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The North Fork Toutle River valley, west of Mt. St. Helens, obscured in the clouds.
Earlier this month, my two dear friends Norman and Rodel invited me to spend the day with them. The plan was to drive up to Mt. St. Helens. That day the partly cloudy sky was slowly clearing as we made the trip, and we had fingers crossed for a mountain view when we got there. Sadly, the clouds remained clustered around the peak of Mt. St. Helens. We had a great day together, and the views were gorgeous (as you can see above), but we never did get to see the mountain.
Their idea stayed in my head. Sunday morning I had to run an errand, and as I was driving I looked from a hilltop near my home and saw crystal clear in front of me: Mt. Rainier, 80 miles distant as the crow flies, indicating that the air was very clear. I immediately looked East and saw Mt. St. Helens (38 miles) bold and clear, rising on the horizon. I made a decision right there to head back to the volcano, on this brilliantly sunny day.
I stopped first at the Visitor’s Center, because there is a 3/4 mile trail that’s supposed to be lovely, and has a view of Mt. St. Helens. I asked an employee where to find the trail, and she asked which trail, and before I knew it she had convinced me to skip the one at the visitor’s center and to instead drive another hour down the road to the Hummocks Trailhead.
Hoffstadt Creek Bridge is 370 feet (113 m) high and 600 feet (183 m) long.
On the way I stopped for a bridge overlook. There are four similar bridges that span deep mountain canyons on the way to the mountain, with fascinating and eye-catching architecture. I like the look of the curved bridges better, but this straight one gives you an idea of what they look like.
Do not adjust your set, this is a perfectly focused photograph of Noble Firs.
Something that always baffles me is the eye-crossing effect of looking at the forests of Noble Fir planted by the Weyerhaeuser Company. These trees are the same age and look like exact duplicates of themselves for acres upon acres. Your eyes get confused trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. A Ranger I met at the Johnston Ridge Observatory a couple years ago called them Lego Trees, and that’s apt.
The road to the Johnston Ridge Observatory is closed for winter. But the road is open as far as the Hummocks Trailhead. It’s a clear trailhead with ample parking. On this sunny weekend day, half the spaces were filled. It makes me happy that so many people want to get outside and do things in November. During the winter I’m more inclined to curl up with my laptop and a blanket. Maybe I’m projecting, but I am so proud of myself when I do something ambitious in winter weather, that I am proud of all those other people too!
Sign at the beginning of the trail.
With the sun low in the sky, I faced directly into it. That was annoying, but it also made exaggerated shadows that added interest to the scene.
I arrived at 2:45 pm and moved quickly down the trail, aware that sunset is 4:30. It felt comfortably warm at about 52 degrees, but as soon as the sun set it would drop quickly to freezing. I did not want to be caught out wandering the valley after sunset.
The trail was well-worn and easy to follow, and lovely. It travels through the famous Mt. St. Helens hummocks. These hummocks are big chunks of the former peak of the mountain that were blown off the top and side during the eruption in 1980. The whole valley surrounding Mt. St. Helens is filled with these mini-mountains, and scientists have tracked each one back to where its original location once was on the long-lost pointed peak. Why on earth they would do that is beyond me, but bully for them for completing such a daunting task.
Trail wends over and through hummocks, west of Mt. St. Helens.
For the layperson, what may be most relevant about these hummocks is that they are remnants of a volcanic blast, they form today a most interesting landscape, and that there is a trail allowing us to get a nice close look at them and even to walk on top of them.
There were also stunning views of Mt. St. Helens from multiple locations.
These hummocks are still eroding, because of the Toutle River there. This leaves the face exposed and bare, instead of grass- or tree-covered.
Hummock hills are noticeable to the left, with the volcano on the horizon. You can see here that the blast in 1980 was not directly up, but to the side. In this photo, the left side is missing, leaving a U-shaped volcanic cone.
With the valley filled with hundreds of tiny mountains, it follows that a bunch of new tiny lakes were formed.
Portions of the trail are forested. Here the trail follows a creek.
I recall the volcanic eruption from my childhood, and the aerial images of barren moonscape left in all directions for miles. Thus it is delightful for me to stand in a forest, beside a creek, and know that this has all formed since that devastating day. The size of the trees may not seem impressive at first, considering that it has been 38 years. But it’s not that the trees were cut and the forests were free to begin re-forming the next day. Today’s forests had to recover from this:
Photograph two days after the May 1980 eruption. Photo by Jack Smith / AP
My path was through fields, streams, and forests. There were ducks on the ponds. It’s a healthy land and in a quick glance does not reveal that the old forest floor is buried beneath many feet of volcanic ash, and all this beauty before me sprung out from that poor beginning. Nature keeps me in awe.
Information sign at the shores of Coldwater Lake.
I completed the Hummocks Trail loop with plenty of sunshine left, so I went to explore nearby Coldwater Lake.
The trail at Coldwater Lake is wheelchair accessible, a trail feature I often notice. I think possibly I’m making a list in my mind of trails I will still be able to visit when my future self needs a wheelchair. Hiking a nature trail is one of my greatest joys in life, and I’m reassured that if my legs ever stop working, I’ll still be able to hit some trails.
The sun was very low and that made all my photos warm with light despite the quickening chill in the waning day.
Massive logs from the volcanic blowdown in 1980 remain for us to ponder.
The paved trail turns into wide boardwalks suitable for wheelchairs.
A family plays at the waterside in the reflection of Mt. St. Helens.
The boardwalk spans over the lake.
Some kayakers were returning to shore after a foray into the lake.
On my way home I stopped at the Castle Lake Overlook and spotted not only the snowy tip top of Mt. Adams, but also Mt. Rainier! The moon became visible, and an excited little boy yelled “Daddy! The sun is rising and the moon is rising AT THE SAME TIME!” He may not have had the semantics right, but his Daddy understood exactly what he was saying.
