minds in those terrifying 20 seconds or so…He assured me he was fine, only missing a little skin on his arm, and his shoulder was a little sore, but other than that, no worse for the wear. Amazing, for surely, it could have been much worse…Much, much, worse. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing it, in vivid detail. Twenty minutes later, we gather ourselves to continue our downward descent. Greg decides to go as far as possible over the rocks, and I tell him, “I got to get back on the horse right now, or I may never be able to,” and climb back onto the slope. Those first few were not fun, and again, I had to talk to myself to get going, but, eventually, Greg and I reached the bottom of the steeps, and made our way safely back to camp, still shaken from what had just happened. And, our tents were still intact! That would have been icing on the cake, if we had returned to nothing but tatters. Seems the bear either wasn’t in the area, or he had no taste for nylon today…It was only then, as we were sitting at camp, did we allow ourselves to think about the worst that could have happened. We were thinking that if Greg had been seriously hurt, I would have had to get help, and then we started imagining how it would have gone…I can see the ranger now, being interviewed by the media, with the sounds of a helicopter in the background, shaking his head with a truly disgusted look on his face, “yeah, we tried to warn these two clowns, and they wouldn’t listen. Now, we’ve got to go rescue them…”Man, I’m soooo glad we dodged that bullet…We make our dinner, tonight Greg is the camp chef, and he makes an awesome meal, one that we have to add to our list of recipes, for sure. It’s Cheesy Bacospuds, and Alpine Pasta, recipes that he gleaned from WildBackpacker.com, their dinner recipes, and finely tuned for two. Again, awesome job, Greg-O, truly a backcountry feast! Sleep was fitful at first, as every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing Greg flying downhill, with the noise that every skier hates, that “scruch, scruch!” of snow flying off of ice. Other than me yelling, it was the only noise to the whole episode, but one all the same I will never forget…
Day 4 3170ft loss/9 miles. We awoke to grey skies, slightly misty, actually, and after breakfast we load up and head home, a thankfully uneventful day, other than the fact that we actually got rained on during the return trip, and Dave has unsuccessfully broken in new boots… In fact, it seems they’ve broken him in, and I have several blisters on the tops of my feet, near my ankles, and no skin left on my heels, either, despite my best efforts at patching them up…On the way down, we start to pass hikers, and we figure that they must have taken the yellow tape down. The trailhead board, however, had a new bulletin on it: “Food acclimatized bear in the Necklace Valley, camping here not advised at this time”…An eventful hike, one that will not be forgotten. There is plenty to see and do in the Necklace Valley, and if you decide to go, there’s opportunity to explore the many lakes that dot the valley, or if you’re up to the challenge, there are also Mt. peaks to climb, I just hope for your sakes, that you are able to avoid the situation that we found ourselves in.

Cascadia Inn, Skykomish, Wa.

Necklace Valley Trailhead, #1062

Easy beginnings, on the old railroad grade.

Massive granite face along the Foss River Valley

Greg crossing the East Fork Foss River

First views towards the Necklace Valley

Beautiful Jade Lake, the first of many in the Necklace Valley

Another view of La Bohn Peak and Jade Lake

Greg crosses a tenuous snow bridge...

Necklace Valley Shelter...For some.

Emerald Lake

Necklace Valley meadows...Covered in snow.

La Bohn Peak, with the gap that we would climb up on the left

Camp for the next two nights, between Opal and Cloudy Lakes.

Orange tinged and scum covered Opal Lake, the southern edge...

A cold night produces ice on our little watering hole...

La Bohn Peak, with the gap we must climb.

Dave kick stepping his way up, before it gets really steep...

Greg just climbed over the large fissure near the top of the steeps

Summit Chief Mt. , with Chimney Rocks behind

Close up view of Chimney Rocks

Diminutive Dave crosses large snow fields

Mt. Adams, and Mt. Rainier, visible across Bears Breast, from Mt. Hinman

Cairn on top of Mt. Hinman, Summit Chief and Mt. Rainier visible...

Dave taking video, from the Hinman Glacier.

Glacier Peak, looking north from the Hinman Glacier.

Iced over La Bohn Lakes, with Locket Lake in the middle distance

More snow covered steep terrain above the largest of La Bohn Lakes

The scene of the crime...You can faintly see Greg’s slide way in the middle

Our second journey takes us to the heights of the North Cascades, in the National Park itself, to the trailhead for Sahale Arm/Cascade Pass, but since it’s such a long drive to get to the trailhead from our homes, we decide to get there a day early, and find a spot to camp close by, so that we can get an early jump on the trail in the morning…
Day 1 Leaving home, we pile into Greg’s truck with not only our day hike gear, but also overnight “car” camping, (complete with lounge chairs and firewood for an evening fire), and head north to find a place for the night. We find that there are only a few options left, since this is the summer vacation season, and many of the campgrounds are full, but as we continue up the Cascade River road, on the way to the trailhead, we find a nice campsite at Marble Creek, and set up camp. Staking our spot, we now tend to the next urgent need, the filling of growling stomachs. A quick drive back to the town of Marblemount, and we find the sustenance we’re craving at the Buffalo Run Inn & restaurant, in the form of Buffalo Burgers. Never had one before, and neither had Greg, but we both gave them high marks for taste. Really, if they had not told you they were buffalo, you might not have been able to tell…Hunger satiated, we drive back to camp, and relax around a campfire whose smoke helps keep the bloodthirsty skeeters at bay, before falling asleep in the chairs as day turned to night, listening to the fire crackle as it slowly died down…
Day 2 3966ft gain/loss 11 miles. We break down camp, and get on the road, eager to start early on the trail, for the weather report says it’s supposed to be nice today, and neither of us really wants to swelter under the afternoon sun as we’re hiking up trail, exposed to the full rays of a summer sun. From Marblemount, the Cascade River Road dead ends at the parking lot for the trail, and it’s 23 miles from town. Once you’ve entered the North Cascades National Park boundary, the road narrows, and you’ll pass the occasional sign that says, “Caution, primitive road ahead, no warning signs, one lane road, use turnouts as available”. Primitive roads? What constitutes a primitive road, the fact that there are no longer signs telling you what the speed limit is, or how fast to push the next corner, in gravel? Lack of Guard rails? Or, can we expect a total lack of civility, as we pass another car? What? We drive on, looking for signs that, “Yep! This here’s a primitive road, allright, dude totally forgot to use his turn signal, did you see that?” We did pass a 35mph sign, and we pointed at it accusingly, “Ah-hah! There is too a sign! Primitive road, indeed…” Or, something like that…We resisted the urge to uproot the offending sign, daring to encroach upon this primitive road. The road truly does narrow, the closer to the parking lot you get, and we arrive, disappointed, in the midst of a heavy gray fog, that has completely draped itself over everything, even sleeping climbers in their now wet vehicles. I try to keep the tone of sarcasm out of my narrative on the camcorder, as we prepare gear in the socked in parking lot, but this, I fear, I failed at as well…Have we once again been foiled by the North Cascades? It seems it always wants to hide, while torturing us with its famous miserable weather at the same time…Well, we’re here, and there is that promising weather report, so, nonplussed, we hit the trail at 8:20am. The trail starts in earnest, heading up, and for the first 2.6 miles, it’s a constant switchback through old growth trees on sturdy trail. According to the NP website, this is the most popular trail in the park, and the constant foot traffic that it receives is evident, as the trail is well worn by many boots into the hillside. As we near the 2.6 mile mark, we are now treated to the ever growing patches of snow over the trail, but it’s still easy to follow, for the muddy footprints of travelers before us have left a dirty path through the white snow, like the trail of mud from the yard through the house of many a hungry boy on his way to the refrigerator…We see a large Grouse on the trail, and attempt pictures, but to no avail, as the fog layer is still thick and heavy . Now, the trail is starting to sidehill steadily upward, and the trees start to thin, and become smaller. We are aware that we are probably in an area of clear views, but with the fog, visibility is reduced to about 25 feet at best. Finally at the 3.35 mile mark, we reach Cascade Pass, the only way we’re able to tell, is the fact that there is a nice rock patio with a small wall built up, and signage pointing the way to Stehekin, and the toilet…No views available, sorry. You’re in the North Cascades, or the Twilight Zone, it’s hard to tell, with all the heavy, swirling fog. Snow blankets the immediate area, and thankfully, we have the GPS, for it’s hard to tell which way the trail went, other than a trail of footprints beating down the snow. The pass is at 5380ft, so we’ve covered 1740ft of elevation so far from the parking lot. We head left, uphill, following the trail of footprints in the snow, for it seems that they are heading in the right direction, and our GPS unit concurs. We meet an occasional hiker heading down, and their voices are heard long before we actually see them, for it’s getting breezy now, and the wind aids in carrying their voices to us, announcing their presence. We pass in the fog, and ask them if it’s clear above, and they only shake their heads no…Hopefully, this ever increasing wind will aid in blowing it out. By the time we are firmly on top of the Sahale Arm, a ridgeline that runs uphill through small meadows mostly draped in snow, the wind is urgent now, blowing so hard that we have to yell over the roar to be heard. And, it’s getting cold, as I’ve stripped layers to avoid sweating. It’s an odd sensation, being hot and sweaty from the exertion, but my hands have now grown numb from the wind and temperature. Finally, we see our first signs of clearing, and are able to make out the peaks across the Stehekin River valley from our position here on the ridge, and we are astounded. So, this is what we’ve been missing?! Amazing! As soon as we reach the 7,000ft mark, we now have clear views of the mountainous terrain around us, and it is glorious. Jagged peaks of granite as far as the eye can see, in varying shapes and pinnacles, massive peaks that seem impossibly stacked up one after the other, like a wave of storm tossed waves crashing against a buttress. It is truly a spectacle, with glaciers and massive snow fields clinging to them wherever they can gain a foothold. Following the snow downhill, your gaze is met with the green of the Stehekin River valley below, and once we finally reach the base camp for climbing now nearby Sahale and Boston peaks, we can see Doubtful Lake below us, sparkling in the sun that has finally triumphed over the waves of fog that are blowing up through Cascade Pass. To the west coming up through the valley we drove up to get here, the thick gray of walking clouds rush to the pass, and pour over the dividing wall of Sahale Arm that dives down to the pass, creating a river of fog that breaks up and dissipates once it reaches the west side. There, in the midst of the clouds, poking up above the layer is the majestic peaks of Cascade peak, the Triplets, and Johannesburg Mt, like a granite island in the sky. There are a couple of large knobs of rock protruding above the snow field here, and built like small castle walls of stone around the tops of these knolls are some of the sites for tents, the nearest has two tents sheltered here from the screaming wind that harassed us on the way here, but surprisingly, as we shrug off our packs to sit and take it all in, the wind is now calm. I break out my camera to take pictures of the peaks that jut impressively into the sky opposite us, and as I do, I catch something out of the corner of my eye, near the walled in tents. There, amidst the gear of camp, was a Marmot, perusing the climbers’ belongings as if he were shopping. I tried to get closer to get a picture of the little scamp, but he already slowly moseyed off, not too concerned about my presence, still not wanting me to get too close…After all, I might be the owner of said possessions! Then, I could hear the little critter gnawing on something, so with camera in hand, I rounded the wall, and there he was, busily chewing on a pair of Teva Sandals, that looked a little worse for the wear now…Snapping a few pictures of the busy little guy, I got closer so that he would leave, before the sandals were nothing but a remnant. I’m quite sure the owner of the sandals is gonna be a little unhappy when he returns. We can see 4 climbers on the glacier above us, and it seems evident that they are probably the ones that left camp here. Its noon, so we take a half hour break before heading down. Sitting here at 7600ft, gives us a perfect view of the ridges, peaks, and glaciers opposite us, and I am intrigued by their shape and size. There, to my left, is a perfectly shaped sharks tooth of a mountain, and there to its right, is a tangle of ice, granite massifs, and spires that connects to another large snow/ice field, forming a bowl that rises sharply to the right, looking as if the top of the mountain here had been broken off. Behind them, are wave after wave of chimneys, peaks, and jagged granite that seem impossible, as if they stretch on forever. They remind me of holding up a large branch that had been snapped off a tree during a howling storm, holding the broken edge up against the skyline, so you could see every sharp edge silhouetted against an angry sky. How can one not know that these collections of mountains existed before? Where was all the print heralding their presence? Until you sit here, pondering how you could have missed these wonders, it’s hard to describe the feeling that you must be in a different part of the world, for surely you could not have missed them until now.  When I arrive home, I cannot wait to find the names of these peaks, and find that the name of the sharks tooth is Trapper Mt. (and hidden behind the sheer granite walls between us and it, is a large lake called Trapper Lake). The massif is Magic Mountain, (surely), and the broken top is Mix-up Mt. Hulking behind it, the top seeming large and fortress shaped, is Mt. Formidable. From the right shoulder of Mix-up , above the pass, and back towards the parking lot, west, is The Triplets, (named for the 3 distinct side by side peaks), then Cascade Peak, then Johannesburg Mt. furthest right, poking up above the cloud layer. I could sit here for hours, wondering about how to get to the distant spires beyond, but…lunch is over, and we head back down. People are just now beginning to be visible on the trail below us, appearing out of the fog bank, and we’re glad we got an early start. Back down hill we go, and as we get to the meadows on the arm, (the upper reaches near base camp are bare stone, scree and talus fields that must be clambered over to get to the camp), we notice more and more of what we missed on the way up, as the fog begins to break up. Now, to our west, we can see down the Cascade River Valley, and the hanging glaciers from Johannesburg Mt. are now visible, as are the peaks on the Triad, and the massive glacier field radiating outward from Eldorado Peak. I am stunned that we missed all of this on the way up and perhaps it best that I had the blinders of heavy fog on, for who knows when we might have reached the top, knowing full well that I probably would have stopped every 300 feet to stop and take a picture. Just ask Greg…Now, on the way down, we can stop and allow Dave his digital addiction, and it is a scratch that I must itch over and over and over again…My apologies, Greg-O! The closer we get to Cascade Pass, the more and more people we meet, and once we reach the pass, we see several families with their children enjoying the now wide open views in sunshine that were so evidently missing on the way up. Back at the parking lot, you have to crane your neck to look up at the behemoths of granite that crowd the beginnings of the Cascade River Valley. Hanging waterfalls, and others, cascade down the granite cliffs, to feed the beginnings of the river, and huge snow fields still persist up the valley head towards Cascade Pass. Truly, it is a spectacle that is unmatched, and I urge you, if only once in your life, to journey to this part of the North Cascades, and see for yourselves that which I have trouble describing, for my obvious lack of descriptive adjectives is sorely lacking in describing a place so full of beauty and raw power.

