Always A Work in Progress (Sticky Post)

Posted on October 6, 2014 by evejakubowski

Thanks to the guy at Marathon Sports back home who made the logo! I think it’s going to have to stay here because I cannot for the life of me figure out how the hell to get it next to the title above. Eventually I’d like to have a few things added, like lists (everyone loves lists), hike of the month, and a few more categories, but for now it’s all about learning to hike, climb, and run. Elevation profiles are in the Strava links when provided, and if anyone would like a GPX file of my route, comment and let me know, I usually have one. Comments, blog suggestions, and recommendations for peaks are always welcome! Doesn’t matter whether it’s a hike, run, or climb.

Recent updates: I have started an instagram! have_tent_will_travel (because some bastards took havetent_willtravel and havetentwilltravel). Not much to it right now, but I figure it’ll keep things moving during the dreary winter days where we can all reminisce on that one time it was sunny for a record streak and we were ~~sick of the sun~~ hoping for rain.

Granite Mountain Bivvy & Ski

Posted on April 7, 2019 by evejakubowski

Kaleetan & Chair Peaks in the background

The lookout with Rainier

Don’t get excited, I know everyone loves a good ah-shit-I-was-stranded-overnight story but this was an intentional bivvy. I was having a hell of a day. Around 6pm JT texted out of the blue. “Wanna go sleep on granite?” I mean… yes? But I’m anxious. Should I stay here in case Google answers my emails and there is a real issue, I’m still stuck getting access to this freaking API which I wanted to have by Monday, I still haven’t finished my taxes, I need to clean, my tabs are about to expire, oh god the panic set in and then was exacerbated by all of the big picture concerns that get dredged up when I’m in a bad place. My two best friends moved this morning, my other best friend is still dead, I have a mortgage to pay and what if I never save enough money to do anything ever again besides fix my house, what if I take 6 hours to get to the top of Granite and I forgot how to ski? Kacie called me to straighten out my manic state and I left the conversation 30 minutes later confident that Granite was the right choice. I’m in. I’m packed. Are you ready?? I’m ready. Let me know when you’re an hour away. Come on come on come on!

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Not so bad sidehilling (PC: JT)

I ranted for the entire 60 minute drive (in my head, alone in my car, you’re welcome). I was hoping anger and frustration would carry me up the mountain, but by the time I got to the trailhead I was just exhausted. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I was just going to be head down, one foot in front of the other until my ass was on top of that ridge looking up at the stars in my cozy bivvy and then I’d take a deep breath of air and remember that the majority of things that stress me out don’t matter and it’s just a matter of perspective. Perspective that has been difficult to get the past few months, whether it be because of work or weather or conditions.

Distance: 9.5mi round trip (incl. West Granite)
Elevation: ~4600ft net gain (5,600ft highest point)
Weather: 20’s and clear overnight, 50’s and clear during the day
Commute from Seattle: 60min
Did I Trip: Basic trip on flat ground followed by a ski wipeout also on flat ground an hour later. Don’t get complacent folks

The ridge in the dark

We started up the trail, which was snow free for probably two entire miles. From there it turned into some uncomfortable sidehilling, fighting with skis and boots caught in trees trying to balance on said uncomfortable side hilling (you’re like 2′ wider than you usually are when the boots are sticking off of your skis too), and oh yeah we were wearing running shoes. It’s a delicate balance, trying to rip skis through branches while not slipping or committing to the point where you stumble.

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Bedtime! (PC: JT)

Once we got above treeline, JT broke trail and took off. Which was a relief, because screw skis snagging on trees, screw my soppy wet feet, screw the cold, the highway is stupid, it looks like it’s the same distance away all the time so we’re making no progress, it better not rain, and why is it always longer to reach this ridge than I think it is. This brought us back to our regularly scheduled evening programming, where JT is mostly a headlight dancing in front of me and I moan in my head until we get there because my bedtime is at 9 and for some reason I’m dragging my ass up a mountain at 11pm instead of sleeping. And I wasn’t sure if I still had feet. They were there somewhere, numb stumps becoming one with the ice in the darkness. At one point I figured JT had disappeared over a knoll, until I heard his voice 30ft in front of me. He had turned off his headlamp to get a better look at where we were going (that sounds like the opposite of what you should do, but your eyes adjust to the darkness and there’s usually enough light above treeline to still see shapes) and probably could have scared the shit out of me if he had waited just a few seconds longer until I was closer.

The ridge was almost a knife edge, which was wild in the dark. Abyss on both sides, though in the morning it turned out the height was not nearly as significant as it seems in the darkness. We debated camping lower than the lookout on a flat piece of ground, but I figured a) there has to be some flat around the lookout and b) I didn’t come this far to camp 50 feet below the top. ONWARD.

Sunrise, Mt. Stuart in the back

Beginning the crusty traverse to W Granite

Just behind the lookout and before the cornice was a flat spot. Home sweet home, baby. I set up my two sleeping pads. One has a sneak leak that I haven’t found, so I brought a second for extra insurance so I didn’t end up chilling my body like a sushi roll on the ice every 45 minutes. I tore off my socks and stuffed my feet into the sleeping bag, suddenly coming to the realization that I had entirely forgotten ski socks and was stuck with my dank (not the cool dank), soon-to-be-moldy athletic ankle socks. Well, shit. Put those suckers against your skin or you’ll be even less happy in the morning. I dozed off in my now soggy ass clothing, happy I had brought the 0 degree bag and smiling to myself at the fact we had pulled off a 9pm ascent of Granite and I was away from people and work and responsibility beyond staying safe where we were. Do you ever have those moments where you feel like you are exactly where you’re supposed to be? That’s how it was.

Looking back at Granite

We woke up briefly for sunrise pics, went back to sleep and lazed around until 8ish, when we decided we’d do a lap on West Granite before the snow on Granite was soft enough to ski back to the trailhead (or to the trail, with our sad snowpack). We followed the ridge down Granite, through some trees, and up to the summit of West Granite, also known as Tusk O’ Granite, I believe (a way cooler name). It might have been the first time I had worn crampons all season. Holy crap. We soaked in views, dreamed of skiing Kaleetan, and set up for a ski down to the basin between Granite and it’s Tusk.

The ski ranged from crust to mush to 1″ corn on crust. Nothing terrible thuogh, and overall quite fun. Cramponing back up the slope to gain the ridge back to Granite was less than phenomenal, though it was good to get back into the rhythm of crampons on fairly steep snow, especially crust where you can’t kick nice bucket steps. I was so dehydrated. I hoped I was getting a tan.

Kaleetan & Chair over Tuskohatchie Lake

Back at camp we packed bags quickly and skiied the ridge to the gully. We debated skiing the way we had came up, which is the summer trail, where most hikers/snowshoers were. The gully looked way more fun, I was just scared of it because of all of the horror stories. But the snow up high was bulletproof, and it would be a pretty quick ski, and definitely well within my skill set. We took off and made a few turns, tucking over on a ridge where a party of four was skinning up.