Moon over the tip of Mt. Adams (can you see it above the lake?) and Mt. St. Helens.
The view from the overlook. Again, the tip of Mt. Adams peeks into view.
Golden sunlight strikes the remaining leaves, as well as the snowy mountain.
On my way home along Washington Highway 504, I spotted a good view of Mt. Adams and pulled over to get this better shot for you.
Colchuck Lake in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness of Washington state. Aasgard Pass is to the left of Dragontail Peak. Colchuck Glacier is to the right.
I slept very well in my tent and woke up refreshed and eager to get along the trail. First though: freshly brewed Peets coffee. The Sulawesi-Kalosi is my favourite.
The trail to Colchuck Lake required some backtracking about 2.3 miles to the trail junction, then another 2 miles uphill. The climb is apparently 615 feet and is very steep in places. Washington Trails Association was there in 2017 and did some great work on the trail. While they did not make the climb any less steep, they made it easy to follow, and stable, putting in many many granite boulder “steps,” for example.
These two had also camped at Stuart Lake with me. “We only have passes for the Stuart Zone,” I heard multiple times from hikers. It was true for me as well. We are headed for the valley between the two hills on the right.
Me, along the Colchuck Trail.
From this vista point, I could see the valley where Lake Stuart lies. Can you see the brown burned trees? (click the image for a larger version) Those are on the slope above my tent.
The hill above my camp shows signs of wildfire. So glad it didn’t burn down to the water’s edge…but I wish I didn’t see so much fire sign when I hike.
I climbed up, up, over roots, around boulders, across streams. I stopped to gasp periodically, while I waited for my heartbeat to slow down again to something near normal. There weren’t any meadow landscapes like the Lake Stuart trail, just climbing the granite stairs to the top.
And then… wow! The jaw-dropping blue of Colchuck Lake hit me. I describe the colour as a mixture of aqua and tuquoise, and a wholly unanticipated hue in the landscape of predictable green trees and blue skies.
This was my very first glimpse of the lake. It stopped me in my tracks and I took a photo from right there.
I must have taken two dozen photos, trying to get my camera to show you the colour I saw. This comes close, but nothing is like it was to be there.
I made a beeline for the lake and found the first of many many beautiful white smooth granite boulders that line the shores. After eating ALL the snacks I brought, and drinking a lot more water, I felt restored, and ready to explore.
Colchuck Lake is larger than Lake Stuart and I easily spent two hours following the trail on the Western shore, taking tons of detours to the beach, or to the multitudinous smooth boulders that are excellent for sitting on to relax in the sun and stare in awe at the colour of that water. This lake has many more great viewing spots than Lake Stuart, and due to its size, there are more campsites. Next year I am for sure going to try to get an overnight pass for the Colchuck Zone.
For anyone who is unfamiliar with The Enchantments in Washington, its beauty and proximity to Seattle make it a very popular place for backpackers and campers. So many people enter the wilderness that the area was getting destroyed from the many trampling human feet. There are now rules in place to control the humans. An unlimited number of people are allowed to walk through on the trails, but the number of people allowed to camp overnight is limited. The passes are disseminated via a lottery.
It was cloudy while I visited the lake, but periodically a sunbeam would burst through and light something up.
Looking south from Colchuck Lake.
I explored several beautiful beaches on my way around the lake.
Exceptionally clear water.
A tiny adjacent lake that is unnamed. Perhaps during high water it is part of Colchuck Lake.
I had heard of the famous Aasgard Pass, and I wanted to find it and hopefully spot Thor, or Odin.
No, not really. Aasgard Pass is the gateway to the Core Enchantments area from the west side. I have always entered from the east side, and never made it as far as the pass. So I just wanted to get a look at it and see how I felt about trying to climb it with a full pack one day, if I should ever have that option.
At the southernmost end of the lake is a large boulder field, and the trail crosses this, as I could tell from the cairns. I climbed across half of it, still trying to get a sense of which saddle hikers climb: the one with the glacier, or the ones to the right or the left of the glacier. I couldn’t tell by looking, and the boulders were a challenging scramble for merely trying to find a trail, just to turn around and come back. In any case, I had my answer: the boulder field was hard enough with only a day pack. I did not have any trouble this day, but there were times when I had to balance on a toe and leap to the next rock. That sort of thing is much trickier with 50 pounds on your back, messing up your center of gravity.
I found out later that Aasgard Pass was this one, directly ahead of me as I climbed over the boulders. Can you spot the cairns?
This beautiful Tamarack is along the boulder scramble to Aasgard Pass. I caught it just before the needles turned yellow for the season.
Looking north at Colchuck Lake.
The tiny lake next to Colchuck Lake.
At the tiny lake, the water is more green than aqua. And a group of Tamaracks on the slope are getting ready to turn yellow.
It was afternoon and I was ready to head back down the trail to my camp. My knees fiercly grumbled about going down granite steps and over roots for a mile, or however long it is. But as I descended, the skies cleared and the weather stayed warm and lovely. I talked to so many lovely people on the trail, who eagerly told me where they came from, where they were staying (most of the people were day hikers only, with no overnight passes), and what their plans were. Curiously, people along the trail trust each other. Perhaps beause of the shared experience.
Oh! Can I tell you the funnest human-related discovery of my whole hike?! Women! Women outnumbered the men far and away. It is the first time I have ever seen this on a backpacking trip. I must have passed around 100 people in three days, and at least 60 of them were women, though I wonder if it was closer to 70. Groups of women in their 20s, pairs of women in their 70s, solo women, women and men hiking together. I love them all for making this an activity for everyone. I want my people back home to stop freaking out whenever I say I’m going into the wilderness for a few days.
The 60-something woman camping next to me on the beach said she had hiked the previous month with her husband.
“Oh, he couldn’t make this trip?” I asked.
“I told him I wanted peace and quiet and to read my book,” she replied.
Ha ha ha!! High-five lady!
This is happy, tired me, with a bit of a sunburn. Waiting for water to boil so I can have supper.
