PCT 26 -- Following the Marmot's Whistle

PCT 26 -- Following the Marmot's Whistle

We trek most of the day up along ridgelines, connecting from one to another. Deep below, the headwaters of great watersheds begin from late summer snowfields, down their raging courses with name like the Sauk and the Wenachee. The trail keeps reaching higher as the crest heads straight for the mountains of DaKooba's inner sanctuary. We climb above the treelike into a world of vivid reds, yellows and oranges of the last high alpine flowers of the seasons fading into
fall. Behind mountains not seeen by many and only spoken like lore from the Cascade Alpine Guide deep in granite greys and metamorphic purple hues reach skyward giving a man time to dream of lofty peaks. With all these sights the high whistle of a marmots call draws the hikers attention away from dreamy sights. Standing alert from his hole, of seems he is the spirit of this alpine haven. This is part of what makes the Glacier Peak Wilderness so special.

Located just east of Darington, this wilderness by it's very nature is remote. Each year districtive floods erode away miles of trailhead roads and routes, placing the mountain further with each mood of the river. And yet there is a lure to the hiker to follow old paths and climb over washed-out bridges, there just is no other place that feels deeper then here. Even as we look from ridgeline trails, we know the valley floor 4000' below is here the trail will descend to the old growth groves only to ascend the next ridge again.

My first encounter with this mountains was after high school as I worked on a trail crew. Days spent in those backcountry valleys bucking out logs to build punchon bridges, working the two man crosscut through old growth hemlock, and brushing out miles of overgrown trail, came with tireing days. Yet my first view of the High Cascades, came from days walking Vista Ridge or Fire Creek Pass, meadows with indescribable views. To walk now again and see the logs that took two days to make the 5 cuts needed to clear the trail, now stacked with 2 new blowdows was sobering. The power of natures forces is something to behold. Motion of water, wind and land move the forest and rivers, creating an obstacle course that honestly was fun to cross.

For years these trails have been stated as impassible by the Forest Service, yet out trek found this to not be true. For the adventureous, the challenges of the trail brought with it a earned joy when reaching the alpine zone. Respect for DaKooba's power comes after a long sore day. With views north towards the distant mountains of the last section of trail, the enjoyment of this true wilderness before the final push seems to warm us at nights. Watching sumset fade over Fortress Mountains silowet and long marmots whistle, brings a reminicing memory of those long summer days... Soon our walk will be done.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 25 - In the Shadow of Becky's Peaks (Alpine Lakes Wild)

PCT 25 - In the Shadow of Becky's Peaks (Alpine Lakes Wild)

My first long backpacking trip was in these mountains. I remember that first day like it was yesterday. Elise had just dropped me off at Fish Lake Meadows, just below Cathedral Rock. The mist was still streaming up from the rivers surface as the Cle Elum meandered it's was across the flower covered valley floor. Before I left, we sat beside the rivers edge and talked about what we though life would me like. Today, that friend fights a growing cancer with as much life and spirit as she had that day. I am always insipered by her view of life. Now I walk again with another kindered spirit along the high trail of Fred Becky's Peaks. It has also been a joy to share these moments with another likewise youthful spirit.

These mountains sing to me as home like no other. As I climb up the ridgeline of Kendells Katwalk, the masses of day hikers pass us by. This is a place of high discovery for new eyes tothe mountain lore. The beauty here is painted on the rocks reaching out towards the horizon. The high tower of Stuart, like a watchtower upon the cathedral hill, always stands off over the last ridgeline. This ridgeline we walk is home.

In the next day we weave our way below the twin towers of Thompson and Huckleberry, cross the long talus field below Chikamin Ridge. Layers of compressed mudstone that long ago found themselves buried deep in the oceans of Mesozoic times, now reach high towards the heavens as they are made golden by the dawns light. Every now and the I pick up a rock and break it along fine lines to reveals another world in the fossils of an ancient sea. And yet the views of Park Lakes and the small meadows below, bring us back to the present and the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

On that first solo trip, I brought along a book to keep me company, "Challenge of the North Cascades" by Fred Becky. In it was a page after page of descriptions of the inner sanctuary of Lemah, Overcoat, Chikamin and Dummot Chief. I remember coming over the ridgeline and putting a face to these giants that had become part of my own mythology woven frpm his descriptions. To see them again, was to look upon the face of heaven itself. Needless to say we had good skies.

