You know when you have an incredible hike and you look back and sometimes can’t believe it worked out as well as it did? That was this one. I hope you guys like pictures, because there isn’t enough room on the internet for the ones I want to share. I seem to have one above-and-beyond hike a month, and this was it for February. In January it was Townsend, in December it was Glacier Vista, in November it was Hidden Lake Lookout, followed closely by Snoqualmie Peak. Well in February, it was Gothic freakin’ Basin! Hiked 2/15/2015.

• Distance: 9.6 miles (more because I spent time running in circles)
• Elevation: 3700ft gain (we went to a small peak) almost all of which is in the last 3 miles
• Weather: Sunny! 40’s and sunny
• Commute from Seattle: 1:45
• Did I Trip: No, which is a feat of pure determination
• Side note: It’s a little hilarious that in October I thought I could run this whole trail

I had the rental car for one more day, and had to put it to use, so I packed my things and drove out to Mountain Loop. I was debating between Dickerman and giving Gothic Basin a shot. Gothic Basin was a long shot. The last few trip reports didn’t make it to the basin, I didn’t have an axe, and I wasn’t sure how conditions would be at the top. But the Dickerman parking lot was packed. With cars. And people, and dogs. And I loved Dickerman, but I was more in the mood for a quiet hike than a trail with more traffic than Denny Way on a Friday afternoon. So I kept driving.

Gothic Basin doesn’t have a real parking lot anymore, so I parked in the Barlow Pass lot and trekked the 50ft down the road. Strenuous, I know. The first part of the hike is along an old road that was destroyed by rockslides/washouts, so it’s a flat mile with sneak views of Monte Cristo. It was sunny and foggy, and completely devoid of people. Perfect. I spent the first mile and half trying looking at tracks trying to figure out if there was anyone ahead of me. There were two cars near mine, so it was possible that I’d have company. Even when you can’t get to the basin, this hike is gorgeous.

The creek crossing went much more smoothly than last time. Was it because I had poles? Or because I learned? I still feel like an awkward goat when I’m using the poles, but at least I didn’t have to wade/crawl across it like back in October. After the creek, the switchbacks started. And my legs complained. But I wanted those views. Eventually I head a few voices – yes! Company! They caught up to me quickly, a family of three in shorts and T shirts. We leapfrogged for a bit, stopping to take pictures as views opened up. They didn’t have traction devices, but figured (like me) that they’d see how far they got. I thought I’d have to turn around at the first waterfall above 3500ft. Nope, snow free. Okay, the second waterfall. Nope, snow free! Seriously, it could be summer. Green, thriving trees, sunny blue skies, shorts and t shirts. Oh crap, snow patch. Maybe turn around at the fourth waterfall? Nope, solid snow bridge. So far so good.

Once the snow started, there were tons of tracks, and it wasn’t hard to follow the trail. Beautiful views, beautiful waterfalls, sunny blue skies, I was already content. We made it to just below the basin (about 4.3 or so miles in) before looking up at the steep ridge that separated us from the basin itself. I ran up the first slope to scout out what was beyond and see if it was doable with boots, but it only got steeper from there.

The family decided they were going to turn around, and began to head back. I had all day, and figured I’d at least poke around outside the basin before I left. I checked out a few other routes up to the basin, decided that while it was pretty feasible, I wasn’t comfortable doing it alone without an axe, and finally called it a day.

Lucky for me, I ran into Surafel and Ibrahima on the way down who had traction devices and wanted to give it a shot. No fear from these two, and as soon as they said they were going to try, I was in. Let’s do it. I’m here, and if you guys are down, I’m down. We set off and headed up the first slope. What I thought was a two-slope process ended up being probably 45 minutes of traversing and climbing.

Someone before us had left tracks that had almost frozen into a staircase at points which helped, and the snowpack was firm and perfect for microspikes. I couldn’t resist turning around to snap some photos of Ibrahima behind me, though none quite captured the steepness or how awesome everything looked.