Trapper Mt, pokes up like a shark fin, lingering clouds still visible

Doubtful Lake below us, and Magic Mt. now visible as the clouds dissipate

Cascade Peak, and Johannesburg Mt. Rise above the fog bank.

Here’s the marmot that decided to chew on the climbers teva’s.

Sahale Peak, and Sahale Glacier, specks are climbers..

Greg stands above it all, at the climbers bivouac

Trapper Mt, Agnes Mt, Gunsight peak, and the shoulder of Magic Mt.

Views of cloud draped Magic Mt. along the trail.

Magic Mt, and Mix up peak to the right.

The view from Cascade pass, looking down the Stehekin River Valley

Looking up at Cascade Pass, from the parking lot

Mt. Torment, and Forbidden Peak, as seen from the parking lot.

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The summer weather is holding! After such a cold wet spring, it’s great to know that we’re finally getting some great summer weather for our hikes, so once again, we take off to the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, to feast our eyes on more of what the area has to offer. Greg is unable to join us, so Brian and I trek this one together.
Day 1 6.2 miles, 2910ft gain. Since it’s relatively close to home, we leave early on Friday morning, hoping to get a head start on the rest of the crowd that is sure to visit this popular destination. The road here is rough, and a high clearance vehicle is recommended, especially as you cross Scatter creek. When we crossed over, (it’s a paved road over the creek bed, to minimize erosion, think of it as an underwater bridge), the water was almost 2 feet deep. Finally, we reach the already crowded trailhead for Deception Pass, there must be over 20 cars parked here! Man, I sure hope all these people aren’t at the lakes; there won’t be any spots left to camp! We pack up, and hit the trail around 8:00am. It begins innocently enough, the trail is obviously well travelled, and looks as if an army has gone up before us, many boot prints have turned the trail to dust here. It’s an easy, flat hike for the first 1.5 miles, where you reach the shores of Hyas Lake, a large tree enshrouded lake that has magnificent views to nearby Cathedral Rock, a granite icon that stands like a beacon jutting out of the ridgeline above the lake that can be seen for miles. There are several campsites located near the trail that runs along this side of the shore, and it’s obviously a great day hike for families and anglers, for we can see many fish jumping here in the calm waters. Somewhere, between the car and near the lake shore, when we stopped to take pictures, Brian’s sunglasses decided to bail, and we looked around where he noticed they were no longer with him, and couldn’t find them …That sucked! Well, he’s gonna need some eye protection of some kind, so I offer my hat, in hopes that it will offer some relief from the sun that will be ever present on this hike. Past the end of the lake, around 3.3 miles in, we start the uphill journey to Tuck and Robin Lakes. It’s a moderate uphill, that switch backs through old growth fir, filled with birds constantly chirping, providing the soundtrack for this section of trail. At mile 4, we reach the turn off to the upper lakes, and I must stop to take a look at my sore heels. From our hike two weekends ago, after wearing new boots, I created blisters all over my heels and tops of my foot, that now are once again insistent. I was hoping that perhaps that last hike would have been the trick to breaking these boots in, but I find that so far, it’s not the case. More the boots are breaking me in…Moleskin applied to the hotspots, we continue on. Suddenly, the trail isn’t playing nice anymore, and in less than half a mile, it begins its bid for Tuck Lake by going straight up what I’m sure is a goat trail, to be kind. Loose rock, the kind that’s about the size of a baseball litters the dusty trail, and is a sure recipe for a twisted ankle, if you’re not careful. In places, you have to hang onto tree branches to steady yourself as you try and follow this thin wisp of a path as it continues its ever upward direction. Fluids are quickly leaving my Camelbak; the heat of the day, coupled with my exertion of high stepping over large obstacles and loose footing have me constantly reaching for the mouthpiece, sipping in ever increasing urgency…Finally, we reach the banks of Tuck Lake, and it’s a pretty, granite enclosed lake, with tenacious alpine firs clinging to the bald granite, wherever and however they can wiggle a root in to gain purchase. No matter how many times I see it, I’m amazed that they manage life here…Still, their gnarled appearance makes it look as if they are all Methuselah’s, having spanned generations of lifetimes as easily as if one crossed the street. The granite here is criss-crossed in large striations and cracks, further adding to the impression that this landscape has aged with the passage of time. The rounded knob outcroppings at the outlet of the lake are great vantage points to stop and stare across the Cle Elum River valley far below that holds Hyas Lake and the trail we just hiked to get here. The object of our ogling now, is massive Mt. Daniel, a hulking mass of bare granite covered in glacier ice and large snow fields, that are draped across it like a cape, covering the shoulders, but not the lower half, allowing you to see small rivulets of water flowing down the crevassed granite for hundreds of feet. To the left of the top peak of Mt. Daniel sets Cathedral Rock, looking like a medieval knight’s helmet set aside. Of course, I break out the camera and camcorder…During our picture fest, we meet a guy that has come down from upper Robin Lakes, and he said that there was a large herd of mountain goats, around 30 or so. Great! Would love to see them! We part ways, and continue our upward battle, glad that we’re now only about a mile from the lakes! From here, there really isn’t much of a trail, and we know that we need to stay to the right of Tuck lake for the best route up, but as we walk on what we think is the trail up, we lose sight of the lake, then reacquire it a bit later, continue heading around to the right of the lake, until it’s obvious that what we’re looking at is lowly Tuck’s Pot, a small offshoot of the lake itself. Dang it! A bit more bushwhacking, and we’re back on track. We’ll note that on the way back, and not be fooled again…The trail is incredibly steep here, and reminds me of reaching the Enchantments from the Snow Lake side, as you need to follow cairns most of the way, and there are times when you have to set trekking poles aside to grab hold of whatever you can to pull yourself up to the next foothold, whether it be rock, root, or tree limb. To say it’s a rough trail, would be a mild understatement.
This last mile will take almost an hour, but once reaching the crest, and looking down into the Robin Lakes basin, your breath will be taken away once more, this time from the awe inspiring lakes below. Carved into the solid rock here, are two beautiful alpine lakes, the lower being the most scenic. The lakes are surrounded by sloping walls of solid rock, with a dividing ridge separating the two. This ridge runs uphill towards Granite Mountain, and has small pockets of trees and flat ground that provide excellent tent sites. The lower lake is enchanting, for it winds around rounded bald granite, with small pockets of alpine trees and meadows, creating small islands of fancy in its crystal blue waters. Fish jump, water chuckles over rock at the outlet, and the only thing that seems to be missing is sprites and elves populating the shores here. As your gaze turns to look at the cleft in the solid rock that becomes the lower lake’s outlet, the view becomes majestic once more, looking more like a back drop painting than a possibility. Massive Cathedral Rock dominates the background, and all the jagged and pointed peaks in the distance provide stark contrast to the rounded and sculpted granite of the lakes region. From the dividing ridge that separates the upper, and larger of the two lakes from the lower lake, you can even see distant Mt. Rainier. This combined with Cathedral Rock and the hulking shape of Mt. Daniel, against the foreground of the lower lake, is truly a spectacle to behold. Large Billowy white clouds lazily float by, casting shadows across the stark granite and reflective surface of the lower lake. It truly is captivating, and my camera whirs with a flurry of frenzied pointing and shooting, not wanting to miss or waste a single moment. We quickly head for the dividing ridge, wanting to claim our spot before others show up. We only notice two other tents in the lakes basin, we’ve arrived in time! After setting up camp, we collapse exhausted for a few moments, swatting at the insistent biting flies that inhabit this otherwise perfect spectacle. It’s hot out but no matter…We slumber for an hour in the tent, a refuge from the swarms of biting pests that have now made themselves known. Time to filter water, and wander around taking more pictures of the area, as well as look for the mountain goats…Where were they? We had hoped to see them when we got to the lakes, but have yet to see any…No matter, dinner still needs to be prepped, and after an hour of wandering about, trying to capture that perfect picture, we set to work on getting our meal ready. After dinner, it’s cleanup time. The hours pass, and we notice more and more people wandering in, and at one point, a man and wife walk up to our camp, and ask if there are any more sites further up. We confirm that, yes, there’s a nice spot just above us, overlooking the lake. They thank us and set up camp, our new neighbors. After dinner, Brian spies the mountain goats, but before I could get my camera out, we hear the barking….Incessant dog chatter, which chases off the goats. Just great! No matter, though, as later a group of goats wandered through camp, and we got some great pictures of them, including a young kid. It’s always nice to see the goats.