Skies remained gorgeous all evening and I sat on the beach and watched the sun go down till I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.
I boiled angel hair pasta (quicker than spaghetti), then mixed in a raw egg from the Hussies. Added pre-cooked bacon and carmelized onions and then dumped in grape tomatoes from my garden, parmesan cheese, salt and pepper. Viola! Spaghetti carbonara mountain-style. A metal mug of white wine went with it perfectly.
Lake Stuart from the little beach at my campsite. Mt. Stuart (9415′) is the peak in the background.
I purchased overnight camping passes for the Lake Stuart Zone in the Enchantments area of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness of Washington state. It’s due east of Seattle and north of Mt. Rainier. It takes me 4 1/2 hours just to get to the trailhead, but I can’t help myself: it is so beautiful there.
Interstate 90 in Washington state, heading east of Seattle first thing in the morning Tuesday.
I’ve been through the Enchantments several times, and always from the Snow Lakes trail which approaches the Alpine Lakes from the east. It’s a long through trek, and I have never had the stamina to go all the way through to the lakes on the west side. This year I simply began on the west side!
I think it is a nice touch that the U.S. Forest Service always makes these signs asymmetrical.
At a fork in the trail, I saw signs that left me puzzled. At first glance, “foot log” and “horse ford” sounded like landmarks I had never heard of. I had no idea what trail to take until I calmed down and took the words literally. A log for foot traffic, and a place for horses to ford.
Viola! “foot log,” otherwise known as a log bridge for those traveling on human feet.
One lovely thing about the west side approach is that the Stuart/Colchuck trailhead is higher in elevation than the Snow Lakes trailhead, so I climbed the first 1000 feet (or more) in my Jeep. That was pretty sweet. Once I began hiking, much of the trail was a rather gentle slope, and a couple of steep spots a few miles in. Nothing like the grueling switchbacks at the start of the Snow Lakes trail.
The trail beside Mountaineer Creek.
Look at these scrumptious red roots. Or branches. What are they? Gorgeous, that’s what.
Autumn is the most glorious flamboyant season, don’t you think?
I saw several of these cones on the trail. I don’t think my photography captured it, but they are a deep dark purple.
I’ve said before, my hike pace could best be described as “mosey.” I’m solid on the uphill stretches. Slow, but steady, I can just keep going up, up, up. But steady includes a lot of stops to look at all the waterfalls and pretty foliage and the squirrels and interesting pine cones.
It feels good to be on a trail again. I have not hiked much the last couple of years. My theory is now that I live in the wilderness practically, I don’t have the driving need to escape people and hit a trail as much as I used to. In any case, however wild my own property may be, it’s nothing like truly being in the mountains.
While pausing in a meadow with fireweed going to seed, a gust of wind came and filled the air with flying seed pods. Look closely, and you’ll spot the faeries.
Finally! First glimpse of the mountains. These are exactly the moments I live for on the trail. I get tired, I wonder how far I’ve come, how far there is to go, whether I should stop and rest, and then…. I get a view of mountains. This inspires me.
Another mile along the trail and blam! This, people. This is what it’s all about. My tanks are filled and I’m gushing.
I met a bold, fat chipmunk that practically climbed onto me while begging for food.
And this was a pika that might have been shy around me on another day, but this day rather had to get an urgent message to his buddy across the rock fall.
The pika was so hilarious I watched him for a full five minutes, and listened to another one shriek back at him. He would give a series of short, sharp, shrill shrieks, then occasionally would spew a jumble of high-pitched syllables strung together. I talked to him for awhile, saying, “Hey! Do you see me? Are you not afraid?” Nope. Not afraid. He had to talk and my presence was no deterrent. As I watched him, I imagined the following conversation. Very shrill and urgent:
“Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve!” Silence. “Steve! Steve!”
From 50 yards away across the boulder pile, the reply: “Tony! Tony!”
“Yo!-I-can’t-play-tetherball-Mom-says-I-have-to-do-my-chores-but-I’ll-come-over-as-soon-as-I’m-done!”
“Tony! Tony!”
“Did-you-hear-me-I-can’t-play-now-but-wait-for-me-ok? Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve!”
Listen, when your hiking pace is “mosey,” it involves a lot of imagination.
Suddenly I spotted a sign that said “No campfires beyond this point.” And I don’t know what crazy person ever starts campfires this time of year, but to me this sign means “the lake is pretty close.” And sure enough, only a little while later, the trees parted and there it was. Only 4 1/2 miles along the trail, an elevation gain of 1665 feet, and I hit Lake Stuart.
Lake Stuart
(Can’t you just hear Anne Shirley saying, “That is not the right name. I think it should be: Lake of Shining Waters.”)
At the far end of the lake, looking back.
I love how the sun lights up those pale green grasses and horsetails in the water.
Many spots were occupied, but when I found this lovely little beach, I knew it would be my home for the next couple of nights.
Um, yep, that would be my campsite. Recurrent theme for camping in the PNW: always gorgeous campsites.
I admit, I crashed early. You know with my exceptional gastronomic tastes, I always bring a pack filled with amazing food, which means: HEAV-VY! I get so wiped out when I have a full pack.
For supper I mixed up the easiest thing on the menu, taco salad. Fresh chopped lettuce, corn chips, beans, tomatoes from the garden, green chilis, hominy, sour cream and salsa all stirred together. An obnoxious chipmunk came to raid my bowl while I left it on the beach and went to get the wine. I was impressed to see that the prize it chose was a big chunk of taco-spiced lettuce and not the chips!
A panoramic view of Mt. St. Helens from the west side.
My friend Vladimir and I have known each other since I lived in Eureka, California. That was right around the turn of the century (makes it sound like the distant past, huh?). So yeah, 18 years or so. At the time we both worked for the National Weather Service. Vlad recently retired from his forecasting job in Honolulu, and decided to move to Portland. Sans car. While Portland has super great public transportation…it still limits a person to the city. He has yet to get a really good look at his surrounds.