We finally crested the ridge overlooking the basin, and I couldn’t believe it. We had made it. We made it WE DID IT I had that rush of excitement where I don’t know what to do with myself. I had known we were going up, and I had known we were getting close, but nothing compares to the feeling you get when you turn a corner or gain a ridge and can suddenly see everything just laid out in front of you. I’m still amazed. I think this was better than the last time I was up there. I eagerly ran back and forth across our small summit taking photos in every direction and ooh-ing and wow-ing while Surafel and Ibrahima got settled in. Finally I remembered I had cookie butter(!) and tea that demanded consumption. And everything tastes better on top of the world.

Del Campo is the huge peak to the right of Foggy Lake, and Gothic Peak is behind the lake. If you look north, you’re staring at the Monte Cristo range, Sloan, Sheep, and Pugh. Beyond those you can just barely see the tops of several other ranges, and I can only imagine how awesome everything looks from Gothic Peak or Del Campo, which I’d love to do this summer.I was told that both are tough scrambles, but doable without ropes. Sounds like I shouldn’t solo it, but I’ll get there.

After a half hour or so of pictures, time to head down. I was worried it’d be tougher than the way up, but with such a firm snowpack, it wasn’t bad at all. There were two other hikers we never crossed paths with who had full crampons, but I felt fine in the microspikes.

Having company on the way down a trail like that is always appreciated, because nothing drives me more crazy than never-ending switchbacks through a forest, even on a sunny day after a fantastic hike.

We ran into some interesting groups. Some in tank tops and sneakers and no bags (3 miles up the trail at 2pm…), some who thought they were going to the Monte Cristo Ghost Town (also a solid 3 miles up the trail, past the steepest parts! damn!), and I have to wonder how they all did. But a small part of me likes being able to think that we were some of the few who made it to the basin that day.

Strava map and elevation/mile stats here. The small circle is when I was trying to find alternate ways up to the basin, which ended up being further away than expected. On the way into the hike, if you look closely, I took a side trail, whereas I took the road on the way back.

Both work. The road felt faster, but maybe that’s because I had company. I took just over 7 hours round trip, but that was with a solid hour of bumming around at the top figuring out if it was worth trying before meeting Surafel and Ibrahima. According to Strava, it was over 4 hours of moving, so if you go straight up and straight down with no breaks, that’s an estimate. There are some tough miles in there, though – one has 1200+ ft of elevation gain. I knew it was steep, didn’t realize it was that steep! Like I said, hilarious that I thought it’d be a good trail run. I should mention all of the rocks and mini-scramble-hops you need to do once you’re out of the woods.

Surafel and Ibrahima, I can’t thank you enough! I hadn’t had a hike this spectacular since Mount Townsend back in January, and it’s a great feeling being able to look back and feel like I accomplished something. I had been trying not to get my hopes up that entire hike, because if I did, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t get to the basin and I’m trying to avoid my baby version of “peak fever.” But that just made the hike even more incredible. Happy hiking!

Bonus picture before you go! Because after this, it’s back to job apps, and eventually a late shift at REI. And let’s be real. This is way more fun.

Another “drive to the highway and make a game time decision hike,” though this time it was unintentional. I intended to get to Goat Lake to go for a trail run since I was sick of city streets and stop lights and pedestrians but wanted something a little more remote than cougar/tiger mountains. As it turned out, just because a road is “open” does not mean it’s clear, and my car couldn’t make it to Goat Lake. It couldn’t make it past the Gothic Basin/Barlow Pass area, where the mountain loop highway turns to gravel and a foot of ice and snow. So I turned around and went to check out Perry Creek, the back up run. Anyway, as usual on a Wednesday, I had to be back in Seattle by 2, so my time was limited. Hiked/run 1/14/2015.