Later that evening, as we’re wandering around, the man waves at us, and invites us over to his campsite for cocktails. “Sure! Thank you, we’ll be right over!” Introductions are made all around, and we find out that they are Doran and Mary from Yakima. This is our introduction to back country whiskey sours, made with crystal light and snow, a great beverage on a hot summers day. We enjoy good conversation sitting on the rounded granite rock that slopes down to the waters of the lower lake, a perfect vantage point to watch the sun slowly set over the distant mountains. No words can describe the rapt attention that this will require, especially as the sun sets against this most impressive view, the alpine glow casting faint pink shadows on the now reflective white granite. On a clear summer’s night, we sat and watched the sun fade from view, and the evening stars reflecting off the surface of the lake, creating the illusion that there was a hole through the world like a magician’s ring, allowing us to see the night sky on the other side of the universe. What further enhanced the effect that it was magic, was the occasional shooting star that would light up the sky in a moment of brilliance before quickly fading like pixie dust, its image reflecting off the lakes mirror surface, a double image that I’ve never seen before, nor do I ever expect to see again. One word to describe this warm summers night…Awesome. We thank our hosts for the drink and conversation, and hope to see them again the following night, when their family will show up in the late afternoon. Knowing we’ve got a big day, trying to bag two Mt’s tomorrow, we get to bed around 10:30pm.
Day 2 4.1 miles, 1392ft gain/loss. It’s still technically night at 3:00am, but it’s at this wee hour of the morning that we get some loud visitors around the tent. We can hear goat hooves clattering around the tent, sometimes running, and a few loud huffs, like they’re playing or something. I sure hope they don’t decide to play Billy goat’s gruff on top of that orange boulder they’re running around. Not sure I want a surprised animal with sharp hooves and horns landing in the middle of my gut! We stay awake until they leave…Up around 7, we shoulder our day packs, and head up the ridge past Doran and Mary’s site, and they too, are up, and ask, “ What happened to the early start?” It’s now 8:30, and not so early…”Ah, you know…Cup of joe, and breakfast, and before you know it, the mornings’ half over!” They too, are gearing up to head up the ridgeline. Within 20 minutes, we’re at the top of the ridge, and looking back down to the now small lakes below us, it’s an awesome sight. The deep blue of the waters stands in stark contrast to the bald granite creating their shorelines, and beyond, you can see the snowy slopes of Mt. Daniel and wave after wave of sharp outlined peaks and mountains in relief against the morning skyline, stretching as far as you can see. The farther peaks blend together, as the distance hazes the edges, like an oil painting. Now, we must turn left, and cross a small saddle, humped high with snow, the peak of which is quite narrow, only a couple of feet wide. Across the saddle, it’s a quick scramble up to the first bump on this ridgeline, an unnamed rounded top, and then head east along another ridge to the top of Granite Mt. Within an hour, we’ve bagged our first peak! We look around the large granite boulders that sit jumbled atop the peak for a register, but find none. Perhaps this mountain is too minor a peak to justify one, I guess. No matter, the views here are well worth the effort! In the distance to the north, we can see Glacier Peak, and Mt. Baker, while below us there are small tarns with ice blue waters, ice still covering them in places, among the litter of broken granite that has sloughed off the various small peaks that make up this ridgeline of the Granite Mountains. We make our way back to the first little peak on this ridgeline, and we run into Doran and Mary again, and stop to chat for a few minutes, before continuing on our quest along the ridge towards Trico Mt. The ridge encircles Robin lakes below, the largest lake looks like a scene from some section of the north Atlantic, deep blue waters dotted on top with white ice chunks. Hard to believe that August is almost over, it still looks like late May, or June here…Twenty minutes or so later, we find that we have to clamber downhill somewhat, on the side opposite the lakes, to avoid tangled firs and bus sized boulders. On the wayward side of Robin Lakes, we can look down into the tree line on this side and see the pretty twins, Klonaqua Lakes, almost 1000ft below us, ringed in trees. Continuing along the ridge, we can see an easier way to get up to the top of the ridge once again, and for the remainder of the ridge we’re able to keep Robin Lakes in sight. Down to the far northern tip of the lake, we cross over, past several more snow lined tarns, and then find a on again, off again climbers trail up the next ridge line to Trico Mt. Snow covers the trail in several places, and it’s not until we’re past the Granite Mt. Potholes, another string of lakes, that the snow peters out, and it’s just a constant uphill slog under the penetrating sun. At the top, we talk for a few minutes with a couple that arrived shortly before we did, while admiring the mountaintop views from here. There are a scattering of even more lakes below us to the NE, including little Phoebe, larger Leland, and a couple of smaller tarn sized lakes called Shoal and Jungfrau lakes. In the distance, to the north, is ice capped Glacier Peak. Stopping for even a few minutes is difficult, for it allows our constant nemeses, the biting flies and mosquitoes, to swarm us, looking for openings. Within seconds, we begin the fly swatting dance, high,lo, lo, high high, lo, lo, “Dang bugs!” Hi, lo, and so on, looking only slightly crazed as we continue our mad swatting…It’s easier to keep moving, so we bid farewell, and head back down trail. A few minutes from the top, in a meadow that occasionally allows a cooling and bug scattering breeze to blow up and over us, we stop for a quick bite in between the constant hand waving necessary to keep the bloodsuckers from draining us dry. There comes a point, I know I’ve reached it several times myself, where you feel as if you’re about to be driven over the edge, and turn into a raving lunatic, the bugs just are that bad. Eventually, though, you reach a point of resignation, (or at least I know I did), where you just let them land, only occasionally paying them any attention unless the bite hurts, or it’s a horse fly. Those, no matter the point of indifference you’ve reached, you ALWAYS swat at, or try to kill, because if you don’t, the little bugger is likely to fly off with a piece of your hide…I’d reached that point of not caring anymore, sitting here in the hillside meadow, looking out towards Mt. Daniel. I wondered if there were any bugs there, on its snow filled slopes…Lunch over, it’s a downhill march back to camp. A nice round trip, we’ve bagged two named peaks, covered 4.1 miles, gained and lost 1400ft, and back in camp by 2:30pm. Now, all we want is some relief from the horrible insects, and we climb into the tent to rest, and to have an hour’s respite from being constantly harassed by the biting insects. The goats are back and we get some more good pictures. I’m able (I didn’t try, really) to get within 10 feet of the goats, as they amble by our tent. After dinner, we wander uphill once again to Doran and Mary’s camp, to meet their family, Justin and Eva and watch the nighttime spectacle one more time... We are not disappointed. We trade stories of the trail and lives in general, have some good laughs, and as we leave their camp, I tell them that you meet the nicest people out on the trail. Thanks again for your hospitality; we sure enjoyed our time together!!!
Day 3 6.2 miles, 2910ft loss. Pretty much all downhill from here, and this time we correctly navigate by Tucks Pot, keeping the real lake in sight the whole time, and, knowing we’re on our way out, I start daydreaming about the post hike meal, a nice cheeseburger and shake in town…It helps to keep me going, as it’s a hot and dusty hike out. All in all, an awesome hike, one that everyone should do at least once, for the effort is more than paid off when you reach the beautiful basin of Robin Lakes. It’s almost as if it’s an extension of another set of gems in the Alpine Lakes, the unmatched Enchantments, for the same rounded and ever present granite looks the same here as it does there. And, with the goats running around, it just seems that if you cross that next ridgeline, you would see the upper Enchantments. There is one glaring difference, though. People bring their dogs here, (which, are not allowed in the Enchantments, for good reason), and this particular group of people seemed to be totally unaware of how their dogs constant barking, and chasing after the goats, was not acceptable. It’s why dogs are not allowed in certain sections of the wilderness, because they harass the local wildlife. So, please. If you must take your dog with you backpacking, fine. I don’t mind dogs, it’s great to be able to take Fido on the trail with you. However, make sure it’s properly socialized so it’s not barking at everything, including its own shadow, and doesn’t feel the need to chase off the goats that so many people here hike to see. That and starting campfires here next to the lake…Really?  Did you not see the 4 different signs that say NO CAMPFIRES on your way to the lakes??? If everyone decided they needed a campfire, because they were just that special that they didn’t need to follow the rules, well…There might not be a backcountry worth coming to anymore... I know this may sound like a rant, but, trust me. The rules are there for a reason. Let’s have some common sense, people! There. Nuff said.
On arrival back at the car, I was sure I was going to pull bloody stumps out of my boots. I vowed, that when I returned home, I would never put these back on…As we climbed in the car, I noticed a violation tag under my wiper. What? I had the hang tab in place! I pulled it down, turned it over, and stared at it…No card, just the hang tab. When I pulled it out of the glove box, it must have fallen off, so, I was the proud recipient of a $75 ticket! Doh!!! I stopped and talked to the local volunteers at the ranger station at Fish Lake, but, he told me there was nothing he could do about it…Just one more thing to remember…  Look to make sure the card is in the hang tab!!!!!

Hyas Lake

Rock island in Tuck Lake

Mt. Daniel from the shores of Tuck Lake

Lower Robin Lake, the billowing clouds reflecting.

Brian at our idyllic camp site...

Upper Robin Lake, still half covered in ice.

Still lots of snow at Robin Lakes, Mt. Daniel in the distance.

