Sloan Peak via Bedal Creek

Posted on August 25, 2017 by evejakubowski

Monte Cristo group from the shoulder of Sloan

3-glimpses-of-sloan-peak-through-the-trees

This is Sloan. That’s the glacier crossing. Taken from Northwest Blazer, another awesome blog for the area.

Not to be confused with the equally beautiful woman from Entourage, Sloan is a peak off the Mountain Loop Highway with a striking silhouette from almost any direction. I’ve done hikes where every single person one at a time asks “what’s that one?!” and the answer is usually Sloan. So it had been on the radar for years, but tends to get very broken up as soon as weather warms up. Since it’s usually a day trip, it’s easily overlooked as a weekend destination. Luckily this year has had a fantastically long glacier season, and Sloan by some miracle was still in pretty damn good shape, and I haven’t been dedicating every weekend to crazy 48hr trips this summer. Our friends Lena and Steven had gone the prior weekend, so we knew we’d have a shot this weekend, and wanted to get it done before it was too late. Hiked (climbed?) 8/19/2017.

Distance: 9 miles round trip
Elevation: ~5000ft gain (7,835ft highest point)
Weather: 50’s and sunny and windy
Commute from Seattle: 2:15 without traffic
Did I Trip: Yes, walking uphill through blueberries, so I faceplanted into brush.
Comment for GPX file – dropbox is down so I have no easy way of sharing it here

Sulphur Shelf aka Chicken of the Woods (tastes like chicken! I wish I had known when I saw them!)

Jennifer neck deep in blueberry bushwhacking

Anyone who knows me knows I’m terribly at dedicating future weekends to anything. I fret when all of my weekends are booked. It is arguably one of the largest sources of stress in my obviously charmed life (for example, I only have two open weekends in September and have been panicking for days). So Rob asked if I wanted to climb Sloan, and a few others pitched their own ideas, and in classic asshole Eve fashion I ignored everyone who pitched plans to me and simmered in my analysis paralysis until I woke up Friday morning and said Eve, if you don’t make a damn decision now you’re going to end up not doing anything this weekend. So I messaged Rob. If you’re still down for Sloan I’m in. And luckily, he was, and so was Jennifer, an awesome woman I hadn’t met yet. But I trust Rob’s taste in people.

Alpine meadows

We met at 6am at the Green Lake Park n Ride. Last time I was at this park n ride I was dumped (this was in 2016) for saying “god dammit” a few too many times (he didn’t read my blog apparently), so it was nice to override that memory with a way more awesome one. We piled into Rob’s Subaru and hauled off toward Darrington. We were aiming for the Bedal Creek approach, not the standard route via Cougar Creek which is longer (12mi round trip, 800 more ft of gain) with some river fords (along with being crass, I’m also lazy).

Google Maps led us slightly astray. I know Steven and Lena (who provided beta, here’s Steven’s blog) had only checked the GPS like twice the entire trip, and there we were checking it while still on the road to make sure we found the trailhead. Well we did, after some bumps and some scrapes and some bottoming out on the road. Any high clearance vehicle will be fine. Rob’s car was a trooper.

Scrambling towards a moody Sloan

We started off down the abandoned road, and crossed a river where the trail fizzled into nothing. Check GPS. Off track already. Shit. Backtrack. Get to a campsite, take off through the woods, trail fizzles into nothing. What?! Pay attention! Backtrack down the abandoned road, realize the Bedal Creek trail is actually off the road to the North, shwhack through some bushes, and pop you’re on the trail. Okay, NOW we’re off. So in the first 45 minutes, we’ve used the GPS like 20 times. Dammit Steven.

Robert’s team coming up the glacier

The Bedal Creek Trail is fast easy moving besides some overgrown brush that’ll get you nice and wet. There’s an orange blaze marking the turnoff about 1.5 miles in, and from there just follow blazes heading up and slightly right through mostly open forest. Not a big deal if you get off track. There are wasp nests all over the ground, so be careful. I fell victim first. Two stabs to the leg, ah shit!! Run! 15 minutes later staring at some paper on the ground, “wow, that looks like a wasp nest!” I looked at Jennifer, who was staring at me slack jawed obviously thinking “how can she be such an idiot.” Realization crossed my face. Bail! Too late, that was three stings later. My poor ankles.

Snow traverse to avoid the snow bridge

One got Jennifer on the hand, Rob was spared. But he had a wasp sting the inside of his mouth the prior week, so I guess we’ll let that pass. At the top of the forest, we made the mistake of trending hard right too soon. You should keep going up until you hit a rock wall, and then head hard right (like a literal 90 degree turn). There’s a boot path through all the brush. We did not find the boot path, and lost probably 45+ minutes schwacking up through blueberries following interesting poops (thank you, bear) until we found the boot path. From here you go through patchy open forest (Rob got stabbed in the head by a rogue branch) until you cross the saddle, and woohoo you’re in the alpine!

The snowbridge in question (about 15′ thick, just 18″ wide)

Two options here, stay around your elevation and don’t head up until you hit the ridge on the skyline, or head up as you traverse (in which case you’ll end up crossing a short patch of steep snow) along slabby rock and streams. There are several camp/bivvy options at the saddle and beyond, and this really would make a very pleasant two day trip. Once we hit the glacier we scrambled up as far as we could before putting glacier gear on. We saw another team on their way up, and it turned out Rob knew the team leader! It was the guy Rob had previously attempted Sloan with, but they had to turn around!

Nice crevasse

We caught up to their team, traversing across the highest section of glacier we could reach, and all crossed the snowbridge. You could do a snow traverse below the snowbridge if necessary, but the snowbridge was stable for the time being. Beyond the snowbridge it was an easy 10 minutes to the ridge where you begin the corkscrew scramble part of the route.

Alpine bootpath!!

On that right, views of the Monte Cristos (another range I apparently underestimated) open up. Spectacular. The corkscrew route tours nearly every side of the mountain, so you go from snowy rocky peaks to deep green valleys and rivers. Glacier Peak stayed in the clouds (that bum) but damn, this is an unbelievable area. The scramble is pretty clear, there’s a boot path through the alpine meadowy sections and the rock on the 3rd class parts is fairly well traveled. I think it’s fairly rare seeing this sort of high alpine boot path. Usually once you’re up high it’s rocky, or all scrambles. Pugh has trails like this towards the top (my favorite hike/light scramble off Mountain Loop).

Rob on one of the few 3rd class moves

At one point there’s a lightly colored gully you scramble up. When you get to the top, keep going up to the ridge, don’t go hard left or you’ll be off track (though you’ll see the path behind you and feel dumb dropping elevation to get back to it). If you get off route you might end up pulling a 4th class move here and there, which is where I messed up my previously injured arm (I tweaked it driving, shut up, it was an aggressive and awkward right turn). Okay, so my left arm was rendered useless. Whatever, we’re 50ft from the top and I can butt-scoot everything on the way down.

More alpine boot paths

We topped out to an old school brass summit register with several familiar names. Rob brought curry and wraps which were amazingly delicious and I took someone else’s advil because I left mine at the car (crass, lazy, and a glutton). Rob got to summit with his original climbing partner, which still cracks me up. We snapped a bunch of summit photos after our snacks and headed back down since it was a bit breezy up there and I was getting cold.

Jennifer enjoying the views with her sweet sun hat

Back across the short snow slope

Descending was way faster than I thought. The scramble was quick (careful not to knock rocks down the gully), and we roped up at the edge of the glacier where we had stashed our glacier gear. We went all the way to the toe of the glacier so we didn’t have to scramble down the rocks we had climbed up (plunge stepping down snow is faster), and backtracked the same way across the slabs and meadows as we had taken up, steep snow traverse included. Downwards traverses on steep snow are so annoying.

No giardia for these guys

We cruised across the meadows, stopped again for water, and soon enough were back at the blueberry brush traverse. Jennifer had an AWESOME filter that I need to get – a Katadyn water bottle (it’s on sale!! Hurry!) that squeeze filters a liter of water surprisingly quickly. We followed the boot path most of the way through the brush this time, though lost it descending in the trees. If you follow the boot path as far as it goes, there’s a small talus ish field below you, which we crossed and then entered the woods. The forest opens quickly, and descending is very quick since it’s all soft dirt and the blazes are (for the most part) easy to spot. Rob finally got stung by a wasp halfway down, near where we had been stung. Now we’re all even.

One more alpine bootpath

Dappled sunlight through the trees

We were back at the trail way faster than I expected, and made it back to the car probably 30 minutes later where we all relished changing into flip flops and enjoying the smell of crisp pines and the dappled sunlight streaming through the trees (that’s the best part of forests). This had been an awesome day trip. Totally doable in a day. We took a little under 12 hours, and we had been going a pretty casual pace, especially on the way up because I felt like shit for the first few hours). Not to mention the probable 2 hours we lost between taking the wrong trails in the beginning and then fighting uphill through blueberry bushes (yes we stopped to eat some too). Honestly, this whole trip was so surprisingly to me. I had been saving Sloan for “a lazy day,” not expecting anything mind blowing, but it’s just a pleasant mix of open forest, alpine meadows and slabs, glacier crossing, and 3rd class scramble with great views. It’s a big climb packed into a small package. And Sloan is always the one that people ask about when they see it from other peaks, because it looks so neat. “The Matterhorn of the Cascades.” So not only does Rob have good taste in people, he has good taste in climbs.

Three happy climbers!!

P.S. the title rhymes 🙂

Vesper Peak via Ragged Edge

Posted on August 20, 2017 by evejakubowski

Sperry from the hike route on Vesper

Last minute plans are sometimes the best plans. On Friday night I was bitching about no one wanting to go on an alpine climb (we were going cragging at Index on Saturday) when JT suggested Robert and I go do Ragged Edge after cragging. I thought Ragged Edge was a 5.9 route, so I laughed and ignored the idea. Turns out, Ragged Edge is a 5.7, and lucky for me Robert brought all his overnight gear to Index. So when I said “hey, wanna drive to Vesper and hike up after this and do Ragged Edge in the morning?” the answer was uhhh, hell yeah! Climbed 8/5-8/6, in the midst of the near-apocalyptic smoke from the BC wildfires.

Distance: 8 miles
Elevation: 4200ft gain, 6200ft highest point
Weather: ~~90’s~~ 70’s and smoky
Commute from Seattle: ~2:30, 2 hours flat if you drive like Robert
Did I Trip: No! Suckers

Smoky pink sunrise over Morning Star

We got to the trailhead around 8 after a round of post-index burgers, and started up the trail at 8:30. The road is reported as closed, but it’s not. There was a sign but everyone was driving past it. Do so at your own risk. We settled on bringing hiking boots and rock shoes, and left traction and ice axes at the cars. The bright side of hiking up at night is that the heat doesn’t break down your mind and body and soul like it does from 11am-3pm, so we cruised up to the talus field below Headlee Pass without issue, minus some whining about the soft kitty litter scree on the trail. The cairns along the trail were actually helpful(!) and perfectly spaced out so that when I stood by one, my headlamp just barely illuminated the next. Headlee Pass itself was a series of surprisingly pleasant switchbacks in the dark. I reached the top, went to pee while Robert caught up, and then we took off across the talus traverse to the lake. We agreed to camp at the first damn spot we found, and that spot was a nice flat grassy clearing just above the outlet stream. We popped open some cider, talked about how incredible everything was, and spent the next 6 hours alternating between fighting off mice and dozing while the mice got back into our packs. Okay, my pack.

