2023-05-20

DEPRESSION HATES A MOVING TARGET

The foot falls it the gravel in a regular interval... I hear rock moving on rock as the base of my foot hits the trail tread. This is my normal 5K/10K run, the South Fork Snoqualmie, run from my place in Riverbend in to town and back. Some days it is longer, some days it is shorter.. Mertz was my inspiration a few years back to wake up pre-dawn and make this trip. She got me through 6 months of being incarcerated due to a DUI... Realisticly I had given up to the dark horse of depression, mother passed away and the loss of a lover that I still haven't reconcided with today. Yet the foot falls kept falling, that sounds with the breath... That is what kept me going... 

Advance to today, 3 years later... I am in the Mountaineers, climbinmg and scrambling. There is a glory in the mountains that I cannot fully describe.. I am surrounded with people, that I feel NORMAL with... Our singular focus on finding routes up mountains and pushing ourselves... And yet, "Depression hates a moving target!"... Today I bailed on a climb of Mt Rainier (Mother Tahoma) up to Camp Muir and then practice on the Ingrams Icefall.. I just could not move... I knew I needed to camp at the trailhead the night before, I felt the depression setting in.. Iroic after spending a day teaching others to climb, but out of the blue, I could not face the world... IT has been my struggle most of my life...

In general, I live alone.. I do not want to... I have been with 4 incdredible women, and yet this has been the consistant problem... Depression, Isolation, and Immobilization.... I have worked the program, been to conselors and tried medication... I the end, it is always acceptance... Very Buddhist ultimatelty.... I am brought back by solo trips in the mountains and quiet time by rivers... This is my mantra... I will always have this struggle, i am not delusionary to think that it will go away, but as I walk this path in life, I want ti to get better. To navigate better with through this.. It is like a 4 week cycle.. And today, it comes when I was to climb Rainier... The mountain will be there another day, and my team is good... I respect each and everyone of them... But for now, I just sit back in my yard and find solace... Peace and comfort come with time... 

WA 44.1 -- Granite Mtn, thoughts along a Cascade Classic

    A break in the fall rains finds me on the trail like an old friend. Weaving through the lower Western Hemlock forest, pushing myself past the masses in their weekend hike to common destinations like Pratt and Ollalie Lakes. Myself, the mountain is what draws me, elevation to gain and a view into the inner recesses of the Alpine Lake Wilderness. But really it is the act of hiking that really has me keeping pace this morning. A spiritual block has been building lately as I work through my sobriety and program. Moments of question and doubt if I am on the right path. That old sense of restlessness and irritability as ego wants to take hold and defend against what I perceive as other people's judgement and options. Yet I know deep inside that these are only illusions, constructs of my own mind trying to take hold of my path. It is here, on the trail, that my footfalls bring me back to reality and connection. It has always been this way, and dare I say the on consistent part of my spiritual practice. In times of doubt, find a steep trail and begin to ascend. 

    I break off the main Pratt Trail and the trail gets real, here others join me and I keep pushing myself to keep pace. It seems that I will not be the only one making the pilgramage on a rare sunny day to the top of Granite-shan. I always liked that the suffix to denote a mountain either in Japanese or Chinese is that of a person. Long ago I felt like there are certain Mountains that are like old sages, they have a lesson to teach one if you are willing to listen and do the work. Each has a different temperament based on the topography and ecology. Here the hemlock forest eventually give way to the open alpine zone that then is topped with a scree of granite boulders. It seems that what ever struggle that was working it's way on a repeated loop is spent by the time I make it to the boulder field. At that point it is just my breath, unconscious movement through the field and the skies above. I become in union with the mountain and movement across its flanks. This is when I feel in union with the spirit/tao/gaia... Some reasons the line, "I am Gaios to your Gaia... You are Gaia to my Gaios..." repeats in my mind to the rhythm of my breath and movements. It is confirmation that I am in the center of my spiritual practices when I am hiking a mountain, river or canyon.