Ice still floating on lower Robin Lakes

Dramatic morning skyline, with Mt. Rainier and Cathedral Rock

The goats come calling in the morning...

The Guardian

Robin Lakes from above, across to Mt. Daniel.

Brian on the snow above Upper Robin Lake, Glacier Peak distant

View from top of Granite Mt. Looking towards Glacier Peak.

Brian above Klonaqua Lakes.

Upper and Lower Robin Lakes, Mt. Daniel in the distance

Evening sets over Robin Lakes.

Mary, Brian, and Dave, watching the sun set.

Justin, Eva, Brian, Mary, and Doran at Robin Lakes, Twilight Time...

Another glorious summer weekend of weather!!! The forecast is for hot and sunny the entire time we’re to be on the trail, and it’s more than I could have hoped for when we were mired in the midst of the coldest spring on record, it seemed then impossible that we could get so lucky to string together so many sunny weekends for our hiking trips, but…Here we are!
Day 1 Dan and Brian will join Greg and I on this trek, so the 4 of us pile in the Tahoe, (with broken AC, I might add), on a hot and sunny Thursday and head for Cooper Lake CG, our first stop on our journey. Talk is limited on the way there, as it’s nearly impossible to hear one another over the roar of rushing wind as it blows through the open windows at 70mph. That’s the speed limit on I-90…After finding a great spot at Cooper Lake, and setting up camp for the night, we travel back into Cle Elum for dinner, and find a nice place called Beau’s Pizza and Pasta where we get a good meal.
   Back at camp, we sit around a campfire, and listen to the antics of our nearest neighbor, a dad, his young son, and their dog. As many times as the dog’s name was used, you would think I could remember his name, but I don’t. The boy was full of questions, and some were quite hilarious to us, but only because we didn’t have to provide the answers. At one point during the evening, the dog made a jailbreak, the son (remember, we could hear all the conversation) was supposed to be the guard, but he let the dog slip by, through the open tent door, and made a mad dash to anywhere but there. It was one of the rare times when the animal didn’t make a sound, and they had a hard time locating him in the darkness of night. They finally found him, and set about once again trying to pump up the air mattress. For almost an hour, we could hear the whine of a battery powered pump going…It was speculated that perhaps there were two valves on the mattress, and perhaps one of them had not been closed….I’m just saying…The fire burned down, so we headed off to bed.
Day 2 11.8 miles, 2635ft gain. The trailhead is close, so we rise early to get a good start, and we’re on the trail to Pete Lake, #1323, by 8:30am. The trail to begin is a bomber trail, very easy, well marked, and mostly flat, so we arrive at Pete Lake in short order, 1.5 hours to be exact. That was easy, if only the rest of the hike would go so well!!! From Pete Lake, it’s a short jaunt to another trail junction, this one, (according to the trail signage) is a “primitive” trail crossing that leads to Spectacle Lake, and the PCT, more a stock route for animals, than for those on foot. Later, within another .6 mile, is the junction to the PCT for hikers, where a foot bridge crosses Lemah Creek. I guess primitive means you’re gonna get your tootsies wet, or if you are a more refined hiker, with tastes that lean more to a “defined trail with engineered spans”, you can go another 1.2 miles out of your way to make sure you don’t have to remove your boots…Go figure….
   The trail follows Lemah Creek upstream to join the PCT, and then through a section on the map named Lemah meadows. Funny, all I really remember along this stretch was trees, and where there were no trees, the open areas were filled with low lying scrub brush, and vine maples, not really my idea of a meadow, and certainly nothing I would want to languish in, with my boots off to feel the meadow grasses…Still, it’s possible there was a meadow nearby, that was not within view of the trail.
   As the trail neared the end of this creek drainage, before starting it’s switchback up hill, there is a large clearing at the beginning of Lemah Creek, and we can see across the valley to impressive Lemah Mt, and Chimney Rock, an impressive wall of parapet topped black granite ramparts, looking every bit like the Black Gate at Mordor, challenging all who would think to pass. As the snow from the upper reaches melts, it feeds an impressive roaring waterfall that cascades over the lower rock walls at their base, finding a cleft in the rock to flow through and over, which meets the encroaching tree line head on, an incredible sight. According to one map that I’ve seen, (for it’s marked simply as “falls” on others) the name of this cascade is called Whinnimic Falls. Those with cameras will find it impossible to pass this area by snapping only one picture…Like the old jingle from Lays, “Betcha can’t eat just one!” Well, I betcha can’t snap just one!!!
   Stowing camera gear, and hitting the trail once again, it begins its upward climb in true PCT fashion, for the constant switch backs we will now endure are well planned , taking much of the steep out of the ridge that we now must clamber up to get to our camp for the night. Most trails in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, (at least to this hiker), seem to be planned, thought out, and executed by the local band of Mountain Goats, as they are interested in getting to the top as quickly as possible, going straight up the side of a mountain or ridgeline, and if that means grabbing rock, root, and tree limb to pull yourself up and over, then so be it. So, it is with welcome relief that we carry full backpacks up the ridge in full sun. Did I mention that Its getting hot? This is east of the mountains, and by now, it’s starting to get warm, which only adds to ones discomfort as you’re heading uphill with a full load. We stop about the halfway mark, to rest, and take more pictures, and as I look at the GPS route that I’ve traced, I see that there are only about 8 switchbacks left! There doesn’t seem to be any jumping for joy at the news…Nonplussed, as I reach the first switchback, and make the turn, I shout out as joyously as I can, (for I’m bringing up the rear), “One!”…Dan is nearest to me, so he turns around, and replies, “What???” Again, as happily as I can, “You know, “one!”, ‘cause that’s the first switchback!” He turns back around and continues on, leaving me to guess as to the nature of his reply. I’m sure that it includes head shaking and eye rolling….”Two!!!” Now I get some chuckles, but by the time I wearily chant out “Eleven!” I’m getting more of a retort that sounds something like…”Hey, I thought you said it was only 8 to the top!” Remember, gotta keep that positive attitude, so, “Yep! It should be right after the next one, we’re almost there!” “Oh, sure”, they mumble…”Heard that one before”, and “That’s what you said last time” were just a few of the repeatable phrases I got in reply…After the words “Thirteen” left my lips, it was clear that indeed, this would be the last one, and we reached the spot we would camp by 2:30pm. “See?” It was just around the next bend!”
   Sure that they are plotting my demise, we drop packs, and set to putting up tents and establishing our campsites. I use the word “establishing”, for we mark our spots by pretty much dumping everything out of our packs, and spreading it around, making it look as if a bomb went off in our packs. Establish as in a hurricane defines the area it touches by the debris field….
   It’s been a hot and dusty trek, so it’s not long before we’re all down at the water’s edge, looking to cool off, and before long, everyone has had a chance to jump in, and get rid of the trail grime and sweat we’ve accumulated. Very refreshing, I might add, and I take my time getting back out.
   The sun is still hot, so wet clothes dry quickly in its rays, the only problem is of course, bugs…They are horrible this hike, and swarm us without mercy. The only way to get away from them is to stay in the water, in the shelter of the tent, or to look like a Goony Bird trying to take off, as your arms are busy constantly wind milling, swatting at the tormentors. Three of us brought bug nets to drape over our heads, and it’s not long before we’re sitting in drying skivvies, wearing little else but a bug net over our head. It only looked slightly ridiculous, and since there are no fashion or food critics present, we feel relatively safe in our current attire. It’s only when cameras get broken out, does one get nervous, for fear of ridicule once back in the confines of culture and family…”What the heck are you wearing??? What, are you an idiot???” Yes, that’s me…The village fool…Dressed in undies and hair net, looking quite ready for the rubber romper room…It all seemed like a good idea at the time, until camera’s were surreptitiously broken out, now…Not so much…
   The lake that we’ve camped at for the night is quite beautiful, a small tarn at the base of a large talus field, complete with a complement of Pikas, for we hear them communicating with each other, with their trademark, “Eek!”...Or, perhaps it’s just in response to their current neighbors, who seem to have no fashion sense at all…All of the maps at our disposal do not name these lakes, they simply show up as small tarns, but in Jeff Smoot’s book, “Climbing Washington’s Mountains”, he names them Vista Lakes, and the name is fitting, for the vista from these lakes is inspiring. What once was viewed from below now seems a view that looks straight across to the jagged and pointed peaks along the top of Lemah Mt, and iconic Chimney Rock seems as bold and sheer as before, only just a lot closer now. Truly incredible views and I take several pictures and video, hoping that at least one captures the magnificence of this spectacle. Since the sun is now above and behind the rock ramparts, they seem darker than before, lots of the detail of the rock is lost in the shadows, making them seem more menacing and foreboding than before. The black rock seems a portal to a land beyond, like palisades belonging to a warlord from the shadows. The rounded granite that surrounds us looks as if some ancient battle had been waged here, scarred and barren, mingled with the dead forest that stands as a mute testimonial to some ravaging force that once visited here, it seems as if we have been transported to another land.
   I had planted a blue Powerade in the cooling waters of the lake for dinner, and had almost forgotten it, when a PCTer wandered into camp, then down to the lake to get some water. On his return, he stopped to chat, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Someone almost lost their blue Powerade!” Startled, I turned and said, “Oh? Did it start to drift away from the rocks?” “No, “he replied, “I almost drank it!” Seemed an odd way to start a conversation, but…Guess it was still there, so no harm. He told us he was hiking the PCT from Snoqualmie, and headed to Canada, and originally, he was from Tennessee. Was he alone? Nope. Appears that the guy that he was hiking with was slower, so he was here to wait a while to see if he showed up. We never saw the guy; so, hope they were able to meet up later…
   The nice thing about this lake, and the thing we hoped it had, was a nice snow bank to use as a reefer. Indeed, it had a couple, so the dinners were put on ice, burying them in the snow. Perfect!