Robert checking out the hazy sun over Sperry on the approach

I woke up to a mostly eaten doughnut (…dammit) and a partially consumed apple cup (DAMMIT). I did a bad job of defending my food. Apparently nudging it with your foot when you hear munching isn’t enough to get mice to run away. Plus now they’ve tasted the glory that is Sultan Bakery, and they’ll be hungry for more. We debated whether we should pack up the bivvies and stash them in bushes (risk an unsuspecting hiker carrying them down or back to town thinking we forgot them), or leave them there to be clear it was a campsite (risk them being stolen or eaten). We settled on the latter and headed off to the start of the route.

Dying glacier, not sure if it has a name

Whatever directions you’ve heard about the approach, forget them. Just follow the regular trail towards the summit until you finally get above the last clump of trees (~5500ft) and cross slabby rock to the right. The notch is very, very obvious, with several cairns, and the route is so popular you’ll probably pass campsites the entire way. From the notch there’s a series of ledges you follow until you’re at the start of the route. There were two groups already there, one that was starting up the layback variation and one starting up the original. The guys on the layback were already climbing whereas the group on the original was still roping up, so we figured we’d follow the variation.

Robert leading the second pitch

The first pitch of the variation starts with a sweet layback (that can also be climbed just as jugs besides the last move, which I forgot) and then follows basically some nontechnical terrain to the base of the second pitch, which honestly… we never really found it. I just sat in a comfy spot on some 2nd class ledges with only a horn slung as an anchor and belayed Robert up, who continued onto the second pitch. You can sling or thread an enormous boulder as well. Robert scrambled up a diagonal ledge behind me trending west, up and onto slabs, where he could clip bolts (turns out this route is half sport) and finally discovered the “faint white dyke” that supposedly marks the start of the pitch (lies, I tell you). From the slabs he traversed right and up a short gully to the bolted anchor. The slab traverse sucks, but if you go nearly to the top of the slab there’s a nice horizontal crack you can follow with your hands for a bit instead of just smearing sideways forever.

Robert waiting at the second belay

I took the third pitch, which goes one step right and then up and left across (woohoo!) more slabs! Keep heading left until you reach the arete. I stayed just right of the arete, where there is a crack for gear, a bolt, and a fixed pin (I’m not confident in my pin-evaluating skills so I backed it up with a nut just in case). The mini arete takes you to a short ledge, where you traverse right for an awesome gear anchor in a corner crack below the blocky boulders of the fourth pitch. If there’s already a party in the right corner crack, then there’s another crack right above where you top out on the ledge just barely to the right of the arete. Coordinate with the other groups and make new friends, there’s plenty of space. This pitch was a blast, possibly my favorite of the whole climb. And it lends itself to awesome photos.

Robert coming up the third pitch

Robert leading the fourth pitch

Robert led the fourth pitch, which was blocky climbing to a variety of choose-your-own-adventure cracks to another bolted belay, where I followed after taking like 50 pics of the group below us. We swapped gear and I continued up onto the fifth pitch (can you tell how amazing swinging leads is from this), which I had read was exposed but honestly it’s not that bad. It follows thin cracks and edges (which might as well have been slabby feet with finger cracks, ugh) up and right to another bolted anchor on the arete. The first few steps were awkward, I remember being very aware of the exposure until Robert started singing Gaston (yes, from Beauty and the Beast) and naturally I joined in, clipping a cam while admiring how many eggs Gaston eats for breakfast. The pitch ended up being more traversing than up, yuck, but it was a fun one. At the chains I belayed Robert awkwardly (made the anchor a bit too long so it was hard to pull up slack quickly and he’s a damn fast climber) up and we decided I’d lead the last pitch too. Awesome. Nothing like topping out on the final pitch of a climb.

Robert coming up the fifth pitch

I started up and it was all going smoothly until I dropped the entire carabiner of nuts on my feet. Well, my foot. Which was nicely jammed in a crack. How do you squat to pick shit up when you’re hanging in a crack with a hand jam and a foot jam? God dammit. How did I let this happen. I tossed in a cam and clipped into it just in case. And then I started the awkward process of collecting the various pieces, which miraculously hadn’t fallen off my foot. Don’t lean left, don’t lean right, don’t even breathe on them. It probably took me a solid 5 minutes to collect everything and get moving again. Apologies to the group behind us – we had always been stuck behind the group in front of us, but while I took my sweet ass time scattering gear like dandelion seeds the burden of slow-ass team was on me.

Robert coming up the last pitch, Copper Lake and Big Four in the background

Past that I cruised up the arete (which must be the only “ragged edge” of this climb) overanalyzing gear placements and one-inch heather ledges until I was at the top, where I whooped and slung a fat horn. That’s an easy anchor right there. Robert asked me if I had built anything. Don’t trust the horn? I threw two cams in a crack too and brought him on up where we raved about how amazing alpine climbing was and how cool it was even with the smoke and how it was addicting and why would you ever go cragging and I can’t wait until next weekend. We finally took off our rock shoes and put on the hiking boots we had carried on our harnesses (hahaha… ahaha… ah… bring trail runners), downed some snacks, and headed back to see just how much of our gear the mice had eaten.

Summit!!

You can avoid the snow on the way down if you want to, but it’s not bad. The slabs are quick moving, and we were back at camp to rescue our gear from the vermin. I filled up my water bladder at the outlet stream as a guy jumped in for a swim right upstream of me. Now I have all your slick sweaty body grease in my water source you jerk. Robert didn’t fill up (I offered him my iodine tablets, to which he responded “yeah but I want to be able to DRINK the water” – iodine tablets taste like dump), but requested my “giardia water” several times on the way down. I haven’t been sick out both ends yet, so I think we avoided the giardia. Knock wood.

We were back at the trailhead around 3. My legs were surprisingly tired. Robert had mentioned chicken bacon ranch sandwiches on the way down, and I had not been able to get the image out of my head for hours. We needed to know where the closest Subway was. We didn’t have cell service. Okay, whoever gets service first googles the closest Subway and tells the other. Robert took off, passing two other cars on a gravel stretch while I laughed in my car because I knew I had no chance of passing them. I might have made it past them like 35 minutes later in an actual passing zone, but by then Robert was way ahead.

Rolling down easy slabs with Morning Star, Del Campo, and Gothic in the back

We rolled into Subway basically drooling. Robert drank a gatorade before even reaching the counter. The cashier laughed as we lit up over sandwich ingredients, and apologized when she saw Robert had taken an empty beverage from the fridge (“he drank it he didn’t find it!!!”). That sandwich was one of the best things I had ever eaten. And it was still sunny out. I was home at a reasonable hour, in bed at a reasonable hour, crazy shit was happening. It was amazingly nice to have a whole weekend go that smoothly, that successfully. Ragged edge is a sweet route, probably a softer 5.7 in my opinion, and somewhat crowded. But if you’re the type to complain about crowds, you shouldn’t be on that route. Oh, and I strongly recommend bivvying, because it makes everything that much more pleasant.

Sweet silhouette pic on the approach

Three Fingers via Bushwack & Meadow Mountain

Posted on July 31, 2017 by evejakubowski

Three Fingers from Tin Can Gap

Well you know Murphy’s law. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. We came out of it alive, but this was certainly a casual-hike-with-a-bonus-rock-climb-turned-epic-mountaineering-objective due to our unfamiliarity with the route. We improvised where it might have been faster to be normal, and we tried for normal when it might have been faster to improvise. Whoops! I swear not all trips are like that. And it wasn’t a shitshow, just longer than we expected. Hiked 7/15-7/16, here is the Three Fingers Lookout!

Distance: Roughly 18 miles. 7 up, 11 down.
Elevation: ~4800ft gain, 6,854ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and sunny, 40’s and misty
Commute from Seattle: 2 hours without traffic (but there was traffic)
Did I trip: Yes, mostly I fell uphill on the damn bushwack in the night

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I’m a spooky ghost (selfie credit: Haley)

We started up around 8:30pm on Friday, which was 11:30pm for the visiting Floridian (Haley). She was tan at least, so she had that going for her. Convinced I’d be last to the party, I went straight to the trailhead, where I met Calvin, Tricia, and Florida after getting myself lost on a gated forest road. Nailed it. The road to Three Fingers is truly blocked now, with enormous boulders buried in dirt so no one can tow them off like last summer. They really don’t want people driving down that road. There’s also an enormous cedar tree down across the road maybe a mile past the boulders, and I have no idea what’s past that besides an enormous washout ~2mi from the true trailhead. Probably more terrible things waiting to destroy your car.

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Bivvy morning (photo credit: Haley)

We took what we thought would be a shortcut up a ridge pretty much straight from the road closure to Goat Flats. Unfortunately, in the dark, that “shortcut” was more like “a five hour long epic” that didn’t quite get us to the flats because around 2am we decided we were just going to camp at the next flat spot we saw. The shortcut was steep, brushy, had some nice 3rd class scramble moves through the forest, a bleached goat skull (“a human skull?! I’m fucking bailing if it’s a human skull that’s just too creepy I hate the forest”) placed a little too perfectly on a rock, sticky green seeds from bushes that clung to my leggings like velcro, a plethora of spiderwebs, probably bears, and the echoing of gunshots from the rednecks on the forest road below (no offense guys, but between the guns and the thumping base at 1am you aren’t exactly making a great first impression). Haley and I apparently don’t like the dark or bumps in the night, Calvin and Tricia were way behind, and I can’t see shit in the dark, so that left Haley to be the brave one and scout out the flagging tape. We started classifying spiderwebs. Class 1 was a strand of cobweb. Class 2 was a legit cluster. Class 3 was a full formed web. Class 4 was a huge fucking fully formed web with the spider inside of it and I don’t want to know what class 5 would be and 5.12a would probably be enough to send me into cardiac arrest and flee this world for a better one. I had my usual “what are we doing here” moment around 12:30am when Haley took a bathroom break and I stood in the dark waiting for Calvin and Tricia. Why do we do this? Haley had hers an hour later when she bitched out a pinecone. You show that pinecone who’s boss, Florida.

Cal enjoying the views from Goat Flats

Goat Flats Throne

I was happy to snuggle down into my bivvy when we decided to call it before Goat Flats. I brought twice as much food as Calvin, Haley, and Tricia combined, which ended up being a good thing a day and a half later. They let me stuff it in their bear bags, which they hung off a tree. We slept for 5 hours and then had a lazy wakeup with breakfast, coffee, the works. And we started up to Goat Flats, which we reached after an hour of mellow hiking, barely even bushwacking.