Near the base of Three Queens, we came upon two hikers, who I immediately recognized. Wayne and Rick from work were out for the weekend to explore these upper reaches along the crest. We talked and swapped stories of trails we all had seen along the way, snapped a few pictures of eachother and parted ways. There is something special about meeting hikers and friends in the backcountry. Each shares that great experience of discovery, and chance meetings seem somehow part of the fate of the travelling experience.

That night after climbing out of the deep valley of Lemah Creek, we camped at the same campsite I stayed at when I was young. As the sun faded, we saw grand silowets painted with alpenglow lines of gold, pink and orange. The chill in the air on the clear night and the half moon seemed to speak of the trips end upon the horizon. But for the moment, the feeling of being deep in the wilderness and looking upon beautiful cliffs and glaciers fading to black was enough to bring warmth to our bundled hearts.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com/

PCT 24 -- Reflections upon the Path (Snoqualmie Pass)

Snoqualmie Pass MP 2400

 There are few words that can match the sense of coming home.  The warmth of the familure seems to flow over the soul. That placement within all that has come before. And yet, there is a deep feeling of difference. That feeling that the distance had placed upon the heart. I feel as though the land I have traveled before me had touched upon the way I look upon my life and others. In the end, an experience that has been transcending. We sit around coffee tables… Talking casually about distance and miles, place around the world, in which to roam, in which to reach out and touch that inner harmony again. This is the trials and tribulations of a Thru Hiker coming towards the end of the line. In the next 250 miles, comes the last great finally to a hike that has been utterly marvelous! A dream walked upon the very soul, and realized by the slow progression of feet upon the earth. I can only hope to bring light to such a journey, yet my mind only finds itself rapped into the folds of another, on an island far deep in the south pacific, a world away.

 The last week has been a trail, against the elements. Wind, Rain and Pain has come my way, and yet the ever constant, has been the trail before me. There is still more to hike. And yet the feet pull me forward. Every person has that point, where will and soul must collide. Where the true questions seem to resonate within and only ask the hard questions. Where does the trail go after Manning. It is on the mind of most every hiker these days. Talk of the after life, the world beyond the trail. And yet for each their heart is still on those endless days of summer. Those long miles, and high mountain passes. Will they ever end. For so long, it has seemed like a secret dream of each, and yet as we walk north it seems to become the resolve of each to answer those questions that set us out on this journey in the first place, to look for the residing calm in deep.

 In the last few years I have seen much, far more then I though before. A world has opened up before me, miles of trail seems to stream seamlessly before the dreamers eyes. And yet the final questions still remain. Society demands a heavy toll, and yet the soul demands much more… Which path… Which course…. After seeing the sunrise among the dawning petals of a desert rose, or upon the High Sierra Peaks, how can a man come back down from the mountains? Once it resides deep within, almost a candle lit beyond mark. The answer seems to reside in the fact that the trail keeps pulling me, like many others forward. It seems that many within our own little world have heard the piper. And are lead by the melody of that distant horizon. Each day spent reaching out towards the fine line of gold. I always wondered how travelers face each day alone, Today, I feel a glimpse into their eyes, into their world… It seems to give a man a certain courage that has not been felt before.

Well a few days rest, and we are back… To the trail that calls our names, and seems to haunt our dreams. The distant mile further to mark, and yet our heart calls out for more. The spell of the wild seems to call like a Robert Service poem. And yet, home calls as well… It is the spell of every wilderness traveler, what happens at the end of the trail…

 I guess we will see…

 

-- Ridgewalker

PCT 23 - Hiking the Diamond Forests of Washington

PCT 23 - Hiking the Diamond Forests of Washington

Four mountains survey the lands of Southern Washington, like sleeping giants. Wy'est (Hood) to the south, Loowit (St Helens) and Klickitat (Adams) making up the east west axis, and mighty Tahoma (Rainier) to the north like an anchor. Between these temples form a Diamond which the trail crosses, holding a deep forest and berry fields atop old Lava flows. Here a person is greeted with every shade of green imaginable. Stands of Old Growth Douglas Firs with their armor plated trunks reaching far into the sky. Here huckleberries cover ever bit of open ground, rolling through the undergrowth beneith lumbering giants. While the rain showers down with an echoing hush, captured by the oval leaves so small. A jewel unmistakably Washington, embodies these Diamond Forest beneith the mountains shadows.

There are many things that make the land north of the Columbia special, but it is the forests that captures the hikers attention when you first come here. Grand conifers vault sky-ward, almost reaching to connect heaven and earth with their green baughs. Cedars curve around rock and slope, tying themselves around old nurse logs with roots like delicate fingers weaving the earth. Hemlocks, row after row seem to stand at attention upon the hillslopes, dawning their white and grey coats against the constrasting green forest floor. And mighty Douglas, Psuedotsuga menzezii, with its towering height and thick bark, to anounce to all, its might and stature here in the evergreen forests.

The forest is alive with much more here. Shafts of light from the sky between rains lead the eyes lower to the Sea of Green that make up the land below these giants. Ferns with their outreaching fronds, give a sense of the ancient, here long before much else. These are the relatives of those upstarts that brought forests to life back in the Carboniferous Period, 300 million years ago. Then a mirid of flowering plants give highlights to this forest. Vannila leaf, with three leaves
appearing like the first few moments of a bird taking flight. Salal, bringing a shine to the remains of old stumps and logs. Each blue vase-like berry in a row almost to hearld the ringing of the bells on the final day. And last the variety of blue and huckleberries, who's array of small leaves and berries seem to reach up to the bear-like hiker who ambles along.

These forest inhabit animals that seem to walk like a spirits whisper behind the dense trunks and vinemaple. A mystery to those who first arrive from the southern forests, till their unearthly buggle echoes through these halls. With the tramp of brush and a sudden crack of branches, they are gone. Only a strike of brown a white in the far distances remains. There is the clatter of the Douglas squirel, offended at your presence. Making a ruckus of his territory while bumbarding a hiker with the remains of cones he had aleady pillaged for treasure. A few fox and coyot leave only tracks as marks of passage. And the sonnerous Kha of the black Raven, eyes of this woodland domain resounds from above. To the first people he was the mischievous spirit who brought salmon and fire to them. Wise, powerful, and dangerous.

These woods are alive, unlike any other we have crossed. They seem to demand your attention with their presents, even the rain mists brings your senses closer to you. And yet like many others, you understand how threatened these are. For outside the reach of the trail's protection, the land is shaved, and denuded of its aweinspiring power. These forests are special places indeed. One that has haunted my memories and desire since leaving Campo four months ago. They are home to part of ourselves, to a place that the great bear still roam. But with unwatched eyes, they are lost, and forgotten. Yet to the hiker who walks through them, they weave a spell of sense and image that can never be forgotten. For a man returning home, they remind one of no greater lesson. The land is alive, part of you, and above all should be respected...

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 22 - Last Giants and a River

PCT 22 - Last Giants and a River

The meadows of Jefferson on the north side are one of a small taste of things to come. The change of these mountains, with growing vails of white glaciers along their ascending rise towards the heavens, seem to become greater as we pass the 45th N Latitude. Jefferson reaches up towards the sky with a sharp point, looking over the Deschutes and Metolious. With a great garden along the northern wall.

Drawn north over the snows of Park Butte we make our first 32 mile day. Waking the distance between the mountains to the base of Wy'est. Through gentle forests of blueberries and pines. Ravens follow us along the trail through Warm Springs lands. At the end of the day, Clackamas River and a view of the last of the Cascade giants of Oregon, Wy'est (Hood).

The rumble of thunder through the night and morning, begin to cool the forests that surrounded the last of Oregon's mountains. Wy'est covers itself in a cloak of mist. The following evening lightning takes the sky, and thunder trembles the forest. Wind begins to whip through the Old Douglas stands, and soon we find ourselves along the banks of the Columbia.