   The first nights dinner, Greg made, and it was another delicious entry, Cheesy Bacospuds, with Buttery noodles and chicken, with cheese. Yum! Also, there was bread with butter, and dessert even! All made for a great meal, filling and satisfying. After cleanup, we sat and watched the sun go down behind the ridge, and topped off our meal as the stars began to show with our newest learned recipe, Whiskey Sours, from the last hike! Needless to say, they were the perfect topper for a great evening. We turned in and since our tents were without the rain fly, we were able to watch falling stars while falling asleep.
Day 3  4.2 miles 1500ft gain/loss.  The other part of our trek was to include climbing nearby Summit Chief, a 3 peaked summit to the NW of our campsite, along the attached ridge we were now on. I had preplanned two possible summit routes on the GPS, in hopes that once we got close, we could make a decision on the best plan of attack. Loading only our water, light jacket, first aid, and cameras, we set out for Summit Chief. There is no designated trail, but we do pick up a faint path that leads past the second lake, surrounded on one side by undulating meadow, then up the ridge to a small dip in the ridge, then over. There is still quite a bit of snow, so we traipse across several small snow fields on our way. Within half an hour, we are above steel blue Summit Chief Lake, a small circular lake on the run out below us, still harboring small patches of ice. Little by little, we cover huge slabs of bare granite, steep snow fields, and loose rock to reach the large snow lined bowl at the base of Summit Chief, where we need to make a decision. The snow slopes here are very steep, near their top, they are as steep as any we’ve seen before, and look to make the best way up unreachable.  The one path looks to take us up across steep scree and talus fields, making it very dangerous for the climbers below. That, and there are two jagged peaks that stick at least a hundred feet into the air along the ridge. Are there spots on the back side to get around? For the front route looks untenable, so we look to the route that goes up the left side, the most promising as for what we can currently see. This, too, has some large serrations that we cannot see if there are gaps so large we won’t be able to cross, so we take a chance, and head up to the left along ridgeline. Just getting to this section of the ridge is steep, and the snow has to be abandoned in order to gain the top, forcing us to clamber up steep loose rock. Once on the ridge, the going is straightforward, until we come to a gaping maw. End of the line. There is no safe way, other than falling with style; to get from this jagged perch to the next, there appears to be at least a 30 foot sheer drop to the rock below. It seems that Summit Chief has kept us at bay, for the snow fields here are still far too pronounced for us to get up them to the point we need to be, with our current gear, trekking poles and hiking boots…Sigh…Oh, well, better to be safe than sorry, and after a quick break to snap pictures and take a last look around this high point, we head back to camp.
   Once again, it’s a quick dip into the inviting lake, and I decide it looks like fun to swim to the other side. About ¾ of the way across, I notice my legs cramping, so I roll over and float/stroke my way to the safety of the other side…There are large boulders under the surface of the water to crouch on, and work out the cramps. Hmmm…Probably not a good idea to try and swim back, so I instead take a tour of the lakeshore, making sure that I don’t get into water that is over my head, in case I start to cramp up again. At least this way, I should have no trouble reaching the shoreline within seconds, and be in water that I can wade in…I think it was close to 20 minutes in this water, and the guys are quite convinced I’m part polar bear…Well, at least I’ve got the blubber part down pat.
   Again, we sun ourselves on the bare granite around our camp, donning skeeter nets to keep the horrible bugs at bay around our heads while our shorts dry. Its then that we get another visitor, a hiker we saw earlier, about 3 hours ago, heading up towards Summit Chief. He stops to talk to Brian, and when he sees Greg and I walk up stylin’ our briefs and bug nets, he cuts the talk short and walks back to his site, somewhere in the tree line below us….Can’t say I blame him, he was horribly overdressed for the occasion…
   Tonights dinner is Fajita’s, with Chips and Salsa as an appetizer! Retrieving the bear canister loaded with the fixings for our nights fare from the snow bank, we set about prepping, Greg chops onions, peppers,and tomatoes, Dan grates the cheese, (I didn’t say cut, for obvious reasons), and I get avocados cut and mashed for guacamole, another condiment for our chicken fajitas. After getting everything ready to go, we greedily suck them all down. It’s on this occasion, as I’m engrossed in cooking with my proper get up of bug net and briefs, that the camera everyone fears comes out,(as I had mentioned earlier), and Dan captures a blackmail worthy shot of me cooking in said apparel, looking every bit as if I was trying to ride the granite rock side saddle…Nice one, Dan! I’ll have your five hundred in small bills to you shortly…
   The dinner, though heavy to carry in, was a resounding success, every bit as enjoyable here in the backcountry, as it would be in the front. Thanks to everyone for helping to pull it off, I will have the recipe posted shortly. I must admit, with 4 guys, it made it much easier to carry in, and the snow bank   was a must to keep everything from spoiling and tasting fresh.
   As daylight faded to evening shadows, the Whiskey Sours visited once again, and were attacked with as much relish as the night before. Truly another spectacular day here in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.
Day 4  12.6 miles, 663ft gain/3388ft loss. Up and out. Another long slog is ahead of us, so we break camp around 8:00am, and hit the PCT once more. It’s a great ridgeline hike, as we round the leading edge of the spine of rock that we’d been camped on, granting us wide open views south and SE from the trail. The trail is relatively flat, and follows the contours all along this ridge, bowing back in to a couple more unnamed tarns through thinly populated trees and Manzanita brush, then back onto the next ridge, this one more densely populated with firs, hemlock and some cedars now. Gazing between the trees, in the valley below us, we can see the green blue waters of Escondido Lake. It’s amazing how many different zones you will cross on this hike, from hot and arid, to meadows with marshes, then the shadows of large conifers and cedars. It seems to be not able to make up its mind, as if it has split personalities here. As we round the point of this ridge, we enter an area that has hillside meadows, the purple Lupine and golden yellow of daisies mix to make a sweet fragrance. There’s even a signed campsite here, in a meadow, also not showing up on any topo map. By mile 3 we reach our first trail junction, and Dave gets confused. You see, normally when I plan these routes, I make sure and note the junction with a POI, (point of interest) marker, and note the number of what trail we’re supposed to be on…But, I didn’t do that when planning this route, and just made the assumption that I would be able to figure it out on the trail…Well, that didn’t happen, and because of that mistake, we continued on the PCT for another .8 miles before it dawned on me that we had to be going the wrong direction, as we were getting closer and closer to Waptus Lake. That was part of the confusion for missing the trail in the first place. The route we should have been on, at that last trail junction was named Waptus Pass, and I just knew we weren’t supposed to be going to Waptus LAKE…I felt terrible…I had led us downhill for .8 miles the wrong way, adding mileage to what would already be a monster day…Back up hill we went, to the missed trail junction. Mental note to never plan routes again with the simple addition of POI’s….Sorry again about that nav error, guys….
   Back on track, on the Waptus Pass trail #1329C, it’s readily apparent that this trail is not as well traveled, or maintained. It’s easy to trace, however, and continues leading us downhill to Waptus Pass. As we near the pass, the trail levels off, and leads us through several muddy marshes, old logs laid across the worst spots in a line to help you from sinking up to your ankles in muck. At Waptus pass, there was a tree that fell in perfect line with the trail leading back towards Pete Lake, almost obscuring it from view. Our troop continues downhill along trail #1329, past the Escondido Lake trail, and across a tributary that will become Cooper River further downhill. At our 7.8 mile mark, (because of the 1.6 mile “detour”), we reach the steep slope above Pete Lake, and begin a knee burning .75 mile downhill, a set of rapid zig-zag switchbacks that on the map look like and ugly wound that was poorly stitched together. The trail on the upper part is very steep, dusty, and rocky, with few trees to shield you from the hot sun that’s now set to parboil. The loose rock here is varied in size, from baseball to pebble, all conspiring to do their best to trip you up. The knees and lower back take a pounding here. Finally, we reach the junction that rejoins us to the trail that will lead us back to the car, near Pete Lake. There is a sigh of relief, for we know that the rest of the trail will be easy on tired bodies. Greg’s heels have become blister upon blister, making for a painful walk, and Dan, too has worn a large blister on one heel. That, and just the amount of mileage under a very hot sun, carrying heavy loads, can zap ones energy quickly. We pass a few horses on the trail, and a familiar face. I look up during this slog from the dusty trail ahead of me, and right into the face of the little guy we camped next to 3 days ago! You know; the one with the persistent questions and who let the dog out! It looks as if mom has joined them, and as I look forward, Greg has looked back and said, “That was the guy that was camped next to us!” I too, was surprised to see them, yet relieved as well, for surely that meant we were close to the trailhead.
   Finally, we reach the parking lot and are quick to shed packs. As were milling around, trying to loosen stiff joints and just generally enjoying having the torturous boots and packs off, I happen to look to my right just in time to see a white Ford pick-up back into a car behind him, and then drive off! Hey! We jot down his license plate # and leave a note on the slightly spindled vehicle as a witness. To date, I’ve not been contacted by the owners.
   Back in the truck, (without AC), we head for home…But, not before stopping in Cle Elum for a much deserved burger and shake! One of our longer two day treks, for sure, with big mileage only broken up by our day layover to try and tackle Summit Chief Mountain. Because of its remoteness, its not a peak that is climbed often, but in no way does that diminish its challenge for those just wanting to scramble a named peak, with such great views. If ever I get the chance, during a month with less snow, or with the right climbing gear for steep snow, I wouldn’t mind the challenge of attempting it again, and this time…I know the right way home!!!!