I was told there was a toilet, and given my self admitted obsession with alpine toilets I decided I’d find it. I jogged in circles around the goat paths until I saw a sign. “TOILET” with an arrow. Ooh! It’s like a scavenger hunt. I jogged in that direction, looking for the throne. Another sign. “TOILET” with another arrow. Bust through those trees, jog in that direction, check every cluster of trees for a hidden shitter. Finally found it, surrounded by trees, maximum alpine privacy. That’s bullshit. I want views. I have no idea why they didn’t perch it on the slope 50ft away so you could enjoy looking at the lookout, which was way too far away for us to get excited. I’m not sure this one will make it to the 50 Classic Craps of Washington. Maybe because of the location and not the views.

Summer trail with patchy snow

We packed up our snacks and started down the summer trail to the lookout. Through the forest it was melted out, but when we popped out on the south side of the ridge it was snow covered. We kicked steps across mellow slopes up to Tin Can Gap, which was partially melted out, enough for wildflowers! At Tin Can Gap we got our first real look at the lookout, perched atop the south summit. Sweet! We weren’t making great time, so we ditched our original plan of traversing the three summits. Oh well. The ropes and cams were relegated to training weight. God dammit.

Tricia pulling some nifty moves in the moat

Rather than drop onto the glacier, we stuck with the summer trail. That was our mistake. We expected it to be more melted out, or more snow covered, not the awkward in between we ran into. Decent moats to negotiate, one of which involved a rock that slashed my thumb. It probably needed stitches, it still hasn’t healed, and I’m not sure my thumb will ever be the same shape again. Some steep snow to traverse. Some downclimbing third class scrambles, occasionally with crampons (the worst). Some goats, completely uninterested in us but making us look like slow bumbling fools while they dashed down the fields. And finally, a somewhat melted out trail, surrounded by wildflowers, switchbacking on top of the world. Yes. This is why I was here. I hadn’t been expecting wildflowers! We finally hit a snowfield that took us to the final scramble to the lookout. We had no idea where the ladders were, so we each scrambled a separate path to the top.

Calvin, Tricia, and Haley on moderate snow

I heard Calvin drop one of his classic F bombs. Shit, this wasn’t the top. There was a huge gulley. The good news was he could see the ladders, and we’re idiots, they were right around the corner. I was stuck on a downclimb, I went a little too far with an overnight pack and realized I was not going to be able to scramble down that I just did. Cal tossed me a rope (“what do you need?” “a #1 cam please!” “no, but here’s a few feet of rope”) which I looped around a small horn to fake-rap myself back to safety. Damn downclimbs.

Florida downclimbing in crampons…yay!

We scurried around the corner and bam, there were the ladders. Woo! But don’t be deceived, they’re crooked and squeaky with one or two rungs that feel like they’re toast any day now. And the airy step to the third ladder makes you pause for a split second. But once you’re up the third ladder, you’re at the lookout, and it’s time to relax.

Summer trail!!

The clouds moved in quickly, and we were soon socked in by fog. Total bummer, but hey it makes the lookout more cozy. We hoped it’d clear up in the morning, but until then it was dinner, hot chocolate, alpine cider, mountain trivia (there’s a mountain trivia book up there!) and Haley (still on east coast time) was snoring soundly within 30 minutes.

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“do any of these go” (photo credit: Haley)

The recommended waste disposal at the lookout is literally chuck-a-dook. I explained this in a blog post years ago. It’s the most hilarious method, and more convenient for everyone (besides the environment) than blue bagging. Elegantly explained by a piece of paper pinned to the wall of the lookout, you find a nice flat rock, shit on it, and toss it off into the distance, out yonder over the cliffs where the Glacier Waste Treatment Plant takes care of it (aka the Queest Alb Glacier will hide it until it melts out in 100 years, and then there will be slabby boulders scattered with turds).

Ladders! Yay!

The lookout had some old fire-spotting tools, emergency water in the “attic,” a bottle of bottom shelf tequila, some old first aid supplies, and summit registers/log books going back to the 70’s. The approach to this peak used to be via the Boulder River Trail, which I think is so freaking cool. It took you to Tupso Pass, then followed the “current” trail to the lookout. Then FR 41 to Tupso Pass was built, and suddenly the hike was only 16 miles round trip, and it became swamped with traffic. Even last year when someone towed the boulders off the road (hence the newly piled dirt on top of the boulders this year) the lookout saw a huge spike in hikers, which was painfully obvious on the WHC Facebook group and quite evident in the summit register when we flipped through it. The huge washout is only 2 miles from the trailhead, but the boulders and dirt block the road 8 or 9 miles back, effectively doubling the distance of the hike A few guys tried the old Boulder River approach, which I’d love to attempt someday when I have a week to dedicate to brutal North Cascades bushwacking. Yuck. There used to be cabins where Gerkman Creek joins Boulder River, so you could hike a ways in and stay in a shelter before continuing on to Tupso Pass and the eventual lookout. The trail was ravaged by logging and now has several decades of Devil’s Club and brush growth, and it sounds like there isn’t much left. I have to wonder if it would be a more interesting hike than walking/biking FR41 if someone were to blaze it and get some foot traffic started up again. Here is a map that shows the old trail to Tupso Pass (where FR41 currently ends).

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Coming up the last stretch to the lookout (photo credit: Haley)

We enjoyed out night of sleep in the lookout, and didn’t even get to meet Alpine Andy, the resident rat. He might be dead, cause I think his legacy started in the 70’s (he was there first!) and I doubt rats live for 40+ years. But we left some crumbs as a sacrifice to Alpine Andy and the mountain gods to forgive us for chucking our dookies onto the glacier.

View of the North peak in the clouds

In the morning we had another lazy start. I had coffee and felt absolutely amazing 30 minutes later. Is this what I’ve been missing my whole life?! Maybe I should start drinking it. We lit the sparklers Tricia brought that we had forgotten to use the previous night, and started down the ladders in the fog. They’re worse when they’re soaking wet, and the scrambley moves are that much more awkward. Haley wore all gray, which sucked for photos. Come on Haley. Florida is no excuse for all gray.

Ladders aren’t always easy

Ask her why she wore gray

We dropped down the snowfield quickly, and found the huge boulder we had scouted out the day before. We figured we could rap down to the glacier and walk across that instead of following the summer trail, which had been a pain in the ass. Cal and I set up a nice double rope rappel, Haley and I went down first to counter balance each other (one on each strand), and Cal and Tricia came next. We pulled the ropes, set up two teams of two, and started across the glacier. Honestly we probably could have downclimbed the talus field, but it was loose and crappy and we had 7 ACLs for 4 people so rapping was easier.

Wildflowers in the mist

That’s what we should have done on the way up. Take the glacier, not the freaking summer trail. It was an easy walk with some stretches of steep snow, but we kicked a sidewalk for everyone and even found a rogue water bottle from a previous party (which, in hindsight, I think we forgot to pick up. Shit). We were back at Tin Can Gap within a few hours, and carried on to Goat Flats. From there, instead of taking our shortcut back down, we took the Meadow Mountain trail. Tricia is just a few months off ACL surgery, and going down that steep ass shortcut probably would have sent her back to the table. The Meadow Mountain trail wasn’t bad to Saddle Lake, where it got a bit brushy for about an hour. The trail appears to bypass the true summit of Meadow Mountain, but it’s honestly not in terrible shape. I started fighting foot fatigue, and finally Haley and I ditched Calvin and Tricia and said we’d meet them back at the car. 20 minutes after we split up I realized I had just told Tricia to eat her last Gu because I had a bunch she could have (I knew Cal was out), and then I took off leaving them with nothing. So I found a nice log that had fallen across the trail, and left several Gus, some shot blocks, and a packet of advil for whatever pains I imagined they were enduring. “It’ll be like a mile to the road” Calvin had said, which had made me laugh. “A mile and 2500ft of elevation loss, right.”

Florida remembering how to walk on snow (taking the glacier back to Tin Can Gap)

It was several hours, with a gnarly blowdown that threw all of us off the trail. Haley and I found the shortcut relatively quickly since there’s a strip through the brush leading down to the next switchback (“nothing leaves traces that obvious except for people… it must be to the trail”) but Calvin and Tricia weren’t so lucky. It had occurred to me to maybe leave a rock arrow on the trail or some sign to turn off there to avoid the blowdown, but I’m a lazy asshole.

Calvin jogging across Goat Flats to get water

“I see the road!!” Haley sounded excited. Meadow Mountain would drop us off on the old road about two miles from our cars, so we wanted to reach the road by dark. But the “road” she saw was a log. Come on, Florida, you’re the one with the good eyesight. Finally she saw the road for real (“shut up I’m not listening until OH MY GOD IT IS THE ROAD!!!”) and we hustled down to it, only to begin the real slog. My feet were killing me in my damn mountaineering boots, and we had a forest road to walk. The cedar tree was the real relief, because it was so freaking cool. I started counting the rings but lost interest at ring #150, which was like 1/3-1/4 of the way across the log, ~~so we lowballed the age at 550 years.~~ EDIT: Another guy counted the rings and got 745!! A tree that was 745 years old! Hoooooolyyyy Shiiiit. Insane seeing something that massive. I want to cut a slice and make a table out of it.

Holy shit!! It IS the road!

We got back to the car just before dark, where I pulled out my car camping stuff and we sat down and destroyed a box of cheez its. We placed bets on when Tricia and Calvin would be back. I nailed it with a guess of 10:45. They got back to us and it turned out they had tried to radio and text and everything telling us to just go home, but we hadn’t gotten any of the communication. Oh well, it’s 11pm on a Sunday and I’m lying on a forest road looking at the stars, it could be worse.

745 years old!! Me for scale (photo credit: Haley)

I bailed pretty quickly. The drive out felt like it took forever. I passed a guy in a flannel on the side of the road just staring off into the dark. People are fucking terrifying. But hey, the trip was awesome, despite the surprisingly long days and abject lack of views at the lookout. There’s a fair bit of history up there, and now that I know the route (aka drop to the glacier if it’s early season or very snowy, it’ll save you SO much time) it’ll be faster next time. I’d love to see how much Goat Flats has been restored since the road closure. I am under the impression it used to be insanely popular, and the goat herds had actually migrated and are just recently returning to the area. It’s amazing that the lookout is kept in such good shape by volunteers, and I love that that’s the case. It’s too bad more lookouts like that one weren’t preserved.

Tough to be unhappy in such a spectacular place!

So if you have a two day weekend, it’s definitely worth checking out, especially as the trail melts out. The glacier would be a great ski too if it’s early season, and snow might make the approach through the woods easier (if it’s consolidated – powder would be a bitch). There is a limited supply of flat rocks up there for chuckadook though, so get up there while supplies last!

Gothic Basin & Del Campo Peak

Posted on October 13, 2016 by evejakubowski

Del Campo over Foggy Lake

You know what sounds like a good idea? Going up to Del Campo the day after a long run, with a shitty forecast, and two friends who are in the 99th percentile when it comes to fitness. “But Eve, you hike so fast!” Shut up. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. I have shin splints, or strained calves, or maybe just absurdly shitty circulation that gets stuck in the meat of my calves until I’m 4 miles in and sheer blood pressure has won the swelling battle and everything’s flowing again. Often my feet straight up fall asleep and it’s like walking on stumps, but that’s more when I’m running than hiking. We haven’t figured it out yet. Point is, I have issues with my calves, and those issues have been rearing their lovely heads lately.