It was Vlad’s idea a while back to enlist my help (and the Jeep) to explore the local area. Our plan is a series of mini-road trips (RTs) to see some of the local stuff that a person can’t get to via lightrail.
The view from the north, standing beside the Johnston Ridge Observatory.
Monday we drove north into Washington state to see Mt. St. Helens. This is the volcano that blew in May 1980. For Vlad and I, growing up here on the West coast, we clearly remember the news stories and the fear and the awe…not to mention the ash clouds. We went to see what it looks like today, 38 years later. The surrounding beauty is remarkable in that it looks so far along the path of recovery. At the same time, it’s genuinely startling how much has not yet changed since the eruption.
We drove to the Johnston Ridge Observatory in the Mt. St. Helens National Volcanic Monument, and arrived just in time to hear a Ranger talk about the high points of the eruption. First, there was the largest landslide in human recorded history, as the north side of the mountain sloughed off. Right behind that was the explosive blast that blew the whole side and top off the mountain. Then the pyroclastic flow, which is not so much a “flow” but more blasting, of ash, rocks, lava, etc. that hurtled down the mountainside and destroyed everything in its path.
The Ranger talked all the way through the area’s natural recovery, including the giant Roosevelt Elk herd and the mountain goats that live in the crater. He ended on a very interesting tidbit. Due to the characteristics of this particular spot, we have the fastest-forming glacier in North America, possibly the globe. Pretty cool, huh? I didn’t realize glaciers were growing anywhere. Snow falls into the crater, which is sheltered from the sun. The dome is slowly growing inside the crater, compacting the snow up against the walls. Regular showers of rocks and ash coat the top of the ice from tiny eruptions from the mountain. Badda-boom: recipe for glacier.
We hiked a trail in the area, ate a picnic lunch with a fabulous view and a chipmunk that needs to lay off the carbs, and then got home by dark.
Trying to be artistic with the gorgeous wildflowers.
more flowers
Not that I’m the type to judge body shape, but this was one fat chipmunk, begging while we ate our picnic. (He’s standing right now, to make himself look slimmer.)
The view from an overlook about 10 miles from the Observatory. The extent of recovery is impressive.
Anyone who watched the show as often as me, will instantly recognize this image from the opening credits of the TV show Northern Exposure.
This October Columbus Day was a most brilliant day to journey into the mountains of Washington state. My goal is to hit the trail head first thing in the morning and make my annual solo back packing trip into the mountains. But first! I simply had to make the most of the serendipitous location of the trailhead: Leavenworth, Washington. And on the way: the town of Roslyn.
I am a BIG fan of the television program Northern Exposure, and watched it religiously while it was on the air from 1990-95. I have also watched it again, via Netflix, exposing Tara to this quirky make-believe world of Cicely, Alaska. I still quote from the series, when the situation calls for it, and I can still hear the hawk scream right before the program starts (the hawk isn’t in the Netflix versions, btw). Once I saw that the highway to Leavenworth passed within 5 miles of Roslyn, it was a no-brainer that I had to stop.
Do not try this at home. Bravely snapping photos while driving. I couldn’t help myself.
Just look at the scenery I drove through today. What a gorgeous state in a gorgeous month.
My morning went really well – the house is somewhat put into order so that a friend can house-sit for me. For those of you who read insearchofitall, my house sitter is aka Tech Support. Let’s all give a collective Good Luck and Thank You! to TS for taking on the chickens and Racecar for me in my absence.
The weather was so wonderful today. A little cloudy up to Seattle, a couple raindrops over Snoqualmie Pass, and then sunshine and 70 degrees in the mountains. After all the rain and cool temps in the Portland area, I am grateful for such an auspicious omen to begin my journey.
I had a splendid time wandering around the town of Roslyn. I highly recommend it to anyone who gets the chance to stop and look. It’s absolutely darling, and there are interesting things for people who are not fans of Northern Exposure. For example, there are several information stations, a monument, and a museum dedicated to Roslyn’s coal mining history. Coal was discovered here in 1886 and mined for 35 years. Northern Pacific Railroad actively solicited immigrants to move to the US to work in the mines, and people came from 26 different nations. Then the railroad brought up a bunch of African Americans as strikebreakers. So this tiny mountain town was truly international from it’s inception.
Maggie’s Pantry, named after one of the main characters in the TV show Northern Exposure.
Look at how darn cute this town is!
Fans of Northern Exposure will also recognize The Brick.
“Dr. Joel Fleishman” is still painted in the window of the building that was his doctor’s office in the show.
KBHR (pronounced Kay Bear) studios is not only evident from the outside…
…but lovingly maintained on the inside. Complete with an open book, true to “Chris in the Morning’s” style on the show.
A little train of coal cars outside the museum, filled with actual coal.
A mural at a park downtown.
Random Roslyn resident I spotted while eating lunch.
I ate at the Roslyn Cafe, with a view of Fleishman’s office.
I wonder if the foreign miners are the background to the town of Leavenworth. I have been here before, but the place never stops delighting me. Block after block is filled with buildings constructed in a Bavarian theme. How amazed I am at the compliance of nearly every single building to fit the theme of a Bavarian mountain town. Safeway looks half-timbered, Wells Fargo has carved wood shutters and flowers under the windowsills, and even the hospital is themed. The place is remarkable. And beautiful.
One of the main streets in Leavenworth, Washington.
Looking west toward the mountains I will be climbing tomorrow.
Isn’t it convincingly European, in this setting?
This dome was lovely from every angle. I include it again in the nighttime shot at the end.
Murals can be found on 80% of the buildings. Not exaggerating.
Nearly every view today was filled with oranges and reds and mountains.
My beautiful room, right downtown at The Leavenworth Village Inn, for $89 (a good price for a tourist town during Oktoberfest).
My view of the captivating onion dome from my hotel room.