Just before that ridge. we set off three loose wet sloughs. Yeah, they were sloughs, but I got stuck in one of those once and arresting with skis on your feet is a BITCH. And these ran probably 800+ft, basically to the bottom of the snowpack, through a narrow funnel at the bottom of the gulley. So… that was all of the red flags I needed. I took off the skis. I was booting the ridge. I can’t even put into words how disappointing it was. I’m finally good at skiing, we have this beautiful gully, I can even do it with a huge overnight pack… and we waited just a little too long and everything got just a little too warm. Every step set off more sloughs, but on the mini-ridge I was at least confident that nothing big would go (the snow on the ridge was shallow) or stick me in a terrain trap. We were back at the trail way faster than it had taken us on the way up.

Trudging our way back up to the ridge

We switched back to our soggy shoes (at least my soggy shoes, JT’s were waterproof) with maybe a mile and a half of trail left, and cruised back to the car marveling at how loud the highway was and how it never seemed to actually get closer, not unlike how it never seemed to get further when we were on the way up. But finally I caught a glimpse of yellow through the trees, yes! My car! Which has SOCKS! And dry SHOES! Oh, the simple joys of clean footwear.

I used to think that driving home during daylight hours meant you wasted daylight and should have gone farther and done more, especially on a beautiful weekend. But I still had adulting to do, we already spent more time skiing than expected, and it would be good to be home by 2. All things considered, I’m incredibly lucky to be able to sneak in a 15hr trip on demand like that and go from sitting at a desk in Seattle to sleeping on top of a mountain in the Cascades.

Oh, and as soon as I got to Seattle I turned right back around for a SAR mission, so there wasn’t much adulting done on Sunday.

Kaleetan, Chair, and the Leham/Summit Chief group on the far right

Arrowhead Mountain Ski & Snowshoe

Posted on March 24, 2019 by evejakubowski

Looking out at the Chiwaukums

Finally hitting sunshine in the forest

I may be limited to half day trips, but really all that means is that for a while I have to go for quantity over quality for the next few weeks to stay sane until I have full weekends back. But sometimes you get lucky, and that “better to do something than nothing” trip turns out to be pretty freaking rad.

I had no plans for the weekend going into Friday evening besides a short ski tour with Amber on Sunday. I suggested maybe Andy would want to come snowshoe while we skiied. He was super into it. I suggested maybe he’d want to snowshoe while I skiied Saturday and then again with Amber and I on Sunday. He was super into it. Great. “Can you be here at… 6:30am?” Andy is not a morning person. “Let’s plan on 6:30am but expect 7.” Perfect. I can knock out an hour or two of work and be ready to go.

Distance: 7mi round trip
Elevation Gain: 3,300ft gain (6,000ft highest point)
Weather: 30’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2hrs if you avoid Stevens Pass ski resort backup
Did I Trip: A single wipeout on the way down. Perfection is hard

Yes he’s wearing mostly cotton

We hit the road just after 7 and stopped at Sultan Bakery for summit treats and breakfast. I had packed my snowshoes for Andy and my skis for myself, conscious of the fact that 1) I’d be skiing a snowshoe route 2) it was Andy’s first time on snowshoes and 3) I wanted him to actually enjoy the snowshoe, not resent the fact he might be chasing me on skis the whole time. #3 ended up not to be that much of a concern on the way up, because cutting a snowshoer friendly trail while skinning is actually kind of a pain in the ass, because basically anything with kick turns isn’t going to fly (snowshoes blow for sidehilling). It might have been an issue on the way down, but Andy was pretty quick to get used to the goofy flappiness of snowshoes, and kept up pretty well.

Let’s quickly go over the setup for Andy’s first snowshoe.

Rated “strenuous” by the mountaineers, 3k gain in about 2 miles
Low traffic (expect to be breaking trail yourself)
Wearing mostly cotton
Running shoes (old road running shoes to be specific)
Two layers of socks with a plastic bag in between to try and keep feet dry
Three apples
Coming off a ~1 week long cold
I think he might be a Seattle sports fan but I can’t really tell
Keeping company with a skiier (even if a mediocre one who’s trying to break a snowshoe trail)

Not a good start for most people. I made him swear to keep me updated on temperatures, comfort, and the status of his feet, because they could get cold and wet enough to make us turn around at some point. Don’t be a hero. But it was sunny, fairly warm, and I had enough jackets and extra pants for him to use if his layers got wet. I didn’t have extra shoes. And how did it go? Pretty freaking well.

Living the dream

We found the railroad tracks immediately, and roughly followed Steph Abegg’s map (several gpx files on peakbagger). Stupid me thought that they were abandoned, but they were very much active, and that freaked me out. Every loud car that came by made me freeze and listen for 30 seconds to decide whether it was a car or a train. We had one train pass almost immediately, and then we started walking east until we ran into four skiiers headed in the other direction. They confused me for at least 30min, convinced that we were going to the same place yet we were going east and they were going west. We turned around to follow them until I checked the map and put two and two together – they were taking the Henry Creek approach, same route to get up to Jim Hill. Duh. That’s basically skiiers only, I wasn’t going to drag a snowshoer up that to destroy skin tracks and be a traffic cone for skiiers to dodge. So we turned around again, committing to the snowshoer route as originally planned.

Tell me that doesn’t look amazing

That was a great choice. We popped off the train tracks where it looked like an old road or another railroad grade started, and miraculously found some very old snowshoe tracks that we could somewhat follow. As soon as we stepped off the train tracks, boom, a second train came by. Trains are awesome and also scary. The uphill travel was easy, open forest, and we knocked out the first mile of real elevation gain at a steady pace, getting sneak views of the peaks across the highway. I tried to avoid kick turns as best I could, and when they did have to happen I told Andy to keep going straight up. But I think you could say I broke one of the least efficient skin tracks ever to be broken in the Stevens Pass backcountry.

“This is the best apple of my life.”

At the ridge in the sun, we stopped for a snack. Andy had definitively the best apple of his life. I was skinning in circles babbling about the Chiwaukums and how we had picked such a good area to go to. It was still another thousand feet of gain to the summit, and from the reports I had read, those last thousand feet go pretty damn slowly. And they were right. We meandered around trees, avoided some exposed convex slopes, some fluffy pillows that are a pain in the ass to go over but easy to go around. The views got increasingly better and finally, we were looking at the summit. Andy had been taking breaks every few minutes to let his lungs catch up and made me swear not to tell him if it was the actual summit. He clambered over a steep snow pillow (picture the dramatic hand-grab-over-ledge scene from movies) and pulled the beached whale move to get onto the top and boom, we were there. I flipped into mom mode and demanded he wipe the powder off his sweater and put on a jacket, otherwise he’d be wet and cold real fast. Andy enjoyed the second best apple of his life while I faced the stark reality of having left my summit treats in the car.