Distance: ~13 miles
Elevation: 4300ft gain, 6600ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and rainy
Commute from Seattle: 2 hours without traffic (not bad!)
Did I Trip: No but Haley slipped like seven times

The trail was okay

But I am easily guilt tripped, and between not having had many hikes lately and the fact I had bailed on Haley on Saturday, I couldn’t bail a SECOND time, a day later. So I said fuck it, I was in, under the condition that I got to set the pace for the first few miles because I knew I’d be slow and moderately miserable. Oh, and they put up with my moaning. “It’s definitely going to rain.” “The rock is going to be too slick to scramble.” “We’re just gonna be socked in by clouds.” “Let’s meet at 7 not 6.” “It might clear up around 2, if we start too early we’ll just never have views.” Grumpy Cat in all her glory. No, caffeine doesn’t help.

My calf forecast was accurate. The first mile to Gothic Basin (just below Del Campo) is along an old road that used to go to a mining town. That mile felt great! It was like a stretch! Hooray! But we were still socked in by clouds. And it was gross. And then it started going uphill, and my legs started whining. Whatever, they’ll loosen up eventually. At least at this point, even if the calves are on fire, I know they’ll be game in ~3-4 miles. It always happens that way.

The forest wasn’t exciting, which didn’t help. No distractions. Just an incline, and fog, with the trees dripping water on us. I had made the terrible mistake of wearing my heaviest Smartwool baselayers head to toe, only to step out of the car and into ~65 degree humid weather. And the rivers were overflowing, no rocks to hop without getting wet. In fact the entire bottom half of the trail was a river. Bring your waterproof boots. The largest crossing (towards the beginning of the hike, right after leaving the old road) can be avoided using a large log just upstream, the rest just required some extra thought and a willingness to potentially get wet. Poles help. I love my trekking poles.

Finally getting some views!

Eventually our conversation deteriorated into juicy gossip, which fueled us all the way to the basin while JT threw Snickers bars at us because we could not have been more girly. Well we could have worn all pink, but instead we were decked out in various shades of gray and black, fitting for my mood. And then I tried to bail at the basin. It was cloudy, Del Campo looked far away, my calves had loosened up and nothing was sore but everything felt like lead. Meh, I don’t need this one. I’ll take a nap. Maybe I’ll take that Snickers we kept giving back too. I’m not me when I’m hungry.

JT and Haley weren’t having it. Haley told me to shut up. JT laughed and said no you’re going to the top. I rolled my eyes and briefly considered arguing, only to immediately conclude there was no way I could win this one. Okay you assholes, grumpy cat is coming. I downed some flavor blasted goldfish and kept walking.

Gothic Peak above Foggy Lake

We headed to the right of Foggy Lake, skirting the shore. You know what’s hilarious? The first time I did Gothic Basin, I didn’t find Foggy Lake. I found a smaller tarn, called it a day, and left. I didn’t know there was a huge lake up there. But there is, and it’s gorgeous, and Del Campo actually is not too far from it at all. We realized that skirting the lake put us a tad too far southwest of the trail, and scrambled up a short schwacky hillside where we connected with a pretty clear bootpath. I started to perk up.

Scrambling to the left of the gully

The bootpath took us up to the talus field, where we could easily follow cairns to the top. You head directly up the talus field to a very obvious gulley. Instead of following the talus gulley, though, you stay to the left (otherwise you’ll cliff out) and scramble some nice juggy stair-like rocks instead. There’s got to be a word for that type of rock. Like tons of mini ledges ready for feet and hands to stick. Okay, I guess it was kind of fun.

Almost at the summit, Foggy Lake below (this makes it look more exposed than it is)

When you hit the ridge, you head up and left, following the path of least resistance.There was not much exposure, and I honestly did not think any moves exceeded class 3, and even that is a generously tough rating. This cracks me up, because I had been unreasonably intimidated by Del Campo. When I first moved here, I was told Del Campo was low 5th class, easy to get off route and cliff out, and generally very difficult. That stuck with me, until finally I barfed it up as a suggestion when JT asked what we should do on Sunday. I had envisioned a thousand feet of class 3-4 rock, like the Shuksan summit pyramid, except longer, and more exposed, and with tougher route finding, and a higher probability of cliffing out.

BRB FREEING TOM BRADY

Well, it was none of those things. It’s relatively short, with an obvious route, to the point where we were 10ft below the summit and I announced “there’s no way this is the summit” because it was so underwhelming compared to my hyped up imagined version. Well, it was the summit! Woo! And we chilled there for easily two hours, snacking and reading the summit register, and watching the clouds roll in and out of the valleys and peaks around us. I found names I recognized in the register, and a plee to FREE TOM BRADY from last Sunday. To whom it may concern, he has since been freed, in an absolute crushing of the Browns, which happened while I sat upon Del Campo barely pretending to be a fan.

Clouds against Gothic Peak

Clouds looked like they were officially about to roll in, so we started down. Downclimbing was quick and easy, and we found the boot path all the way back to the basin. We dropped down to Foggy Lake to take our last alpine dip of the season (it’s getting a little chilly for alpine lakes) as the sun came out for a few minutes. The basin is gorgeous, we passed a few very nice campsites and it would be a phenomenal place to camp someday. But I will say, Del Campo looks a lot better covered in snow.

Back down the talus field

One last look at the basin

The way back out was uneventful. Rivers were definitely lower than they had been on the way up, which was convenient. I was surprised to see such a big difference just over the span of a day. Del Campo is definitely worth doing – while I think the views from Vesper and Pugh are still my favorite off Mountain Loop, the scramble at the top of Del Campo was fun, and camping in the basin would be lovely.

Also, the “permanent snowfield” mentioned on Summitpost no longer exists. It was not permanent. We carried ice axes (“highly recommended” on Summitpost) only to see a 6’x4′ patch of snow. I guess that’s what’s left of the permanent snowfield. Thank you, global warming!

Summit photo!

Round Lake & Breccia Peak

Posted on July 20, 2016 by evejakubowski

Heading down from the summit

Wow this is from a while ago. A month, in fact. I got my ass handed to me on a silver platter by work, followed by two three day weekends, and this got abandoned on the back burner in favor of reports from Rainier and Olympus. But I can’t pass up one of my favorite hikes. I had attempted this peak last year but turned around due to my friend’s severe leg cramps. But with how gorgeous the area was, I knew I’d be coming back, and finally had the opportunity for a revenge trip. Hiked 6/19/2016.

Distance: 13 miles round trip
Elevation: 5100ft gain (6487 highest point)
Weather: 50’s and cloudy, 60’s and sunny (shit, I just realized weather is like a spoiler for the whole blog post)
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 without traffic
Did I Trip: Everyone did!!! I didn’t see Angie wipe out but it was pretty good. Dru tripped enough for all of us. Surafel had one good one, Chelsea had one, and someone fell off a log while trying to cross it by straddling it, which was the highlight of the wipeouts.

Ferns on the forest floor

“Partly Sunny.” See it, on the left? Hint of sun.

The forecast was for something like “partly sunny” on NOAA and “some clouds” on MF. “Some clouds” is anything from completely cloudy or socked in by fog to a few nice puffy clouds on the horizon. “Partly sunny” on NOAA usually means “Psych, just clouds, suckers!” So I wasn’t going to get my hopes up, but I mean.. they were kind of up.

We met in the Lynnwood Park n Ride at 5am. I was late, as usual. Guys I swear once upon a time I was a chronically early person, to the point where I’d awkwardly drive in circles or walk to Starbucks to kill time. I don’t know what changed. But I was late, and luckily I have good friends who waited and did not give me shit. In fact Dru had an extra coffee and Surafel had gotten tea. Stop being so nice guys. Chelsea and Angie, step up your game.

Green trail

We all piled into the xterra (like a family road trip, I was already laughing) and drove off into sunrise. Oh wait, the sun rose at like 4am because it’s June. We drove off into what looked like midday. The mountains were still in clouds, but they looked like the type that might blow over. We reached the trailhead, I immediately started down the wrong trail just like I did last year, and everyone else saved my ass and we found the correct trail. Don’t take the boot path in front of your car when you park. Go like 10 feet further down the road and the real trail is very obvious with a register and everything. The bootpath by your car is from idiots like me and people who have to pee.

Surafel admiring the sunlight streaming through trees

The first two miles of the trail are through forest. Green forest with beautiful mist and sunlight spilling through the tall trees, and people who like to stop and ooh and ahhh at everything. Except Angie, who will never be impressed by anything.

Round Lake

After 3.25 miles you reach Bingley Gap (HA guys this explains a lot I thought Bingley Gap was 2.4 miles in), where you turn right and follow a ridge to a beautiful vista above Round Lake. We reached the ridge and were continuously in and out of clouds, and eventually hit snow right where you get the views of Round Lake. I was going crazy, having been there last year I knew exactly what views were being obscured by the clouds, and no one else had any idea.

Various stages of walking, falling, and glissading

We followed the route I took last year, which is not the best, but it works, and after a short stint of near-bushwacking through steep trees (I laughed because I’ve dragged Chelsea through much worse) I didn’t want to take any chances with an unknown route. I knew my route from last year would take us along the crest of the ridge to a 3rd class scramble above Sunup Lake, where we could drop down and gain the slope to Breccia.

Well, the 3rd class scramble was wet and mossy this time around. Crap. Everyone got down, slowly but surely, and we debated between taking the steeper more direct route, or the mellower, longer route. There was fresh snow and some sloughing, not enough that I was worried about avalanches this time of year but enough that you might get hit in the face with some pinwheels. And we chose, as usual, the steep direct route.

At the bottom of the scramble

Summit photo! (Photo Credit Dru)

We took turns kicking steps up the slope, navigating through patches of steep heather covered in three inches of snow (the worst conditions for heather) and packed snowfields (a relief). Dru was fueled by F bombs, not enjoying the slippery heather. But with every F bomb he got stronger, and I laughed harder, and eventually we were on the final ridge, which was all snow! Woohoo!

Here it comes!

Except we were in the clouds. Like IN the clouds. Completely socked in. Just as we got to the summit. Because how else would it happen? We plopped down on our packs and had snacks, sharing chocolate and sour patch watermelon and combos. Well I ate most of the combos. What are combos, you ask? If you walk into a gas station and ask ‘What’s the least healthy thing I can put into my body in this gas station,’ Combos are your answer.

Glacier Peak

After 45 minutes with no cloud improvement, we finally decided to head down. “It’s going to clear up as soon as we’re back down,” someone said. I started singing. “I CAN FEEL IT COOOOMING IN THE AIIR” and they were right, within five minutes we reached the bottom of the summit ridge and bam! Sunshine! And the clouds were moving! We all started to freak out. We snapped pictures. Surafel got some awesome pics of Sloan shrouded in clouds. There was one big ass, slow moving cloud covering Glacier Peak. It would peek out, just the tip, and then disappear again. Surafel started taking a time lapse. 20 minutes later, the cloud had crept slightly left. Surafel’s arm was probably tired from holding the camera in the air with no tripod. Hurry up, clouds, we got shit to do.