• Distance: 10.5 miles round trip (if you make it to the meadows – to the falls and back is only 6.5 miles)
• Elevation: 3400ft gain, 5250 highest point (again, if you get to the meadows.. you know where this is going)
• Weather: 30’s and sunny
• Commute from Seattle: 1:30 if roads are clear
• Did I Trip: Some close calls, but no Actually yes, into a river, dammit
  

I left Seattle around 6am. Too chicken to start a trail alone in the dark, I was hoping to get there just as sunrise was starting to lighten everything up. By the time I got there, the sun had officially risen. “If roads are clear” means two things: traffic and snow/ice. I took the road salting back in the midwest and northeast for granted. Out here, even a small layer of frost can make roads slippery. I wasn’t worried until I crossed several sets of errant tracks that all looked like spin-outs, and that’s when I slowed down and bit just to play it safe. So it took me a big longer than 1:30 to get there, especially because I passed the trailhead hoping to make it to Goat Lake but had to reevaluate my plan.

I will say, pink o’clock in the mountains is gorgeous. Even just driving down the highway, when I turned around to head back west towards Perry Creek, I caught a glimpse of Three Fingers lit up pink by the sun. I almost pulled over to snap a picture, but I figured I’ll have chances to snow camp and watch sunrise later this winter. When I got to the Perry Creek/Mt Dickerman trailhead, I was the only car. It was just after 8am by that point, so I was eager to get moving.

The first mile of the trail is very flat and can actually be avoided by parking near a blocked-off dirt road that led to the old Perry Creek trailhead. Wanting to get in a run, I figured I’d keep the mile.

I forget that the lower forests here are so damn green. It was like running through summer. The moss and evergreens are still alive and well, despite sub-freezing temperatures.

Eventually the new path intersects with the old ravel road, equally flat, that takes you to the old trailhead. Usually this would be unimportant and unimpressive, but some bum (trust me I ran through a dozen more harsh words) had left a nice pile of feces and toilet paper smack in the middle of the road. How can you be that disgusting? Does it take that much effort to go ten steps away into the bushes, or bury it, or carry it out? Leave no trace, folks! We want to use this trail too, and I prefer my trails poop-free. Bear scat, cougar crap, okay, but human shit and trash? Someone made a conscious decision to leave it there. Ugh.

Okay, passed that, and made it to the official trail. A few more steps through forest, and I popped out onto the east side of a valley. Cool! Bad news? Shady. Didn’t think of that. More bad news? Shade = no sun to melt the frost, and it turns out frosty leaves and rocks are even more slippery than wet leaves and rocks. Time to start hiking instead of running. Which was disappointing, because a mostly-dead-shady-valley isn’t very gorgeous. I also expected to be right next to Perry Creek, but it turns out you’re quite far above it. But hey, I was out there, and that’s all I wanted. Looking behind me, Big Four Mountain was in view with the moon just over it. Unrelated question: why the hell is it “big four” when there are five peaks? I counted several times to make sure I wasn’t crazy.

I hit some patchy snow starting about three miles into the trail, including a small avalanche that looked like it had been from a week ago. Nowhere was there enough snow or ice for microspikes. It was an annoying in-between, where it was slippery but not thick enough for spikes to bite.

I had been hoping to make it to Forgotten Meadows, but unfortunately, time was short, and I had planned badly. It would have been very possible to run 10.5 miles on a beautiful sunny summer day, but I didn’t factor in frost or elevation gain, most of which happens in the last two miles. Perry Falls was surprisingly beautiful, with its deep turquoise pool down below. It’s too bad I couldn’t get closer.

I had read a previous trip report about the river crossing that suggested a snowy log further upstream, which I found easily and hopped across.

And that’s where the hike became real. Up, up, up, switchback after switchback. There was a huge tree down that had knocked out four or five switchbacks. Sounds like it had been there for a while judging by past trip reports, and people had been cutting most of the trail. I could follow a few pieces of the trail, but eventually the tree was too big to climb over and I had to cut them as well and just go straight up. It’s too bad I was solo, because “person for scale” would have helped. I didn’t even have my poles with me to use for scale since I don’t usually bring them on trail runs.