Pete Lake in the early afternoon sun

Lemah Mt. ramparts, with large waterfall

Lemah Mt. Close up with waterfalls

A castle like peak along the Lemah Mt. Ridge line

Dan somewhere along the many switchbacks before camp.

Brian at base camp, Chimney Rock in the distance.

More impressive views from Vista Lakes

Vista Lake, and Greg getting ready for a dunking...

Yep. I thought it was definitely swim worthy!!!

Brian and Greg prepping dinner our first night.

Evening at camp

Daybreaks on Summit Chief.

Morning light on Chimney Rock

Summit Chief

The boys crossing one of many snow fields

Chimney Rock, with Mt. Rainier in the distance

In the bowl at the base of the summit

One of many obstacles to be passed on the way back down.

Bug net fashions...

Night time once again...

Heading out, on the PCT

Bears Breast Mt. Even though a wrong turn was taken to get this shot...

Another great weekend to hike!!! We are going to get all of our prescribed 5 hikes in, before the summer sun ends!!! I can’t believe our luck, and Dan and I head out on Friday at dark thirty, to get a good start, not wanting to parboil in the afternoon sun along ridgeline, as it’s supposed to get hot east of the mountains again.
Day 1 8.2 miles, 4555 gain/1285 loss. We reach the White Pine Creek Trailhead, #1582, at around 8:00am, after 4 hours on the road, and are ready to go by 8:20. That is, if you discount the fact that David got about 200 yards down the trail before realizing he had forgotten a key piece of equipment. His lid was still in the car, so we returned to get it, knowing I would need it once the sun was directly overhead…Hat in place, we begin our trek on a well maintained trail, that begins under forest canopy, so the tread is easy on the feet, consisting of mostly dirt and duff. It’s an easy trail, mostly flat, and, occasionally, for the first mile, you would get some views of nearby Whitepine Creek. It usually remained hidden, only giving away its position by the constant rushing of water over rock that would carry through the forest. All seemed to go well, until we ran into one of several clearings that allowed brush to spring up, as if the forest did not want any voids, filling the gap with greenery that would certainly choke out the trail if left unchecked. Before we left the trailhead, we read the posted trail conditions, and one of the “conditions” noted was the fact that the trail was “brushy in places”. Yeah. And my 15 year old lawnmower has only been slightly used…At one particular creek crossing, about 1.6 miles in, the Thimbleberries were nearly 10 feet high, and I felt as if a machete were more appropriate than our trekking poles. We passed several clearings that were chocked with the stuff, occasionally hiding in their velvety leaves were not so subtle Devils Club. If you were unlucky enough to stumble into one of these, it would definitely get your attention, the thorns would do their best to pierce hide and gear. During each of these forays into minor jungles, Dan would cry out, “Thanks, Gregoire!” due to the trail maintenance funds being cut…The trail continued with this pattern through otherwise well maintained trail over easy terrain, until we reached the junction with Wild Horse Trail #1592 at 2.5 miles in. Here, we veered left to follow the Wild Horse Trail, uphill…All uphill, for the next 2.5 miles. The further up the trail we would go, the path started getting rockier, and the forest became more arid, now including pine among the fir, hemlock, and diminishing cedars.  With less and less brush, and more elevation gain, we could see across the Wild Horse and White Pine creek drainages SW to Big Jim and Arrowhead mountains, and the crags of Bulls Tooth, further west.
I had planned this route in mid April to go up the other side of the Chiwaukum Mountains, that now lie to our east, up the Chiwaukum Creek trail to Larch Lake,  but we made last minute changes due to the fact that it was going to be a long slog, over 10 miles, with a group that already had some blistered feet, so the changes were made in order to find a shorter way in. This way, according to my quick route edits,  would take off over 3 miles, and should get us to our destination in 7! That was the plan, anyway…
Dan and I reached the first of two routes that I had mapped, that would take us overland on a scramble to the top of Dead Horse Pass, and, when we reached the 5 mile mark, there, to my astonishment, was a beaten foot path off the established trail, leading uphill! I had missed the exact mark by only 10 feet, planning from home. Not knowing exactly what the terrain had in store for us, I had planned two routes up to Dead Horse Pass, hoping that once we got here, we could make a better informed decision, but the trees were still too dense for us to see the ridgeline beyond, so…We decided to go to the next planned route further on, as the topo map, and Google Earth made it seem that way would have less  climbing steep ravines and gullies. More on that assumption later…So, at the next prescribed route change, we left the trail and headed uphill through scrub brush and trees, looking for the least resistance through the stuff. This brought us to the leading edge of a ridge that was nothing but loose talus, overgrown with low growing brush and shrubbery. Once we reached the top of this small ridge, the trees continued to grow together closely enough to keep us guessing as to the easiest way through them all along the ridge line. At least the scramble over loose rock was behind us…We finally entered a small meadow, covered in grass with a few flowers still blooming, and it was from this pocket meadow, that we could see the task before us more clearly. The way was inclined for several hundred yards straight up, with small hillocks of huckleberry, heather, brush and grass clumps, helping to hold the rock and soil in position. The nice thing about this was the fact that the small outcroppings of grass provided a flat foothold for us to side hill our way up, zig-zagging back and forth up the ridge to avoid gassing ourselves in a straight upward slog. We reached a small bench that was flat, its edges formed by the rocky ridgeline of the Chiwaukum mountains ahead, and the drop off of the ridgeline as it headed downhill, making a small flat spot here covered in grass, with a stagnant pool of water. A small oasis here amidst the rock. The slight breeze that blew here helped to keep the bugs at bay, as horse flies had been feasting on me to this point, leaving several little blood trails where they had opened up my skin…. The bench made a great viewing platform, to look across at the distant snow covered peaks of Mt. Daniel, and the closer spires of Bulls Tooth, and north to a multitude of ice capped peaks in the North Cascades. The bowl looked as if we were looking up from the floor of some long extinct volcano, and the top of the ridge looked like a toothy grin; that is, after a baseball bat had knocked out about half the teeth, shattering the rest. All the slopes here were steep, in places it looked like avalanches of large boulders had slid down to the small bench floor, as the upper reaches of the mountain ridge had collapsed, and in other places the grass and low growing ground cover had established beach heads in the loose dirt, rock and sand, growing uphill in a slow motion wave, like a painters brush stroke. It looked as if the shortest distance for us would be to keep to the right of the bowl, and side hill across to what appeared the low point of the ridge above us, near some monolithic rocks sticking up, reminding me of broken stone monuments one might see at an old Inca ruin. Picking our way carefully across loose rocks and boulders, we make it to the rock sentinels that guard the top of the ridge, and look down into the valley below us. Cup Lake lies at the bottom of the steep cliff run out; half covered in chunks of white ice, the shadowed edge of the lake against the slope we are standing on is firmly entrenched in a white snow field. Further beyond Cup Lake, and downhill, is Larch Lake, surrounded in alpine firs and its namesake trees. Large grassy meadows are along the north and northwest shores, and the eastern side meets the rock cliffs that form the other side of the valley. Most of the rock here is different than the white and stark granite that is seen in other reaches of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, the rock here is Schist, with white veins of quartz running through the reddish color of the rock, creating a look that reminds me of marbled cake! (I’m sure by now you notice that all references remind me of food…I was starving by now…) Looking straight down from our perch here, it was clear we weren’t going down this way, as the rock was a sheer drop at least 15 feet, before continuing its headlong descent to the icy shores of Cup Lake. Here’s the “More on that Later” section…I use Google Earth as a tool to see what the trail, terrain, and elevation will look like before we visit an area, and over the years, it has gotten increasingly better, to the point that trees with shadows now show up, as do the trails. It’s an amazing tool, one that gives you a 3D perspective unmatched by any current map. Having said that, there are still some drawbacks to it, namely, in how the software interprets the picture, and then overlays it on a 3D map…From home, I thought we would see bare granite walls leading from the top of Big Chiwaukum Mt, down to Cup Lake. Not so. It was more loose schist, forming long scree and talus run outs that would not be conducive to travel…And, there is a cool little glitch just near the top of the ridge line here that shows a small plane, but, again, the software flattens it against the mountainside, making it look as if it had landed perfectly on the side of the mountain, or worse…Also, from our current perch, it was clear we were going to have to find another way down, so we followed the ridge further north, until we came to a cleft in the rock. “Hey, I see some footprints!” There was a faint trail of maybe 3 or 4 sets of boot prints in the dirt here, a good sign. Sure enough, when we reached the cleft of rock, there were a couple cairns, and a visible climber’s path leading down into the lakes basin! Still steep, about 1200ft of elevation loss in a mile, but it was clear to see that it was doable. Stopping to take pictures, I noticed a peak register poking out of a cairn, so we signed it; I was very surprised to see it here in a pass. Dan led our downward descent, over loose rock and snow fields until we reached a small ridge dotted with shrubbery and small junipers that led down to the outlet of Cup Lake. We crossed the outlet, and continued following a faint path among the boulders and now Larch trees until we reached the meadows we could see from up above. It seemed odd that there was no defined trail leading you across these pristine meadows to the shores of Larch Lake, we could not find one. Tired, and just wanting to find a place to drop our packs and claim as our own, we hurried on weary legs along the shore until we found a spot that would work.  Near the outlet of Larch Lake, we happened on a man and woman, and they asked us where we came from, and we turned and pointed up to the notch. “There, we came through Dead Horse Pass.” Which garnered a curious look. We asked if there were any sites farther on, and they said they hadn’t seen any. Thanking them, we moved on, and within minutes found a bare spot that looked as if it would work, near a snow field. Dumped our packs, and just enjoyed having the weight off our backs for a few minutes, before motivating ourselves to do anything else. It was now 4 o’clock, we had been on the trail for 9 hours.
The spot we chose to pitch our tent was scenic, next to the wandering pooling of the outlet stream from Larch Lake, complete with small schools of fish, and a 10 foot waterfall chuckling over moss covered rock into another pool below us. Large boulders of the rust colored schist were scattered about, some of them the size of refrigerators, and everywhere grass covered the bare ground. Scattered around the edges of the small meadows were the attendant larch trees, with an occasional alpine fir blended into their midst. The larch trees, with their Dr. Suess whimsy, and the blended meadows and rock all lend themselves to something out of a fantasy novel, or the set of Lord of the Rings. As a backdrop, the entire lake basin is ringed in stoic rock, some sheer faced, while others peak majestically as perfect spear points. The saddles between the largest of the peaks seem to have little parapets sticking up against the skyline, like hoodoos, some seem to be balancing, almost as if in defiance of gravity. It all makes for an inspiring set, but one that is lost on us now, for we are tired and interested only in getting camp ready before it gets dark. After setting up the tent, we both make our way to the pools of water, looking to get clean. Again, I go swimming, and enjoy the act of getting clean, washing the sweat and dust off.
Dan and I, now cleaned up, get dinner ready, and fill our bellies. Now, if we could only get some relief from the horribly annoying pests! The mosquitoes, biting flies, and horse flies, never give us a moments respite, and the horseflies are the absolute worst I’ve ever seen! Usually, it seems if you kill about 10 or 20 of the buggers in an area, that’s pretty much it, you’ve cleaned them out. Not so today! They just kept coming and coming until dusk. It isn’t until night really settles in, before the rest of the biting, bloodsucking little goons are gone, that we experience something close to bliss, not having to constantly swat at them. Night is now in charge, and we watch the moon rise above the ridge to our SE, like a massive head lamp. Bright! The camp is lit in a full moons glow, like a massive streetlamp. It’s so bright that it washes out the starlight, and only the brightest of stars is seen. Tired from a long day, we roll into bed around 10:00pm.