Sloan and Bedal, Dru for scale

We named peaks, the group favorite being Ointment Peak. That’s a terrible name for a peak. Or Mt. Pugh, an actual peak which some of us thought was pronounced “pug.” Mt. Pug. Also a terrible name for a peak. We eventually gave up on Glacier Peak and headed back to Sunup Lake to rejoin the Lost Creek Ridge trail. The scramble back up to the ridge crest was much easier (though involved fighting through some trees), and the race back to dry trail went quickly, as plunge-stepping down snow usually does. Plus it’s great when you have line of sight and can see the best route back from up high and not waste time fighting analysis paralysis – “This way? Will it cliff out? How does the topo look? Am I pushing anyone’s comfort zone? Fuck I just dumped water all over myself pushing past these bushes. Are they having fun? What if they aren’t having fun?! Shit, I still haven’t picked. Up and left or straight and traverse?!?” Yeah, on the way down you (ideally) know where you’re going.

Glacier Peak peeking over the edge of Sunup Lake

Heading home, dwarfed by mountains

Back along the ridge, we turned around to marvel at Glacier Peak, which was finally completely clear with no clouds. There it was, the day was complete. We made it to the top, socked in by clouds, and we left fully satisfied with incredible views, pictures, and a solid two hours of consistent giggling. Back on dry trail, we made good time through the trees down the countless switchbacks (but actually we should have counted) and eventually popped out at the car. The consensus was Mexican food. We piled back into the car, rolled the windows down to air everything our, and within an hour we were devouring burritos and strawberry (raspberry?) lemonade.

One last pic of North Cascades greenery

Mt. Pugh

Posted on July 1, 2015 by evejakubowski

Lee coming around a bend

Mt. Pugh (also known by its hilariously awesome native name, Da Klagwatts) has been on my list since way back in September, when I spent what was probably several hours every day looking at pretty much every hike on wta.org and organizing every one I wanted to do in a word document. That was the beginning of an era, really. Now I’ve branched out to summitpost and old maps and word of mouth, but I can thank the WTA trip reports for lighting the fire under my ass. And Pugh, interestingly, was one that I marked specifically as “maybe you shouldn’t do this alone, looks like it might be a difficult one.” All I knew was that it had a scramble at the top and some exposure, and my newbie hiking brain ranked it above the rest. Back at this point, I was your casual Kendall Katwalk/Annette Lake/Mt. McCausland hiker. If it even occurred to me that I had lost the trail, I’d get anxious. Now losing the trail is just a matter of fact, and I clamber back to wherever I went wrong.

Distance: 11 miles round trip
Elevation: 5300ft gain, 7201ft highest point
Weather: 70’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:15
Did I Trip: Once on the way up, once on the way down. No faceplants.

Starting out through the trees

Well, that was nine months ago. Now it was 6/17/2015. Pugh sounded like a walk in the park at this point, and it was time to give it a go. I expected to be solo, but Lee was free this afternoon, and had never done a scramble before. Perfect. We were planning a tentative trip to Gothic Basin to tackle Gothic Peak and Del Campo and I figured this would be the perfect way to whet her appetite. Or test her limits, as it turned out. I knew she was physically capable of it and wouldn’t be in danger, so I figured we’d play it by ear. She’s the type of friend I can trust to proclaim “eff you Eve, I’m not doing this part” if I push her too far, so I don’t have to worry about peer pressure. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but I never want to be the one who has someone follow me outside of their comfort zone just because I was doing it. I can be an idiot.

We got to the trailhead around 1:30pm. Yeah, late start, I know. We had headlamps. Lee joked that she wasn’t going to bring hers, but knowing me, she should be prepared for anything, and tossed it in her pack just before she left. Also, we drove right past the damn parking area the first time around. It’s on the side of the road, not at the end! There’s a nice turnaround at the end though and someone was camping right there. I had to wonder if they were chilling in their tent while we got out, Lee peed, I checked the map, and eventually turned my bright yellow loud ass car around.

Lake Metan

The trail starts off through forest. The growth isn’t too thick (but it’s still bright green, don’t worry) and the trail is unbelievably soft dirt. There are a few small waterfalls/creeks in the beginning, but once you reach Lake Metan, you’re on your own for water. The lake pops up a little after 1.5 miles in, just a small brown lake with the shoulder of Pugh (I don’t think you can see the true summit) peeking over it. Head left at the lake (right will take you to campsites, I believe) to stay on the Pugh trail.

We head some scuffing in the underbrush and something ran across the trail. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for Lee’s shocked GASP “HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT” and we stared at it until it registered “oh OH wait it’s a toad COOL!” We had heard croaking but I didn’t expect to see one. Nor did I expect the jarring shot of adrenaline that apparently accompanies tiny animals in the woods.

Heading up to the pass, Sloan peeking around the corner

The remainder of the trail was uneventful in terms of wildlife, but amazing in terms of scenery. Honestly, it didn’t feel as steep as I had expected, and it would have been completely runnable had I been solo. The forested trail continues for another mile and a half, where you reach the bottom of the slope that leads up to Stujack Pass. We had glimpses of peaks through the trees, but here’s where it opens up. The trail is suddenly rockier with scree-covered sections, and finally starts gaining altitude quickly.

And the views! Mt. Forgotten is directly south across the valley, and you can see straight west to Whitehorse and Three Fingers. Which, as a side note, I flew over – I was writing this while on a plane a few days ago! Luckily the guy next to me (in the window seat, lucky bastard) saw my face light up and let me point out all of the peaks I could recognize. Anyway, as you get higher, you can see Sloan sticking out beyond the slopes of Pugh, and the Monte Cristos just next to that. You’re hiking up a narrow trail surrounded by green and wildflowers, which is pretty amazing in itself. I saw thistle blooming for the first time in my life! Much more purple than I expected. We took frequent water breaks, and I chose possibly the worst scrubby scree section for a bathroom break. And of course, fifteen minutes later, we were at Stujack Pass.

White Chuck framed by Baker and Shuksan if you look closely

Lee along the ridge

Gaining the ridge, the first peak you see is White Chuck, which is less impressive when it’s summer and not covered in snow. But framing White Chuck are Baker and Shuksan. Head right to follow the ridge, and soon you enter the Glacier Peak Wilderness. One of the best wildernesses. The trail up here narrows, and is under some tree cover at first, until you break out along the knife edge part. Which, god dammit, I will run someday. It’s a narrow rocky trail with a bit of exposure, but you’re on top of the world surrounded by 360-degree mountain views and it’s definitely runnable if exposure doesn’t bother you. Rolling ups and downs, nothing too steep, just make sure you trust your footing. I snapped plenty of pictures of Lee and the peaks in every direction. Turns out Lee has a bit of a fear of heights, and from the ridge to the top was a mental battle every step of the way. I knew she was capable of it, it just depended how her mental war with instinct went with every step. I learned that the phrase “I don’t love this part” is Lee’s way of saying “holy shit am I really doing this I’m freaking out.”

Ridges all day

Looking down at the Straight Glacier

The ridge for the most part has an outcropping of rock on one side that you can hang on to if you don’t like exposure. And for the brief sections that didn’t have that railing of sorts, lowering your center of gravity helps. We didn’t crawl anything, but I watched Lee kind of squat-walk across a few very open areas while telling me how she didn’t love it, no she did not. There’s actually a small glacier as you reach the end of this ridge, called the Straight Glacier. It’s in the middle of a fault that runs through the entire mountain, which divides it into two very different types of rock. Greenschist, which from my understanding is terrible for rock climbing, and some type of quartz diorite which is much better. Just past the glacier (which you don’t cross, you just hike above it) on the nice rock is where the scramble starts.

One more pic of Lee along the ridge

The scramble looks intimidating (fun?) until you’re right below it and can see the route. There’s a dip in the rock that cuts diagonally along the face, making it a much easier grade than going straight up. And honestly, that’s the only section where you might need hands, depending on how comfortable you are with scrambles. The rest of it was more or less just an exposed, steep rocky hike. Every time Lee stopped I looked back and stared at her wondering if this was it, if this would be the point where she turned around. And she always joined me, after a few solid minutes of debate and some muttering about how unfortunately, she did not love this part. And that’s essentially how the next hour (which is how long the last mile took us) progressed. But that means more times for pictures and views and soaking in the very notion that we were in the middle of mountains climbing a small peak. On a Wednesday. While everyone else I knew sat in their offices.

Taken on the way down, but you get the idea

Fairy moss

After that first bit, which felt like the only real scramble, the trail alternates between rocky (maybe a light class 2 scramble) and a regular well traveled trail. Yes, the drop off is steep, as it was on the ridge, but it’s easy to follow the trail and if you’re worried, there are tons of handholds on the rocks on one side of the trail. Lee is a rock climber, and it was fascinating watching her find handholds when we were on the more exposed sections of the trail. We passed a few patches of snow, but the trail itself was snow free. The vegetation was much more scarce up there, but there were packs of wildflowers here and there, and a blooming moss we dubbed “fairy moss” because it looks like something out of a fairy tale. Hell, I didn’t even know moss bloomed. I learn something new on every hike.

(bad ass) stretch break

I do think one of my favorite moments of this hike was when I rounded a corned on the trail and waited for Lee. It had been a few minutes, so I shouted back to see how her battle with heights was going. “I’m fine!” she shouted back. Was she? Would this be the point where she stopped? I waited, in silence. And finally, the brim of her sun hat peeked slowly around the rock. Very, very slowly. Eventually the hat brim was joined by a hand, grasping for holds on my side of the boulder. And last but not least, the rest of Lee made it around the corner, only to see me giggling at the slow-mo cartoon scene unfolding in front of me. Too perfect.

Trail beyond the scramble

The trail gets more and more clear as you get to the top, and finally we made it to the final stretch of small boulders. There are many remnants of the old lookout, mostly metal cables lying all over the place. I hopped up on one of the rocks and almost fell over. Glacier Peak! I had completely forgotten that this peak leads you to a panorama where Glacier Peak takes up your entire field of vision. I turned back to Lee and told her not to fall over when she saw the view, to which she replied with a string of Bostonian vulgarity and “DON’T TELL ME THAT RIGHT NOW” as I chuckled (and felt a little guilty).

Made it!

Glacier Peak had far less snow on it than I thought. Probably because the last time I had seen it up close was weeks (months?) ago. Maybe this is just how it looks in summer with evening light on it, since it was about 6pm at this point. We naturally took a break here for snacks. I was in such a hurt to leave that all I had was cheese and bread I stole from my roommate (thanks Pattra, I took the multigrain bread that’s been sitting in the fridge since like February) and a honey stinger gel. But I mean that’s basically dinner (cheese sandwich) and dessert (honey with some B vitamins). Sweet. Crap, I’m hungry. You have to pay for the snacks on this plane, which is bullshit.

Lee doubled in my panorama

There’s another “glacier” I was curious about. There was definitely something that looked like a glacier on the north face of Pugh. I think the Straight Glacier is the only official one. The one on the north face was tiny, absolutely tiny, but it definitely had that look of old glacial ice peeking through snow. Maybe now that it’s so small, it doesn’t qualify anymore? We’re talking 200sq ft, if that. I wonder if it was larger decades ago.