I finally reached the sunshine after about an hour and a half from the start. Crossing the creek leads you up the west side of the valley, where the sun actually reaches, and stepping into it was gorgeous. Despite knowing I had to turn around in ten minutes, I figured I’d enjoy the sun for a bit before descending back into the shade. Looking back at the map, I realized I was probably only half a mile from the meadows. Bad timing.

The way back went much more quickly than the way up. If I had known, I’d probably have made it to the meadows. I did manage to trip into the creek as I was crossing it and filled my boots with water like a pro. Knowing goretex boots wouldn’t just “dry” as I walked, I stopped to dump out some of the water and put my trust in my wool socks. I could run back nearly the whole way from this point as much of the frost had melted, with the exception of some patchy snow and rock chutes. Turned out the last part of the trail was in the sun (once you exit the valley), so I had a nice conclusion to my morning escapade.

The coolest part of the hike was the detour I took on the way in. About two miles into the trail there was a drainage chute. I’m not sure what else to call it – it looked like a steep old dried-up creek bed that had a few waterfalls at the top. Thinking it might be an offshoot of the trail, I started climbing up it (not sure if it even qualifies as a scramble) and figured I’d go for five minutes, see what was up there, and turn around.

Five minutes wasn’t enough for me to make it to the falls, but I found something much cooler. Zeolites! Right where I was going to turn around, I looked down and spotted a rock (small boulder?) with several pockets of crystals in it, ranging from just a centimeter in diameter to three inches. Holy shit. I had never seen anything like it out in the wilderness. I had seen the polished rocks and geodes my dad used to hide for me in the yard when I was little, and these were like that except truly natural. I had no idea what they were – I thought geodes, but couldn’t imagine finding those around here, so I took a few pictures hoping I’d find someone to ask. On the way back down the washout, I found several more, some that were just off the trail. I hustled home to post a trip report and see if anyone would have information.

I didn’t expect many responses, but one poster noticed it and sent it off to his geologist buddy, who replied! I’m obviously late writing this blog post, so I’ll explain the guess that Dave and Randy (thanks guys!) had. Apparently, they’re formed when pockets of gas become trapped in basalt lava as it cools. The white crystals are zeolites, which grow inside those pockets when mineral-rich water seeps through the rock. It’s neat stuff, and those rocks turned what would have been a very average hike into a morning I was excited to talk about. Hopefully there will be a few others out there who think it’s just as cool.

I’ll definitely be going back. For a few reasons. I’d love to check out those rocks again and see if I can find more. I also gotta make it to the Forgotten Meadows. Mt Forgotten might be feasible with the right people and equipment given the low snow accumulation this year, so it can be a scouting trip for that as well. Regardless, the views from the meadows look amazing on a clear day, and I bet they look even better with some snow. We’ll see what happens!

Looking out my window at the dreary rain, I figure it’s a good time to chat about last week’s Wednesday hike. 1/7/2015. First I have to vow to remember the second “c” in “Pilchuck.” My first inversion day!

• Distance: 5.4 miles round trip
• Elevation: 2300ft gain, 5300 highest point
• Weather: 60’s(!) and sunny(!!!!!)
• Commute from Seattle: Just over an hour
• Did I Trip: Yes, faceplant into snow.

So, what’s an inversion day? I’m still not sure of the science behind it (read several articles but none sounded particularly strong) but what it results in is lower temperatures down low, and higher temperatures up high. Usually, the higher you go, the lower the temperature. What’s neat is that those low temperatures keep fog trapped at lower elevations. That means you can climb above it. Actually, here’s an amazing pic of the Grand Canyon on a rare inversion day. Pilchuk was a bit too far away from the lowlands to feel like I was touching it (Snoqualmie Peak probably would have been perfect) but it was still pretty amazing.