SUMMIT

We took a million pictures before heading back down. We followed our tracks, I’d ski a bit, wait for Andy to catch up. The skiing was phenomenal. Absolutely perfect. Probably 12″ of fluffy, cold powder THE ENTIRE WAY DOWN. The ridge was fantastic glade skiing, threading the needle between trees trying to stay near the ridge top and not dropping too low. We passed two other snowshoers who took a much less pleasant route up and were turning around because of time limitations. “Where did you come from?!” they were shocked. “Yeah, you should probably follow our tracks down, it was all nice open forest.” They had gone too far east on the railroad and ended up in thick trees, steep snow, and some nasty bushwhacking. We hadn’t had to do a single bit of schwacking. They offered us some of those coconutty girl scout cookies, which were everything my body wanted in that moment. I told them it was Andy’s first snowshoe. Their jaws dropped.

Looking out at Jim Hill Mountain

Rock Mountain, Howard Mountain

We continued down, I think I was giggling the entire time trying to find mini jumps along the ridge between trees. The skiing was just so surprisingly great. We followed our tracks back into the forest, where the powder continued. Trees were slightly thicker, but not enough to ruin the fun, arguably it was even more fun. Andy moved pretty quickly going downhill on snowshoes, figuring out how the sliding works and some mini glissades. The snow eventually thinned out and mixed with sticks and pine needles and barely covered logs and surprise rocks, but the trees were still sparse and the skiing was still prime I had my first and only wipeout trying to get enough speed to make it back over the mound that was between the railroad grade and the actual railroad, which resulted in me hitting a tree on the mound and slowly sliding backwards to rest on my ass on the railroad grade. It would have been easier to pop skis off and just walk up the hill, but I didn’t get 3,295ft of vert in just to walk the last 5 feet. I side stepped up that shit and skiied to the railroad.

Starting out on great low angle powder

We walked back along the tracks and dropped down to the highway, where my car was waiting for us, ticket-free. I never know with those pullouts. Most are allowed but there are some that are restricted to maintenance vehicles. I have no idea where the skiiers or snowshoers that we saw parked, and we definitely had the best pull out. It’s on the left side of the highway if you’re driving east, just after a small overpass ~6 miles after Stevens Pass. I think there is another pullout further down where the skiiers parked (I joked that we should have switched starting locations) that would work for Arrowhead and cut off some of the railroad mileage, but never confirmed where. Either way, we were back at the car by 4pm, felt like we were the only ones up there, I got to listen to the wshhhhh of cold powder under my skis, Andy crushed his first snowshoe (despite coming off a cold!), and we didn’t even need an alpine start. Pretty rad for a half day trip.

Monogram Lake Ski: Don’t Take Candy from Strangers

Posted on March 7, 2019 by evejakubowski

Looking back at Monogram Lake with Eldorado, the Triad, Hidden Lake Peaks in the back

It’s not 100% funny yet, there are still a bunch of embarrassing moments and regrets mixed in, but in a few weeks/months it’ll be a stupid story from my 20’s when I was still a 5-year-old on the inside. Don’t take candy from strangers, don’t let someone else bring you your drink at a bar, blah blah blah. We’ll get to the fun part in a bit. Karma bit me in the ass on this one.

Distance: 10 miles round trip
Elevation: 4500ft agin, 5700ft highest point
Weather: Single digits overnight, maybe teens during the day. Sunny, cloudy, snow showers.
Commute from Seattle: ~2.5 hours with no traffic
Did I Trip: Oh boy

Rescue car!

Plans came together Friday evening. Originally we were thinking of checking out the Enchantments, but last minute we settled on Little Devil Peak. Tony joined our plans around 9pm, assuming he’d follow our skin track and catch up to us at camp. We left around 5am Saturday, stopped off for coffee and breakfast and climbing permits (which I left at the car anyway, so you could argue that was a pointless detour), and started the drive up Cascade River Road, which is allegedly plowed to mile 7.

False. It was not plowed to mile 7. We had to pull over ~1.5mi from the trailhead, because I was too lazy to drive and we took JT’s car which, while great on snow and ice, has like 5″ of ground clearance and was bottoming out on the chunk of ice between tire tracks. We knew Tony was only 30ish minutes behind us, so rather than skin the mile and a half, we got all of our gear ready and waited in the car for Tony, who we hoped would be driving his snow-crusher FJ.

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Tony skins up below (PC: JT)

Aaand we were right! We waved Tony down and hitched a ride to the trailhead, where we started up with skis on our backs. I almost wish I hadn’t been up here before, because I only remembered two landmarks and of course both were like 2,500ft of gain up the trail so every switchback was a reminder of how far we still had to go. I found a piece of candy on the trail (woohoo, free snacks!) and stashed it in my pocket. We finally broke out into the clearing I remembered from last time, where we re-entered the forest and started to boot straight up once we lost the snowshoer trail. We hoofed it for a while as Tony skinned a more mellow route, keeping within earshot (whistles and various signature whoops), and met up just below a second clearing where we were officially starting to skin.

WHERE IS THE SKIN WAX

We had a quick snack break where I decided to have kimchi pancakes leftover from Amber’s Korean feast the prior night and that candy I had found. Which was gross, like a combo of licorice and a cough drop but it looked like a lozenge so cough drop taste made sense. We took off up the icy drainage, fighting through trees (but actually, too steep and dense for skins but you could drag yourself up by pulling and pushing on trees and toning your triceps) and dragging snow-caked skins (picture 10lb weights on each ankle) through the shitty slush followed by shitty powder as we zigzagged in and out of sunshine and shade. Take five steps, try to smack snow off the skins. Another five steps, smack snow. Another five steps, cry a little bit. Another five steps, smack snow and fall over streaming profanity into the powder and lie there in defeat only to find JT taking a break 15ft away when you assumed he was a mile ahead laughing at your plight from above in the distance.

PC Tony, so it actually WAS pretty (See bullets below)

I flopped down next to JT. I couldn’t figure out why I was so spacey and wow my mouth was amazingly dry. I changed into thick gloves and remarked on how cold it was, my fingers were sharply painful and suddenly numb, it must be single digits! I was smacking my lips when I noticed my heart rate still elevated and a mild anxiety about everything we were doing. My vision lagged, I’d move my eyes and the scenery would drag behind. I looked up at JT mid sentence. Life in slow-mo, cotton mouth, shitty circulation, mild anxiety? My life is pretty vanilla, but I remembered this from college. Only one thing has given me those symptoms. “Oh my god. JT. The candy wasn’t candy.”

Tony caught up to us and we told him what was going on. “This can’t go in the blog post.” “If you don’t write about it I swear I’ll add it in the comments.” Well we weren’t camping here, so let’s get over the ridge and down to Monogram Lake and re-evaluate. This stuff can’t last longer than like an hour, right? Oh god. It was just kicking in. I kept my eyes on the ground, focusing on the skin track in front of me. If I looked up at JT I’d get dizzy and start to tip over. Kick turns were the worst. Put your poles here. No, put them here actually. Or maybe there? Actually if I lean into the snow with my whole upper body including this elbow then on the fourth attempt I can swing my ski in line with the turn aaaand… .there it is. Stand up straight. Eyes ahead. NO, no, eyes down. Yes. Good.

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Bedtime!

We crested the ridge and I could see the lake. But the slopes to the lake. Oh my god. A million things ran through my head.