Lee’s relief after making it past the scramble. Lee: 1, Pugh: 0

While we were thrilled to make it to the top, the battle’s only half over at that point. Going up is optional, going down is mandatory. Lee admitted that a few of the times she nearly stopped were because she was thinking about how she’d have to get back down these sections too. Fortunately, the way down went more quickly and seemed much easier than the way up. And now that she was feeling a bit better (lots of scooting on her butt here) she asked me to see if I could get pictures of her looking bad ass. Challenge. Accepted.

It was basically an invitation for me to scramble off trail and see if I could set up in a spot where I could try to capture the steepness and exposure, which was much more difficult than expected, especially because I had to avoid putting myself into a position where I could fall, and a lot of the best angles were blocked by, well, rock. Steep rock that I can’t climb. But I got a few good ones. And my personal favorite, Lee lying with relief at the bottom of the scramble after coming back down. Lee 1, Pugh 0!

I was so excited that we had done it. It’s always very cool watching someone successfully push their limits. And it’s even better looking back on where you were a year ago. Lee mentioned that just a year ago, she’d never have been able to do anything like this, and here she was hiking along an open knife edge ridge. And for me, looking back on my notes beneath Pugh saying maybe bring company or wait until you’re more experienced, it’s funny how straightforward the hike was compared to much of what I’ve been doing. Could I have done solo it last fall? Yeah, I think so. Would I have been anxious and stressed the whole time? Definitely. Much better to wait until I had developed more confidence with scrambles, navigation, hiking pace, gear and supplies, etc. And I love being able to point out peaks around us, which Lee kindly tolerated for the entire hike. I couldn’t do that last fall!

Along the ridge on the way back, with Baker, White Chuck, Shuksan, and a chunk of the North Cascades

Back at the ridge, the going was quick. It’s so freaking gorgeous. We were back at Stujack pass pretty quickly (my phone died at one point so I have no Strava record) and missed seeing sunset there by maybe 15 or 20 minutes. We were too fast (ha! fast compared to the way up, at least). It set while we were in the trees heading back to Lake Metan, and we could see the brilliant pink and red and orange colors through the trees. I bet it was spectacular. But we were eager to get back to the car. I freak myself out on dark trails.

Shadows along the ridge

We actually made it back without headlamps, though we probably could have used them for the last 20 minutes or so. By the time we got back to the Mountain Loop Highway, it was dark. I texted Pattra and Lee called her boyfriend so people knew we were alive and not lost or injured in the woods, and didn’t make it back to Seattle until around 11:30, and I rinsed off in the shower (you’re welcome) and went straight to bed since I had to be at work at 8 the next morning. Worth it? Totally worth it. Pugh makes you feel like you’re legitimately climbing a mountain in the wilderness while staying pretty tame. No highways to listen to or ruin your views, some sketchy sections of trail, plenty of rocks to climb over, and some exposure to test your mental game. And Lee’s finally got her first scramble under her belt!

Vesper Peak and Lake Elan (Vesper Lake)

Posted on June 4, 2015 by evejakubowski

My second straight day off (whoa, two days, I know) was another brilliantly sunny one, and I packed up to finally do Vesper Peak. This one has been on my list since October. I didn’t think I was capable of it alone back last fall, but I figured by now I could handle it. And it turned out to be pretty damn doable with some phenomenal views from the top: snowy peaks, a few clouds, a lake, and who knew the back of Big Four was so red? Hiked 5/28/2015.

Views from the top: Corner of Del Campo on the far left next to Gothic, Daniel and Hinman way in the center background

Distance: 8 miles (WTA says 9, Strava had me at just under 8 for the peak AND the lake)
Elevation: 4100ft gain, 6200ft highest point
Weather: 70’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 1:45 without traffic
Did I Trip: Probably at least once but no major repercussions

First half mile of the trail

I hobbled out of bed Thursday morning, surprised that I was a little sore from Round Lake. Eh, I’ll loosen up at Vesper, no worries. The drive was uneventful, just a patch or two of rough spots on the road and that was it. The lot was empty, which was fine with me. This was going to be a slow hike, so if anyone showed up, they’d probably catch up to me.

I got all of my things ready and grabbed my boots from the trunk. You know what’s gross? They were wet. As in, still wet from the previous day. Yuck. I could have planned that better. My other option was barefoot trail runners, and I didn’t think those would cut it in the snow, so wet shoes it was! Like a boss.

Bottom of the fern slopes

The trail starts out through forest. Not lush green undergrowth forest, but a darker, more spread out canopy type of forest. Flat, which was nice, it meant I did get a warm up before the serious part started. The few stream crossings had moss growing everywhere, and I quickly grabbed a stick to fight off spiderwebs. Without Vernon breaking trail in front of me, I was on my own with those damn weaving beasts. Trusty stick would have to hold me back.

About half a mile in, there’s a tricky river crossing. The Stillaguamish is in your way, and apparently for part of the year it’s just a trickle, but on Thursday, it was a small river. I had to head upstream a bit where I found a large log I could reach by hopping across some rocks, and the log dumped me off on the opposite bank where I could scramble up and rejoin the trail. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure it out (which probably means like 7 minutes, but it felt like forever). Finally I was across, and almost immediately hit the fern slope, where I remembered what summer hiking was like.

Hot, and sunny, and sticky and full of spiderwebs and lack of shade. I’m a summer person. I’m a sunshine person. Getting sunburned makes me a little excited because it means I’ll be tan soon and whiffs of sunscreen make me miss spending all summer on the beach. I always joked that I thrive when it’s 90 degrees with 85% humidity. And yet, I forgot about stifling heat when walking through dense greenery, or how much water I’d want, or how I wish my damn water was cold. So I revised my statement to the following: I’m a summer person, if there’s an ocean within reach. There are no oceans in the Cascades, so I will have to settle for some glacial lakes. I took a break to water and slather on more sunscreen (learned the hard way back on Daniel) before continuing on. Finally you get back into the woods, where the shade was a welcome relief.

First boulder field/talus slop – aim for the patch of trees on the right

The woods spit you out into Wirtz Basin, where you are soon faced with a talus field and an invisible trail. Basically, aim for the patch of trees slightly to the right. Cairns are the name of the game here. There were always two within sight, except for that time when I lost the trail for a solid 15 minutes. So let that be your rule of thumb: if you can’t see two, you’re probably off trail. Keep your eyes open and don’t head too far to the right (gaining altitude) too quickly! The trail has a few short switchbacks up through the tree clump before officially starting up to Headlee Pass.

Looking up at Headlee Pass

Which is a bitch. Yeah, you heard me. Headlee Pass at noon on a brilliantly sunny summer day was brutal. More sunscreen. More water. Getting to shade was good motivation to get to the top. Shit, is my left shoulder burning? But not my right? Even those lines out, girl. And have some water. Okay, keep moving. The switchbacks get narrower and narrower until suddenly pop! You’re at the top, staring at Vesper. Shit, that’s what I’m going up? And it’s snow covered, and so much taller, and were you overconfident on this one? Let’s find out.

Second talus slope

Down on the other side of the pass, you hit another talus slope, this time with a slightly more obvious trail. You almost directly cross the slope, and the next landmark is the outlet of Vesper Lake. Which I believe is actually called Lake Elan, but that seems to be an archaic name. If you’re aiming for Vesper Peak, cross the outlet stream as soon as you reach it, and continue straight up. There’s a noticeable ridge line (possibly more obvious because of melting snow), and that’s your route to the top. The trail was starting to melt out and was visible in several places, so I had that to keep me company. Again, aim for the trees. The snow had started in earnest, but once I got to the trees, much had melted out, and that section was essentially just a steep rooty trail.

“Shit, I’m climbing THAT?” (Vesper Peak is the snowy one)

Copper Lake and the back of Big Four (the red peak) with Three Fingers and Whitehorse in the background

Exiting the trees, it was snowfields for the rest of the way. I put on microspikes (don’t think they made much of a difference given snow conditions) and traded pole for ice axe and started up. There were a few rocky sections open, and I trended towards those until I was maybe 200 vertical feet from the summit. At that point I traversed to the left to reach the ridge early, and then followed that back right until the peak, where I found the trail again (ha!) and could scramble to the highest point.

Glacier (in the clouds) and Sloan behind Morning Star

Views are amazing. I was looking across at Sperry and Morning Star, with Glacier and Baker and Shuksan in the clouds, Sloan and Gothic and Del Campo staring back at you. Even the Stuart range! I looked down and saw the itty bitty glacier I had seen from Round Lake – it was there! I almost didn’t even notice the view to the left until I glanced up by chance, only to be greeted by Copper Lake and the back of Big Four with Three Fingers and Whitehorse in the background. Damn, Vesper. And after all this time, I had been expecting you to have pretty mediocre views.

Looking down at the tiny glacier

I had snacks at the top and searched for the summit register, which I never found. Sad! After a half hour or so I started back down, which as usual went much more quickly than I expected. I passed another hiker on the way up the snowfields, so there were two of us! Back at the outlet stream, I figured it was around 3pm, so if I wanted to avoid traffic, I had to kill another hour or so. That meant either a) bag Sperry, the peak across from Vesper, or b) swim and tan. Sperry looked a little daunting for my solo-hike taste, and I figured I’d save it for a day I had company. It’s just a scramble, but I wasn’t feeling up to it. To the lake!

Lake Elan/Vesper Lake

Outlet stream where I took a dip

Getting to Lake Elan is a simple scramble (if you can call it that – you’re crossing boulders, but it’s pretty flat). The lake was entirely frozen over with just the edges barely melting out, but still beautiful given the alpine backdrop. I lay on a rock for a bit, took a bunch of photos, the works. I wished I could go swimming, but the damn thing was all ice. Oh wait – the outlet stream! I ran back over to the clear half of the stream and hopped right in. Breathtakingly cold water and immediate brain freeze ensued, followed by a satisfied, refreshed feeling as I was putting my boots back on. Summer is here, guys, and every body of water is fair game.

Vesper Lake with Sperry in the background

Vesper Lake beneath Sperry

Back across the talus slopes to Headlee pass, one last look at Vesper, and then a knee-banger of a hike down. It didn’t look nearly as bad going down as it had looking up. Going back across the talus field in Wirtz Basin was easier than the way up, probably because I had more of an idea of the route than I had earlier in the day. Somehow the fern slopes were still sunny, and this time around the Stillaguamish was the most glorious river I have ever seen, full of cold revitalizing water that I could have laid in for hours after all that sun. Fewer spiderwebs on the way back. That’s right, spiders, I’m the apex predator here, you bastards. Don’t build webs on trails. They will be ruined.

Strava map can be found here, and the Summitpost page has both a map and a GPX file. I just learned that the peakbagger app can actually download GPX files and will show your position relative to the trail even in airplane mode. So for you cheap hikers out there who don’t want a legit GPS, if you aren’t doing anything too crazy I highly recommend peakbagger. It’s been a ton of fun to use.