Yes, even the hospital is Bavarian-themed.
A shop sign
Christmas shop
A guest cottage.
Grazing goat
Even the signs are in German!
Gustav’s restaurant has it’s own dome.
Yet another picturesque street.
Dome at night.
This was the view this morning beyond our table at the Holiday Inn Express. Can you believe this view?
Today the weather did its best to dampen spirits, but we prevailed! Good day despite the rain and hail and chill. Plus, good soggy rain photos get a few laughs, so there’s a couple more points for me.
Look what we found! You could not use it for calls, but it had 911 service. Too cool.
Astoria, Oregon is the location where the movie The Goonies was filmed. If you didn’t see the Goonies, or don’t remember it, then trust me: you’d love it. A story of a gang of boys who go looking for buried treasure and end up on a heck of an adventure. We found the building that was the jailhouse in the movie. Scenes from yesterday’s post – Haystack Rock and the boardwalk at sunset – were also in the movie. I had been hopping with excitement all day Sunday, waiting for the chance to see “Mikey’s house” the unforgettable house in the movie.
The owner of the property graciously invites visitors, and has signs directing tourists right to the spot, including the best places to park.
As we walked up the gravel drive to the house, M and I were stunned to see a prominent, sparkling new flag flying smack in the middle of the porch, clearly making a political statement, and one that was deeply offensive to us. The “NOBAMA” sticker on the car next to the house will give a sense of the political bent. We stood silent, making faces of disbelief and dismay, for a full five minutes before we could move. All my joy and excited anticipation was demolished, and I forced myself to take a couple photos once M suggested editing the flag out. You can use your imagination and cover the flag in something that gives you bouncing childlike happiness…to make up for what I lost first thing this morning.
We ate fresher-than-fresh oysters for lunch, and learned about multiple Indian tribes as we drove through a lot of Indian country and past reservations. It rained and rained and got colder and rained some more. We saw sunbeams a couple of times. Finally we stopped in Forks, Washington for the night.
Astoria-Megler Bridge from Oregon to Washington. We took this bridge and soon began the Washington leg of the trip.
The grey sky matched the grey water and made it look like this building was floating in air.
Jailhouse from The Goonies
Mikey’s House. Goonies Never Say Die!
We saw two lighthouses. The second one was at Cape Disappointment, but this one, called North Head Lighthouse, was more of a disappointment. It was all wrapped up for repairs, except for the part the winds have torn off.
Coast Guard ships
The lighthouse at Cape Disappointment. On the north side of the mouth of the mighty Columbia, it was named in 1788 by John Meares, expressing his chagrin at not being able to find the Columbia River. Puzzling. Or hilarious.
Horsetails along a trail
Rainforest trees look like the long hairy arms of a green ape.
The World’s largest Sitka Spruce. 58 feet 11 inches in circumference, 191 feet tall, approximately 1,000 years old.
Me at the base of the spruce tree.
Me on the spruce tree
M waiting in the rain while I played at the base of the tree.
Fabulous sea stacks at Ruby Beach
Windows through a sea stack.
Long, wet day is done. My goodness it’s getting late. I make such sacrifices for you people! 😉
Our trail climbed steeply, and the payoff was incredible views of the Columbia River Gorge.
I joined a Meetup Portland group recently. I actually just heard about Meetup on the radio, and it turns out there are groups all over the country – tons of them! For stamp collectors and entrepreneurs and knitters and singles over 60 and gamers and history buffs. If you’re looking for a group to join, check this out and see if you find anything you like: http://www.meetup.com. Ok, cheesy advertisement over. (They didn’t even pay me!)
Anyhow, the group that looked the best to me was PNW Women’s Outdoor Group, Hiking in the Pacific Northwest. I made a great choice! The leader is a person brimming with positive energy, the women were all enthusiastic about being on the trail. The group offers at least three events a week – so there is no possible way I could do all of it, but I love the idea that there is always something going on, and I can sign up for what works in my crazy busy schedule.
A lovely trailhead sign for the Cherry Orchard Trail.
We hiked through trees at the beginning, but soon climbed up and out onto the exposed mountainside.
I went on my first hike on an incredible and unseasonably spectacular sunny day in the Gorge. We all gathered at a meeting place just 5 minutes from my house (it couldn’t get any more convenient) and piled into vehicles together. That was nice because I was able to get to know a few of the women before we hiked.
One great thing about this group is that I will be introduced to new trails in the Columbia River Gorge that I haven’t had a chance to hike yet. In this case, I had hiked the Coyote Wall trail near Lyle, Washington, so I knew the landscape. When the announcement came out that we would be hiking the Cherry Orchard Trail that also begins near Lyle, I knew ahead of time that I would like it.
One person in our group was very knowledgeable about the wildflowers and was able to name everything we spotted.
I was surprised at how many wildflowers were bursting to life so early in the season.
Our winter sun doesn’t rise very high in the sky yet, and it was a chilly chilly morning. What a boon, then, to be hiking on the Washington side. The cliffs with all the waterfalls you’ve seen in my posts are on the Oregon side, and that side stays shady much of the day all year round. On this morning we hiked the other side of the river, and soaked up the sunshine till we were toasty warm and smiling.
It was a nice short trail – only two miles – and the views hit us right away and made the little discomforts all worth it. Getting up at 6am on a weekend, bundling up in freezing morning temps, going alone into a group of strangers for a day…an inexpensive price for being out in this beautiful world with beautiful women.
Even in the leafless brown winter, this landscape is compelling.
Looking down onto the Columbia River.
That’s me, holding my Tilly hat to make sure it didn’t blow into the next state!
I was feeling a little artistic with this one.
Looking east from where we picnicked at the top of the trail.
And looking west, back toward Portland, from our lunch stop.
Something about this landscape is stunning to me. On the surface, it is desolate and dry and colourless. Still, I find it spectacular.