I left Seattle around 7:30 in the morning. It was cloudy in the city, and I couldn’t see the Space Needle from my breakfast window, so I picked a short easy hike. Big Four Ice Caves was the goal. 2 miles, flat, see some ice caves, minimal views besides the actual Big Four Mountain, good for a cloudy lazy day. But as I was driving down i5, I started going through some of the coolest patchy fog I’ve ever been in. Unfortunately my camera skills while driving are sub par (is that good or bad?) so I have no examples, but it went from 10 foot visibility to misty to fog illuminated pink by sunrise surrounding green trees to fog lit up whitish yellow once the sun had risen. And by the time I got to the Mountain Loop Highway, it was clear.

Okay, regroup. Can’t waste a clear day on a two mile hike. Gotta be at work by 2, it’s already 9, it’s an hour drive at least to get back. Game time decision: Mt. Pilchuck. If my car can make it. And I’ll haul ass, I swear. If not, I’ll turn around and do the ice caves, since it’s so short I’ll have plenty of time. And I took that right turn, and headed up to Mt. Pilchuck.

Good news: road was completely melted out. Some rough washouts that I’d definitely recommend high clearance vehicles for, but we made it. Bad news: I forgot my microspikes. The trail was supposed to be icy and snow covered at the top Cool. I had snowshoes in the trunk, so I lashed them to my backpack with a nasty dirty ace bandage that I got after my knee incident at Annette Lake a few months ago and got moving. I had just under three hours to make it up and down. Doesn’t sound too bad, until you consider 1) not having traction on ice and snow 2) post-holing in snow 3) I’m relatively out of shape (don’t say anything).

Ice was avoidable on most of the trail in the woods. Last time I was here, I was racing Emma, Emilie, and Andy to the top to beat sunset, which we were dying to see. We made it just in time, and I do think it was one of the best sunsets I had ever seen. We’ll see if I ever have a day to take a stroll up Pilchuck. I passed a few people who had microspikes (jealous) and briefly said hi before continuing up.

Once you hit the snow, peaks stark making their presence known through gaps in trees. Eventually you’re crossing some small talus fields and views take over. Looking back towards Seattle. Over the Puget Sound. The first time I hiked Pilchuck I looked at the sound, turned to Emilie, and said “Is that Lake Washington?!” By now I know at least a few. Glacier Peak, Baker, Shuksan, Twin Sisters, they’re all out. A surprisingly convenient viewpoint for so many peaks in the Cascades, so close to Seattle.

I started post-holing around the time the views opened up. On a regular, slow-moseying day, it might not have been an issue. But I didn’t have time for maneuvering, so I strapped on the snowshoes and continued on my merry way. I passed a young couple in casual shoes taking a break, hoping they were close to the top. Not quite yet, my friends. Someone once told me “20 minutes!” around that point and it took me another hour. That was this past summer, with an over-stuffed 60L backpack. I was a bit faster now. I was recognizing landmarks, too.

The weirdly skinny rock. The bamboo pole. The steps where Andy picked blueberries last time while Emma and Emilie and I jog-hiked to try and make sunset. And finally, the turn where you reach some boulders to scramble over in order to get to the summit. Which, turns out, is quite awkward in snowshoes. The two guys at the lookout heard me coming. Dragging my spikey snowshoes up the ladder and across the clear wooden lookout deck. Taking them off would take a few minutes I might not have if I wanted to safely get to work on time. It’s like wearing flippers on a pool deck, but more goofy and less fun. And louder. I looked down at these guys’ feet and what were they wearing? Vans. Freaking vans. And there I was in snowshoes. Hilarious contrast. Oh, and pouring sweat (don’t let that happen in winter folks), because for every 500 feet I gained in altitude it warmed up 10 degrees. I was down to base layers and even that was too much – I should have worn shorts and a t shirt.

I clomped over to the side of the lookout that gazed over the Sound, and for once, that view was more stunning than the mountains behind me. Most of the snow had melted, and the peaks didn’t look as imposing as they usually do. But the fog over the Sound, Rainier peaking out over the clouds, the Olympics in the distance, those were breathtaking. I handed my camera to one of the Vans kids and asked if he could snap a quick picture, and he nailed it. I thanked him and turned around to head back down, after spending probably five minutes up there. Oh, I did take a quick trip in to the lookout – it has maps of the peaks in every direction, and I had to know what the hell was poking up next to Baker. It had never occurred to me that there was another significant mountain in that direction. Twin Sisters! The south twin is just over 7,000ft, the north is around 6600ft, and there are several glaciers on the northeast slopes. That’s another idea I’ve had to come to terms with living out here. The fact that there are glaciers even on lower peaks. I always assumed it was something reserved for enormously tall mountains, not something I’d have to consider hiking to Three Fingers or scrambling Mt. Stuart.

I also learned that going down a ladder in snowshoes is awkward and difficult. But after that eight foot ladder, I high-tailed it down. I ran into the same couple I passed on the way up (almost there, for real!) and then into the two ladies I had passed first, who told me it had been below freezing at the trailhead and was mid 60’s near the top! They confirmed that it was an inversion day. Fantastic. I kept up my quick pace, made it back to shallow snow, took off the snowshoes, face planted, carried on. Back through the woods. Finally ran into a group of guys on their way up – “how much longer to the parking lot?” I asked. “Eh, maybe… 10 minutes? You’re pretty close.” Holy shit. That meant it had not even been an hour since I was at the top. Thrilled (I won’t be late to work! If I don’t hit traffic…) I assumed they had miscalculated. A few steps later, I saw a familiar looking shaggy white dog: it was Merritt, from when I hiked Mt. Dickerman back in December! I stopped to say hi to her owner and wish him a good hike. Turned out the group of guys had been right: ten minutes later, I was at the parking lot. Made it down in just over an hour.

I tossed everything in the car and drove home. No traffic, just in time for work. Oh, and “work” was taking someone’s dog for an hour run. Dinner was extra delicious that night.

Recommended to me for its fall foliage by one of my customers after I hiked Ingalls, I had to get this one out of the way before the snow hit (which happened yesterday!). I hadn’t been up to the Mountain Loop Highway since hiking Pilchuk with a few friends, so it was nice to get some fresh new views.Hiked 10/16/2014. The fall foliage was past its peak, and I was totally spoiled by the larches at Ingalls, but this was still beautiful. I’m slowly learning that I’m the peak-bagger type. Basins are nice, lakes are nice, but I really just want to be at the highest point possible.

• Distance: 9 miles (including the old road I think, or I could be a damn fast hiker)
• Elevation: 2840ft gain
• Weather: Sunny! 50’s, probably low 40’s at the top and bottom by the time I got down
• Commute from Seattle: 1:45, unless you get stuck in the parking lot that is I5 during rush hour
• Did I Trip: No, but to be fair I went down some rocks on my butt

Even from the road, you get pretty good views of the Monte Cristo peaks. That pic is from higher up the trail, but the sneak peak on the road just whets your appetite for views. Someone had written “trail run!” in the registry towards the beginning of the trail and I got all excited to run it, but the last few miles are un runnable. If they ran this… damn. Lots of muddy patches, rivers running down the trail, slick rocks to scramble over, obstacles on the trail, things like that. I’m impressed if they were serious.

You actually have to park on the side of the highway, near the Barlow Pass trailhead, and hike about a mile down an old road (blocked off by a sign covered in bullet holes) to reach the old trailhead. I’m impatient, so I ran that part plus everything to Sauk River, which is about half a mile past the toilet at the old trailhead. Crossing Sauk River was an experience. I couldn’t figure out a good way to rock/log hop, but being a Polack I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants, and waded across. From there, it starts gaining elevation steadily. Oh, did I mention that October is apparently orb spider season? Yeah. Eeuuuuugh. Bastards made webs all over the trails. As one hiker put it, if you aren’t careful, you’ll wear them like jewelery. I should add that yes, I ran the first mile and a half, but I did so while waving a long stick ahead of me to destroy their sticky ass webs before they reached my face.

There are plenty of waterfalls along the way to distract you, some tougher to cross than others. I got absolutely soaked at one, but hey, I was committed. Bring waterproof shoes! I have never been so thankful for my goretex Wildhorses. When I first got seeded for them last year I was unimpressed, but they’ve been beyond useful out here. Turns out Chicago just doesn’t have the right terrain to use them. The mud, the streams running down the trail, everything was soaking wet. It’s nice knowing you can submerge your foot and not suffer from it afterwards. Speaking of which, I need a fresh pair. They’re looking pretty nasty right about now. Still waterproof after a year of use, though!

Coming into the basin was a surprise. I thought I was still another mile or so away since I wasn’t sure whether the trail’s distance included the old road or not. The basin was still covered in green, with huge rock outcroppings and small lakes (more like ponds) everywhere. Social trails leading everywhere. I have no idea if I found foggy lake or another lake before it or what since there were so many. I would have loved to scramble  up to the ridge behind the basin, but it’s a class 2 scramble with a section that’s class 4 due to a washout(?) right now, not to mention I was alone and had to figure out just how stupid I wanted to be. So I stuck with the lower levels of the basin.

Here’s a pic of what I think is Foggy Lake. Small lake, surrounded by rocks and small plants. What’s crazy is that most of this basin is covered in snow all the way into late July. I was looking at pictures on wta.org and it looks like a completely different place. I’ll have to try it again next spring/early summer when I’ve got a little more avy experience.

Views were great, there were four snow capped peaks that I noticed. The only one I know for sure is the Monte Cristo bunch. There were two more to the left, one of which was mostly shrouded in clouds. Someone told me the one to the far left might be Sloan, but I don’t think so. No one I asked knew for sure. There was another one to the far right that you could only see if you were high up in the basin, so I imagine views from that ridge I couldn’t get to are amazing on a clear day.

The best self-timer pic I could get. Monte Cristos to the right, cloud-shrouded peak just to my left. I’ve got a few panoramas as well, but I never really like how they turn out, so you’re stuck with normal pictures. For once I had around half an hour to explore the basin in order to be back down by sunset. I hopped around some rocks, took some pics, found two ladies walking a dog, explored some old snow fields, and looked for lakes. I was way above the two ladies, and followed their voices to get down from where I was. So basically, they were having a great time with their dog, and I was following them from a distance like a creepy mountain goat. The were the ones who called me out for wearing trail running shoes. To be fair, my shoes were Nikes so they look very unimpressive and not technical at all, but at least they were waterproof trail runners. Anyway, they were the ones who inspired me to grab a pair of real hiking boots, which I did yesterday at REI’s garage sale. For $5. As in “five dollars.” Even if it turns out they’re flawed, they were five dollars.

Who made that cairn? That’s a sweet cairn with a sweet view. I tried building my own elsewhere in the basin but it didn’t work out as well. There might be some level of actual artistic talent involved. I’ll work on it. Anyway, the trail was a knee destroyer on the way down. Big steps, navigating those slippery rocks, decent amount of elevation lost in a short way down. When I got back to the Sauk River, I had caught up to another hiker, who had found a way across without wading. Guess I didn’t try hard enough the first time. But I followed his example (hands and feet across some logs and rocks) and it was easy enough. From there, it was just a matter of jogging through the surprisingly cold air back to my car. Glad to be back on flat ground for once. My knees weren’t prepared to deal with a full week of hiking.

In other news, it looks like rainy season has begun. The Olympics are covered in snow (I can see them from my apartment building) and word on the street is that Mt. Baker is supposed to get several feet of snow this weekend with snow levels dropping to around 4500ft. Mt. Baker actually holds the world record for most snow in one season, 95 feet exactly in the winter of 1998-1999. So it looks like any hikes that get even remotely high are about to have snow. I’ve got the goretex hiking boots, now I need some snowshoes and a good mountain winter education.

One last pic. Cute little stream coming out of a rock. Like a natural water fountain. No idea how that type of thing forms or how common it is, all I know is I’ve never seen one before. Maybe in a year when I’m more seasoned I’ll look back and laugh at some of the things I was excited about on my first few hikes.