The hills – they’re so steep (they were not)
Who LEFT this there this is ILLEGAL (no, it’s not, you live in Washington)
Are these good views or is it just my eyes? (both)
Can I ski down on my skins? (no)
Can I ski down in downhill mode? [world spins and up is down and i’m covered in powder] (…no)
Can I boot it? Hmm. Yes. Feet are good. This is good.
Every slope will avalanche if I step right there (false)
Has it actually been two hours, or has it been 15 minutes and it feels like two hours? (2 hours)
Have I moved? (debatable)
Is JT ahead of me still?? (yes)
Where’s Tony DID WE LOSE TONY OH NO (we did not)
DID WE LOSE ME WHAT IF THEY WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE AND I JUST FORGOT AND NOW I’M ALONE AND shut up and follow the tracks ya dingus

Looking back at our tiny camp

We got to the lake and I flopped on down on my pack. Do we continue to the ridge, or camp here? I stared into space for 45 minutes. “You’re the high one, you decide.” I’m sorry, that’s backwards. High people can’t make decisions. “Come on, stoner cat.” Let’s go to the ridge. No, let’s camp here. Yeah, camp here. JT started to set up his tent. I handed him the first set of poles, point first. Hmm, the second set must have to go feet first. I turned it around and bent it so the feet would be the width of the door. Almost there aaaand…. SNAP!

It rang through the valley like a bullet, or the sound of Alex Honnold falling during that 24hr climbing competition in that one short film. I stared at the pole, now two poles. I stared at JT. I tried to put them together. If I had been hydrated maybe I’d have cried. JT took it in stride and patched it up and didn’t let me touch any other piece of the tent, which was fine because now I was scared to touch anything anyway. As soon as the tent was set up, I crawled into my sleeping bag and passed out. It was 3pm.

Skinning back up the ridge

I woke up to Tony and JT talking. I could hear them and wanted to laugh and say things back but that involved blowing air past my vocal chords which sounded like such a chore, I’d rather just meld into this sleeping bag and become on with the fluff and drift off like a piece of a cloud. Eventually I was somewhat munchy so I had cheez its (amaaaaaazing) and dinner. And passed out again.

In the morning I awoke to snow, frozen boot liners, frozen water bottle, frozen socks, a very full bladder, a clear(er) mind, and some shame. And the gradual realization that yes, this had to go in the blog post. I chose to face the bladder first, followed by the socks and liners. We boiled water to melt the ice in our water bottles, and I started skinning laps around the lake to get my feet and liners to warm up. By the third lap, I was walking on numb stumps. I crawled back into my bag and JT boiled some water for me to put in my bottle to put between my thighs to try and get circulation moving. I told Tony and JT to head to the ridge to ski, I had to figure out my feet and liners. The liners would never be dry, but if I could just get them warm enough to not freeze once they touched air again, then I could keep them warm once I was moving. I took a deep breath and put the damn ice blocks against my chest. They were melted within a few minutes and warm ish maybe 15 minutes later, and I stuffed my feet in them and took off to catch up with Tony.

JT with Lookout Mountain

The first run down was phenomenal fluffy powder. JT went first, then Tony, then me. We’re whooping and grinning and suddenly JT yells “watch out for the-” “CRRRRRSSSSKKKKKKK” “-crust…” as Tony skidded to a stop on sheer ice. Only the shaded snow was fluffy, anything that had been touched by the sun was no fun. We did a few laps before packing up camp and starting to skin out. Getting up and over the ridge was brutal because anything involving using my edges resulted in me popping out of my bindings and the ski sliding back down the ice until I caught up to it, but skiing down the other side of the ridge (especially in one fluffy gully) was spectacular. Going back down the veggie belay/tree climbing drainage was brutal, I booted it for about 4 steps before putting the skis back on because survival skiing was the lesser of the two evils.

“Skiing”

The survival ski continued back to the boot pack we made on the way up where the trail enters that first clearing. We crashed through trees, skiied over some dead branches and rocks, kept in touch by shouting “marco!?” “polo!” and the usual “whoop whoop” [whistle] “woo!” I caught up to JT. “I… I got into a bad situation.” The look on his face wasn’t good. I was trying to think if he was stuck on a bad slope or had a bad gear issue but no, we were never anywhere like that. “Look at the back of my pack.”

“There’s nothing there.” “Exactly.” Shiiiiiit. His tent. Should I laugh or cry? I mean, I’m off the hook for broken poles if there’s no tent, right? “Why not just take $700 and make it rain over a cliff?” He had been tracking our route, so there will be a spring revenge trip to find the tent eventually. It’s up there somewhere.

Apparently it’s cold

We booted straight downhill until there was not enough snow left to cut switchbacks efficiently. I muscled through a downed tree only to lose my ski strap a few switchbacks later, but at that moment I didn’t care enough to walk back up to look for it. We popped out back at the car followed shortly by Tony, who found the ski strap! Woohoo!

We drove back to JT’s car and were going to stop by Mondo (Tony was a little jealous of the Korean feast Amber had cooked before the weekend and had been thinking about kimchi pancakes for days now) but in a crushing moment of defeat, it was closed. We decided to part ways so Tony could pick up his son only a little late instead of very late.

Amazingly, driving through Darrington we found that Burger Barn was open. We demolished some burgers before driving back to real life in the city, where I immediately googled the letters on the candy wrapper to discover it was from Magic Kitchen, a Tacoma based pot shop. Great. I wasn’t crazy.

P.S. I peed literally brown on Sunday morning. If you’re gonna go do edibles or eat candy you found on the trail because you have the impulse of a small child, stay hydrated, folks.

Skinning back to camp

Table Mountain Circumnavigation

Posted on March 1, 2019 by evejakubowski

Brad skins up below Shuksan, Artist Point in the background

Looking up at Table Mountain

I’m sure there will be a collection of winter turnaround short stories and half day might-as-well-get-out trips, but I figured I’d start with the first successful (as in “wow look where we are!!!”) trip this winter. There’s been a lot of resort skiing, a trip to Costa Rica, some weekends where I couldn’t drive the hill in front of my house and skied the 48th St Couloir in Fremont instead of touring the backcountry… and then this weekend happened. Short and sweet.

Baker! Brad scouts out a traverse route

Surafel was fresh (6 weeks?) off a major surgery and ready to get back at it. Brad for some reason had no plans. I was resigned to staying in town to work, but then decided to stick it to the man because when did the expectation change to assuming I’d be available on weekends? That’s not my modus operandi. Especially on one of those unique weekends where there’s powder and blue skies in the winter. And the slopes are like an adult playground and the snow is widespread enough for car to car instead of carrying the damn sticks for 6 miles each way before skinning and did I mention it was sunny and the days are getting longer and the skies are blue? Yeah. You bet your ass I’ll be there.

So we met late (by our standards) at 7am at the Lynnwood Transit Center. We almost lost Brad, who parked on the weird side instead of our normal side and also jumped when my car rolled because we were on a slight incline and my car is manual. Surafel had a banana for breakfast, Brad forgot to eat the muffin he had packed, and I didn’t bring breakfast because I’m too impatient and ready for action. Who needs food anyway.