Monte Cristos behind Del Campo and Gothic

Round Lake

Posted on May 30, 2015 by evejakubowski

Round Lake

Thoughts on keeping hikes secret? I had a big debate over it on the way back from this hike, which far surpassed my expectations. Yes, I like to share what I love, and I want to inspire everyone else out there to get out of the city and explore a bit. But at the same time, sometimes I come across a pristine, beautiful trail like this, and I’m not sure I want everyone to know. If everyone knows, that means more traffic, more trash, more dogs, more poop, more tents, and less of that remote, in-the-middle-of-nowhere feeling. But you know what? It was damn spectacular, so here it is. If you leave litter or poop or destroy the trail, I swear to god I will haunt your ass (after I passive-aggressively pack out everything you left and complain about it on my WTA trip report). But if you’re up for a challenging hike and are a professional leave-no-trace ninja hiker, put this one on your list. Hiked 5/28/2015.

Distance: 11 miles round trip
Elevation: 4300ft gain (5600ft highest point)
Weather: 60’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:30
Did I Trip: Yes, on the way down, on the soft trail. Complacency is my fatal flaw

Starting off through green forest

First, I just want to say that I didn’t touch-up any of these photos. None. This is just how it looked. I usually don’t work with any photos I take unless there’s a glaring error. Maybe when I’m bored I’ll play around and see if I can make them look better. But for now, just think how amazing the scenery and colors were.

A few people had bailed on our hike, but we decided screw it, we’re going. I picked up Vernon and we made out way out to the Mountain Loop Highway, where we were either going to hike Vesper Peak (if weather was clear) or Round Lake (if weather wasn’t in our favor). Clouds were still low when we got to the turn-off for Vesper, so we kept right on driving. Little did I know I had forgotten directions to the Round Lake trailhead and had no GPS or phone service to load them, so I whipped out the huge National Geographic map and did some old-school navigation to FR-41, which took us to the trailhead (which we passed several times before finally finding it). So, secret trailhead for a secret trail. Perfect.

Patches of wildflowers

The drive to the trailhead had already been gorgeous, and the sun was peeking out. It looked like it might clear up after all! We started out, and quickly reached a registration box. With fresh papers. We were the first ones to sign it. First official hikers of the summer season, baby. Beyond the registration stand, the trail was narrow and overgrown with gorgeous, bright green undergrowth and wildflowers and moss. And spiderwebs. I made Vernon go first. He’s not afraid of them. He picked up an entire damn web with a spider in it and said “oh sorry buddy here you go” and placed the web on some leaves off the trail. I’m the opposite. I swing a stick in front of me destroying each and every web in my path because eff that. Spiders, whatever. But build a web in my space and it’s all over.

Entering a Disney movie

Guys, the hike was already breathtaking. I don’t think I’ve seen so much green in my life. After about half a mile, the trail starts switchbacking uphill through a more open forest (open is debatable – the canopy was still pretty thick). The trail, allegedly unmaintained, is flat and soft and the switchbacks are long and gradual for the most part. You can just barely make out some snowy peaks through the trees, which is just kindling for your appetite for views. I wasn’t sure how long the sun would last, so I was eager to get up onto the ridge.

First glimpse of Sloan and Bedal from an avy chute

You cross a few avalanche chutes, full of overgrown bushes nearly hiding the trail and previews of the views to come. Some of the bushes are thorny, so be ready for some scrapes (I promise they’re well worth it) and fighting off branches. Entering the avalanche chutes is like walking into a Disney movie: from shady forest to glorious saturated green meadows. It’s like the Wizard of Oz, when everything is suddenly in color. That’s how it felt.

Bingley Gap comes up after about three miles. Supposedly there are views, but we didn’t see many. Clouds were still in and out, and the ridge is fairly forested. We followed the trail to the right, knowing the Lost Creek Ridge trail would take us to Round Lake.

I love ridges. The more exposed, the better, but even forested ones are pretty cool. Trails looks amazing with sheer drops on either side. We were in the trees for a bit, until suddenly we came over a hump and I ran to the left since there was a clearing and I figured we could get views – surprise! Round freakin Lake!

Aptly named, it is quite round

The basin was still covered in snow, and you’ll probably want an ice axe if you’re heading to the lake. I’ve heard good things about Breccia Peak (keep that one secret too guys) and wanted to do some recon in the area to see how feasible it would be. Breccia is the peak on the right behind Round Lake in the picture above. With clouds parting and views opening up, I was eager to continue along the ridge, so that’s what we did. Bailed on the trail and stayed high.

Sloan and Bedal beyond the off-trail slopes

We traversed a few very steep heather slopes, thankful for the ample veggie-belays that held us in place while we were drunk on the views. Sloan and Bedal are right in your face, with Glacier Peak ahead of you on a clear day (we could only see the base unfortunately) and Vesper, Sperry, Twin Peaks, and Big Four off in the distance behind you. Wildflowers were blooming, and I couldn’t believe how good rolling slopes with glacier lilies look with huge white snowy peaks in the backdrop.

Sperry and Vesper in the center (with a glacier!), Twin Peaks right in front of Big Four on the right

Off trail navigation skills are essential for this one. There were a few very old tracks, but with snow conditions so different from when the last people were there, we blazed out own trail. We crossed a few snowy slopes to get to Sunup Lake, and scrambled down to the shore to trek over to the base of Breccia and the unnamed peak next to it. The maps we had recommended heading up to a saddle slightly to the right of Sunup Lake and then wrapping around the back of the ridge to the true summit, but with so little snow on the peak, it looked faster and easier to go straight up the southwest ridge. Still steep, but the path up to the saddle on the map didn’t exactly look like a walk in the park either.

Coming down to Sunup Lake

Sunup Lake

Unfortunately, Vernon was silently suffering some leg cramps at this point, and we ended up turning around just past Sunup Lake. I wasn’t too keen on piggy-backing someone across all the steep slopes we had scaled to get here, and we weren’t about to practice our first aid skills. We scrambled back up to a small knoll along the ridge where we stopped for snacks. Vernon whipped out a foot-long sandwich and was about to take a huge bite when we heard the rumble of thunder across the lake, and I watched the hope and joy and excitement for his sandwich turn to a look of “oh, shit” as I threw my pack back on and said “Yeah that sounds like we should keep moving.” We dropped a little lower, and took a real break halfway across the veggie-belay slopes, where we could snack and look at clouds writhe over Sloan and Bedal. I have no idea how to make the movie a smaller size within WordPress, it always seems to blow them up and ruin the quality. Here’s a link to the youtube video. But check out the time lapse. I know, I know, I need a tripod. God dammit.

Brilliantly colored slopes

After an hour of relaxing on the sunny slope watching the clouds and peaks, we decided it was time to head back down. We couldn’t see the clouds behind Breccia, but they weren’t looking too fluffy or light. Going down always goes faster, and we marveled at how gorgeous the wildflower slopes were in the afternoon sunlight and how we couldn’t wait to be back, even though we were still there. We refilled water at a small stream along the trail, and like I said, it could have been a Disney movie. Or maybe I had died along the trail and this was heaven, I don’t know. Heaven wouldn’t have had thunder or clouds over Glacier Peak, though, and there would have been a five-star steak dinner at the top. With an ocean beach worked in there somehow.

One more pic of the trail

Back in the forest, wait for it – the trail was still amazing. This trail had everything. Small waterfalls, views, old forest, green underbrush, a lake, ridges, slopes covered in wildflowers, slopes covered in snow, ridiculous mountain views. How does no one go here?!

Trail to Sauk Falls

Before I forget, Strava map of our ridge explorations can be found here. Allegedly there’s a path up to Spring Mountain (west along the ridge) as well, but we looked for it on the way up and down and never found it. Maybe the map I had just shows where to navigate off trail. Since it was still light out (sunset at 8:55? The PNW is nuts) when we got back to the car, we made two quick stops at North Fork Sauk Falls and at Whitechuck Overlook. Yes, that’s right, we decided to just drive the entire Mountain Loop Highway. We had come in through Verlot, and left through Darrington. And it was totally worth it. And that extra bit meant we got to skip Seattle traffic. Hell. Yes.

Sauk Falls

The falls were spectacular. Seriously, for a hike that’s less than half a mile, you might as well stop. The falls were not very tall, but had an unbelievable volume of water crashing over them. We bummed around the falls for a bit and tried to rescue an abandoned Pepsi can, but the wet mossy rocks proved too tricky for us. White Chuck overlook was neat as well, the mountain was mostly snow free and Vernon picked up some toilet paper and wrappers that someone had left on the ground. Those people are why I want Round Lake to stay secret.

Mt. Pugh from the ridge above Round Lake

Here’s the other secret: the Lost Creek Ridge trail goes all the way to Lake Byrne, which is supposed to be one of the most gorgeous areas in Washington. It’s 24 miles round trip, I believe, with around 7000ft of elevation gain. It’s tough to find specific summaries and reports for it. So let’s keep traffic to a minimum, but if you need a short backpacking trip, Byrne is a great candidate. I know I’ll be back. Ideally twice: I want to run that ridge, and I want to spend a few days backpacking in the area. The best thing about living here is how easy it has been to discover new places. I was getting overconfident in my Cascades knowledge, and then this came along. A region I hadn’t touched, mountains I had never seen (Painted Peak, Black Peak, hell there’s a whole Painted Traverse) and that’s just barely scraping the edge of it. There are some pretty big chunks of untouched wilderness out there if you have the time to get there. I always need to remind myself that it’ll still be there in a month, or a year, or a decade. As eager and impatient as I am, I have a whole lifetime to get out there.

Admiring the green colors

Goat Lake

Posted on May 19, 2015 by evejakubowski

Foggy peak behind Goat Lake

This one’s a shortie. I had the day off, felt like a trail run, and Goat Lake had been on my list since moving here. It’s funny, a lot of the hikes on my original list now pale in comparison to the things I’ve been discovering, but I still feel a need to at least check them out. Whether it’s for an “easy” day, or so I am more capable of answering customers’ questions, or so I can say I did it, it doesn’t matter. And this was finally the day to go to Goat Lake. 5/12/2015, and just sayin, it didn’t live up to its name: no goats to be found.

Distance: 10.4 miles round trip (to the lake’s outlet)
Elevation: 1400ft gain
Weather: 40’s and cloudy
Commute from Seattle: 2 hours without traffic
Did I Trip: Nope (but shout out to my hardship of the day: spiderwebs for lunch)

Upper trail, wide, flat, and green!

The road was completely clear, and actually didn’t even have many potholes. I followed a jeep most of the way there, until they pulled off by the Gothic Basin trailhead. Last time I tried to do Goat Lake, the gravel part of the Mountain Loop Highway had been unpassable in my Honda Accord due to several inches of snow. As much as I miss that car, I’d have made it to Goat Lake easily that morning in what I have now. I pulled up to the trailhead, only car in the lot as usual, and hopped out with my trail running pack. Soon enough, the jeep pulled up – a couple who wasn’t entirely sure where they were going. I remember when I was like that. I’d be lurking along the highway trying to figure out where the hell to go, and now here I am probably capable of drawing a map of the southern half of the loop from scratch. Who’s a dork?

Okay, now that I had the pressure of other people behind me, time to start running. I usually like to walk the first half mile or so (especially after driving for two hours), but it was straight down to business this time. At least until I was solidly ahead of them. So they wouldn’t see me walk/running. Yeah, I know. Back when I had calf issues, I’d plan my sad recovery runs along main roads that had lots of intersecting dead end streets so no one would see me walking if I had to.