This is me, photographing one of the ancient Cherry trees from which the trail takes its name. Thanks to the group leader S for the photo!
View east from Beacon Rock September 2013
Beacon Rock February 2013
Scene of the ruined trail this winter. Photo credit: Washington Trails Association.
Sunday I was scheduled for some mandatory overtime, so Saturday Arno and I took the opportunity to try Beacon Rock again. And the trail is open!
We had tried to climb to the top of the rock during the Winter, but a rock fall on January 25, 2013 had blocked the trail. We had a nice day hike anyhow.
On our way out of town, as I waited at a stop sign, still in my Montavilla neighborhood, we spied a tamale vendor on a bike across the street. We pulled over and bought some on a whim. $5 for six small tamales.
I decided to cross the Columbia River into Washington state, and take highway 14 out to Beacon Rock, rather than head east on the Oregon side, then cross Bridge of the Gods like we did in February. Highway 14 is so pretty, and I actively try to avoid the mental boundary that tries to form because of the river. Washington may as well be another country for as often as I go there, and I live about two miles from the border.
frogs in the bathroom
Portland was blanketed with stratus and damp with mizzle. (Misty drizzle. And yes, that is an official meteorological term.) About 30 minutes east brought us into full sunshine and warmth.
We arrived at Beacon Rock in late morning, and parked near the restrooms because I needed to use them. When I turned to go, I spotted these two handsomes in the stall with me. I started snapping photos and I wonder what the woman in the stall next to me thought I was taking pictures of!
This sign is placed for all the rock climbers and wannbes that leave the trail.
We walked the short length to the base of the rock, and spent a little time looking at the cliffs. Arno spent a bit of energy trying to get me to say that I thought it would be fun to try to scale the face of it…but he didn’t get anywhere with that. (he never does, but he keeps trying 🙂 ) Instead, he admitted that the key point was that HE was excited about climbing the rock.
my rock climbing man
It’s about a mile to the top of this solitary rock standing in the valley. It is a basalt tower that formed inside the core of a volcano. As I wrote in my blog this winter, Henry Biddle built a trail to the top just because he wanted to, and I think that’s a wonderful reason. One climbs 850 feet, mainly on switchbacks. The trail is old, but in very good shape, paved and bounded with railings at all points. There are wooden bridges and steps and ramps. The views of the magnificent Columbia River Gorge never stop.
Biddle’s trail
An open door, where a locked door had been found on our first attempt.
Looking over the edge onto some of the switchbacks we traversed.
From the top there is a reasonable 200 degree view of the river. I had been expecting 360 degrees, but to be disappointed would be ungrateful. Gorgeous day! Gorgeous gorge!
We read the information sign talking about how the gorge was carved by the famous Missoula floods, as they carried rocks and icebergs between the two states we now call Oregon and Washington. Ice dams in Montana burst periodically, 15,000 years ago, and sent catastrophic, otherworldly floods all the way across Idaho and Washington and into the Pacific Ocean. That’s a flood practically beyond comprehension.
Like with the tamales, I was still feeling spontaneous when we reached the bottom, and I suggested we go find some fish to buy.
The Indians in this region have been fishing since the first humans lived here. They have legal rights to continue to fish, and when they have too much, they sell it at little stands along the highway. I’ve been meaning to buy some fresh salmon for years, but I never seem to have the cash on me, or the time to stop. Today was my chance!
Only a few miles down the road, we found a sign “FRESH FISH,” and I pulled off the highway onto a little frontage road toward a long row of camp trailers and rickety wooden stands. I didn’t know how to choose where to go. We walked to one stand with a few people who looked up and greeted us as we arrived. We watched as the man behind the wooden stand expertly filleted a salmon for the two men standing there.
The man with the fish was named Frank, we found out later. Frank introduced his grandson, Benny, as a guy who was a lot of help around the place. So I asked 10 year old Benny, “What’s the difference between all these places selling fish?” I thought I was going to get an answer along the lines of different kinds of fish being sold, or different prices.
Benny deferred back to Frank, who went on for awhile about the trustworthiness of the sellers, the cleanliness of operations, and the reliability of the fish freshness. While he admitted that he was pretty sure he was related to every single seller out there, he couldn’t recommend any of them except one guy who wasn’t there that day. I suspected he was just trying to make a sale, till at one point in his animated stories, one of the guys buying the fish caught my eye and nodded his head at Frank and mouthed, “Buy your fish here.”
Frank with my $40 salmon. It looks small, but there was a lot of meat on it.
Choosing the fish, getting it gutted and filleted and packed with ice, all while Frank told his many stories, took some time. Arno said later that it reminded him of what Sherman Alexie had said when we went to see him in Portland. Alexie explained that you can’t hurry an Indian. Be patient and you’ll get what you want.
Chanterelles
While we waited, the guy buying the fish asked me, “Hey, you want some Chanterelles?” Heck yeah! I followed him to his truck and in the back he had baskets filled with mushrooms he and the other guy had just picked. He scooped as many as I could carry into my hands, and scooped another huge handful for Frank, and we carried them back to the fish stand as the fillets were finally presented to the buyer.
Instead of focusing on me, Frank turned to watch a family that had just showed up. They all looked like they were of western Asian descent. Frank showed them the fish in the coolers while I went to grab a paper towel from the stand to wrap up my mushrooms. Arno told me that while I was gone, Frank had instructed Benny, “Remember, for brown skin, it’s $5 a pound.” I love that he heard that! What a delicious glimpse into the intricacies of commerce.
The brown family decided not to buy, and left. It was my turn to buy a fish. I was still a little suspicious about whether we were at the right place until Frank said, “There goes Green Toes,” as his earlier customers left. “That was his boyfriend with him. He was wearing shoes today, but when he’s in sandals, you can see his green toenail polish.” Frank went on talking about gay men and how uncomfortable he was to have them there, but glad for the business and the mushrooms. That sealed the deal for me. If this gay man was a regular customer despite the obvious problem Frank had with him, then it must be the best fish!