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Brad’s awesome pic of Shuksan being a beaut

Heading towards Ptarmigan Ridge

We drove up to Baker, stuck in the clouds until halfway down Baker Highway. Surafel had to rent snowshoes because he forgot that I, too, might own snowshoes he could borrow, or perhaps Brad, another grizzled outdoorsman. We finally broke into the sunshine, and everything was oversaturated and the sky was bright blue and the mountains were all white and we were ooh-ing and ahh-ing staring out the windows. Every switchback on that road was fantastic, I just kept laughing looking at Shuksan. It doesn’t get old. We freaking live here. And it’s been so long since I had a sunny weekend in the mountains, wow standards were low.

The skin track was icy, and the fact that I did a shit job trimming my skins did not help. Like really shit, like ashamed that I walked into REI 10 minutes before closing and said “oh I don’t need you to trim my skins hurr durr” because then I slashed off like half of the bottom of one of my skins and now a solid 12″ strip is only 1″ wide. But whatever. Problems for future Eve. We followed the ski/snowshoe highway to Artist Point, where we debated whether to continue and I groaned about how I forgot that I hate people, and boy were there people at Artist Point.

Baker and the Seven Layer Cake

The people may or may not have been a factor in my decision to continue. On one hand, the snow was more stable than I had expected. On the other hand, I hadn’t been out in winter in a while, I’m a wimp, I’m good at psyching myself out, and I felt bad leaving Surafel behind. But Surafel insisted (he’s too nice) and Brad was pretty familiar with the area, so Brad and I took off into the silence of snow covered mountains and skied the traverse over to Ptarmigan Ridge (after wallowing in powder because I can’t transition without taking my skis off my feet). At the bottom, we switched back to skinning in a patch that had been nicely stomped down by some good samaritians ahead of us, and took off towards the ridge, where I waited for Brad to take the longest open-terrain bathroom break in my life. I thought he had broken a binding or something but no, just really, unbelievably hydrated. Unlike some of us.

Looking back at the pass we came from

We skinned along the ridge for a while, enjoying the otherworldly views, aiming for what we were calling the Sydney Opera House or the Seven Layer Cake. It was a wild formation of cornices that looked like a sea shell or a fungus, and the Portals we were originally aiming for were something like 2 miles beyond it. Dammit. Classic winter underestimation. We figured that was a long shot and we didn’t want to get back after dark or leave Surafel waiting for hours, so we decided to ski down into the valley below and head up and out on the other side of Table Mountain if we could, assuming it would be the popular Table Mountain Circumnavigation. We scouted a skin track on the opposing slope from up high and committed to the descent.

Coming back up to the opposing ridge

It might have been one of the best runs of my life. Only a couple hundred feet, but the type of powder that just makes you giggle the whole way because it’s so fluffy and beautiful and the “wshhhhhhh” surrounds your skis and i’m not a good enough skiier to deserve this. We skiied as far as we could and then started to traverse back towards Table Mountain, which took us across our first sketchy slope of the day. Shaded (new) and near tree line (new), even though it was a similar aspect to a piece of microterrain we had just skied the feel was completely different. Within a few steps we noticed the difference, but still kept going. Luckily it was short, but it was not where I wanted to end up, and I wish we had skinned back up to more mellow terrain. Good reality check that you should constantly be aware of changing conditions and new characteristics. We dropped into a river gully and popped out on the nice comfortable sunny side of the valley where I admired the shiny round white ass of someone taking a dump 50 yards away. Ah, the joys of the mountains.

Almost at Austin Pass, Baker and the clouds setting the mood

We passed doody dude and avoided eye contact, skinning uphill through trees a ways before breaking out into the Chain Lakes Basin, where we had a glorious skin across a frozen lake with Baker in the backdrop and the first evidence of an actual avalanche all trip. It was a small debris field and we were well out of the way, and took our time crossing the lake soaking in views before skinning up to Austin Pass. We caught up to a group of four, who I innocently asked “are you doing the full circumnav?” “Yeah, full Table Mountain Circumnavigation, it’s been amazing!!” via which I confirmed that we were, in fact, on the trip that we thought we were on. The snow had changed to dripping, sun-loaded slush, but we were in the trees and the skin track avoided the steeper gullies on either side. At the top of Austin Pass we admired one last glance of Baker behind us, Shuksan in the sun in front of us (Homer Simpson drooling = me) before skiing a disappointing, surprisingly crusty run back to the shady base. After lamenting the loss of my brand new snow basket (RIP lil buddy) we found Surafel at the car, who had ravaged my backup snacks like an animal and eaten all of my candy.*

We devoured burgers and beer and bottomless hot chocolate on the way home to wait out the ski resort traffic. It was amazing to be back in the mountains, and I was stoked we pulled off a pretty classic half day tour out of nowhere and stoked that Surafel was back out. He even swore he’d never touch snowshoes again after a romp around Paradise last year, but it’s like a marathon, you forget the pain eventually and want to do it all over again. Bring on the spring season. My body is so not ready.

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Surafel’s awesome photo of Baker. Good thing we left him for several hours

*Just kidding, he only ate a reese’s peanut butter cup/kit kat hybrid.

Moab Trail Marathon: It’s an Art

Posted on November 13, 2018 by evejakubowski

The infamous Mile 15

And they’re off!

So by now, most of you know we’ve been winging this marathon for a few years. And we didn’t think it could get worse than last year, where my father went on one seven mile run leading up to the race. I remember him announcing at mile 17 that his legs felt fine, but man they were just so tired. Duh and/or hello, you’ve run 10 miles farther than the farthest you’ve run since this day last year.

This year, there was no training. I went on a panic 12 mile in early October and felt fine and then did another panic run a few weeks ago by Rainier so obviously that’s enough to finish a marathon, right? My dad knocked out a few 3-5 milers, but nothing consistent, and nothing considered “marathon training.” And yet there we were at the starting line, in the second-to-last wave, ready to see what happened. Like I said, it’s an art. We didn’t have the brute force that most have when they’ve spent three months training. But we had knowledge. We had history. We had patience and the finesse of two dehydrated, delirious, stumbling elk. We brainstormed bail points.

Mile 9. Break off from marathon, finish with the half marathoners. 13 miles total. Dad’s plan.
Mile 12.5. Run with Eve through the out-and-back, then backtrack to the half split, finish with the half marathoners. ~17 miles total. Dad’s plan according to me, because I sure as shit wasn’t doing that out and back solo, that thing’s miserable.
Mile 17. Fake bail. Hike mile 15 with Eve, walk to mile 23.1 from there. Viable option for both of us.
Mile 23.1. You cross the finish line and head out for another 5k. Skip the 5k. 23 miles total. Viable option for both of us.
Mile 26.2. You run the whole mother fucking marathon because YOU CAN. 2% chance of success.

It’s so SUNNY

The morning was off to a smooth start. I panic-freaked on my mother who was blow drying her hair when we needed to get breakfast, because we can’t be late to the starting line MOM and we only have 17 minutes for breakfast now MOM we need to go MOOOOMMMMM (I’m still a child).