Day 2 Around 3 or so, I remember waking hearing falling rock. Had something kicked it loose? We wondered if we would ever see goats here, but had not seen the telltale signs of white wool stuck in small branches. We finally stir around 7, and have coffee and breakfast. Today will be a day of fishing and picture taking, as we brought fishing gear, and a frying pan, just in case! Rigged up, we find a good spot on the NW shore and within minutes Dan has hooked one! The water is so clear you can watch them follow the lure in close before striking at it. He gets it landed, and it’s a nice pan fryer. We’ll keep it! We enjoy the rest of the morning, moving from spot to spot fishing in the clear sparkling water of Larch Lake, and catch 6, bringing back 4 to eat. I didn’t want to mention it, but I felt in the spirit of reporting all that happened on this trip, I would be remiss if I didn’t note that…MINE WAS THE BIGGEST! I only felt it necessary to call attention to this fact, because I know that Dan frittered away many a cast in order to catch one bigger… We fished with barbless hooks so it was easier to release the fish without causing too much damage. Back at camp, we cleaned them, and put them on ice for dinner tonight. I remembered to bring a flour mix to batter them in, just wish I had brought an egg!
The rest of the afternoon and early evening, we wandered through flower filled meadows, and along the waterways leading out of Larch Lake, for calling them lakes themselves seems to be too generous, for they are little more than wide spots in the stream. Still, given their surroundings with grassy banks, and perfectly placed boulders and trees they all seem to deserve names, like Elfin Reflecting Pool, and Unicorn Glen, and so on…It truly looks as if this small area is a carefully maintained garden, not subject to the harshness of the winter that visits the area. We tell ourselves that it would be worth it, to return here once the larch turn gold in fall, for truly, how many places can there really be like this on earth? Only God must know…Finally, I utter, “I’m done.” I can’t seem to find a different perspective to take any more pictures. I’m glad that I have an 8GB memory card, for surely, I would have already exhausted my 2GB card I had before. We once again run into our neighbors, and they stop us to talk for a few minutes. Introductions are made all around, and we find out they are from Leavenworth. They ask us again about our route down into the lakes, and confirm that we did indeed come down over Dead Horse Pass. They tell us that they climbed the ridge from Cup Lake up to the top, but could not find a safe way over to where they thought the pass was, thinking it looked too steep. They kept asking, as we looked uphill towards the pass, “Now, where is it?” “See that patch of snow there, that looks like the Eye of Mordor? Well, it’s just to the right, in the gap in the rocks…” I think they found it hard to believe we had actually crossed that section of loose rock. About that time, the fly fisherman came strolling up, and we talked about the pass some more. He too, noted that he was going to go up there, but instead decided to stay in camp, eat some pancakes, and do some fly fishing instead. They all looked at us as if we had potatoes growing out of our ears. The conversation then turned to the trip out, and we told the couple from Leavenworth that we would be stopping in town at the Heidelburger for burgers, onion rings, tater tots, and shakes. They nodded their heads wisely, knowing that our choice of post hike cuisine was definitely  worthy. Grinning, they nodding their heads in approval. I think at this point, they decided we weren’t that crazy after all, and we say our goodbyes. Our circular walkabout finds us back at camp, and we have enough time to sneak in a quick nap. There’s nothing like taking a nap in the backcountry, especially if your netted tent allows you to escape from the hordes of bloodsucking insects that constantly hound you outside the confines of your screened sanctuary, a welcome relief from the maddening black fog that follows you everywhere. I sure wish someone would hurry up and invent a personal force field that would repel these absolutely horrible hordes of parasites. I can understand the animals now that seem to go insane from the biting insects, there just doesn’t seem to be any way to get away from them…After the nap, we get stuff ready for trout dinner! This will be a treat, as I’ve never done this before backpacking. We dip them in my flour concoction, and drop them in the pan. Within minutes, we were eating delectable, pan fried Cutthroat Trout, with not a hint of muddiness that some trout can have…Truly a backcountry treat, we left nothing to pack out but the slicked clean bones…With dinner dishes cleaned, we set back to watch the evening repeat itself, complete with alpenglow playing across the peaks to our north, fading to darkness for only a short time before having all that surrounds us here in the valley being bathed in the glow of a full moon. Tonight, though, we notice a nip in the air that wasn’t here last night, and look forward to climbing into warm sleeping bags tonight, for we’ve only brought the bare essentials for our 80 degree days. A light jacket is about the extent of our “cold” weather gear for this trip, that and long pants. We looked again for the green eyes that glowed back at me last night when I wandered off to find a suitable tree to water. With the headlamp, I remembered looking up above the house sized boulder near our camp to see a green set of eyes staring back at me, about 4 feet off the top of the rock. Needless to say, that got my attention, and I hollered at Dan, “Hey, there’s something there staring at me!” It was a little nerve racking at first, because I could see that it was several feet off the top of the rock, like something…Big! Only after moving away from the rock, could I see that the eyes were actually in a tree. We surmised it was maybe an owl, or a small critter. But no eyes tonight.
Day 3 7.5 miles, 1290 gain/4558 loss.  We hit the trail early, wanting to get over the pass before the heat of the day, and Dave has to go to work tonight, so it would be nice to get back home for a few hour nap before heading to work. As we pass the Leavenworthites, they call out as we go by, “Heidelburger!” to which we laugh, and reply, “Heidelburger!” It becomes our rallying cry all the way back to the car. The sun has not yet reached the valley floor, but as we look up to the ridge above, we can already see the sun’s rays moving down the rock towards the lakes basin. Up we go, picking our way up the ridge, then cutting off towards the middle of the cirque here above Cup Lake, onto snow fields then up a rocky outcropping in the midst of all the loose rock and ravines, allowing us foot holds on solid rock. It appears someone else thought this the best way as well, for we could see fresh boot prints in the dust and rock. Now, we’re above this rock ledge, onto another snow field, then up to the climber’s footpath that we followed down to this point. Coming over the day before, we lost this way down, and chose to go down steep ravines and gullies, washed out by the melting snow, that had little in the way of solid footing. Coming up, it was easier to see the way over this solid rock jutting out of the hillside. We left a cairn, so that anyone coming this way again, could see the best way. As soon as we reached the sunlight, you could feel that today was gonna be hot. By 10:00, we were standing at the pass. Now, it was all downhill! This time, we decided to follow the climber’s path down to the bench below, hoping to find a better route, and we were not disappointed. We followed the cairns and faint trail down to the bench in short order, deciding this was definitely a better way than the one we took. Once on the flat, we lost the foot prints, but followed the GPS to where I thought would be the best way down, and came to what looked as if it were nothing but an avalanche chute! It looked as if someone had gone this way before us, but I was thinking, “No way would I want to come up this!” As we ventured into the chute, it was clear that this would not be a safe way to come up, for the loose rock, some of it large, immediately started sliding as soon as you took a step onto it. Then, as it started to slide, it started taking the rest of the hillside with it, and there you would be, in the middle of a rubble slide, like having your feet in wet concrete being poured out the back of a cement mixer. Eventually, we picked our way down into the valley below, before facing our next hurdle. Following the GPS track, we followed a stream downhill through a canyon filled with large boulders, trees, and slick heather and some kind of low growing juniper that once you stepped on it, on these slopes, you started heading downhill on your butt. My feet would literally fly right out from under me, and down you’d go. The only time I was able to stop myself was if I grabbed a tree on the way by. For about 200 feet or so, this is the way we picked ourselves down the hillside, fall, grab a tree, or aim at one as a stop block, then fall and slide into the tree to break your free fall. No good way to come back up this way, either. Sigh. I was so hoping to find at least one good way to get into the lakes via this route, but so far, nothing that I could recommend…Whatever happened to that beaten trail that we saw leave the trail? I was sure hoping we would run across it, but now we’re in the middle of a forest, sliding down boulders covered in greenery that would send you careening off a 15 foot embankment if you weren’t careful. Oh, well, we still needed to get down, so keeping the creek and ridgeline to our right we made our way down through trees and shrubbery, until it finally started to thin a bit, before reaching a small meadow. Then, we found it. The trail! Here was a distinct trail with horse’s hooves and boot prints! This must be the path we saw on our first day, so we followed it all the way back to the main trail, another .5 miles away. We had found it, but just not where it ended. Had it found a better way onto the bench above us? And, if so, why had we not seen horse’s hooves up there? Questions that I had no answer for…Here where the trail meets the main, there is a small clearing, as if someone had camped here. “Heidelburger!” Seems appropriate as we’ve just cleared another hurdle on our quest for the car. We retrace our steps back towards the parking lot, and when we reach the brush, and hack our way through, there is another resounding chorus of “Heidelburger!” By 2:00, we are back at the car, and greatly relieved to shed our boots and packs, and climb into the car. “Heidelburger!” The AC was another welcome relief, and by the time we got to Leavenworth, the truck thermometer registered a 100 degree mark outside. Whew. That was hot. We roll into the Heidelburger parking lot, and are astounded that we are the second people in line. So, within 5 minutes we have our anxiously awaited food, and we are not disappointed, I am sure that these tots are some of the best on the planet, and I feel as if I could have eaten my way through 5lbs of the golden goodness set before me. Hunger partially satiated, we make one more stop at the Starbucks, for some cool caffeine to keep us energized for the trip home.
Remember earlier I said I would get to the bit about Topo Maps, and Google Earth? Sometimes they lie. Not intentionally of course, for without maps, where would we be? But it can be downright stupefying to find out just how much can be crammed within the 20ft contour lines on a topo map. Anyone that’s travelled enough in the backcountry knows to be careful about choosing new routes using a topo map, about how to tell what is steep and what’s not, (You know, the closer the lines, the steeper it gets, etc.), what a pass looks like and all that, but still…I like to take it one further and download the route onto Google Earth, that way I can look at it in 3D, to see if it’s doable. This has helped a lot in route preparation, but even with this new tech, there are still gotchas. Especially the way the software likes to “flatten” things out, in particular along a ridge line. I examined the Dead Horse Pass saddle from every angle, and thought that it was going to be fine. Imagine my surprise on the first day, when we reached the ridgeline, and looked off of a 15ft sheer drop off, into utter madness. That, and Big Chiwaukum, (the highest of the mountains that we then straddled) looked as if it were made out of solid granite on Google Earth, with lots of snow around its top. Again, not so. It was loose, with huge talus and scree fields creating nothing but loose footing. That, and sharp jagged peaks and spires. I know better than to trust what I’m seeing from a satellite photo, but now…I really know better. It’s a tool to be sure, that should be used whenever possible, for it truly helps you shape in your mind how things are going to be when you get there, but still, there are caveats to consider when planning off course routes with GPS, topo maps, and Google Earth. And, one more thing. I know that when I was first planning this route over Dead Horse Pass, I noticed a peculiarity that grabbed my little boy’s fascination with buried treasure, of being the first to find something noteworthy. There, on the side of the mountain, was an airplane! No matter how I rotated the 3D map in Google Earth, there was a perfect airplane! Immediately, the skeptic in me raced to the front, shoving aside the twinkle eyed little boy, to say, “Naaaaaaahhh…Can’t be, look for the shadow, dimwit!” But there wasn’t one that I could find. Always hoping, but never completely rid of the grown up killjoy that follows me everywhere, I still made sure to mark on the map the hoped for plane, only to have the skeptic in me affirmed, for when we got to the pass, the only thing white in the rocks were the snowfields. The satellite camera must have snapped a picture at the precise moment a small airplane flew over the Chiwaukum Mts, and then the software flattened it against the mountainside, once again proving to the grown up cynic, the misanthrope in me that Santa Claus isn’t real, and that pots of gold and things undiscovered are for those more fortunate than I. Still, the boy with the twinkling eyes refuses to grow up, so there’s still hope for the dreamer in me yet.