Benny with the dog
While Frank cut up my salmon, Benny’s mom Betty came out of the trailer and began talking with us. The dog came out from beneath another trailer. Frank explained that his son was gone fishing and that he was with a friend who had rights to net fishing. “The rest of us platform fish,” he explained. “Our family came in after the dam covered Celilo Falls, so we don’t get the net rights.” (Anyone who lives here soon learns that the sacred falls and fishing grounds were destroyed when The Dalles Dam was built.) I was learning so much standing there in the sun with the buzzing flies. Another Indian at a different stand turned on drum music from his truck stereo and Benny began dancing. They were a fun family.
Frank hadn’t weighed my fish, but suggested $35 and I agreed since Green Toes’ fish was about the same size and he had paid $40. When I pulled out my purse to pay for it, I found that I didn’t have change, and happily handed over $40. If we ate huge portions this was about five salmon dinners for Tara and me, the fish was probably less than 24 hours out of the water, and I had just had an hour of entertainment. It was totally worth the price!
Arno and I found a park by the water in Stevenson, and we ate our tamales and drank some Kokanee beer for lunch. Then we made our way back home and I began barbecuing salmon and zuchinni for supper, and fried up half the mushrooms in garlic and butter.
Spectacular view of Mt. Adams from our tent, which you see on the right.
Arno and I have been dating two years and never once had been backpacking together. Until last weekend.
Lupine and Bear Grass
He’s crazy about the outdoors. Hiking, cycling, rock climbing, cross country skiing– you get the picture. I am crazy about camping and backpacking. We’ve been saying to each other, “One of these days…” for too long. In May we planned our summer calendar (yes, we have to coordinate calendars! It was not superfluous because –>), only to find we had only two available weekends from May through September when we would both be uncommitted. As it was, I made the weekend available by canceling plans to go to Eugene for the Cherokee celebration of culture, highlighted by a visit from our Chief John Baker, out from the Nation. I swear, my life is just so dang full…
We pulled out maps, nearly salivating at all the possibilities. Arno and I have this tendency to look for places we’ve never visited before. We want to do things for the first time together. Is that sappy? Yes, I think it is. He suggested Mt. St. Helens, but I told him I feel a little disloyal going there because I’ve already promised a Seattle friend I’ll do St. Helens with him someday. East of Mt. St. Helens is the Goat Rocks Wilderness. The guidebooks say it’s really popular, which typically we try to avoid. We did some Internet searches and it seemed rather pretty. We found a perfect length loop (which is hard to find), that had a side trail connecting to the PCT and perhaps the opportunity to scale a peak. Done deal!
Aaaaand a pretty cool view of the blown top of Mt. St. Helens above our tent, too.
North on I-5 and east on Hwy 12 takes you out to the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. Take a right turn onto a Forest Service road, drive a very long time to a very -very- large parking area for a trailhead. The largest parking site at a trailhead I can remember is the Canyon Creek Lakes Trailhead in the Trinity Alps Wilderness. Snowgrass Flats Trailhead may have it beat. I estimated around 50 vehicles parked when we eeked out a spot on the side of the road. At least this one doesn’t have the same bear problem. And if that’s not enough parking, Berry Patch Trailhead is right next to it, best suited for stock animal parking. Well, not the animals; their trailers.
We got a very late start. It was a compromise due to aforementioned busy schedule: I did nothing Thursday night except wind down and try to disconnect from the work week. Friday morning we slept in and then had a home cooked breakfast. Ahhhh…. THEN we got ready to go backpacking. So, we arrived at the trailhead around 3:30pm. Yikes! We were worried there would be no campsites available.
The pack was heavy. I am not conditioned. But the mountains! This was the opposite of my High Lake hike in June, which had no views. This was amazing!! Pack weight sitting awkwardly? Shoulders pulled back, feet hurt, damned biting flies eating you alive? – whatever. Just LOOK at that! And that!
The Money Shot. This is TO DIE FOR. Taken a few steps away from our tent. I can’t even say enough about this wilderness area, because no words can even, possibly… Just… LOOK at this.
Me in a field of lupine. Tired and delighted.
Bird in a stunted tree near our camp
The views opened up almost as soon as we began. We started the hike at 4650′ so perhaps that helped us get us up to treeline sooner. It’s so alpine here that treeline is where 35-year-old pine trees are 10 feet high, because their roots can only go as far as the ground thaws, or as far as the topsoil goes down until it’s only rock.
There were fields of wildflowers in every direction. The colours were stunning. The perfume of all those lupine in bloom was purely intoxicating. I can hardly do it justice, the sweetest honeyed blue smells wafting every time the wind picked up.
Five miles in, we came to what we guessed (correctly, it turned out) was the actual Snowgrass Flats area. We passed the Lily Flats Trail, because we didn’t recognize the name and wanted to go to Goat Lake. We continued directly ahead, as we had been heading. Another mile in, and I was close to wiped out. It was evening, and there were campsites.
Surprisingly, with the jam-packed trailhead, and people everywhere on the trail, there were many many campsites to be had. Lots of nice fire pits and cleared and level spots with views. The one we selected ended up at 6400 feet. We had traveled about six miles and climbed 1700 feet. (Compare that to High Lake, when I climbed 2000 feet in 3.75 miles.)
Sunset on the mountains. Old Snowy is on the left.
Arno and I split camp tasks really well. We’re both used to doing everything ourselves (single parent mode), so it’s a joy to launch into any task, knowing your work is half done already – by the other person! He began sauteing onion and garlic for his bacon carbonara, and I began putting up the fabulous new tent he just purchased. The zipper failed on my old tent, so he loaned me one of his for my last hike. I subsequently griped about how heavy it was. So he purchased a tent for backpacking, and this one is spacious and weighs hardly anything! (Big Agnes Copper Spur, for those of you who want to know.)