We enjoyed our 14 minute breakfast and hopped in the car. I had my father drive, because he ~~speeds~~ is a more efficient driver. 20 minutes out, I jokingly asked if he had his bib, because we had nearly forgotten in past years. He stared at me blankly. He did not have his bib. So we drove back to the hotel, grabbed the bib, back in the car, and luckily (thanks Mooom) we were able to get dropped off at the starting line instead of parking a half mile away and walking. We were waiting for the start within minutes, since the first waves had already gone. But we were at the back of the pack. Bring it on, baby.

Cowpie and the rock that broke my phone I assume

We walked probably 80% of the first 5 miles. Mostly because everyone in front of us was walking and it turned into bottlenecks. In years past, that has driven me utterly insane because I am not a patient person. But this year? With a single run under my belt in three months? “lol, we can walk this.” “lol, we can walk this too.” “lol I don’t know this bit is somewhat uphill if you look at it sideways.” “Dad you’re running too fast.” And my calf injury is back. And running in sand sucks. Especially for injured calves. And it’s hard to dodge the mildly surprising number of cowpies that littered the trail while running. Oh, and I immediately dropped my phone on the only rock surrounded by 5 miles of sand and shattered the screen. So that was good.

Mile 5! (ish)

Around mile 5, my calves finally relaxed and the runners started to spread out. Miles 5 through 9 are my second favorite part of this race, because you cruise along a plateau followed by a long stretch next to the canyon rim. It’s slightly downhill, it starts out as a wide sandy path and narrows to single track, the sun is out, endorphins are flowing, people are having fun. Most around us were doing the half marathon instead of slogging through the desert for 8 hours, which I was positive would happen given our peak conditioning.

Beginning of the bottleneck

There was a worse than usual bottleneck at the scramble section, so we spend maybe half an hour waiting in line. That gave my father time to take off his shoes, shake out some sand, have some snacks, get cold in the shade, take a leak (Jakubowski family record for most-pees-during-a-marathon), and wonder how Mom would do jogging next to the 1,000ft drop beyond the canyon rim. We scuttled down the scramble, hit the aid station, and it was time to follow the marathon runners while the half folks jogged back to finish.

I mean if I had to wait in line…

We knew the out and back was coming. Last year they had extended it, and it was probably the single most mentally difficult section of the race for me, because I didn’t expect it. After years I know this course like I know my commute to work. I can space out and suddenly be at point B. But no, they had to add mileage to the worst section of the race. This year, we were ready. It would be long. It would be soft sand. There would be bottlenecks. We agreed to just walk the whole thing. I waited in line for a pit toilet instead of saving time and peeing in the bushes because who cares, it’s the lames part of the race. Except then it wasn’t just sand. And there weren’t bottlenecks. And we were jogging. And the fall foliage was the best we’ve ever seen it. And everyone was so positive and smiling and cheering and saying “Great job!” as we passed. I laughed. This has got to be the most positive out-and-back we’ve ever had. And suddenly right around the first corner was the punch station. Oh my god. Dreams can come true.

Up, up, and away!

Neat plant

We punched and bailed and continued the positive support on our way out. We ran down the road where my usual lone yellow tree was still green. We grabbed snacks at the mile 14 aid station and jogged our way to the base of mile 15. The climb. We started hiking right away. We enjoyed the views. The fall foliage was late, and you could see the bright greens and yellows snaking through the valley below. My father forgot shorts and was running in sweatpants. It was like 70 and sunny and I could feel the salt sweat-crisped to my face. We started picking off runners one at a time. This was our jam. We had finally figured out Mile Fifteen. That’s not the top. Neither is the next corner, or the corner after that. Doesn’t matter. We’re in the zone.

River winding away in the distance

“Huuuuuaaaaagcchhhkk. Noooo!” We heard the joy and determination of the woman behind us leave her body as we rounded the second to last curve and it was not the top. We laughed (sorry, miss) and commiserated. We should have warned her. You’re so close though! We snapped our usual picture by the rock. “Is this one?” “No this one is too early we did that a few years ago.” “I think that was it.” “No it’s up here.” “We definitely passed it.” But there it was, sitting at the top like a potato chip. Happiest pic we’ve taken at that mile.*

So far so good!

“Is she still taking pictures”

“The aid station is always farther away than I remember.” Yeah, I know. Same here. Except even with that knowledge, it was STILL farther than I remembered. But that’s okay, because miles ~16-18 are my favorite miles of the race, and 18-22 are up there too. Because miles 16-18 are a long, mostly flat downhill on top of the world. Single track, dancing through underbrush and small plants, sucking in your waist and turning sideways to fit through canyons. And finally, the aid station.

Squeeze canyon

We popped salt pills, chugged electrolytes, puffed chip crumbs. I stuffed my face with oranges, which I hate in real life, but for whatever reason my body decided that those were the most wonderful things on the planet in that moment. And off we went, knowing we had a few miles of rolling slickrock before a loooong downhill back to the pseudo-finish-line and the adventure 5k. We shared the good news with Mr. Orange nearby. Just a bit of slickrock and then 3-4 miles of niiiiice gradual downhill!

Let the slickrock begin

Except we were wrong. Whatever mileage they took off of the out-and-back compared to last year, they re-added in the slickrock section. Which I’m totally okay with, because it’s beautiful and unlike anything I see in my normal life. It’s a walk/run hybrid, because even the downhill running is an unpleasant knee-pounding rocky uneven descent. But after miles of navigating mountain bike trails (one cairn to the next, first year I’ve seen cairns!) we hit a road that eventually took us to the classic canyon rim ramp that would drop us along the river back to the pseudofinish. And that is possibly the only section of the marathon where you get several cruiser miles of mild downhill, mostly single track. It’s spectacular.

Like a cornice except rock!

That is, until you get close enough to hear the finishers. And the cheering. And realize you still have a mile to the pseudo-finish, followed by the adventure 5k to close out your 26.2. At the 23.1 mile aid station I let myself have some coca cola, which I decided to use to swallow salt pills. Turns out trying to pop three huge salt pills with very carbonated soda is a bad choice and I sat there convincing my body to not vomit everywhere while the terrible mix was stuck in my throat. My brain won the battle and we kept jogging, ready to be done with this.

The adventure course was smooth. I forecasted a muscle spasm in my left adductor and the right side of my going. But no. My body had to go for the wild card. Shin cramps, bitch! Those exist?! I could feel the muscles on the front of my shins contracting. Oh boy. It’s going to be an interesting last few miles. I sucked it up and changed my stride from lazy heel strike hobble to forefoot strike. Sucks for my calves, but what do you know, the shin spasms went away.

Trail and the snow capped La Salle Mountains

Aid station!

Only to be followed by a short adductor spasm. I put pressure on it and kept jogging because who needs adductors. That one cleared up quickly too, which was a relief since it’s the same cramp I had finishing Seattle last year, which resulted in some of the more hilarious photos of my running career (if you can call it that). Moab did no such thing, all of my photos are awesome.

The parking lot jog wasn’t as awful as usual, but my dad did count to (I think) three thousand steps. Or maybe it was 1,500. He did it three times, because when he got to the end and we weren’t at the finish yet, he’d start over and do it again. Back in the woods I panicked briefly that we were backtracking on hte marathon course and had missed the finish. But we found the turnoff, we were right, and we ran across the finish line laughing at how pleasant the whole race had been.