    There are others on the trail. I am grateful to see them there, truly. It is that same feeling of common worship and fellowship that comes when one walks into a great cathedral or a music hall. I do not know each individual, but we are all in pursuit of the same thing, "To the Top, to the Mountain..." Each person has a different take on the scene that surrounds. Many are chatting away with partners, catching up on their lives and thoughts from near Puget Sound. Yet all are drawn to nature and this practice, something that gives me connection and hope. I tend to shy away from wilderness elitism, the idea that we are escaping to nature to be alone, and the masses block connection. I am reminded that 20 steps off any trail, and one can find those connected moments, where the sound of the wind takes up a new tone. If one truly wishes to find those moments, pick any rainy or stormy day, and Nature caring not of the whim and pursuits of man will give your solitude..

    Arising to the top, there is that familiar feeling... Gazing out at the view of ridgeline after ridgeline running north and south. Of great white watchtowers of the Cascade Volcanic Peaks... Klashan, Da'Kooba, Tahoma and Klicktat.. These are the great teachers and for my practice, the temple mounts. Like Jewish and Muslims drawn to Jerusalem to a specific place which holds that spiritual center of though. These mountains have the same draw to me. 

    Lately, I have been following the story of a Henro (pilgram) walking the 88 Temples on Shikoku Island in Japan. Walking 750 miles from temple to temple, chanting the same Sutra at each and following a observed set of rituals at each. Slowly a transformation occurs in him in this practice. The Heart Sutra become a rhythmic cadence in his meditation and walking. Though many days of hardship and euphoria, a middle way begins to emerge with greater clarity. This is the act of practice, similar with mountain hiking and long thru-hikes. His story and my experience today reminds me of faith and dedication in practice. How sometimes in doubt or trouble times, all you need is a trail or a walk and a sutra to center yourself upon, even if it is as simple as ".. I am humble and grateful for this day." That is the core of a spiritual life, not some high ideals or impressive memorization of text. We are all Henro (pilgrams) on this world, catching moments of beauty along the way... 

    Descending from the peak top, I see many others on the same path today. I reflect about where I have been lately, my disconnection and now with connection revived what I can do to reach out to others who have been affected by my restlessness and irritability. I feel spiritually recharged and ready to do the work of the day back down in the Valley I call home and the Emerald City by the Sound. The day was exactly what I needed to be...

BQ1 – Bear's Quest

The miles seem to click off as I round the corners on Hwy 202. Today is the 5^th day of my Cycle commute and the ride seems to be easier with my new touring bike. I lay into the peddles over the small rising hill, only having to click down one sprocket. At the end of the day, I will have put in 230 miles this week (48-52 miles per day). Gaining ever closer to the end goal of 1000 miles over the Month of May. It is the Cycle Commute Month, sponsored by Group Health and Cascade Bicycle Club. Last year I made 750 miles.

But there is another reason that I am doing this. I many ways, this is a 30 day Challenge to myself that goes hand-in-hand with “Bear's Quest” for a Sober life. In the last year I have noted that alcohol has began to consume many parts of my life. Using it as a way to channel the way I felt from a sense of loss that had always been there. I would crawl into the bottle, leaving what I thought my were my troubles behind. Over the long road, they only have gotten worse. Loosing connections with people, failing relationships and overall decline of my standards of living.

The reality call was a DUI, that canceled my Alaska Trip/Job. An action that I truly regret placing myself in and those that I may have injured and affected in life. Now bounded to not drive for 90 days or more, I have chosen to focus on a human-powered lifestyle and rebirth of my spirit. I owe a debt to society for my choices and I am grateful that this wake-up call has occurred. In the end, I wear a amulet of Thunderbird carrying Whale to his new ocean as a daily reminder of promises made. So peddle I go...

From the dawn of the sun across the valley floor, to the jeweled lights of stars on my commute back. Each mile seems to make the soul settle more into the journey ahead. Yet one days light is not the last, there are many more to come, yet each to cherish.  In this case I will focus my time on Bear's Quest for recovery via cycling.. Seems to best way to change my stars, by being inspired by landscape, movement and reflection...

– Ridgewalker

AKV 1 - Call to Alaska

For the last few years, since leaving New Zealand I have lived in among the Rain Forest and Sounds of the Pacific Northwest. Done my best to make a life of it, worked the ski slopes, the waters as an instructor and outfitted many who headed off on distant adventures. I tried to lay down my wanderlust and find me a lass to settle down with. I worked the Tree Farm of my professors, and even made peace with my mother. But all along, something didn't seem right, something missing. Driving me more and more towards a crazy edge. Locked in the civilized world of fear and responsibility, I paced back and forth like a rat, tending my field and working the familure trails.

Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes

On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated -- so:

"Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges --

"Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and wating for you. Go!"

The haunting words of Kippling that I once read over the kitchen at Camp Parsons Lodge. The words that had always sat deeply seeded within. Driving me through years of staff, following me along the Cascade Crest, and then to distant shores of the South Island. Here as I tried to make what all others seem to strive for work... The words spoke again, reminding me what I had seen before...

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by 'em;

I remember seeing faces, hearing voices, through the smoke;

I remember they were fancy -- for I threw a stone to try 'em.

"Something lost behind the Ranges" was the only word they spoke.

As time drew on, I became more and more distant. Unfullfilled by what the grounds from the Cascades to the Puget Sound had to bring me. Somehow I knew where this voice was leading me. Summers spent along Coastal fiordlands and Yukon tundra. A vitality that one cannot purely explain with words or picture, but can only be gained by sitting before it and breathing it in. So with a snap decision, I decide to make my way north, proded on by the weight of a heavy heart.

But at last the country altered -- White Man's country past disputing --

Rolling grass and open timber, with a hint of hills behind --

There I found me food and water, and I lay a week recruiting.

Got my strength and lost my nightmares. Then I entered on my find.

Now that transition begins, as days come closer and closer. Snow still grips the Port that the next 6 months will be my home. I plan to bike, paddle and scramble the lands that surround. Gather myself for the coming journey and the cycle ride back down. But deep within, as I say my goodbyes, and will be back again, somehow I know that I will only then be passing by. For this life I have lived has not bore any fruit that I have not turned cold and the trail calls my back again. And the road as I have learned keeps going without end.

I do not know where my feet lead me, or when my travels will end this time. But I know that my life is best lived simple and in motion driven my by own energy within. I know that when I come to rest once again, I will find myself older and hopefully wiser, maybe even at peace within... For now Alaska calls, a place that has always lured me time and again...

Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre?

Have I kept one single nugget -- (barring samples)? No, not I!

Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker.

But you wouldn't understand it. You go up and occupy.

-- Words from The Explorer by Rudyard Kippling (as written above Meany Lodge, Camp Parsons)

A Responce To A Friend's Email

What forces are at the core of a mountain addiction?

It starts with that first time that you reach the base of their slopes... Gazing up it seems an impossible distance to climb, reaching into the clouds that guard the heavens you once reached out for as a boy. Then you begin your ascent working and cranking through the lower growths, crossing creeks and stream. Each muscle feeling it's strain as it is stretched and worked into new form, like metal against Gimil's hammer. Soon you are tuned and your pace quickens.

Flow of the Mountain world works from lower mixed forest to hemlock stands and clearing to the gnarled alpine scrub, clinging on against the torrent of passing winds and rain. Bare rock stands witness before the lacing snows like fingers grasp you up ever climbing chutes. Hiking becomes a full body battle with the spirits that lay there. Whips of the heavens speed past as you ever climb higher. Snow become rock and boot and hand meld to them like they were always meant to climb higher... 

Soon the bottom disappears into a great void of exposure for the first time. Looking back, you feel a surging within the heart. You question not how you will descend, only that forward is where some seed inside is commanding you onward to go. Scrambling over rock and tarn, you make the exposed rock ridgeline. There like following a razors edge, an abyss descending on both sides, the staircase of granite boulders only gives you one option. Ascendance!

Soon, you reach the head wall of the great cloud bank. Winds kick up at this boundary edge, and your jacket is flapping about your arms and chest. yet in minutes you charge above it, with clouds moving so quickly, blue begins to pierce though and make up the whole of the great horizons... 

Clinging on to Black Twisted rock of, you gaze out to see towers rising from this great sea. Below as the sun begins to set, you know are the great huddled masses, moving from one place to the next, working circles again and again until they cannot see out of the trench they have etched. Yet you are among the great towers reaching up pointed towards the heavens. Catching that last fading light which few see, the electric rose of the Alpenglow with snowbanners trailing. Silence but the of the soul reached within, only the high whistle of the wind around your jacket hood.

And there on the horizon, another lures you in, with untold beauty of form and route. You wonder deep inside what this view looks like from her slopes. And there she has you, like an ice cold siren... And you know that there is nothing to stop this now, while a low voice echos solemn words

Something hidden.  Go and find it.  Go and look behind the Ranges--

Something lost behind the Ranges.  Lost and waiting for you.  Go!

-- Ridgewalker

PNW 2 - Glacier Peak Wild - High Pass Traverse

Short Info

Hikers - Ladybird & Ridgewalker

6 days, 63 miles (1/2 RTM Route of Glacier Peak)

2 Wilderness, 2 National Forests

(Glacier Peak Wild, Henry M. Jackson Wild)

(Mt Baker-Snoqualmie NF, Wenatchee NF)

Route Map

Journey Photos

Full Trip Narrative

Wilderness is a beautiful thing... It is like that secret lover that sits in the back of your thoughts always luring you in.... Once tempted by this siren, hearing her sweet melody played out along the high ridgelines, you feel compelled to follow lost trails deeper into her realm... 

What began as a 3 day trip up into the Glacier Peak Wild then to return to Kayak the Sound, turned into an epic 6 day, cross-country/overgrown route. With initial hopes of completing the RTM (Round-the-Mountain) Path of this wild Volcano at 110 miles. We kept on track, with only cut up legs, dislocated knee and a scaled foot keeping us from completing our charge. Even at the moment of decision to exit the route, the siren's call was hard to resist... For now this rest of this route still remains in the column of "unfinished business".

Through the range, the mountaineering skills, route-finding skills, river-fording skills and first aid skills all came into play. I would call this section of Glacier Peak Wild, "The land of Forgotten Trails". What really amounted to Mountaineering boot-paths accessing Traverses and High Routes, leading our eyes up towards rock and ice routes. Each day picking through lines off possible discovery for future trips when we had rope, crampons and axe. Wandering the large U shaped glacial valley of Napeequa, where very few souls descend it's steep slopes to enjoy lush meadows. 

Our only encounters with others in this place was a party of 3 mountaineers, who walked around us, eyeing our UL packs in bewilderment, searching for our Axe and Traction for the coming glacier crossing. Plugging us for info (beta) on the route we had traveled, and rattling off a healthy list of High Routes that surrounded us. In essence, schooling us about the land before we were crossing... For Ladybird and I, this was exactly what we were looking for out of this trip. A taste of a corner of this Remote North Cascades Wilderness...

Day 1 - N Fork Sauk to Mackinaw Shelter (8 mi)

Leaving our car from N Fork Trailhead at around 4pm, I found my thru-hiker legs right were I left them, on the trail. Powering through ancient groves of Cedar and Hemlock, rounding valley floor bends through miles at a good solid 3 mph pace. Fading light of day, bring darkness to the moss covered floor we arrived at Mackinaw shelter to make first camp. An old shell of a building there is a haunted sense to this forest that brought thoughts of other travelers who had past this way towards the coming highcountry meadows. Feeling good of our 2.5 hr progress up the valley, it was here that the RTM Route began to be seriously discussed as a possible choice for this week of travel. Miles were added up, routes choosen and rationing of our 3-4 days of food for a 6-7 day journey began.

Day 2 - Mackinaw Shelter to Thunder Cr Camp/White River Route (15 mi)

Morning found us refreshed and ready to stomp... After coffee, we were soon ascending the switchbacks out of the N Fork Sauk towards the Pacific Crest Trail Jct on the Alpine Mdws above us. With each switchback the variety of Alpine flora began to define themselves. From the early whites of Pearly-Everlasting, to deep reds of Indian Paintbrush, to finally the vibrant indigo of high alpine Lupine. At the Jct of the PCT at White Pass (a place both of us had visited on our thru-hikes), the decision to go clockwise on the Crest or challenge ourselves with the hardest section first came to question. For our part, the Crest Trail was know territory, so we decided to make for the "unknown route first"... 

Wandering through glorious miles of Alpine Meadow below the view of Glacier, Ten Peak Ridge and Indian Head we came to the trail jct at White Pass. It was decided, that rather then continuing to head down to Indian Pass and the horse-trail there we would take a look into the White River Valley and see what the trail there had to offer. We believed it worth the extra 6 miles shaved off our journey to be worth a little brush... We looked so happy at that junction, completely oblivious to the hard fought reality of our chosen course. As a warning, within 100 feet we lost the trail... Should have realize this and returned... But instead, route-finding skills in play we found what amounted to a series of game paths from meadow to water down the side of this slope till the first ford of the White.

Form here, I could detail each hard fought mile... But needless to say, it can be explained with the need to keep going forward regardless of the fact that we could not find the trail through slide alder tunnels, twisted log blow-downs, repeated river fords, leg-ripping thickets, and bewildering disorienting fire scars... Recently, I picked up a Rating Guide to Brushwacking. This route would rate somewhere between a BA3 (chainsaw) and BA4 (agent orange) level... If only we had atleast brought the BA1 (machete), that might have kept the moment of the full round the mountain...

By the end of the day, we came to Thunder Cr Camp. Ladybird, had made a slight dislocation of the knee, that would grow in the days to come and I had a brused calf from falling from a log. Our legs had been cut to shreds, and blood trailed from each like they had been attacked with a cheese grader. Later I would add a scaled right foot to the list of injuries as the pot of boiling tea water feel from my hand. But, both in high Spirits at the adventure we had found, with views abounding we decided to press on with the RTM.

Day 3 Thunder Cr Camp - Napeequa River Camp (15 mi)

Morning arose and roused us out of camp, with 3 miles left of the White River Route, we pushed our way though thickets again. But soon, we meet the Boulder Pass Trail Jct. Here the trail revived itself back into a High Hunt Horse Route, with easy traversing grade to ascend without need to thrash ourselves. At the jct, the fabled PCT Detour Signs pointed the route directly into the tree... Ladybird and I hypothesis that it we ran at the tree, like a page from Harry Potter we would emerge at the Jct of the PCT at Miner's Creek... Ahhh! If that were only the case. 

Ascention of Boulder Pass was a relief, and soon we gained views out towards Davis Peak, Saul Mtn and Cirque of Three Towers above us. Alpine Meadows graced themselves again, going through the White-Red-Purple alternations of elevation gained. New towards the top were the Positilla (Western Anemone), what I called the Tina Turner Plant with it's mop-top seedlings. There were a few places where the peaks that lay before me seemed familure, realizing that after years of studying Vol 2 of the Cascade Alpine Guide (by Fred Beckey), I had seen these mtns cast in B&W with route-lines erupting from there base. Yet the grand view was yet to come.

From the crest of Boulder Pass, the full view of the tight glacier valley of Napeequa lay before us. It is hard to completely describe this place. A drop of 3000' below, a long meadow with a meandering glacial-fed river, complete with braided channels and till sandbars emerged. All attempts at capturing this scene with photo failed to give the sense of depth that was before us. Across the valley Napeequa Wall glistened with the days light, hints of mica and schist capturing and refracting back gave a dazzling sense. North the valley wove up towards hanging glaciers and ice-caped peaks. It was a PNW Shangarla...

With swirling switchbacks descending from the pass, near overlapping to a prominent meadow, we felt confident about our path of descent. Yet arriving at a Horse camp below the pass, the injuries of the day before began to weave there pain. Ladybird's knee showed bruising and my foot began to swell in my boot. Loosing the trail to brush soon after the horse camp, we descended towards the Napeequa on undulating veggie clogged trail-tread. We made the valley floor, a little destroyed, but pushed on through the meadows and slide alders to set up for our next days ascent of High Pass. Yet the miles made up this valley were all in awe, with passing of two towering cascades from hanging glacial valleys above.

Day 4 - Napeequa River Camp - Buck Cr/Chiwawa R. Camp (15 mi)

A chill kept us bundled up that night. Winds out of the high glacial cirques blew down the valley, bringing a touch of frost to our sleep. Morning was late as we waited for the sun to arc over the high vaulted walls. Realizing that our journey was a day behind our projected destination, our primary focus was to make it over High Pass to Buck Cr Pass. Our route info was scattered, from passing info I remembered from hikers years before and brief lines from Beckey's commentary of this region. We left camp, with only a hit of a route before us...

With in minutes we were again off trail and pushing through a sea of slide alders... Knowing UP was our direction, we decided to follow the tunnels created by water paths through the brush. With many climbing moves as the path steepened, and heavy use of veggie belays, we pushed up 1500' vertical feet in 2 hrs.. Hard fought, but well worth it, we emerged a little higher then we expected and had to weave our way down to the snow-fields below. 

Once out the valley ascending to High Pass was before us. Towers lined the side, each holding rivers of ice. The feel of remoteness abounded, and we hopped from snow-field to rock ribbons. Direct lines of ascent keep us climbing, with the marmot's whistle greeting us at each turn. Funneling us up through rock bands and cascading waters we found the final bench of High Pass. Here Rock and Ice was all that abounded, having left the realm of green far below. Bundling against cold and wind, sat pondering which of the three "doors" through the rocky crown was our pass. Having convinced ourselves it was the one to the right, we began ascent only to see a trio of climbers emerge to the left... 

Changing course we traversed three snow-fields and meet up with this band of Mountaineers. Jovially they greeted us atop High Pass. Each equipped with Ice Axe, Crampons and Helmet, they rounded us and eyed our packs for what we had for the coming descent. One named, "Big Steve", began to as I said before school us on the myriad of High Routes. His excitement was infectious, and we caught the bug. Soon maps were out, and fingers pointing, weaving through the peaks, and glaciers that lay before us. We would have spent all day there plugging him for more tales of high routes, but the rest of his party getting cold decided to push on, leaving him trailing to catch up. 

Looking forward we saw our "crux move" of the trip. A 60 degree slope of snow, with a 500' run-out far below leading to the ice-choked Triad Lk 1000' below. The party before had left a step-kicked path across the 100' ft exposure. But without Ice-axe or microspikes, the crossing was unnerving. Remaining focused placing one-sure-step after another, the crossing was made. At one moment I had slipped, but a sure pole placement kept me from the rock-bounding doom that would follow below. A vitality is felt in such moments, making the crux movement across alpine paths. Watching Ladybird follow with the confidence of a NOLS Instructor, I knew I was in good company. We took in the crossing, then made our way through the rest of the pass down to the meadows at Buck Creek.

Taking in all that had happened the last 4 days, we struggled with the decision to pack-out, leaving the RTM Route behind. In reality, we had passed through what we sought to see, and all that lay before us was know trail from year before. But still the allure of those wild trails can even sometimes make you forget the pain you are in... In the end, we decided to make our way down Buck Cr and the coming hitch and hike up and over back to N Fork Sauk TH. 

We pushed far that night to stage ourselves for the upcoming transit. Figuring a two day hitch, we rested 1.5 miles from Trinity TH at the end of Chiwawa Rd. Sleep came quickly that evening, tired and spent...