Arno and me in the mountains
Overnight we were BLASTED with thunderstorms. From the photos you see the weather was lovely during the day. In the evening, clouds gathered, but it was still warm, and relatively calm, dry, and nice. I had become familiar with the NOAA site forecast for the weekend (I was a forecaster for the National Weather Service for 11 years, and just can’t use any other weather website.). We both knew that thunderstorms were forecast and we had the rain flap up. But nothing prepared us for KA-BLAM! Just like in Batman comics. POW! The lightning glare burnt through our closed eyelids, the thunder cracked, wind gusts yanked at the guy lines, and rain simply gushed from the heavens. For. Hours. And. Hours. And…. we stayed dry. And when everything settled the heck down, we slept in late.
wildflowers on a ridge above the Klickitat River
Last year before I left for Japan, I took Tara camping with me on our last weekend together. I knew that camping would provide quiet, no electronics, and lots of uninterrupted, healthy mom-daughter time. By coincidence, that weekend was also Mother’s Day. It was such a good idea that I did it again this year.
Only, this Mother’s Day weekend we were swamped because it was also Big Ballet Performance weekend. So Tara and I made plans to go camping last weekend.
I almost canceled. It had been raining and was forecast to continue raining. Our favourite camp site had the same forecast. Also, the Department of Veterans Affairs has begun mandatory overtime, and I had worked all day long Saturday, and was feeling fatigued. (every other federal agency is at home because of sequester but VA adds extra hours. go figure)
Dusting off my meteorologist skills, I pulled up a NOAA forecast map with a precipitation loop. It was easy to see that the rain was pretty much squeezed out of the airmass over the Cascade Range, and if we could just find a spot east of the mountains, we’d be in much better shape.
With my non-dusty web browser skills, I pulled up a map, then searched “camping” and chose a spot that was in the drier areas and as close to home as possible. I chose a spot labeled Soda Springs Campground. When we arrived, we saw that it had no identifiable springs and no identifiable campground, but turned out to be wonderful.
Highway 142, leading north from the Klickitat River, is a place blogger LB would like to ride her bike.
Most of the camp gear had been gathered Friday night after work, so Saturday after work I only had to load it into the Saturn Dragon Wagon and get my child motivated to gather her own gear (she’s a teenager; it’s not always easy to motivate her). By the time we climbed into the car, the rain was really coming down and I was glad I had packed the giant tarp that we could spread over the top of the tent.
Zooming along the fabulous Columbia Gorge highway, Tara fell asleep and I gaped at the buckets of rain coming down. Pouring, pouring rain. By Multnomah Falls, it had dropped to a light rain. By Hood River, an almost imperceptible drizzle under grey skies. I stopped to give fat kisses to my Arno in exchange for hot dog roasting sticks. I hugged hello to Diego, and hopped into the car again with still-sleeping Tara.
Gravel road along the ridge to the camping area led past several folks getting the winter cobwebs out of their rifles.
We crossed the Columbia River into Washington, then took highway 142 north from the town of Lyle, and followed the stunningly beautiful Klickitat River. We found the headwaters, and then climbed up, up, up onto the awe-inspiring bluffs of southern Washington. Along the Klickitat we reached pure blue skies and sunshine! We turned off 142 and in no time were at our campsite. If anyone wants to camp here, it’s free, but don’t forget your Discover Pass!
The gravel road to the camping areas were populated with target shooters, and we heard rifle shots pretty steadily until it got dark. That was the only down side. Not that I mind people doing target practice, but that I was in a totally unfamiliar area, and unsure of whether we might be in the path of a poorly-aimed bullet. I shrugged it off. They were pretty far away, and the men had seen us two girls drive past and knew we were out there, and knew it was a camping area, so I had to trust that they were shooting responsibly.
While gazing at the lupine, look out for caterpillars in your hair!
Awwww…
We pitched the tent in a stunning grassy forest, populated with blooming lupine. I neglected to bring my camera on the trip, so you’ll be forced to view the scene via the less-than-stellar phone camera images. Interestingly, there was a caterpillar exodus in progress, and they were literally dropping out of trees onto us. Thankfully, they were absolutely gorgeous fuzzy blue caterpillars, and so hundreds of tiny soft cute things dropping on us was a phenomena we could easily endure.
The forest canopy shaded thick stands of lupine
I forgot to pack my french press, and used the emergency percolator!
The sun shone till it was completely beyond the curve of the earth, and still we savored the clear skies. We enjoyed our evening, but were ready to turn in early. It had been a long week for both us girls. After Tara read aloud one story from the Brothers Grimm, we were out cold.
In the azure blue, cloudless morning, while Miss T slept, I brewed a pot of Peets and walked out to the edge of the bluff to look down into the canyon, and out across the gorge, and watch the day begin. I sat with my cup and drank in the environment as well as the coffee. It was incredibly beautiful. Warm. I could see a thick grey cloud bank packed tightly over the Portland skies.
As I sat there, I heard first a bawl, like a cow. Then, the unmistakable bugle call of an elk. I humbly admit, in all my wild excursions in my whole life of scrambling the mountains of Idaho, Oregon, Washington, and northern California, it was the first time I had heard an elk bugle in real life. Highly recommend you experience that one yourself.
This is where I sat when I heard the elk bugle. If you zoom in, you can see the peak of Mt. Hood in the clouds. And Portland, in the rain, is beneath them. (ha ha!)
Finally I went back for the girlie, who was awake, and watching caterpillars. I took her back out to the place where I had heard the elk. We didn’t hear it again, but she did get to see the amazing view.
Miss T high above the Klickitat, which you can see in the valley
This gives a better sense of how steep the hills are
When we packed up the tent, she counted 36 caterpillars that we had to flick off before it got rolled up. There were more, but she said that some of the original 36 had probably come back, so she didn’t want to double-count them. We were both much better rested, much happier, and much stinkier by Sunday afternoon. I’m so glad my girlie and I get so much pleasure out of camping together.