Topping out on the scramble

Maybe it was the low expectations, or the assumption we’d suffer, or the multiple bail plans that we bailed on. Or the sun and the late fall foliage. Or everyone being so happy during the out-and-back. Or they put some crack in their electrolyte mixes, I don’t know. But it was a fantastic day. 10/10 race. If I’m ever injured to the point I can’t run, I’ll drag my ass out there to volunteer. It’s just a great event. Thanks Mom for putting up with my shit that morning and chaperoning us around, and congrats Dad on running a marathon without even training for a half marathon. Someday you’re going to be a mortal human but that day hasn’t come yet.

*Sometime around this, my mother was in a cafe in Moab, where she met the 2nd place marathon finisher. While we were still out meandering through the desert.

Woo!! Moab Marathon #5 is in the bag, baby!

Third Burroughs & Fremont Lookout

Posted on October 25, 2018 by evejakubowski

There is a tiny person in this picture. Rainier from the back of the second burrough.

What the title doesn’t mention is that this post is more like an anthology of pictures of random people that I don’t know who will never know they’re in my photos. But let’s get started.

I’ve never been to Sunrise. Over four years in Washington, multiple Rainier summits, and I had never set foot in the Sunrise parking lot. It was time for that streak to end. I’ve had the Burroughs on my trail run list for years and both those and Fremont Lookout on my OG hikes list from the list I compiled when I first moved here. I wanted some miles for my poor pampered legs (marathon next weekend… hahaa ahah ah…) and figured this would do the trick and have me back at a reasonable hour.

Distance: 11.5 miles

Elevation: 4500ft gain, 7,800ft highest point

Weather: 60’s and sunny

Commute from Seattle: 2:20 without traffic

Did I Trip: No! Suckers

Stay classy, Washington

I slept in until 7:30. Anyone who knows me knows how outrageous that is. And I was in bed at 9:30, it’s not like it was an alcohol fueled wild Friday night. I had tea, hopped in the car with my gear, shot Brooke a quick message so at least someone would know where I was, and drove myself out of the stagnant marine layer that has been plaguing Seattle mornings thanks to this high pressure system. I stopped at a gas station in Enumclaw and bought the rest of their paninos. Think pre packaged salami wrapped around cheese. They. Are. Delicious. And Rainier, unlike Seattle, had sunny blue skies and a sparkling mass of snow dusted glaciers. And was about ten degrees warmer than Seattle. Ah, yes. Allow me to roll down the windows of my car. Finally.

People frolicking along the first burrough

In the parking lot, I threw on a thick wool baselayer and stuffed my puffy jacket into my running pack and took off. I wasn’t sure where to go but I knew the trail started “northwest of the parking lot” so I went with my trusty strategy of “start walking and you’ll probably find it.” And I did. It doesn’t matter where you walk, all trails/roads will lead to a set of steps that takes you to the main trail which takes you to Sourdough Ridge/Frozen Lake, where it eventually branches out into the Burroughs, Fremont Lookout, and some longer backpacking loops (or trail runs for the less lazy) through the park. Frozen Lake looks a lot better in early spring, right now it’s a mostly dried up mini reservoir that supplies the buildings of Sunrise with water. But you cruise past that and head towards the monster that is Rainier, where the views will get better and better as you get up and over the burroughs and the crowds get more and more sparse. Oh, and I dropped my thick wool layer like immediately. Because it was 65 and sunny. None of that 40 and foggy Seattle crap.

Looking back at the first burrough

The first burrough has a cool plateau-like top and lots of people milling around. I snapped some photos of parties hiking along the trail, the first set of Eve’s Stalker Snaps. The views are good, but you should keep going. Dropping off the first burrough to the second burrough is only a short downhill before the elevation gain begins again, and cresting the second burrough is only an extra 0.7 miles beyond the first burrough, so not too far. Views from the second burrough top the views from the first burrough, but guys, there’s a third burrough. And the third burrough is where it’s at.

Did you catch that? THERE’S A THIRD BURROUGH. Don’t stop at two. Drop off the backside of the second one, where you’ll turn a switchback and be treated to one of the best views of Rainier in the park. I nearly tripped over my own feet. Some dude was trotting up the hill, making me look like a lazy runner hiking anything with a hint of incline. Meh. I guess I am lazy. I snapped some photos of a woman hiking with Rainier behind her, the scale is just crazy. Another creeper photo? Check. Rainier is enormous. And yet you can look at most of the Emmons route from here, the second most popular route on the peak.

Three tiny people admiring the glaciers

Glacier Peak over Grand Park

The terrain stays fairly mellow, until the final climb up the third burrough. The top of the third burrough is a long, mellow ridge. For the number of people there, it surprisingly did not feel crowded. I snapped a few photos. More creeper photos of others enjoying the views. See the theme when I’m alone? You’re all at risk.

As amazing as the views were, I wanted to get miles on my legs, so I started to jog back down. Running back down is a blast. You aren’t quite on top of the world, more like in open meadows on a wide, rolling ridge. Technically it is all alpine tundra, despite being at a relatively low elevation. The sparse plants that do grow there are very fragile. I was there in late fall, so everything was basically dead. The growing season here is wicked short, and we had a cold snowy snap in early October that I assume was the end of the season here. Not much fall foliage to be seen on this hike. I passed a woman who gasped “NO!” and then started laughing. “You passed us on the way up and you’re already passing us on the way down!” Her partner looked at their feet. “We’re wearing running shoes… we could do it too!”

To the lookout!

Back at the junction, I decided to check out Fremont Lookout. You can see the lookout perched at the end of the Fremont mountain ridge from the burroughs, and it was too tempting to pass. Can you tell I want a legit camera with a zoom lens? I had so many zoom shots here and my camera just doesn’t do the scenery justice. The trail to the lookout gradually gains elevation cutting across a hillside, where you weave in and out of small trees and shrubs with glimpses of mountain goats in the distance. I came across a happily family and shamelessly took a creepy ass picture. I mean this was the creepiest one. I didn’t even realize how good it was until I got home because I panicked while taking it (okay so maybe not shameless) and ran away (literally) as soon as I was done like the awkward creep that I am.

Family goals

Fremont Lookout

The lookout is a two level lookout, first I’ve ever seen. It was built in 1934 and is still occasionally used by park staff today, though it was boarded and locked up when I was there. The views are pretty ridiculous, and considering it’s only a ~5 mile round trip hike, it’s pretty accessible to everyone. I had a quick snack, took more creepy photos, and started on my way down, cursing my overeager eyes and stuffed stomach. Did I need six paninos? No. No I did not.