Day 5 - Buck Cr/Chiwawa R. Camp to Sloan/Cadet Cr Camp (14 mi)

Morning brought luke-warm coffee due to the failing Iso-Pro canister. Note to self... bring two, or just plan for seven days in the first place... We pounded out the last 1.5 miles and watch our 1st possible hitch drive out of the parking lot. It would be 2.5 hrs of road walking and 5 miles walked down the Chiwawa Rd before we finally found a driver heading our way. The first hitch was Yoko and her lab Maya. Having just completed the Spider Mdws - Lyman Lks Traverse, this hiker gave us our longest ride. Covering the distance over Stevens Pass to Skykomish and the end of paved road up the Beckler River. Being a fellow hiker, the ride was a constant trade of hikes and alpine routes, giving each "best of" lists and choice backcountry meals... 

She dropped us off on a little dusty road, headed towards the N Fork Skykomish River. We had decided on this route, as to make the full hitch around would leave us in the realm of the suburbs, were every thru-hikers know is the "Black Hole of Hitches". So we again needed to with hobbling legs make our way across yet another Wilderness, this time the Henry M. Jackson. To our surprise, it was not but 4 mins before we were in the back of a pick-up truck of loggers, speeding up towards Beckler Pass. Peaks sailed past us as we talked about all that had happened, enjoying the lure to return to explore the peaks passed. 

At Beckler Pass, it was like a relay hand off of Hitches, from one to another. This time a local with two Greyhounds named Harley and Echo. Watching there excitement as we neared our destination, charged us and as we two desired to get back into those highcountry Meadows.

The drop off was quick and we again were on trail. 

Following Quartz Creek trail up towards Curry Gap, we passed through an old growth valley of tall cedars and glowing moss. Creeks fell in cascades into emerald pools just trailside. Fern grottoes graced the path, and soon a meadow below the ice capped Kyes Mtn emerged. This was the back-side of the Monte Cristo Peaks, heart of the Henry M. Jackson Wild, and gateway to Bald Eagle and Cady Meadows. There was a special sense to that place as we rose towards the Gap. 

At the final meadow a lone tree of many arms held the junction signs, below N Fork Sauk TH and the end of journey. We lagged our pace and slowly enjoyed the towers of Cadet Pk and Sloan Mtn before us. A beautiful deep forest evening... 

Sauntering down the trail soon we left the wilderness unexpectedly, following a miners road turned loggers access. The evidence of past clearcuts were apparent and a shock to the system. At Sloan Creek we made camp, in a grove of ancient Cedars, but the echos of the saw still reverberated from the moving waters. A fire cooked our food and warmed us, seeming to bring a close to our circuit. 

Day 6 - Sloan/Cadet Cr Camp to N Fork Sauk TH (3 mi)

The rest of this road walk was spent recapping our journey. Already plans were being made for the next trip into the Cascades. While we did not complete the RTM Route of Glacier Peak, the spell of High Places has sparked a fire deep in our hearts. For when a journey comes to an en for a wilderness traveler, they know that they will return soon, for there very nature feels revitalized by the presence of these high places... 

For they are truly our home....

"When I look to these mountains, 

my eyes draw up to heaven, 

where the earth and the sky meet. 

My life it leads, is in between, 

with a spirit that guides me forward.

Humble eyes I look on to their beauty, 

Gifted as it seems with their presence,

Knowing the wisdom they hold..." 

-- Yamabushi Prayer

PS 1 - Solo Kayaking

Puget Sound -- Vashon Is Circumnavigation (53 miles)

A rhythm builds with each stroke... The blade enters the deep waters surface with ease, slicing the surface, just slightly tilted like a cupped hand of a swimmer. Catching the momentum of the passing water, it glides from the bow of my reach, to a beam of my midship. My body following with the flow of water almost braced against it in one spot, I face it till finally a release and a long gliding pause. The other blade comes down on the port side, and the pattern is repeated. There is a tempo to 4 knots. I seems to maintain it through a beat of an internal clock, with a 2 knot tide shutting me past the repeating points. This is one of the motions of a kayak passage. It fondly reminds me of the rhythm of hiking 3 miles per hour over the contours of the Pacific Mountain Ranges. It reminds me of that internal beat one hears on a long trip.