Bleeding hearts!

I did stop to look at wildflowers and waterfalls, of which there were plenty. Bleeding hearts! They were one of my favorite flowers as a child, and here I was jogging through patches of purple bleeding hearts covering the ground left and right. I took the upper trail on the way to the lake, figuring I’d take the lower one on the way back. The upper trail is much more gradual and well-groomed. It’s an old road, apparently. Think wide, flat, not too rocky or rooty. Until it rejoins the lower trail. Then it gets a little steeper, and a little more rooted. And of course, spiderwebs here and there for your enjoyment. Not.

Small waterfall

About a half mile from the lake (slightly longer if you follow all of the switchbacks) you can go off-trail to a huge waterfall. I actually missed where the trail turned (I’m far more oblivious on my trail runs than on hikes) and was staring at the waterfall trying to figure out how to get across when I realized the trail probably just goes up to the lake. You can see on the Strava map where I farted around on the way up by the waterfall (I took the switchbacks on the way down).

Getting up to the lake is incredible. The first view you get comes if you sneak through some bushes to the huge log jam, which you can basically hop across right up to the edge of the lake. 10/10 would recommend. You can already see the snowy peaks from there, but I suggest going further along the left side of the lake, where the views are even better. It was mostly cloudy when I was there, but the sun snuck through the clouds for a hot second, and I sprinted to the shore to take a picture.

Foggy peak behind Goat Lake

On the way back, I took the lower trail. I passed the couple in the jeep (“Wait, you already got to the lake?! Wait, you’re RUNNING?? Oh man I’ll never be in shape enough to do that!”) just before where the lower trail and upper trail joined. Ugh, the lower trail had spiderwebs. A plethora of spiderwebs. My caloric intake for the day was probably 15% spiderwebs. You’re welcome, hiker couple, I ate all of them before you got there.

Narrow, windy lower trail

The lower trail is more narrow and windy with much more vegetation, and dips next to the river occasionally. If you like footwork on your runs, take this one instead of the upper trail. It was nice to mix it up, though, and it almost felt like a loop instead of an out-and-back. I was back at the car pretty quickly, and while my splits weren’t amazing, I felt pretty good (maybe the slower pace is why – shh!).

Strava screenshot

I can see why this trail gets so much traffic. The water would have been gorgeously clear and blue in the sun, and even in the clouds and wind, it was still spectacular. Something about the wind whipping across the water made me miss the ocean, and I was glad to have the lake all to myself. If you look real hard at Strava, maybe you can see how many time I ran in circles trying to get 10-second-timer selfies on the logjam. Perhaps you’ll have better luck.

10-second-timer log jam selfie

Eight Mile/Squire Creek Pass

Posted on April 21, 2015 by evejakubowski

Dwarfed by Three Fingers (taken by Surafel)

What to do on a day with avalanche danger so prevalent that NWAC released a “special advisory” statement? We had been planning St. Helens, which would have led to a glorious feeling of closure after my last attempt. Well, “attempt” is generous. I was rear ended in traffic on my way there back in January, 10 minutes after leaving my apartment. So it was an anticlimactic hike, to say the least. So this was to be attempt number two, but this time around, I was thwarted by avalanche conditions. 8″ of fresh snow combined with direct sunlight and temperatures in the mid 60’s did not bode well. Surafel suggested Eight Mile/Squire Creek Pass, a mostly forested hike that led to a small pass that looks straight at Three Fingers and Whitehorse. Okay, I could be convinced. Hiked 4/16/2015.

Distance: 5.4 miles round trip
Elevation: 2350ft gain, 4100 highest point
Weather: 60’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2 hours
Did I Trip: HAHAHAha ahahahaha hahah ahhh… yes. And postholed, and slipped, and stumbled, and fell (into a creek), and every other descriptive word for wiping out

The road was rocky, but easily doable in any car. The trailhead is on the right side of the road, and the road actually continues. No idea where it goes. I drove a ways down it to make sure I was at the right trailhead, because I had seen fresh car tracks but no car, and I wondered if Surafel had come and passed it. Or maybe there would be an awesome section of rugged road with views where I could get pictures of my car (no luck). Eventually I figured I must have been in the right place since the last trip report said “road suitable for all vehicles” and the part beyond the trailhead was definitely not suitable for everyone.

Trillium blooming

Just as I got back, Surafel pulled up (woo!), and we were moving within minutes. I wasn’t sure what to expect of this trail, but it was straightforward at first. It climbed steeply through the forest. There were a few blow-downs to negotiate. In general, for the ones you can’t climb over, walk straight up the hill next to them and you’ll get to the next switchback.

Steep rooty section

The trail is unmaintained, and reminded me of the trail up to Snoqualmie Peak. Narrow, rocky, covered in roots, in sections it barely looked like a trail. Once you accept the idea that it’s a vaguely defined trail, it’s easier to follow. And hey, that makes it feel more like the wilderness.

Three O’Clock Rock, Surafel for scale

I can see why rock climbers like this place. Check out the huge rock wall to climb. It was massive, the type of rock I look at and can’t quite fathom how anyone climbs it. But I bet it’s a piece of cake for most climbers. It was shortly after this that the trail started to get covered in snow. We crossed a small talus slope, and beyond that, the trail was invisible. Okay, I was hoping to not be trail breaking again after how tiring Beckler was the day before, but I was here, so why not. For a while you could vaguely tell where the trail was. The forest was dense enough that when there was a windy line through the trees, it was a safe bet that it was the path. Eventually we emerged into a more open area, where the trees were more sparse and we were starting to get some views.

Emerging into sparse forest

Eventually, I wasn’t sure whether the crease I was following was the trail or a riverbed, but it was heading in the right direction according to the map (and why would a creek run sideways along a slope) so I stuck with it. The going was slow, between postholing all over the place and stopping to check the map. But I was taking pride in making nice evenly spaced trail-breaking steps, keeping a steady pace, and figuring out where we were heading.

Unfortunately the snow kept getting deeper, and finally, after taking a break by following a melted-out riverbed, we officially lost the summer trail. I knew we couldn’t be far from the pass, but it was going to be a long slog to get there. Postholing became a butt-deep matter, and the occasional tree well wasn’t helping. I’d fight tree wells if they were people. The secret ones that don’t open up until you’re on top of them. Where you don’t even see a bump that suggests “tree here.” Surprise trees. Those sneaky bastards, hiding beneath the snow. We’re lucky they were small.

“Okay, I’m having second thoughts… about this trail…” I turned around and Surafel wasn’t looking too happy. What he didn’t know was that at that moment, I was in a predicament. Eff it. I stood there, ass deep in snow, one foot trapped beneath a tree branch, the other poking around looking for something solid to stand on that wasn’t the branch on top of my other foot. I didn’t come here to get trapped on a 5.5 mile hike that tops out at 4100ft. Awkward. I’ll admit, I could have been more level headed. I could have commiserated, or agreed to turn back, or at least been sympathetic. But instead, what came out was a fiery “WELL I DIDN’T COME THIS FAR AND PUT UP WITH ALL OF THIS GOD DAMN SNOW TO NOT GET A GOOD LOOK AT FREAKING THREE FINGERS” and I had somehow found my footing and leapt from the clutches of my tree captor and scurried up the hill (if scurrying is possible in thigh deep snow) and BOOM. Whaddya know? I could see the pass below us.

Three Fingers

All things considered, it was pretty easy terrain to navigate. Great visibility, no avalanche danger because it was so flat and vegetated, and we knew exactly where we were. I wasn’t admitting defeat on this one. It’d be like the time I took a cab from REI to my apartment five blocks away because I didn’t want to walk up Denny. Before you say anything, in my defense it was the day after I ran a marathon. I wasn’t at that level yet. I was confident in where we were, where we were going, and conditions, and our ability to get there. I shouted back to Surafel. “I can see it! We’re almost there!”

Three Fingers on the left, Whitehorse on the right

We were a little higher than necessary, so we trekked down to the pass. More like waded down to the pass, with how much snow there was. Three Fingers, unobstructed by trees, and Whitehorse, smack in your face. That’s what you get on this hike. I dropped my pack, took out my raincoat and extra puffy layer, lay them on the ground, and flopped down on them. Nap time. Lying down has never been so satisfying. Maybe it’s because I don’t generally go to bed when it’s sunny with Three Fingers in the backdrop.

Whitehorse

We snacked on tea and Surafel melted snow for a dehydrated meal. I played a game of “airplane or avalanche,” a personal favorite where you hear a rumble and have to make a snap decision on which it is. Surprisingly tricky sometimes. We heard four avalanches on Three Fingers, and I don’t remember how many airplanes. They aren’t as memorable as avalanches, apparently.

Our footsteps leading towards the pass

We decided to follow our own tracks back even though that meant going up a little bit before heading down to meet the trail. The theory was that this time at least we’d see the postholes coming, and know where to watch out. It worked, and we made good time going back down. If you ignore both of us wiping out multiple times. Mud is slippery. Wet tree trunks are slippery too, and so are mossy rocks. Oh, and one time I postholed into a stream beneath a tiny snow bridge, and crashed to the ground. Which meant I broke through the rest of the snow bridge, and was effectively lying in a river. Tip: Always keep crappy old towels in the car. You never know when they’ll be useful. I caught myself every time (by which I mean I avoided injury, my ass still did the catching) but Surafel might have twisted a knee at one point. Luckily, we were close to the trailhead by then. Fingers crossed for a quick recovery!

Strava map

Huge tree!

What we thought would be a quick 5.4 mile round trip had turned into.. oh wait, still 5.4 miles. But a long 5.4 miles. Three hours, not including the long break we took at the pass. But the views were really spectacular. Not bad for a day where I expected to have to lie low! Great choice by Surafel. A fun, safe area to play around with maps, peak-naming, and navigation (though the number of times I considered going for the ridge and peak instead of the pass was irresponsibly high). I suppose a lesson to be learned from this one is to do the research beforehand. I didn’t do much, since I wasn’t expecting snow, and when I assume the trail will be clear, I also assume I won’t have navigation issues. Didn’t help that I was completely unfamiliar with that end of the Mountain Loop Highway, but that made everything new and exciting. Strava map can be found here.

I’m amazed this trail isn’t more popular. We did it on a tricky day, but just two weeks prior there had been no snow. A straightforward, snow-free trail that takes you to an up-close-and-personal view of Three Fingers and Whitehorse? Where are the crowds? It’s a bit steep, but it’s short. No worse than Pilchuck, really. And I bet camping there is great – sunrise probably makes those peaks look bright pink at sunrise.

Three Fingers over a melting tarn

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout

Category Archives: Mountain Loop Highway

Sloan Peak via Bedal Creek

Vesper Peak via Ragged Edge

Three Fingers via Bushwack & Meadow Mountain

Gothic Basin & Del Campo Peak

Round Lake & Breccia Peak

Mt. Pugh

Vesper Peak and Lake Elan (Vesper Lake)

Round Lake

Goat Lake

Eight Mile/Squire Creek Pass