Obligatory lookout shot

At the junction for the last time, I had to tell myself it was only another 1.5 miles to the car. You can do it. Come on, legs. You got work to do. Give me an inventory of aches and pains so I know how screwed I am for Moab. I jogged past a group of girls who jumped out of the way (“move, bitches!” is what the last girl in line shouted, laughing) and as I went past I heard “oh my god she’s like a GAZELLE” which as many of you know is both hilarious and encouraging when you feel like a banana slug/foal hybrid trying to learn how legs work while moving at the pace of molasses.*

The wall I wish I had in front of my house

The last half mile to the parking lot was clogged with people, but my tired legs didn’t mind. I couldn’t resist getting a picture of the talus wall built along the trail, because I wish I could build it in front of my house. I got back to the car (which you can spot like a mile from the parking lot thanks to its amazing color) and chugged a La Croix. Yes, I now have those in my trunk, and they are PRIME after hikes/runs/anything. The only problem is that a) they kept falling out of my trunk when I parked in front of my house until I realized I was an idiot and turned the cartons around and b) my car occasionally stockpiles empty La Croix cans. Sorry guys.

*Actually, molasses is kind of fast. It was once recorded at a speed of 35mph during the Great Molasses Flood in Boston. That’s a lot fast than me, unless I’m in a car or on a plane or you’re measuring my speed relative to the sun. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Molasses_Flood

Carne Mountain

Posted on October 15, 2018 by evejakubowski

Brooke walking back down the ridge to Carne

Admiring floofs and larches

We’re back in business, baby! After a three month unintentional hiatus. I can’t really explain what made this fall through besides a repulsive number of hours spent in the office (I sent emails from too many glaciers and rock climbs), the eventual burnout that smacked me across the face, and the ensuing surf vacations that I thought would cure the burnout but really just left me sitting at my desk a week later on Monday with post vacation blues wondering how I was ever going to change my day-to-day to something more stomach-able and oh my god am I lacking vitamin D already and why doesn’t Seattle have an ocean and thank god I have cool coworkers.

Looking in every direction

Well, my shit is not yet together, but it’s consolidated in one place. And I’ve been getting out to the mountains this whole time, some trips more ambitious, some trips more lazy. I’ll backfill all of them slowly, even if it’s short words with a dump of photos. I mean let’s be real you’re probably only here for photos and blue-bag-of-poop jokes (there aren’t any in this post, you can stop reading here). Anyway, yesterday is what finally lit the fire under my ass to start writing again.

Last week was the most brutal week I have had in a long time. There are a few things that keep me sane.

Mountains
Running (neglected)
Vertical World (credit to Amber and Andi for putting up with my groaning at 6am)
~~Craig Kimbrel~~
Eating
Writing (neglected)
Cooking (neglected)
Hot Tubbing

Fall foliage in the forest

So we’re bringing writing back into the picture. Because it’s easy to forget how much I like writing. And I fucking. Love. Larches. Don’t even read the words just look at the larches!!!

Every year I set aside a larch weekend. This year I hadn’t done that yet. I went to Leavenworth. I went skiing. I have the hunger for climbing, right? I go crazy if I don’t climb or ski on a weekend, and every year I swear I’ll make time for larches next year and by the time larch season rolls around I’d rather be going up cracks in Leavenworth because I’ve forgotten how great fall foliage is. I thought I had missed the window. Seeing larches twice in a year is like a blue moon, and I knew they were out the past two weekends so no way was I getting this weekend. But the mountain gods spoke and there was one last chance! Brooke had a crazy week and somehow I convinced her (it wasn’t that hard) to come hiking Sunday instead of working. So we drove up to Carne Mountain.

Distance: 8 miles (11 total since we went towards Old Gib too)
Elevation: 3600ft gain, 7000ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 3 hours
Did I Trip: We both had majestic wipeouts. I lost my pants.

THE BASIN [Homer Simpson drooling]

Buck over the larches

First things first, the road. It’s really not that bad. I had heard so many horror stories. High clearance is probably a must, and so is a spare tire (not a donut tire, that won’t help you). But I’ll take deep ruts over washboard any day. Chiwawa River Road > Cascade River Road. We can barter rides. I’ll happily drive Chiwawa if you drive Cascade.

The trail is pretty relentless for a hiking trail (as opposed to a climb approach). It starts out in the woods, which had their own fall foliage if the sunlight hit the trail correctly. The difference between the way up and the way down was wild. On the way up everything just looked dead in the shade, but on the way down with the sun hitting the trail the colors lit up. The forest is probably a solid 3 miles with no larches, only green. I started to panic, as I do every year on the way to larches. What if they aren’t there? Maybe the WTA report lied. Maybe they all dropped all their needles yesterday. Maybe they’re suddenly brown today. Maybe they literally all disappeared and no one has realized it yet. Anything could happen.

Drowning in larches

And then you turn a corner and break out into the basin. Basically heaven. A suddenly flat meadow surrounded with larches on all sides and the yellow is overwhelming. Brooke laughed because we just kept gasping and shouting and it’s not coherent but you’re just so excited. You just want to lie on the ground and roll around with all the larches. Walking through larches is like walking through tangible liquid sunshine. Like chugging water when you’re thirsty, except for your eyes. Or like being wrapped in a cozy blanket in a cozy cabin with a wood stove and it’s raining outside. Everything is amazing and the colors are bright and oversaturated except it’s real life. I know everyone obsesses about larches. Allow me to add to the problem.

Maude and Icebox Ridge over larches

Buck over Carne Basin

We continued up the trail taking pictures in every direction. We hadn’t actually run into that many people, either, which was amazing. At the opposite end of the basin the trail regains its steep grade because you aren’t done just yet. We went left at the fork to follow the Rock Creek trail, and once we hit the ridge, we continued left to summit Carne (more steep rocky bits). The larches were more sparse here, but the mountain views were outrageous. Buck, Glacier, Maude, even a peek of Bonanza. I had never been to this area before, and it is just astounding.

We shut up quickly on the summit when it became apparent the other people were enjoying the silence. Once they left we snacked on sour vampire bat gummies (halloween is approaching) and decided to head over towards Old Gib, which appeared to have larches.

Multicolored moss

We probably should have done the Carne high route instead, but I didn’t think we had time. The trail to Old Gib is mostly a traverse instead of the ongoing steep grade of Carne, but it conveniently avoids EVERY PATCH OF NEARBY LARCHES. Larches high? Trail goes low. Larches low? Trail goes high. Arrrgh. So we turned around after a bit, knowing we’d at least get to experience the Carne basin larches all over again on the way down.

Admiring them all over again

And it was just as good as the way up. The light changed and even more trees were lit up now. We ran into Anita and Steven who I hadn’t seen in a month. They narrowly missed seeing me absolutely eat it wiping out in a patch of mud. I made up for that later when I did a classic faceplant tripping over a downed log. In my defense, it was because my flare leggings got caught on it, tearing two large stab holes. RIP my pants. I’m leaving the pun there. I’ll show myself out.

Getting back to the car was pretty quick, but it was a bit of a knee banger. The fall foliage in the trees was lit up more than in the morning, so we still got to admire fall. And on the drive out, we admired the bright yellow aspens that kept us distracted from the road. Except the ruts, which are legitimately enjoyable driving if you have the right car. The pointy rocks, however, can eat a dick.

One more of that fall foliage

P.S. My car is the color of a larch. I have great taste.

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout