Arrowhead Mountain Ski & Snowshoe

Posted on March 24, 2019 by evejakubowski

Looking out at the Chiwaukums

Finally hitting sunshine in the forest

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

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

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

Yes he’s wearing mostly cotton

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

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

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

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

Living the dream

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

Tell me that doesn’t look amazing

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

“This is the best apple of my life.”

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

SUMMIT

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

Looking out at Jim Hill Mountain

Rock Mountain, Howard Mountain

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

Starting out on great low angle powder

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

Carne Mountain

Posted on October 15, 2018 by evejakubowski

Brooke walking back down the ridge to Carne

Admiring floofs and larches

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

Looking in every direction

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

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

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

Fall foliage in the forest

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

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

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

THE BASIN [Homer Simpson drooling]

Buck over the larches

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

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

Drowning in larches

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

Maude and Icebox Ridge over larches

Buck over Carne Basin

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

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

Multicolored moss

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

Admiring them all over again

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

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

One more of that fall foliage

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

Jim Hill Mountain Ski Tour

Posted on March 31, 2018 by evejakubowski

Gaining the north ridge of Jim Hill

I think I can honestly say that this is the first trip I’ve had that was about the skiing and not the summit or the views or anything else. We debated many trips, but settled on Jim Hill, a peak I had heard about for years but never checked out. We saw it from Rock Mountain a month or so prior, and I had always kind of poo-pooed it thinking there were better things to do. But we needed a day trip, didn’t want to trailhead camp, did want sunny blue skies, and settled on the Stevens Pass area. Jim Hill it was. Skiied 3/25/2018.

Distance: 5ish miles?
Elevation Gain: 3400 (6400 highest point, we didn’t summit)
Weather: 40’s and sunny, 40’s and cloudy, 30’s and snowing
Commute from Seattle: 2hrs without traffic
Did I Trip: Some backsliding while skinning but no faceplants or tumbles

Lanham Lake

We arrived at the trail around 8. Problem was, we had planned on starting up via Henry Creek, but couldn’t find parking anywhere and I was too lazy to figure it out so we just parked at the Stevens Pass Nordic Center and went up via Lanham Lake. Lanham Lake is a popular snowshoe, and we made quick work of the 1.5 miles to the lake. I stubbornly left my heel risers down as long as possible before finally caving and putting them up, only to have the trail flatten out. So I walked in basically high heels for another few minutes before putting them down, only to encounter another hill around the corner. I grumbled and put them back up again as Robert sang Jack Black parody songs behind me.

Almost at the ridge!!

At the lake, we crossed the outlet stream to the east and started switchbacking up through the woods. It was a surprisingly steep skin trail. Whoever was ahead of us had great balance, or just determination, because it was a few inches of fresh snow on top of an icy crust. I was hoping the other side would be a nicer ski out, because I knew immediately I wouldn’t have fun skiing the trees down to Lanham Lake.

Robert coming up the ridge

We got sneak peeks of the views to the south as the trees opened up, and finally I saw blue sky ahead! And rays of sun! Yes!! I whooped as I gained the ridge and broke out into snow covered trees and spectacular blue sky all lit up by the sun with the open slopes and glades below Jim Hill begging to be skiied. Oh my god. Robert hurry up. Look what we can do. I relented and agreed to have a snack, I can’t run on stoke and pride forever.

Weather moving in

We followed the skin track up the ridge. To my dismay, weather was already moving in. We knew it was coming, but it wasn’t supposed to get cloudy until 11am, and no snow until the afternoon! Yet here was a wall of precip coming towards us. Ah, shit. Visibility deteriorated, I decided I didn’t want to tag the true summit because it was steeper than I had expected and the northwest slopes felt totally windloaded. We decided to ski back the way we came, and once we hit the ridge we’d drop into the north basin and ski out via Henry Creek.

Visibility didn’t get too bad!

We transitioned to downhill mode and dropped onto the softest, lightest, most glorious powder I have EVER skiied. My sample size is small, but these were easily the best backcountry conditions I had ever seen. We carved two feet of powder, maybe more, whooping and hollering the whole way. It was an absolute dream. We went one at a time to be sure we liked the snowpack, and damn it was perfect. We came to a stop near another party, who was going back up for more. One more? Worth the hike? Hell yes!

Neat textures up high

Since visibility hadn’t gotten as bad as we expected, we skinned right back up for round two. It almost got sunny (“partly sunny” is often how these days are described even though you’re mostly looking at the inside of a ping pong ball) but the light never got too flat. This time we started higher up and earned ourselves an extra 200ish feet of turns, and it was worth it so many times over. I dropped in first knowing Robert would catch up and we could just party run it (everyone at once instead of one at a time). This time we kept going to the bottom. From wide open alpine slopes to open glade skiing threading the needle between sparse trees to slightly more dense trees I mean seriously I wish this run had gone on forever. We finally hit the only patch of bad snow, which was sloppy grabby crust that I did not enjoy. But I still made it through without booting it.

Robert shredding the north bowl. Two tickets to pow town!

One more with moody clouds

And from there, we had some survival skiing (slide slipping on ice, dodging thicker trees, the works), some split-board-skiing (Robert’s actually quite good at it), some forest road cruising (soft and enjoyable), and a short highway walk (sorry mom) and we were back at the car just as it started to snow and visibility was officially shot. So on one hand, we had awesome timing. But on the other hand… we definitely could have gotten in a few more laps, and right now sitting on my couch I wish I was back up there. The sound of skis slicing through champagne powder is like the sound of rain on a tin roof. There’s just something soothing about it.

Union & Jove Peaks Ski Tour

Posted on February 20, 2018 by evejakubowski

JT with Union in the background

Another beautiful sunny day, another almost-too-mellow ski tour. I got up at 5:29 to beat everyone to the bathroom before our 5:30 alarm went off, turned on all the lights, and stomped around enough that the others grumbled and got moving. We kind of had “meh” feelings about our objective, but I couldn’t convinced anyone on the badassery of the the Chiwaukums and we were feeling sorta lazy anyway. And Arrowhead and Tye Peaks seemed underwhelming after Rock Mountain the prior day. So we had a twofer, Uion & Jove Peaks, dug up from the OG hike list I pulled together when I first moved here. Skied 2/11/2018.

Distance: 10 miles round trip
Elevation Gain: 4,000ft of gain (Jove is 6,007ft, Union is 5,696ft)
Weather: 30’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2hours (~7 hours on the way back)
Did I Trip: No trips but plenty of postholing/ski wipeouts/falling and getting skis stuck/you know how it is in the backcountry
GPX: Basically this from Peakbagger

Our trip the prior day, Mastiff and Rock Mountain

We schlepped our asses out of the hotel around 6:15am since it was only a short drive to Stevens Pass. We looked up quick breakfast options and no diners were open, which was totally okay with me because I just want to grab some almonds and hit the trails. I am not a patient person especially when it comes to a rare sunny winter day. We settled for a gas station with the worst tea selection in the state of Washington, but it’s kind of unfair for me to expect gas stations to really crush the tea game. Though I hear they also had no snickers bars, which is an egregious oversight.

We reached Smithbrook Road around 8 and started skinning. Or I started skinning, because my extremities were already MIA and why be uncomfortable when you can start walking and just… not be uncomfortable? Usually it’s only a problem ice climbing or rock climbing in the cold, but this winter I have found myself very prone to the “screaming barfies,” even at silly places like ski resorts and trailheads. The screamin’ barfies are when your hands are numb and the circulation finally returns (which is why it’s common ice climbing) and it’s nauseatingly painful, so you want to scream and barf simultaneously and maybe cry a bit too. So I am slowly trying to figure out how to mediate that. For what it’s worth, I have yet to actually vomit.

Why go around when you could go up?

We knew we had a lovely 2.7ish miles of road (ughhhhh) before the turn off. I figured since snow was so consolidated, we’d get to the hairpin turn where you take off for Lake Valhalla/Mt McCausland and head straight up through the trees to hit the ridge to Union. The alternative, a more mellow but longer route, is to follow the road to the hairpin on the east end, and gain the ridge from there, effectively paralleling the road all the way back to that first switchback where we left.

Walking the ridge to Union’s summit

Once in the trees, it was apparent pretty quickly that we’d be faster and happier booting it instead of trying to skin what was basically ice. We made quick work up to the ridge (honestly the toughest part of the whole day), snow getting softer as soon as we broke into the sun. We had snacks and met up with Kristen and Robert, who decided they’d chill on Union Peak while JT and I ran over to Jove. I mean, look at that south face. Bulletproof snowpack, plenty of time, and an estimated 1,400ft of vertical on a mostly open slope that would hopefully be spring corn by the time we reached it.

Looking along the ridge to Jove

So we turned on some music (sorry WHC, but no one else was up there so… something about a tree falling and no one being there to hear it so did it even actually make noise?) and followed the broad, mellow ridge to the true summit of Union, where we skied some low angle runnels, which was good practice for me. Unfortunately we had not quite made it to the ridge, and we could either walk back up to the summit to go further west or downclimb a steep frozen gully. We started downclimbing until I realized we were making this unnecessarily difficult, so we bailed on the gulley and walked up and over Union and found the correct ridge, which is a very mellow easy walk. We quickly dropped down to saddle and started regaining elevation up the ridge up to Jove’s summit.

Monte Cristos, Sloan, Pugh, and White Chuck from Jove’s summit

The ridge is forested on the west but open on the southeast, so you get little glimpses of the terrain around you as you weave through the trees and we got more and more excited with every step towards the top. I freaking love these days. It’s a playground for adults and there I was chasing JT up through the trees so we could play in the snow and work doesn’t matter and money doesn’t matter and whatever was stressing you out was left at the parking lot because the only thing that matters is right now and look where we are. I started debating whether I’d try to ski the south face or not. On one hand, it doesn’t look that steep. On the other hand, it’s not worth wiping out here. I could just boot back town the ridge and meet JT at the saddle. But that’s lame, and then you carried these skis here for nothing. As usual. Fuck it, let’s just try it. Worst case you pop em off and walk to where you can ski again. And spring corn is basically a groomer. You’ll be fine.

Living the dream, baby!

We got to the summit and had a quick snack break. I took some of JT’s water because mine was buried and I was too lazy to dig it out of my pack. We snapped a bunch of pictures and I booted down to where I wanted to get a pic of JT, who dropped in to ski first. After snapping a few dope photos, I clicked into my own skis, got in a few wobbly turns, and then the snow turned from soft corn to crust. And I got spooked. I stopped and stood and deliberated for a few minutes before booting it to what I thought was more mellow terrain, but turned out to just be icier terrain. Welp, classic Eve trip, just no one was there to get pictures of me carrying my skis.

Heading back up to Union

Luckily, crust meant it was easy to boot down, and it didn’t take too long to get to the mellow terrain that (albeit still icy) was skiiable for me. I put the skis back on and caught up (down?) to JT and we trekked back up to Union where Robert and Kristen were waiting. The ~400ft elevation loss from Union to the saddle is really not bad at all, and we were back on Union’s summit much more quickly than I expected.

We followed the ridge back east to where we had met it, but instead of dropping down into the trees, we went slightly further east and dropped directly to the road. The snow was soft but the slope is covered in trees and I’m a wimp so I booted it (again) and then flipped the skis horizontally on my pack (stop judging me) to glissade the rest of the way. Yeah it’s ridiculous but you know what it’s faster and easier than postholing even if I look absurd. And someday I’ll be a real skiier and it’ll be even more hilarious telling the epics of how I learned to ski.*

Looking back at the gullies on Union

The road back was a miserable ski. Totally chewed up by snowmobiles and skis and snowshoes and people postholing and then completely frozen over. I ended up just walking that too, while Kristen (yay!) kept me company and we let the guys have dude time doing whatever dudes do. We made it back within daylight (dammit, should have tagged Lichtenberg too) only to hit terrible-average-0.5-mph style traffic on highway 2. Eventually we just drove in the left lane since we were like a quarter mile from Mountain View Diner, but it was supposed to take us 9 minutes or something outrageous like that. Mountain View Diner was once again out of Banana Cream Pie (I’ve heard so much about it) so we settled for a dreamy slice of Peanut Butter Chocolate Mousse pie. And tea. So much tea. Really redeemed my tea game that day after the gas station fail that morning.

JT and Kristen excited to ski off the ridge

This weekend started with low expectations (late start, plan B peaks, I still can’t ski, blah blah blah) and blew every hope I had totally out of the water. Union and Jove are an awesome duo for a sunny day, and that southeast face of Jove is a spectacular ski. If only we had waited for it to soften up a bit more. With the right conditions, it’s also very quick travel to get there, despite the mind numbing 2.7 miles of Smithbrook Road. Bring a snowmobile. I swear those miles are worth it. You could also add on McCausland and Lichtenberg on the way back and pop out closer to the highway saving you some miles of forest road. Or you could go further north and traverse over to Labyrinth peak, which would make it a sweet full day trip or maybe even a solid overnight. Union & Jove alone are like a half day trip, we failed to utilize all of the hours of daylight so I’d recommend adding a bit more terrain to your plan. So many ideas so few sunny weekends!

JT and Robert heading back along Union’s ridge

*Or how I didn’t learn to ski, because really you should get good in resorts before going to backcountry. You don’t learn to ski efficiently when you boot for hours just for a couple hundred feet of vert.

Rock Mountain Ski Tour

Posted on February 12, 2018 by evejakubowski

JT coming up the final ridge

The first mellow ridge

Also known as “A Great Reminder That I Don’t Actually Know How To Ski.” But eff it, I’m sure as hell gonna try. Day one of a two-day Stevens Pass extravaganza, we bailed on our Plan A (late start, questionable forest road conditions) and drove towards Stevens Pass from Leavenworth trying to brainstorm ideas that didn’t involve 3 miles of road walking. And then Robert and JT spotted a peak off the highway. “What is that? What peak is that? Look up what that is. We should go up to that bowl. LOOK at that white skiiable bowl.” “Uhhhh I think that’s Rock Mountain. Yeah we could do Rock Mountain, it’s part of a good ski traverse.” I groaned because I had done Rock Mountain in fall and wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to go back. But it’s supposed to be a good ski. “Is there a road walk?” “Maybe like a quarter mile of road?” “But look at that snow up there. So many lines.” “We could even bag extra peaks on the traverse!” “Guys should we do Rock Mountain? Guys look at that white bowl up high.” “Where’s the trailhead? That’s the trailhead!?” “Yep no WAIT AHH TURN AROUND we’re doing Rock Mountain.” And so, we skiied Rock Mountain on 2/10/2018.

Distance: 11mi round trip
Elevation gain: 4,175ft (6,800 highest point)
Weather: 30’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:00 if you don’t take 520 because you’re cheap
Did I Trip: Wiped out skiing, postholed a bunch. The usual. I don’t think JT wiped out a single time. Also the usual.
GPX: Roughly this from peakbagger

Where’s Waldo? Rob fights through trees

We got started up just after 9am. The road was skinnable (the road is like a 15 minute section, not even) but once you hit the turn off for the real trail we had to pack the skis because the snow was patchy and thin and still mostly frozen, especially in the trees. This was okay with me, because you know how good I am at skiing (not good). Guys I’m going to warn you now that there are way more photos than words in this blog post, because I couldn’t stop taking pictures. It was. Freaking. Gorgeous.

Skinning towards the false summit

It’s February, right? I thought we’d be freezing so I started out in a puffy, a sweater, and an expedidtion weight baselayer. Within the first hour we stopped probably three times to delayer. It was a casual day and JT and I had not paid attention to layers and I was sweating balls within a half hour. “Be Bold Start Cold” only applies on serious trips. I’m going for comfort on mellow days. I will start warm and de layer as necessary. Robert, on the other hand, totally nailed it and I don’t think changed even once.

Rime!

Arrowhead Mountain looked enormous across the highway as we gained elevation through sparse trees. Man, we should do that one someday. That’s the best part of starting near the passes, you start high and often don’t have to spend much time in the forest. Alternatively, you can do a hike off highway 20, where you’ll gain like 4,000ft of elevation before breaking above the trees. Yuck.

Another group breaking trail

I wouldn’t tell Robert or JT how far we were the first few times I checked the map, because we were making hilariously slow progress. To the point where I wasn’t sure we’d make the summit. The first 2,200ft of elevation gain are straight up in the first ~1 mile or so, and then you break out onto a narrow but mellow southeast ridge winding between trees with sneak peeks of the false and true summits of Rock Mountain and Mount Mastiff. The texture of the surrounding ridgelines with cornices and steep fluted snow through trees was unreal. You could see an old slab avalanche crown, and debris where cornices had collapsed in the bowls in the distance. The snow up here was an inch of windblown powder sparkling on top of crust, and it was easy skinning as we broke above tree line and realized just how close to the summit we actually were.

Robert skirting cornices and rime-frosted bushes along the final ridge

Looking back at the true summit from the ridge

I go crazy once we’re above tree line. Below the trees I’m steady, maybe even slow and ~~bitchy~~ grumpy. But then we break out into the alpine and everything is right with the world and everything is beautiful and look where we are and everything is amazing and that’s how this was. I wanted to touch everything. Run everywhere. I wanted to traverse the whole ridge. You can traverse over to Mastiff and Howard and oh man we should have gone faster through the forest we could totally tag all of these or what if we had camped up here what were we thinking!! But we wanted to be back down in time to meet Kristen for Saturday dinner and Sunday adventure, so we just focused on Rock Mountain. And remember Arrowhead Mountain looking so imposing on the way up? Now we were looking down on it.

Glacier Peak looking like its glaciers aren’t dying

We skinned up mellow rolling hills gazing up an an east-oriented ridge that would take us to the final south ridge to the summit. I thought I remembered that what we were looking at was actually the false summit but didn’t say anything until we were already on our way up it. The trees were covered in rime ice and the hoar frost was sparkling and the varying snow textures against blue sky were just outrageous. JT skiied back down to Robert to see if he wanted to summit (yes, with a disclaimer of “but everything hurts and I hate this sport and whose idea was this”) and we took off for the final ridge. I was bummed to not be the ones breaking trail up through the pristine snow, but it was nice to save some energy for the miserable posthole down. I stashed the skis knowing I had no chance of skiing the steeper snow still icy in the shade, plus everyone was booting up anyway so there was already a staircase built into the face. “Eve, you forgot something!” Rob shouted up to me. “You wanna carry them up here?!” I laughed. He wasn’t gonna bring them up. And if he did, I’d just insist on a classic Eve shot of me carrying my skis down instead of the other way around.

Looking NW at Mastiff and Howard

We crested the south ridge and gazed along cornices to the true summit. I jogged to catch up with JT after snapping a few pictures of the otherworldly rime-covered bushes dotting the southwest face of the ridge. Some of the cornices were cracking, but they weren’t huge and the snow had been bulletproof thus far. I did punch through into a sneaky tree well (bush well?) on my way along the ridge, happily jogging until BAM facedown, dumbass. It’s amazing how this was such an easy, normal hike in the fall, yet in winter it turns into a beautiful fluted alpine-feeling objective. We reached the summit and I took 5.62486*10^11 photos of our surroundings. Panoramextravaganza Part II, I didn’t know which direction would make the best pano and obviously none of the photos will ever do it justice. But after months of being cooped up inside, running in the rain, skiing at resorts, driving all the way to the Yakima grasslansd and canyons for sunshine… oh man, days like this make it all worth it. Why do we do it!? For the views!

The other party on their way down

We high fived, had snacks, someone peed off the top (hint: not me), and JT clicked into his skis to practice his rime technique while Rob and I booted back to the false summit. We lamented the addiction to mountaineering, skiing, climbing, the alpine, whatever you want to call it. I love every second of it and was on top of the world. But that’s not always how it is. Sometimes you’re getting out because you have to, not because you’re loving it. But this weekend for me was like a Ruth’s Chris steak dinner. Every piece was delicious and I want to relive every second.

I booted partway down the slope to get sweet pics of my more capable friends, Rob set up his splitboard in under an hour which was a new splitboard transition world record, and we were off! Or, they were off. I got dope photos, walked back to my skis, and skiied the like 4 degree incline back to the ridge where I immediately got spooked by the double-sided-drop and trees. I can dodge a drop, I can dodge trees, but dodging trees AND a drop…. ahhh that’s asking a lot. So instead, I chose postholes and shin bruises and glissading like a boss.

Robert boarding down below Rock Peak

JT on the low ridge, Chiwaukums back left

And by glissading like a “boss,” I mean “~~pathetic~~ endearing nerd trying to keep up with the cool kids.” I didn’t get too far behind, turns out JT and Robert are patient people which I appreciate. We made it back to the car in around 2.5 hours (took us 5 hours car to summit). JT skiied all the way back to the highway. Robert boarded until maybe the last 800 vertical feet. Like I said, I postholed, stumbled, jogged, and eventually gave up and strapped my skis horizontally on my pack and used my ass to transport me the rest of the way down managing to not clothesline anyone (or myself) with my horizontal skis.

Cornices and shadows in front of the Chiwaukums

Rock Mountain is an amazing ski. You gotta get up there. Snowshoers supposedly do it too, but the only snowshoe tracks we saw only made it like 1,000ft up before bailing. It’s really not that bad especially if the snow is crisp in the morning and you can boot up quickly, I imagine it’s more of a pain in the ass when it’s soft. But wow, we’ll definitely be back to this area. I want to get the full traverse. JT and Robert want to ski/board the steeper gullies leading back to the road. JT could ski through those rime-wrapped bushes on the west face of the south ridge, ahhh. It’s a playground for adults. You could camp up there and just do laps in that bowl all day.

Share what you live for, right? Well I live for days like these. I’ll holy out through ~~months~~ weeks of rain for one weekend like this. Doesn’t matter that I can’t ski it all yet, I’ll get there. And in the meantime, I’ll take pictures of my bad ass friends doing bad ass things. Awesome day, guys. Can’t wait to go back for the rest of that traverse. And for those Chiwaukums taunting us in the background.

One more of that freaking ridiculous ridge. Chiwaukums back left, Stuart just barely peeking out behind them.

Lakes Dorothy, Bear, Deer, and Snoqualmie

Posted on September 10, 2017 by evejakubowski

The far end of Lake Dorothy, neat channels underwater

Catching up on old posts, and since this is a rainy day one it’ll be a quickie. I had donated blood the previous afternoon, so I ignored all hiking/climbing requests to do my own thing in case it was similar to the last time I donated blood. Last time I thought it would be smart to hike to Lake Serene, and I was pouring sweat with a heart rate of like 180 and miserable the entire time and I did not want a repeat of that. So I surveyed the population for “boring lake hikes.” The lakes can be nice, but I don’t want any tempting peaks behind them, no scrambling, no elevation gain, a well maintained obvious trail, relatively short drive, you get the idea. Hiked 9/9/2017.

Distance: 14 miles
Elevation: 1600ft gain, 3600ft highest point (warning: you lose 500ft elevation to Snoqualmie Lake)
Weather: 50’s and rainy
Commute from Seattle: 2 hours
Did I Trip: No. Who’s well grounded!?

Your first glimpse of Lake Dorothy

And I settled on lakes Dorothy, Bear, and Deer. I figured if I felt crappy I could turn around at any of those lakes. I got to the trailhead around 10am and started off, immediately being passed by two trail runners. I was jealous. Then I cruised past some park rangers, one of whom dated my friend last year (I’m awkward and announced him as such) and prayed they didn’t give me a ticket for my expired America the Beautiful pass. Lake Dorothy is about 1.5 miles down the trail, but the lake is HUGE. Tons of campsites, great for families with kids and inflatable boats and towels and big stoves.

Closest thing I had to a view all day

It took what felt like forever to get to the other end of the lake. You finally hit some elevation gain on the far side, and switch back up a short ridge that eventually drops you to Bear and Deer lakes, which are twin lakes! There are more campsites at each lake (immediately off the trail), and you can either stop here or continue to Snoqualmie Lake.

Beautifully maintained trail

I had all day and was moving faster than I thought, so I figured I’d carry on. I also expected there to be a turnaround destination here, which there wasn’t, and continuing trail is just so tempting. I lost what felt like a ton of elevation dropping to Snoqualmie Lake, which interestingly had some sandy shores. There are campsites here, my personal favorite (which I deemed my turnaround spot) was actually just off the main trail to the right towards a beautiful surprise tarn. So that’s where you should camp if you don’t mind a 7 mile hike.

Local riff raff

Figuring it wasn’t going to get any more interesting from there and looking forward to a warm cozy dinner, I turned around and high tailed it back to the parking lot. I did not get a ticket from a lack of pass, thank you rangers! I had actually called their building on the way hoping to get a pass but it was close, so I swear I had tried. And I finally got the new pass a week, don’t worry. I know, I know, I live on the edge.

Favorite tarn by Snoqualmie Lake

Overall, pleasant hike, good destination for anyone who wants lake camping with kids or a long trail run. The trail continues beyond Snoqualmie Lake all the way to Middle Fork Snoqualmie River (I’m pretty sure those two trail runners started at Middle Fork, ran to the Dorothy trailhead, and then ran back to Middle Fork), so you could have a fantastic out and back or even car to car trail run on a mellow, well maintained trail if you so desired. Just don’t donate blood the day before. Good for hot summer days (lakes!) or gross rainy days (…lakes!) or lazy days (flat trails, and… lakes!) since you can turn around at any number of destinations.

Luxurious campsite near the tarn

Rock Mountain & Rock Lake via Snowy Creek

Posted on September 22, 2016 by evejakubowski

Rock lake from the ridge to Rock Mountain

Could you have a more genetic name for a peak? It’s like “Blue Lake” or “Round Lake” or “Mount Peak” (okay, the last one’s kind of funny, and in their defense, it was “Mount Pete” until a bunch of people screwed it up). And Rock Lake is kind of an oxymoron, it’s like naming a peak Water Peak. You can’t have a lake of rocks. It’d be weird. Anyway, enough Monday morning ramblings. Back after a few weeks without any new trails or climbs since Torment/Forbidden! Here are the stats.

Distance: ~11 miles

Elevation: 3600ft

Weather: 50’s and foggy, eventually sunny

Commute from Seattle: 2 hours

Did I Trip: No but (spoiler alert) I peed on a wasp nest and you can imagine how that went

Starting out in forest

We were originally planning on Lake Edna at my insistence (and I fantasized about tacking on some cragging since we’d be right off Icicle Creek Road), but decided halfway there that weather looked okay around Stevens Pass and we settled on Rock Peak, which Chelsea found on wta’s Hike Finder Map. My expectations were low. It was just a hike, pictures I had seen were mediocre, and I had wanted the alpine feel above tree line that I don’t trust Route 2 to deliver. But driving 2 hours instead of almost 3 was enticing, and I didn’t want to push it, so Rock Mountain it is! We decided to approach via the Snowy Creek Trail, which was a shorter and less steep(!) trail compared to the Rock Lake approach. We weren’t planning on a lake. In fact I didn’t even realize there was a lake there.

Fall foliage (credit: Chelsea)

The trailhead is 15-20 minutes past the Lake Valhalla trailhead, over a lower, lesser known Rainy Pass. My car got a wash scraping past all of the dewey slide alder hanging over the forest road. I hope you don’t care too much about your paint job. Amazingly, mine stayed mostly intact. We pulled over at the trailhead next to a car with a bumper sticker informing us that we should EAT MORE KALE! I’m working on enjoying salads and I’ve made a lot of progress in the last few months, but kale is… kale is still gross. Bleck.

The meadow! Hope those clouds clear

I wondered at where the rest of the road went, and we started hiking. It was wet at first, the past day had been pouring rain and everything was still wet. Rocking my yoga pants (yup), I wasn’t thrilled about the dew. Luckily the overgrown trail didn’t last long though, and soon enough we were in the woods. There’s a trail split with a sign a little over a mile in, and while I couldn’t entirely tell which way the signs were pointing, I can tell you that if you want the quickest way to Rock Mountain, keep going straight.

Fiery red plants. No idea what these are

We were soon dumped into a meadow full of brilliantly red plants and yellow grasses. It’s fall! Fuck, it’s fall. I started snapping pictures. The meadow is a tease, while you can see the ridge you’re aiming for across open grassy slopes, the trail dips back into the forest and starts to switchback up. Around the third southeastern switchback there is a wasp nest. We’ll return to that in a few hours. Also, some species of plant up there smells like poop. I suggested that it might literally be poop, but Chelsea wasn’t convinced. There can’t be that much poop around.

I believe that is Labyrinth Mountain… I could be wrong

Switchbacks usually annoy me, but not here. They were short and mellow, and gorgeous once you hit the grassy slopes. Up and up with surprisingly good views (Minotaur Lake and Labyrinth Peak look awesome!) and easy traveling with a party of two (the kale fans!) below us for scale, and eventually we hit the ridge, where the trail goes in both directions. Head right to get to the summit of Rock Mountain.

This is what the inside of a ping pong ball looks like, if it has a peak and a cairn

From the flattish ridge you can look down on Rock Lake, which was a surprise to me since I didn’t know it was coming. It’s surprisingly pretty, especially with the fall foliage all around it. The ridge heading east from Rock Mountain might qualify as dramatic too, sharp steep rock stark against the sky and the rolling hills of Route 2. Anyway, we went left to hit the summit, and just our luck: socked in at the top. Inside of a ping pong ball. We took a few great summit selfies and decided to head down since it was chilly in the wind. On the way down, the cloud(s) blew through, and everything was back in view. Hey, we got up here in 2 hours, want to head down to the lake? Hell yes! Chelsea’s awesome.

The best of the summit selfies (“where’s your nose guard?!”)

Heading to the more colorful end of the ridge

We went to the opposite end of the ridge where the trail switchbacked down the opposite side we had come up, through some ridiculously red foliage. We moved quickly, until “HUCKLEBERRIES!!!!!” I looked at my feet. Huckleberries everywhere! Holy shit I forgot about berries! We started double fisting berries left and right, someone has to starve out the bears right? We finally continued down to the lake, laughing at our purple faces and hands. Worth it.

Huckleberries!!! Go go go go go!

We arrived at the lake and set up to have snacks. I ran over to the side to attempt to get a picture with lake and fall foliage. We feasted on baked goods from Sultan Bakery, cheese, crackers, and happy corn mixed with chocolate covered pretzels which was a surprisingly delicious combo (and paired well with the surprisingly pretty lake). Eventually we knew we had to head back up, and stood back up ready to fight off the lactic acid in our legs. Ugh. And I had to pee, but wasn’t going to do it near running water, since I’m the idiot who often ends up drinking from that water.

Fall huckleberries! I considered filling a bag but realized none actually would make it into the bag.

Heading up was frequently interrupted by more photo breaks, more blueberries I MEAN HUCKLEBERRIES (Chelsea feels strongly about this: blueberries are east coast, huckleberries are west coast, get it right), debates over what was a squirrel and what was a chipmunk, and a family of very brave ptarmigans that didn’t give a shit about us. Back at the ridge we took one last look at the views and headed back down the switchbacks, hitting forest before we knew it. We stopped to delayer, and I remembered that I had to pee.

So I ducked behind a tree slightly below the trail, just next to the meadow. I heard the low hum of wasps, reminiscent of our beehives back in Boston. Ha, it’d be funny if you peed on a wasps’ nest. I looked around. No wasps, just a fat fly being a pest. I pulled up my leggings and walked off. It took about six steps before I felt the pinching all over my legs. Fuck. Definitely bees. I shot towards Chelsea, hopping on one foot while crushing bees with my bare hands. “Shit!!! Bees!” My fingernails were full of wasp gunk. Good thing I didn’t cut my nails MOM. “Chelsea!! Are there any left on my legs?! Tell me if there are any left on my legs!!” My three layers of windbreaker, sweater, and shirt were too powerful for wasps to break through. But my yoga pants were no match. My legs were toast.

Rock Lake

“You aren’t allergic right?” Chelsea asked, being responsible. “No, they’ll just get itchy and puffy and I’ll whine about it” I said. “Are you sure? Because one time someone told me they weren’t allergic and they ended up being very allergic.” I mean I don’t know I haven’t been stung by a bee since like middle school but it was never that bad? We’ll find out. I hobbled down the trail. The meadow wasn’t as impressive the second time around, either because we had seen so much better on the ridge or maybe because my brain was full of wasp venom.

Looking back across the lake at our snack spot, bottom right, and Rock Mountain, center right

The rest of the hike was less eventful. Neither of us tripped (Chelsea’s nimble, I just got lucky and paid my dues in wasp stings instead of stubbed toes and facefuls of dirt). We passed the kale fans on the way back, who were surprised to see us coming from behind. I was too happy to be back at the car where I could lay off the legs.

Oh, this gets to the other interesting part! We’re driving just past the Valhalla trailhead on the way down, and Chelsea starts gasping and pointing. Speechless. I look where she’s pointing and slowly brake the car. A huge. Fucking. Tree. Is slowly falling across the road. The entire thing was in slow motion, and it didn’t make a sound, it didn’t shake the ground, it’s like the whole world was suspended watching this monster snap and tip.

Timber! Chelsea for scale.

I was stopped in the middle of the road. Who gives a shit? We walked towards the tree. I don’t have tow straps, or a saw. I have straps that I use with my roof rack, we could try using those as tow straps? Or maybe with enough people we could roll it? Or, it’s soft enough maybe we can chip away enough to just make a ramp and drive over it. Everyone was brainstorming immediate ideas. The man in the truck behind us tried levering it with another branch. It wouldn’t budge, even with all of us.

Amazingly, at that instant, here comes a decked out pick up truck in the other direction. This guy’s gotta have something. He hops out of the car. “I have tow straps! We can move this.” Woo! He loops the straps around the log just beneath a knot so it doesn’t slip off, turns on the 4wd, and beautifully pulls the log out of the way. No hesitation, no directions needed, smooth as butter. The woman with him laughed. “This is probably making his day. He’s loving this.” I get it, I would too. Hell I’m proud just jumping other people’s dead batteries, wait until I tow someone.

MVP making sure we got home before dark and still had time to stop for dinner!

We all cheered after he moved it. We hopped back in the car. I was weirdly shaken, if I didn’t drive like a granny we could have been right under it when it fell. It’s unnerving seeing something so massive just topple like that without any wind or outside influence, it turns out it’s just dead on the inside and no one knew.

Happy to be back on hte highway where no trees could fall on me, we sped along Highway 2 and stopped at a Vietnamese fusion place for dinner. They had this amazing lychee drink, it’s worth stopping there just for that. I got a burger with guac and bacon, and it was delicious. Post hike/climb/falling tree survival meals are always amazing. I had even forgotten about my legs. I woke up the next morning and it looked like I had been peppered with paintballs from ass down, and my right eye (only my right eye) was swollen. Cool, let’s go crush it in society. Where are my sunglasses, and can I wear them indoors?

Update: Bee stings have turned purple. Either I have scratched them to the point of bruising (possible), or I am dying.

Looking back up at Rock Mountain and its rocky arm from the ridge

Mount Baring: When Turning Around is Still Awesome

Posted on March 28, 2016 by evejakubowski

Baring’s true summit on the left

We all have to turn around on some hikes and climbs, that’s just life. You underestimated time or overestimated your speed, or conditions were worse than expected, or weather took a turn for the worse or the sun heated those avvy slopes a little too much. Or maybe there was just too much horse poop and spiderwebs and you said fuck it and bailed. Wait, who did that? ~~It wasn’t me~~ ok, it was me, shut up.

Two weeks ago, I took a vacation day from work (anyone who knows me understands the personal sacrifice right there, I ration vacation days like Seattle rations its sunshine) only to be turned around by time constraints on Colonial Peak, despite what I’d consider to be perfect conditions. Perfect meaning temperatures in the low teens, low avvy danger, great views, and a deep, empowering satisfaction with my ability to plow through powder mindlessly for hours on end without hating everyone and everything despite the 55lb pack on my back and the skis awkwardly extending 2ft above my head.

So the following weekend, I lowered the bar and set my sights on Mount Baring. Without skis. John and Rob had talked about how amazing it was and it had been on my winter list for a day hike, and Saturday’s forecast was “partly sunny” so I thought great, let’s see if we can get a crew together. Cue Simon, Kacie, and Cheryl all being ready with ~18 hours notice. You guys are awesome. I packed my bag at 5:30am.

Distance: ~6 miles round trip
Elevation Gain: 3700ft
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 1:30
Did I Trip (/slip/posthole): The real question is “what’s the farthest you got without tripping” and the answer is “three steps.”

Steep forest, already hitting snow

We met at Sultan Bakery at 7. I rushed everyone out knowing we were in for a 10+ hour day, and we got started from the trailhead at 9:15am, a much later start than in my dream world. Everything in my dream world starts at like 5am because I’m too impatient and don’t like waiting for life to happen. “Does anyone have a blue bag?” Kacie asked. I had a stash of them in my car, with some Immodium as the alternative. Pick your favorite!

The trail starts on the abandoned road behind the outhouse at the trailhead. Go down the road a few hundred feet, and you’ll see the trail heading straight up the slope to the right where a small creek crosses the road. It’s marked with a large cairn that looks just like a large pile of rocks. I honestly didn’t notice it until the way down, but the orange blazes were a good hint.

I admire a cool snow formation while Kacie fights a butt-deep posthole

We started up the steep slope, and 10 feet up, Kacie says “Wait. I can’t find my water.” Uh, okay. “Is it because you forgot your water?” We laughed. “No, I filled it I swear!” She never did find her water, only an empty camelback, which she filled up in the small stream. The water will forever be a mystery. It wasn’t all over my trunk, at least. I think she forgot it.

The trail goes up, and up, and up. We hit snow almost immediately. There are a few fixed lines through some scrambly sections, but none felt necessary and they’re looking a little old so test them well before use. We did use one on the way down above what was a legitimate class 3 scramble move, covered in ice and moss and running water. Brutal combo.

And some more steep forest snow

The trail up to the ridge is very well blazed already with orange tape, which was helpful. But the gist is “head straight up, stay to the right of the gulley, drop into the gulley for the last few hundred vertical feet, and suddenly you’ll be on a ridge.” We had ~~some~~ a shit-ton (is that metric?) of postholing, some root scrambling, some surprisingly legit rock scrambling, and plenty of crawling over and under downed trees. Simon took a chunk of ice to the head – the trees were shedding their snow and ice in the warm temperatures, and we all heard the thunk, followed by a string of expletives. I donned my hat for protection.

Flat section of the ridge, gorgeous forest

It was very slow going up to the ridge, but the terrain flattens out for maybe a half mile once you’re up there. The forest was gorgeous in the sun, and the ridge was very knifey for a forested ridge, which I thought was so neat. It was a winter wonderland, with the sun lighting up the moss on the trees and snow all over the ground. At this point I knew we didn’t have a shot at the summit especially if it got steep again (spoiler alert: it did), so I settled on a conservative 2pm turnaround. We’d see how close we could get, and reevaluate accordingly depending on conditions, speed, and how everyone was feeling.

Kacie and Cheryl downclimbing a not so flat part of the ridge

Eventually you run into a cliff band along the ridge. My advice here is to drop juuuuust low enough to the right to avoid the cliffs. Don’t go lower than that. You’ll cross a gulley beneath the cliffs. Go straight across it with a slight upward trend. We went slightly down, and had to regain elevation, which sucked, especially in the powder. It’s amazing how long it takes to regain a measly 20ft of elevation in steep powdery conditions.

Like I mentioned, some masochistic part of me loves breaking trail in powder. It sounds like I wasn’t much help for anyone else, as Simon postholed through my kicked steps, and even some of his collapsed when Kacie and Cheryl came along. We fought for every step. To be fair, I don’t think I put my full body weight on many of those steps since if you use your poles as flotation devices it spreads out your body weight so you can skitter across some of the powder without falling through. That’s my favorite trick climbing steep powder now, ice axe be damned. With powder like that, it’s tough to fall far since you sink 2ft deep as soon as you land.

Looking out at Gunnshy, Tailgunner, Gunn, and Merchant across the valley

Well I’m in heaven minding my own business ~~struggling~~ frolicking in powder and eyeing the blue sky ahead of me (you know when the blue sky gets lower, and lower, and you know you’re getting close to the ridge, and your excitement starts creeping up again since you have a tangible goal and fuck it you didn’t come this far for nothing) and I hear Simon shout behind me “Eve! 2pm!” Crap! I shouted back “I’m pretty sure I’m looking at the saddle! Let’s give it a few more minutes!” I picked up my pace (from .000001mph to .000002mph) and broke out along the ridge, looking up at Mt. Baring draped in dusty white snow and hoar frost, admiring the baby cornices along the ridge, and wary of the size and conditions of the avalanche gulley that was the next step.

Windblown baby cornices along the ridge, avvy gully on the left

I had anticipated the avvy gulley being in the shade (I had also expected to reach it much earlier in the day), and I had expected colder temperatures as freezing level was supposed to be below 4000ft. Instead, the slope was partially in sun, and was only going to receive more direct sunlight as the day progressed, and everything was melting around us in the warm air, as exhibited by the conflict between Simon’s thoroughly bruised skull and the light snow falling off the trees, which hurt. I also knew, given our slow pace down low, that realistically we’d need several more hours to get the whole team up to the summit. I figured I’d consult with everyone else, but I had a feeling we’d be calling it here. I am usually willing to push it if the team wants to, but I didn’t think anyone would.

I shouted back to the others, no response. I started to worry that Kacie and Cheryl were turning around, and I wanted everyone to see the views from the saddle. It made everything worth it, it was the icing on top of the cake that was our hilarious day. I gave them a few minutes and ran back down and shouted again. This time Simon responded, and they were all coming! Yay! I was too excited and antsy and had already taken a bunch of pictures, so I started trying to stomp the last 30 or so steps down extra good so they’d have an easy time getting to the top.

Panorama as the clouds moved in

Breaking out onto the saddle, everyone was all smiles. We snapped pictures of everthing, Simon took 12 selfies with my camera, Kacie requested a photo of Cheryl taking a photo of Simon taking a photo of Kacie taking a selfie, and we broke out the plethora of pastries we had gotten at the bakery and jerky that Cheryl and Simon had brought. Delicious. And of course, we all agreed that we were not going any farther.

Well okay, maybe not all smiles (looking at you Kilo Charlie)

Tried to get mountains in Kacie’s glasses

Turning around always sucks on some level. Naturally everyone wanted to summit, but we were all wary of the gulley, and I think everyone understood that we’d need hours to make it to the summit, and although we had appropriate gear to come down in the dark, no one wanted to. Would it be worth the effort to keep going, only to turn around halfway up the gulley, and risk the gulley sliding the entire time? No way, we’ll all be happier with a casual break here. What made my day is that no one cared. I’m sure there was some disappointment, but my biggest concern is that someone will be tired and crabby about how we had to fight through all the powder only to turn around, or that someone was miserable on the way up and didn’t voice it, or that I’m the only one having fun and everyone else is just following me because it was my idea and not actually enjoying it. But no, with these folks everyone was just thrilled to be there, proud of how far we had come, and cracking fart jokes and archer jokes and laughing at how miserable some of those lower slopes had been. And that’s how it always should be. So we sat in the sun, enjoyed the views, and played the “airplane or avalanche” game as we listened to peaks shed their snow all around us.

The dirt glissade

Cheryl negotiating the scramble move

Clouds moved in as we sat, and after nearly an hour we decided it was time to head down. We followed our tracks most of the time with a few exceptions to save elevation (turned out we had been much much closer to the “standard” route than I thought on the way up). The way down went much faster until we were off the ridge. Getting from the ridge back to the road was possibly more difficult than going up. We could glissade the gulley for first few hundred feet, but eventually the snow was too thin. Then came the scrambles, covered in melting ice and snow, and the wet mossy tree roots, and the mud beneath an inch of snow. I slipped more times than I could count. Kacie took an axe to the face when she lost her footing downclimbing one of the scramble moves. I accidentally glissaded down a 15ft muddy stretch while everyone laughed, only to make the same mistake themselves. Ha!

The microspike-veggie belay!

Somehow, Kacie got her microspikes snagged on a tree on the way down. She sat there in defeat, silently staring off into the distance, unable to climb back up backwards, incapable of moving forward because, well, her microspikes were stuck on a small tree. We laughed, and took pictures, and then continued a casual conversation while Kacie sat there, still silent, still dejected. Until I finally couldn’t maintain conversation anymore because I was laughing too hard at Kacie sitting there, quietly waiting for help, while Simon and Cheryl talked so casually. Cheryl helped her get unstuck (“You’re loose!” Cheryl proclaimed, as Simon and I stood below hollering “HOW ARE WE NOT DOING PHRASING!?”), and we continued our hilarious downhill slog.

The profanity was truly impressive

We made it back to the cars at 7:15 and went straight to Red Robin for bottomless fries and burgers. It was. So good. Except just a heads up – the containers of fries are literally bottomless. Keep that in mind, and don’t spill them everywhere.

So guys, the moral of the story is it’s okay to turn around. We’ve all been there, and the more you do it, the easier it gets. I recall talking to an IMG guide who said eventually it became a mock fight to see who gets to turn back with clients. They’ve all climbed the mountain dozens of times, and you get to the point where you just think “yeah I’ll go hang out at the tents and nap and snack, that sounds wonderful!!” instead of “Ugh if I don’t summit then I did all of this for nothing and it’s embarrassing” or whatever runs through your head the first few times you need to turn around. I’ve heard (and probably thought) every reason for not turning around, and eventually you realize that none of it matters. Getting back down safe, sound, and preferably happy is what matters.*

*Often the happiness comes later. Type II fun is very common in mountaineering. Or type III, in which case the happiness is only present because you’re so happy you bailed and didn’t fuck it up even further and as a result you lived to tell the story to everyone else so you can bond over the (hilariously?) miserable times.

Safe, sound, and so very happy!

Gunn Peak

Posted on November 1, 2015 by evejakubowski

The three musketeers!

I wasn’t totally convinced about this hike, but I hadn’t made any of my own plans for Saturday, so I figured why the hell not. Rob and John are good company, so worst case scenario I’d get a good laugh and a bit of a workout. I ended up getting both of the above, as well as a pleasant reminder that stunning, untouched scenery can be found without driving 3 hours into the wilderness. Hiked the first weekend of October, 2015!

Distance: no idea. 9 miles? 7 miles? Short for how long it takes.
Elevation: ~4000ft gain, 6210ft highest point
Weather: foggy until we got above the clouds, and then 40’s-50’s and sunny!
Commute from Seattle: 90 minutes
Did I Trip: I was going to count everyone’s slips/trips/wipeouts on the way down but I forgot to keep track! But yes. And we had two twisted ankles, some muddy butts, and a very tired dog.

Tarns in front of Townsend

Now I’m writing this three weeks late (and posting four weeks late) because I’m ~~busy~~ lazy, so we’ll see how much I remember. We drove out in pouring rain. Halfway there, sitting in traffic (on Rt 2!) in the dark dreary wet weather I realized I didn’t even care, I was just happy to be getting out. We were listening to Reel Big Fish, who can’t be happy listening to that? We even stopped on the way to get steak and veggies for a campfire meal. I’ve never really cooked over a campfire before besides sausages and stuffed mushrooms and other wrap-it-in-tin-foil-and-go, so this was new.

We pulled up to the trailhead, still in pouring rain. I set up my tent and layered up for the weather, and we started grabbing big rocks to set up the fire. With some small miracles (and a starter log, or two) we had enough of a fire going to heat up food, and John cut up the steak while I handled veggies. I eventually admitted I had never made a shishkabob when John had to assist with the peppers. The only instructions were “make them a good size so they don’t fall off the skewer” which I apparently could not handle. For you other newbies, that means like ~1″ in diameter.

Post-shishkabobs, it was bedtime. Another rainy night in a tent built for snow, though at least I remembered to open the vents this time. We had alarms set for 5am, and soon enough, we woke up to… more pouring rain. The general consensus was that we’d keep sleeping, so I rolled back into my sleeping bag burrito after peeking out the door.

Ripley looking damn good on one of the first scramble sections

We got up for real around 7, and made hot chocolate and coffee. After about an hour, the mist started to brighten, and then clear, and we got a glimpse of blue sky. We had originally resigned ourselves to doing Barclay Lake or Mt. Baring, but… you know what? Eff it, let’s try for Gunn. Might as well. Summitpost said it might take around 9 hours, and we had 9 hours. We all had headlamps and were content coming back after dark if necessary, assuming we had good blazes. Sweet.

The trail is back down the road, maybe a tenth of a mile from the Barclay Lake trailhead. There’s a small dirt road that leads to a campground, and it’s right before the campground that you’ll find the trail heading off to the right. When we were there, it was nicely blazed with hot pink blazes. Rob had brought orange tape for us to use, though we didn’t need it in many places.

Up and up and up

The trail goes maybe 150ft through a forest before you cross the stream, which was easy enough with plenty of logs and stones to hop across. I imagine when the water’s higher, it’s a bit more tricky. Once on the other side, the trail continues along what might have been a logging road at one point. I couldn’t tell besides the flat grade, but when someone pointed it out, I could totally see how it might be possible.

Don’t get complacent. The trail starts to go up, up, and up after a quarter mile on the flat forest-reclaimed road. It was reminiscent of the Eldorado approach, except I wasn’t carrying 50lbs. Just lots of roots, steep sections, and eventually, something I forgot existed: scrambles in the woods! After pushing aside plenty of tree branches along the bootpath and constantly being showered by water, we reached a rocky cliff, at which point you turn right and pretty much hug the rock for a while.

I always associate scrambles with open views and exposed rock. But there are some that are surrounded by trees, moss, roots, all those foresty things. We had Ripley (John’s dog) with us, and he had brought her life jacket (it has a handle on the back) in case we had to do a doggie belay and carry her up some sections. The first scramble was just a very short “traverse” to stay on the path, covered in moss and dripping with water because of the previous night. A few minutes after this, we reached a section that is probably a beautiful waterfall on occasion, but was pretty dried up this time of year. Cross that and immediately scramble up to the left and back into the trees. Yeah, this hike makes you work for those views.

Finally getting above the trees and brush, Baring in the background

Eventually the trees shrink into bushes and brush, and it feels like you’re making progress. But the brush isn’t much better. It’s thicker, harder to push out of the way, and does a damn good job of obscuring the path. And since it was all still wet… it all rains down every time you squeeze between bushes. But thanks to those blazes and the fact that much of it was trampled, there were few spots were we had to guess. I honestly expected it to be much more of a bushwhack than it was, but I think this late in the season, enough feet have been up there that it’s a little more well traveled.

I mean there was some fall foliage

Despite it being early October, there was only one section with real fall foliage, but damn was it vibrant. Finally we were out of trees, out of tall bushes, and surrounded by low colored, blazing heather and blueberry bushes and some scrubby plants I don’t recognize. I stood around snapping pictures constantly, and since Baring was in full view standing over the clouds I couldn’t stop. I had NO idea that there were pics so dramatic so close to Seattle. I thought most of the hikes within an hour or an hour and a half were more “rolling hill” style, with rounded tops, below the tree line, things like that. Not the sharp, dark rock we were looking at here. It felt so much more remote than I had expected.

Looking back at everyone approaching the talus field, Townsend and Merchant in the background

There was a bit of a bootpath through the fall foliage. We reached a saddle between Tailgunner and Peak 5760 (which I admittedly might be confusing with Point 5760), just east of Tailgunner and just south of a small valley with a few tarns near the base of Peak 5760. We dropped down almost to the tarns but rather than take a pleasant dip we hung left towards the talus field. The route to Gunn Peak is effectively straight across the talus field to the highest clump of vegetation right below a prominent rocky outcropping on the south face of the peak.

Aim for that highest slanted strip of trees below the rocky outcropping in center frame

Rob on the 3rd class scramble

We each chose our own way across that, and rejoined below the cliff band, which is where the real scrambling starts. Ripley had been a champ so far, but the 3rd class scramble was a bit too much for a dog. Ben, Vazul, and Evan agreed to hang with Ripley and take her over to Tailgunner while Rob led John and I up Gunn. We agreed to meet back at our lunch spot on the ridge between Tailgunner and Peak 5760.

Rob scaled the scramble with ease, and I waited below for him to clear the loose sections. When he was out of sight and well beyond the trees, I went up. I will say that some people (such as Rob) are very graceful scramblers. I am not usually among those. But there was nothing too hard, and I was up and in the trees soon enough, trying to find Rob. I had been making fun of him for putting up blazes for the entire hike, and now I didn’t know where he was. Ooh look! A blaze, just beyond the trees! Yes, aim for that, he must have put it there!

Nope, just a leaf. God dammit. But I was back out on another talus slope above the trees, and saw Rob up ahead of me scouting out the path. I figured we should wait for the others, so we decided he’d scramble a little further to figure out where we were headed and I’d wait to see who else joined.

John on the way back across the catwalk

After 10 or so minutes of waiting, the two of us were ready to continue when we saw John pop out of the trees below us. Sweet! We waited for him to catch up. You keep to the base of the cliff, negotiating talus until a gully opens up on your left side. Follow the gully, path of least resistance, and cross a notch when you reach the ridge. On the north side is where you’ll encounter the catwalk. It’s not Kendall Katwalk, it’s much narrower with a harrowing drop of 1000+ feet. Don’t fall. Follow that ridge, and soon enough, you’re on Gunn Peak! Which, despite being only 6200ft tall, is #29 on the most prominent peaks of Washington list with over 3651ft of prominence. Wow.

We couldn’t find a summit register. And damn did we look. It’s either not there, or it fell off the cliffs, or some asshat buried it under too many rocks. Ugh. We took a few photos, cracked open beers, and Rob laughed and called us the three musketeers. The three who made it to the top of Rainier back in August, and now the three who made it up Gunn Peak. Kudos, guys, you’re fantastic climbing partners.

Rob soaking in the views: Townsend, Merchant, and Baring all visible

Back through the fall foliage, even more vibrant in the late afternoon sun

Just as we sidled up to the clearing, we saw the other three coming back down. Perfect timing! We had spent quite a while on the summit, and I thought the rest of the group would be waiting for us. We met up and took a quick break before heading back down. I thought the way down went faster than the way up, but I’m a bad judge of time. Vazul and Evan and I were flying, and I got into a nice steady downhill rhythm. We stopped occasionally to wait for the others. At one point we were convinced they were lost near the sometimes-it’s-a-waterfall crossing, between someone yelling to ask where we were, general shouting, and the warnings (“ROCK!!!”) and what sounded like mini rockslides everywhere. We sat on the steep trail and waited for them to successfully make it over to us, where we were solidly back in the trees on dirt trail with no scrambling left.

Evan on one of the foresty scrambles

In my head, I was comparing it to Eldorado, which had a bitch of an approach. Going down from Gunn, that’s what I was expecting. But the forested section was much shorter than Eldorado, and I was thrilled when we were on the flat what-once-might-have-been-a-road section. Poor Ripley was exhausted, but had kept up with us the whole time! Every time we stopped on the way down she sat on the ground and tucked her paws beneath her. But she didn’t seem to want to admit it, because she still looked damn happy.

We had been hearing gunshots for a while, and as we got closer to the river, we realized we were pretty close to the shots. I was unnerved, but didn’t think much of it. I think I’ve already mentioned I grew up in east coast cities, dealing with gunshots in deep, dense woods is not among my talents. Ben and John started yelling from the back, and Evan, Vazul and I looked at each other and said holy shit, we didn’t even think of that. Duh. Make lots of noise. The shots stopped, and John and Ben kept yelling periodically just to make sure. Within 15 minutes, we had crossed the river and popped out near the campsite, and apparently surprised the shit out of a few guys doing target practice, aiming across the river. Right where we were. But they had heard us, and had stopped, and I learned rule #1 of being close to gunshots while bushwhacking: make it clear you’re a person.

The best time of day for the woods

Up and down within 9 hours, never lost, no injuries, amazing weather up above the clouds, and we were back before dark. An unbelievable day, well worth the soggy night at the trailhead. Ripley was too tired to jump in the car, and from what I heard, spent the next few days mostly sitting and occasionally limping around the apartment.

Mt. Hinman (via East Fork Foss/Necklace Valley)

Posted on July 19, 2015 by evejakubowski

Looking at Daniel and Pea Soup Lake from near the top

Looking at Daniel and Pea Soup Lake (and Stuart on the right!) from near the top

Holy crap, where to even start. I hadn’t been on a long trail run since the Moab marathon in November, but my weekly mileage was decent and I was feeling fit so when Cooper successfully got Wednesday off from work, we figured we’d hit the trails. I didn’t feel like driving three hours to Cashmere or North Twin Sister, so I made an impulsive decision to go see if we could bag Hinman in a day. I had already done the research, and Cooper had to be back by 7, so the timing was perfect. I knew we’d have to run as much as we could and hopefully wouldn’t lose too much time navigating, and of course had to pray that no one would crash and block all of i5 on the way back, but there was a chance.

24 miles round trip
~5900ft elevation gain (net), 7492ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and windy and cloudy to 70’s and sunny and calm
Commute from Seattle: 1:30 without traffic
GPX file here (dropbox, email me if it does not work – NOTE: It doesn’t have altitude, and it does miss the first two miles of the Necklace Valley trail! You’ll catch up to it before any navigation is required though)
Did I Trip: Yes! I only ate it once though, and it was in the one patch of sand along the trail. Nailed it.

Starting out in soft forest

We were a little late getting started, but that meant I had time to devour two bacon/egg/cheese sandwiches from a gas station, switch my license plates to the correct ends of my car (yes, I’m an idiot), buy a bunch of snacks, and organize my pack. We left Seattle around 6:30am, and arrived at the trailhead around 8. Spent a few minutes getting organized, and we took off with me in the lead. Because I’m the best, obviously.

Foss River

Just kidding, it’s because I’m the slow one. Cooper casually runs like 80 mile weeks, so there was no chance he was leading. He even said straight up in the first mile “sometimes I push it too much and burn the other person out and they die towards the end, so don’t let me do that.” Okay Super Cooper, we’re going my slow ass forever pace and no faster, because I’m not being the running buddy who dies a few miles from the trailhead and has to hike back. It may not be fast, but we’ll get there and back with no issues.

Running past Jade Lake (on the way back)

The first five miles of the trail are easy. 600ft of elevation gain total over those five miles, and it’s mostly soft, dirt trail through forest. There are a few overgrown-ish sections, but that was the worst of it. My legs had been feeling great from the beginning, which is rare when I drive out to trails. Usually the first mile or so sucks as everything loosens. The GPX file I had did not include the first ~1.5 miles, but eventually you come to a bridge crossing the east fork of Foss River. From there, the trail gets a little steeper, averaging ~800ft/mile gain. It switchbacks up a small talus slope before entering forest again.

Cabin past Jade Lake

At this point, the skies had turned from sunny and blue to cloudy. God. Dammit. I was bummed. I didn’t come all this way to run 23 miles for a foggy summit. Come on, Hinman. I started trying to justify it. You don’t even know if you’ll make it, this can just be a recon trip, it’s still a good workout, the lakes will be beautiful… meh. We continued on.

Jade Lake is about 7.5 miles in, and it was a morale booster finally reaching it. I hadn’t turned on Strava because I was worried about phone battery, so I wasn’t sure how far we had come or how far we had to go. There are two random mile markers for miles 7 and 8 (there might be more that we just missed) but those were good to see. Beyond Jade Lake, we found a cabin in the woods! More like a shanty/lean-to, but it was still a neat find. You’ll also pass Opal Lake and if you’re willing to explore, there are a few others as well, but we had a time limit and a destination to reach. Onward!

Head up and then left, around the trees jutting out on the left side. You’ll re-enter the trees farther up.

We got to the basin below La Bohn Gap and I finally had to whip out the map. Okay, we’re heading up and to the left. No cairns in sight. How far left? Maybe we can scramble up the middle so we can get a view of the left and scout out a trail? Do we go around those trees? Right when we were deliberating, we head “LA BOHN GAP?!” and look up to see a woman coming around the bend to the left. “YES!” we shouted, and she replied saying that’s were she was coming from! We hopped along the boulders up to her and stopped to chat. She had crampons and an ice axe, and the first thing I asked was whether she needed them. Nope! Apparently even La Bohn Lakes have snow this time of year during a year with normal snow fall. Not this year. She looked at our footwear and laughed a bit. “Hinman looked pretty runnable… which is what you look like you’re doing!” She had camped solo at the lakes for two nights, and headed down when it got cloudy since it looked like weather might be moving in. Luckily (she laughed again) it was clearing up. And it was! The clouds were parting, and patches of blue sky were showing. There was hope!

We thanked her profusely and continued up the boulder field with a few extra directions from her. Basically, from the basin, you head left around a patch of forest, and then you’ll find cairns. Don’t head towards the waterfall far left, which is what my map said, and don’t head straight up to the low point either. The cairns you eventually see will have you hike alongside the forest for a bit until a climbers’ path appears, and then you cut left into the trees (more like shrubbery) and go straight up to La Bohn Gap.

It’s so gorgeous I could barf

Ugh, La Bohn just STOP

Okay. Freaking Washington. La Bohn Lakes might be the most gorgeous area I’ve ever seen out here. The lakes are unbelievably clear and blue and just stunning, there are rocky alpine spires and ridgelines everywhere you look. I got a burst of energy and started running again (we had hiked the boulder fields and climbers’ path) and essentially ran in circles next to the lake until my brain calmed down enough to take out the camera and start snapping pictures. Cooper, go stand over there! No, over there! Wait, more to your left! Okay okay that’s perfect oh my god look where we ARE you know wen something is just overwhelmingly beautiful? Take that feeling of awe and combine it with runner’s high, and you might as well be on drugs.

Summit Chief rising over one of La Bohn Lakes

Looking back down at La Bohn Gap

There are several lakes up in La Bohn Gap that you can check out. The whole area is a playground for adults. From the basin below La Bohn Gap, you can get up to Tank Lakes, the other side of the Necklace Valley (West Fork Foss River), Iron Cap, and then on our side you had La Bohn Lakes, Hinman, traverse to Daniel if you’re ambitious, there’s so much to do! Trail running is a much different form of appreciation for the outdoors than backpacking. You don’t sit down and soak in views as much, instead you’re running along the ridge line with a ridiculous panorama in every direction because you’re on top of the world. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. It’s an incredible feeling.

We took a quick snack break at the lakes, and refilled water since we knew there wouldn’t be any once we were up on the ridge. And then we started to pick our way up the boulder field between the two biggest lakes in La Bohn Gap, aiming for the ridge line we knew would take us to Hinman.

How good would these guys look in snow? So good. Bears Breast and Summit Chief over Lake Rowena

Running past the Hinman Glacier

Gaining the ridge, views open up below you. As always, it’s a great moment. The Hinman Glacier is pretty small, but it’s there, and it was just about the only snow/ice in the area. Most of the ridge line was completely melted out, which meant for lots of boulder hopping. I couldn’t help but think how gorgeous this area would be in winter. You can’t run it in a day, but I love how rocks, ice, and snow look. I’ll take a few days to get back there when snow hits again.

Fighter jet!

You can see the true summit when you first gain the ridge. It’s the black, wall of jagged vertical rocks jutting out along the east end of the ridge. We followed the ridge, mostly hiking, and I couldn’t believe where we were. Bear’s Breast and Summit Chief look amazing, and Daniel is a hulking massif to the east. In the other direction, Glacier and Sloan were both out. The sky cover was perfect. Some puffy clouds, some wispy clouds, just enough that we had tons of views but weren’t baking to death up on the boulder fields. We gained the false summit (oops) and had to climb back down and over to the true summit. At one point, two fighter jets flew overhead. We heard them before we saw them come swinging around a peak, with the sound coming from space a little bit behind them. I remember the first time I heard them in the mountains, I hit the floor I was so scared. Now I hear it and I get excited and start looking. They made two laps, but the first was the best. So cool.

Cooper on the scramble to the summit

The scrambling along the true summit (the jagged, vertical rocks I mentioned) was trickier than expected. There were a few fourth class moves, and the rock was very loose without great handholds. We didn’t make it all the way to the eastern end, but being within a few feet of the highest point was enough for me to count it. Even if I stood next to that tallest spire, I’d never get on top of it, so we’ll call it a day.

Panorama from just below the true summit

Negotiating the last few steps (WHO LIKES SHORT SHORTS)

Negotiating the last few steps, Daniel and Stuart in the background (WHO LIKES SHORT SHORTS)

I snagged a few panoramas and pictures of the views, and we headed back down low to take a break back at the lakes where it wasn’t as windy. At Cooper’s urging (Cooper who runs scree slopes for fun) I decided to give running across talus a try. And so, for the first time, I ran across a talus field. More like an expedited-running-form-boulder-hop, and I still hesitated before some of the bigger steps and when I couldn’t pick a good line quickly enough, but it was still a really cool experience. I ran up to Cooper laughing at one point (he had to stop and wait a few times along this section), because I realized if someone told me last fall I’d be running talus fields on top of Hinman, I’d say you were crazy. But there we were.

I had a trail running customer ask me the other day how you do it. I had mentioned one of my favorite trail running loops close to Seattle (Melakwa Lake, since you can connect to so many other lakes in the area) and she looked surprised, and said the reason she was getting hiking boots was because she had hiked that exact trail and thought it was too rocky for her running shoes. She had mostly run around Cougar and Tiger mountains, and wanted to branch out. My answer was time and practice. And patience. And maybe a high pain tolerance. Going slowly, tripping a million times, stubbing toes everywhere. I showed her my scabby calves from the past few days and told her I’m more scratched up from trails this past week than a five year who keeps falling off the monkey bars on the playground. But it’s true. You get better, and soon you’re flying over trails like that without a thought. Running across the talus fields was like a puzzle you have to figure out quickly. I’m at the point where I wonder if it’ll ever become second nature, but that’s what I thought about rocky/rooty trails at first too.

Running back down the ridge with Bears Breast and Summit Chief in the distance

Clouds moved in a bit more as we got back down to La Bohn. We picked a different route on the way down to save time: when it’s a talus field, the whole slope is your kingdom. Quick break at La Bohn again, this time in the clouds. It’s amazing how different lakes can look in clouds versus sun. Sun lights up the colors and really shows you how clear they are, whereas in clouds they often just look blue. Still a stunning area.

Back down to La Bohn

Back down to the basin, and from there, we knew the rest of the way would be 100% legitimately runnable. We flew down. On the way up we had hiked the three steeper miles, but on the way down, that’s just a footwork game. I insisted on a quick snack at a campsite after the first bridge. I can tell I’m hungry when Gu starts to sound delicious, and that caramel macchiato gu was singing my name. After that, it was five or so short miles back to the trailhead, which is where we learned that the GPX file for some reason doesn’t include the first 1.5 or so miles from the trailhead out. We were back in the car at 5:30, and in Seattle just after 7. Would have been earlier if not for traffic. Either way, I was home just in time to move the last of the furniture from my old apartment, and immediately went to bed. Woke up the next morning, surprised to find that my legs were mostly fine from the previous day. You know what that means? Next time will be faster and farther!

We were 100% convinced this was a bird. It’s a log. I won’t tell you how long we stared.

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout

Category Archives: Stevens Pass