NOTE: I added some fall pictures from our hike we would take 3 weeks later, as there were just so many that I wanted to share, not enough from the summer hike to fill the pages here...

Dan almost invisible in the deep brush we encountered.

Flower filled meadow on the way up to Dead Horse Pass

Interesting rock formations...And Dan...

Larch Lake far below, with Cup Lake right below us

The bench we crossed before scrambling up and over the pass.

Dan at the top of Dead Horse Pass, with the peak? register...

Dan heading down to Cup Lake, from Dead Horse Pass

Picture from Google Earth, making it look as if there were a plane here...

Small pool near our campsite, reflecting the Chiwaukum Mt. Range

Lupine filled meadows

Big Chiwaukum in the distance, Dead Horse Pass is notch to the right

Dave tries his luck on Larch Lake

Larch Lake

Scenic outlet from Larch Lake

Small waterfall out of the pool near our camp

Dan surveying pool filled with fish

Idyllic surroundings in the summer...

Same area lit up with fall colors

Summer...

Fall

More Beautiful Fall colors reflectiong off the thin ice of the reflecting pool

Summer flowers color the meadows and rocks

Cooking up the bounty from Larch Lake

Dan pauses near the shore of Cup Lake

After visiting this lake during the summer, and seeing the abundance of larch trees, we were intrigued by the aspect of what it would look like adorned in fall colors, so we planned another trip to this lake for a photo taking expedition…That, and I wanted to be able to submit this trip as a Backpacker GPS trip. Our last foray, up and over Deadhorse pass was deemed a little too extreme to count as a hikeable trail, certainly not one that I would heartily recommend to all.
This trip, however, falls into the category of eminently hikeable, as it’s a mere 5 miles from High Camp to beautiful Larch Lake. All you have to do is reserve a spot at High Camp.

Day 1. We arrive at the parking lot for High Camp around 4:00pm, and wait for our chariot (a 4 wheel drive Suburban) to ferry us up to the lodge. It’s a 45 minute ride up a gated logging road, and the higher up you go, the more rugged the road becomes, definitely only for high clearance vehicles! During the winter, the Suburban’s can only go so far, and then the rest of the way up is a ride on a snowmobile! Sounds cool, maybe something to think about for later…High Camp was originally a backcountry ski destination with humble beginnings, and over the years, as more and more cabins have been added/upgraded, there is now room at the inn for more summer, fall and winter adventures. Be sure and check out their website for more info! The hosts that were there when we visited were very helpful and nice.
Our spot for the night was in the loft of the lodge, and the lodge has hot/cold running water with a gas stove, so making dinner for the night was a nice change from the normal of cooking over a Jetboil…As the day turned to night, the lodge became a meeting place of sorts for some of the cabin tenants who gathered to share stories and travel experiences, some more colorful than others. You know who you are…
You could tell fall was in the air, as Dan and I chose to light a fire in the fire pit outside. It seemed that we just couldn’t get close enough to the struggling flames to keep our bones warm, so around 10:00pm, we decided to turn in. We’re hoping for clear weather tomorrow, and the cloudless night sky is encouraging, if not a little cold.

Day 2  5.07 miles, 1862ft gain/765ft loss.  While still dark outside, we gather our things together, say good bye to the camp hostess, and head out on the trail. As I mentioned earlier, High Camp caters to back country skiing/snowshoe, so there are several trails marked by signs around the camp that lead through the woods up to McCue Ridge. It can get a little confusing if you’re not paying attention, but we managed our way to the top of the ridge, and were pleasantly surprised by the bright blue skies. At the top of the ridge, the trail continues uphill gradually, through tall grass meadows following cairns. Sparse firs and some pines dot the ridge and make it easy to see to your next cairn, and the surrounding area. The trail is faint, and it’s more following the beaten down grass than anything. Finally, near the top of the ridge, you join up with trail #1574, which leads to the shores of Chiwaukum Lake. Turning left here onto a well maintained trail we follow it for another .2 miles along the top of the ridge, before angling downhill to Chiwaukum Lake. Here at the high point, we get views of the season’s first snow fall, lightly dusting the tops of the Chiwaukum mountain peaks in the distance. Very pretty, for the sharp contrast between white and dark makes all the jagged lines of the mountains stand out in stark contrast. Nearing the lakeshore, we come across several fresh Comb’s tooth mushrooms, or Hericium coralloides for those that know the proper name…I find myself salivating at the prospect of these tasty mushrooms, but with a deep sigh of regret, we move on, for I have no room to lash mushrooms on for later…If only I could find some closer to camp…
Woods surround Chiwaukum Lake, a large alpine lake at 5200ft, and we see the telltale expanding rings of fish jumping on the surface of the lake. We stop to take pictures, as snow covered peaks reflect off the still waters, creating a scenic postcard view. There’s a nice campsite here where the two trails meet, lots of flat clearing near the water’s edge, and there is a couple camped here. They, too, are heading up to Larch lake, and we will run into them later…At this small clearing under the forest canopy, the trail joins up with #1591 to Larch Lake. At the inlet to the lake, is a large marshy meadow called Ewing Basin, and beyond its upper reaches the trail heads up again, reaching the lake in a scant 2 miles from the end of Chiwaukum Lake. By 11:30am, we had reached the lower meadows of Larch Lake, and were astounded at the larch, now glowing like electric lights as the sun’s rays pass through the golden needles. At their base were scarlet red huckleberries, as if the ground had glowing coals scattered about. Sprinkled along the ground were the remnants of the season’s first snow, mostly melted out here at the lakes, but the mountain peaks still held their snow, creating a captivating backdrop to all the fall colors. I’m sure it was maddening for Dan, for I could not go fifty feet, without stopping to take pictures of the incredible fall scenery…I could not believe our luck, and didn’t want to miss a thing…
As we arrived at our hoped for campsite, we were disappointed to find it was still occupied, so we went to the place we knew, where we had camped just a month before. How different things looked! Even the small pool below our campsite had a crust of fresh ice over it, melting rapidly in the full on sun. We dropped our stuff to claim our spot, then set to the real business at hand…Capturing as much of the resplendent colors as we could, before the light changed. We could see some high clouds starting to roll in over the top of the peaks to the SW, so we knew we would have to hurry.
Where to begin? It was hard to focus, for there was so much color against dramatic backdrops, that I didn’t want to miss anything, so we hurried from one spot to the next, snapping pictures as if there were no tomorrow. I had an 8GB memory card on board, and was not worried that I would fill it up. By the end of the day, I had 50 pictures left to take…Its’ a wonder that the shutter release button didn’t burst into flames…Finally, after reaching the upper meadows, I turned to Dan, and said, “I think I’m done taking pictures…” To which he quickly replied, “yeah, right…I’ve heard that before…” I had scratched my itch to the point of bleeding…Like a kid in a candy store, that eats so much of the sweet stuff he’s quite sure he’ll explode, and has no intention of picking up another piece until the end of time…Wellll, at least till tomorrow. I’ve saved 50 pictures for tomorrow, after all…
During our picture taking fest, we each wandered a bit out of each other’s sight, and it was during this time that Dan had happened across a lone backpacker that had camped the night before in the small meadow below us, and had a chance to talk to him for a brief moment. I say brief, for the guy was dead set on leaving the area ASAP. I asked Dan why, and he told me that the guy told him, with wide eyes, that there was “something big in the trees that didn’t want to be seen”, and he was sure it was a bear, for according to him he had seen it last night. “I’m getting out of here”, then he was gone…I never saw him, he had packed and left like the summer weather, before I had a chance to see him. During our picture fest, we never laid eyes on anything bigger than a squirrel.
What a gorgeous day! The weather couldn’t have been better for us, nice clouds to dot the sky, fresh snow highlighting all of the jagged rock and peaks that surround the lake, calm waters to reflect the colors of fall, and the multi layered terrain dotted with sculpted rock and gold larch truly made it a one in a million spectacle. This area around Larch Lake is not very big, but like a multi faceted gem, held up to the light, it sparkles and dazzles from all different angles. All one has to do is move 50 or 100 feet or so, and with the variance of objects to photograph, the picture changes with each different angle. It’s no wonder that I used up a complete card, I urge you to find out for yourself what this magical place looks like once it’s been transformed by the Technicolor explosion of fall. Another bonus? NO BUGS!!! Our first trip this year, where we weren’t the main entrée on the menu, a great relief for a change…
Knowing that the daylight will fade quickly this time of year, we prepare our meal early enough so that there is still some light left for cleaning up. After dinner we set around and watch the last glimpses of the sun fade away in the west, and then as some stars start to show, the moon rises above the ridge behind us to the SE, around 6:30 or so, before it really started to get dark. It was amazing to see, like a giant floodlight moving slowly across the evening sky. Once the sun finally dipped below the far horizon, and the night took its place, the brightly lit moon acted like a street light, illuminating our campsite in lunar glow. By 9:00pm, the temperature had dropped into the upper 20’s, and every time we opened the tent flap, we would disturb the frost that had settled on the rain fly, allowing it to slough off like a thin layer of dust. No longer able to fight off the yawns, we turn in, glad to have nice down bags.

Day 3  5.07 miles, 765ft gain/1862ft loss. I think it was around 2 or 3 in the morning, the temperatures outside started to rise, along with the wind. Several times, you could see the tent roof push downward during the bigger gusts, as if God’s hand had reached down and pushed in on the roof of the tent. Along with the wind, came the rain. When we finally climbed out in the morning, the upper peaks were obscured by high clouds and mist. The first time we noticed a break in the rain, we quickly broke down the tent, and got our bags packed to go. We left this wondrous area under a light drizzle and fog, being thankful that we got a chance to capture on memory cards as much of this area as possible under great conditions the day before.
Before we had left High Camp, we added our names to the roster of people that wanted to leave by 12:00pm, so today we were on a bit of a schedule, and, as there weren’t going to be as many photo ops as the day before, (that, and I was now down to 5 pictures left!) the way out went quickly. A bit wet and bedraggled, we reached High Camp around 11:30am, just in time for our ride back down the hill. Before leaving, we were able to have one more warm cup of High Camp Tea, their special blend. There’s always a pot of water on the wood stove and coffee mugs to pour yourself a cup, and after a wet trek back, it was welcome warmth.
After reaching our car, we drove back to Leavenworth for the customary burger at the Hiedelburger, then the long drive home.
So, twice this year, we travelled to Larch Lake, seeing it during the summer months, and again at the onset of fall, and I have to admit. I love summer, it’s sunny and warm days, allowing an occasional dip in a high mountain lake, but…For sheer beauty, color, and foreboding magnificence, I will always favor fall. That, and not having to fight the bugs…

High Camp sauna and hot tub

The Chiwaukum Mts reflecting off of Chiwaukum Lake

Dan nearing Larch Lake

First views of Larch Lake basin, and the resplendant fall colors

View from camp, towards Dead Horse Pass

Looking up the valley, towards Big Chiwaukum

Larch Lake

Fall colors reflecting off of outlet of Larch Lake

Jagged snow covered peaks outlined by golden larch

Larch reflect off the still waters of a pool near camp

Dan taking it all in on meditation rock

A final shot of the calm, blue waters of Larch Lake