Wy'est kept us from her meadows. But the mist along the great gorge towards the Pacific, tell of one more state to go. The storm passes on and thoughts of the Goat Rocks, Klickitat, Tahoma, Da'Kooba and Komo Klashan, meet us here at the rivers edge. Oregon has been beautiful, but the deep forests of Washington lay beyond the rivers edge with promise. Tommorrow we'll begin the last 500 miles. I look forward to the long High Cascades ridgeline. Hopefully the end of summer finds us well.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 21 - Central Oregon

PCT 21 - Central Oregon

The Sisters caught me by suprise rising out of the 4 days of long forest of lake after pond after lake. With a first view of the red and white cap of South Sisters through a break in the green of trees, it was like a hint of things to come. Out of Elk Lake five mountains stand sentential watch over the divide in the cascades, the three sisters, broken top & mount bachelor. Surrounded by remains of recent lava flow, ground broken and black, obsidian, rhyolite, basalt and pumice stand as a mosaic of the mountains upon the lower slope plains.

South Sisters is the first of these glaciated jewels a hiker looks upon coming to their domain. Glaciers draw her cone down, etching through the red cinders to grey ash that lies below. The alternation looks as thought great braids of a fierce redheaded woman, with subtle line highlight the dawn of her middle age. Atop her summit sits a pool to reflect the face of heaven in translucent shades of blue. Held only to those who caught by her spell climb along her elegant ridgelines.

From behind south sisters, stands a younger cone of a mountain. Evidence of age stands in the smooth lines descending down her flanks. Darker tint to the rock gives the fine ones almost a perfection feel like Fujiyama from the westside. As the sun begins to set, the colors of the fading light playout along the fingers of snowfields descending from atop the mountains 10'000 ft high upper reach.

The last of the sisters stands to the north. The eldest bound in roots to the youngest, the etched interior rock of the mountains magma heart stands exposed like many to the sky by thousands of years of glacier ice that carved away the outershell. Black rock flows surround the base of this mountain. From giant vents and craters that we walk around in long arcs. For one of these craters we ascend into its heart, like the black gate of Mordor, it holds us at bay only welcoming us along fine lines of a trail that works its way throughthe jumble. Indeed, the twin fingers of the oldest sister, looks north towards the broad solder of Washington, just beyond McKenzie's saddle. And one white glacier streams down a cirque that long eroded away.

The mountains of this area, seems to demand more time of me , begging for deeper research. To round their base in a grand arc and to explore the sanctuary between, middle and south, I will have to return for another trip. But with Jefferson and Washington on the horizon, as always my way leads north.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 20 - Sentinals of a Silvan Legacy

PCT 20 - Sentinels of a Silvan Legacy

They stand like a long forgotten army in an old battlefields. Silver spires, row upon row, reaching up to the bright blue sky. Branches stretch out and roots like legs frozen, at the place of their final stand, holding back the tide of flames, that raced by. These are the remains of an old green forest, similar to the one we walked through just that morning. Yet now after a 2006 fire the stand as silver silowets to what the once were, as beautiful and proud in death that they were in life.

My imagination is fueled by the lore of Tolkien, and his great Sheppard's of the trees, the Ents. The forest we had walked through was a great stand of Hemlock tall, dark and green. From the arms of each tree hung the striking green of Mathuselas Beard, giving these trees an ancient look, of wise kings of a previous age, now resting along the Willamette slopes. The forest teams with spirits of the living, brings comfort to the lone travellers, like Hobbits a long way from the Shire.

The wind seems to howl like a lone bagpipe up on the hills. At places large old growth stumps stand chard and worn. Around them ashes an scorch marks radiate out in a grand arc, as though an Ent battled a great spirit of the fire as it charged forward. Defiant to the end. The ground is covered with blueberry and huckleberry shrumb, bringing fruit and life back to this desolate landscape. A sign of rebirth to this Memories of Trees.

When most people think of a trip into the wilderness they think of places of lush environments. But at the same time it is inspiring to walk through the otherside and feel the power of the forest remaining after the forest green is long faded away. It brings a calm wonder to out own cycle of life. I nod my hat to these powerful giants, and walk further down the trail.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com