Lately, I have been taking to solo paddling... This has come after paddling with co-workers, instructors, peers and friends. Somehow there is a peace and gratification to the solo paddle, one which grows with each trip. I came into paddling with one main long goal, to return to Alaska. But through it recently, after facing judgement and competition from my working peers, personalities and expectation of the normal crew, there is a peace to just going it alone. One is faced with the elements as they stand, which one's own mind seem to be alone on the water with itself to tend with. This has became my mediation, this has become a refuge. 

Each trip so far has been a surge of choice, Maury, Vashon and now my plans for Bainbridge Island. With nine totaling the challenge, it seems less about completing a list, but what each teaches me as I progress. The first was an out right challenge. Having only paddled 3-7 miles, the 20+ mile circumnav took me to another point. With a capsize in mid channel, and a confident re-entry, it paved the way to push on. The calm of Quatermaster Bay and the haul over the Portage back to the Sound, nothing could seem more natural... This was exactly what I needed to be doing.

Recently, at the end of two days with the crew, I took to the unfinished business of the main part of Vashon Island. Leaving Wingehaven Marine Camp, I headed south waving to my friends and determined to make the rounds about this island. Two points, keeping Three Tree to my port, I found myself at the same Portage that I had found myself a week before... Entering Quartermaster Bay, I made the rounds, with Jellyfish appearing with each stroke. Facing an opposing tide, and a little bit of the wind, the trek through Dockton faced a different character. But as I passed Pinner Point, I knew that I was out to round a new corner, with Gig Harbor in View. 

There is nothing more sobering then 3 foot high confused waves... Unlike 5 foot rollers with a regular period, it is more akind to riding a mechanical bull while having a few in you. In your mind, you keep saying to yourself... High Brace, loose hipflicks, low brace, paddle... This sequence keeps occurring in rapid succession, due to the successive sea walls. I think to my peers, that questioned my abilities, pushing me out and as I slowly rounded the point, I knew quite well, that experience is the best teacher... This was just good plain FUN!

At Dalco, I rounded and began to shuttle up the likes of Colvos Passage. Starting with 3 foot rollers, I gained the momentum I needed. After that is was a clear shot to Lisabeula Camp. Passing point, cape and coves, Raven, Eagle and Heron followed me. I saw Porpose and Seal along the way, making Bear's Passage a welcome one. Somehow, there alone in the channel, I was in the company of friends with these spirits. A inner charge seemed to grow in me, and a contentment that I have not felt since returning from New Zealand. This was my new way of Travels...

At Lisabeula, I pulled upon shore, a quiet camp, I watched as the sun lit up the sky in a brillance of sunset, and Mt Anderson rose from behind Olalla Bay, reminding me of distant Ice Caves once visited on her slopes. Heron entered my camp that night, as well as the curious Raven.. These were the friends a solo kayaker keeps... Watching there activities, I began to see a new perspective, that of life at Tide Line...

I awoke early the next day, desiring to find out what the Waters had to teach me.. Colvos Passage passed to quickly for my taste, and soon I was on the Sound making for Alki. My eyes lead north towards Bainbridge, but it was truely the distant Whidbey and the Archipelligo that traverses this wild coast that lured me. As I rounded there at Alki, I knew after 4 days I had found my home, there on the sea... Echos of Stan raced through my mind, and flashes of that passage north incited my mind. Here was my new trail, and I knew I had to prepare for what lay ahead... 

Somehow, all that has happened in the last year didn't seem to matter much, just that quiet rhythm of the paddle blade, and the long gaze north towards the horizon... Deep inside, my soul knows these adventures will be solo... But it does not matter much, as it seemed that I had returned home...

-- Ridgewalker