I've been harassing my friend Greg about going on a backpacking trip for the last couple of months. He lives in Sequim, WA which is along the northern coast of the Olympic Peninsula, which isn't too far from one our countries greatest national forests, Olympic National Forest. He finally found a window of opportunity to organize a trip for us. We added another two adventurers to our trip, Russ (Seattle) and Hugh (Portland). We set out for a 14-mile 3-day trip shortly after lunch on Friday.
Greg is known for selecting the most intense hikes he can find. Expecting to grind my legs into the ground for 3 straight days, i started preparing early. I have been pretty good about getting a hike under my belt every weekend. I've been working my way up in elevation gain and distance as each hike is notched under my boots. My last warm-up hike was Saddle Mountain along Oregon's coastal range. It's a short 5-mile round trip but throws a few steep inclines and technical scrambles in the hiker's path. My issue wasn't so much the trail but my boots (a reoccurring theme i have taken steps to remedy). By the time i reached the "summit" of Saddle Mountain, my heels looked like they had been rubbed against a belt sander and then smashed with a hammer. Not good. I made some quick blister repairs (duct tape and part of my cliff bar wrapper) and headed back down to the truck. My blister rig helped keep the heel carnage down to a minimum but the damage was already done. The love hate relationship with my boots met a fatal end when i stopped off at REI on my way home that afternoon. I picked up a pair of low top hikers and put my boots into retirement.
The last push to summit Saddle Mountain.
Looking toward the Columbia River, Mt Rainier, Mt. Adams and Mt. Saint Helens.
After 3 long days in a conference room i was ready to hit the trails again. I took off out of Portland early Friday morning. Still worried about my battered heels and new kicks, thoughts of stepping away from the trip were faint in my mind. I knew i would regret not going so. . .i went (with a roll of duct tape and plenty of mole skin).
Day One:
We set out into the forest roads of the Olympic National Forest after a feast of venison burgers and salad. Our first day's agenda was to summit Mt Townsend (6278 feet) and then a trek down to Silver Lake for a good night's rest. In typical Greg fashion, we didn't take the easy way up to the summit. Instead we decided to take the "challenging" trail. In the first mile we climbed 1500 feet of elevation. The next 2 1/2 miles to the summit didn't stray much from that grade. The trip to the top of Mt Townsend was gruelling but well worth it. A late Spring provided no shortage of wild flowers or snow covered peaks to enjoy. From the summit you could see out to the Puget Sound, the city of Seattle, the San Juan islands, and an endless supply of other Olympic peaks. After some jolly hogging (i think i just made that up but i like it) on the summit it was time to head down to our camp for the night. It was another 4 miles down to Silver Lake. Thankfully they utilized the art of switchbacks on this part of the trip. The trip down was riddled with more wild flowers and mountain views. We got into Silver Lake around 7.30 and started setting up camp. The evening was uneventful minus Greg nearly crushing my face with a Nalgene bottle. We were struggling to hang our bear line (don't do this in the dark, tip #1) and Greg was using a Nalgene and to throw the cordage through the tree limbs. In the case of a bad throw (which were plenty) we had to tug the bottle back through the trees. Well. . .Greg started tugging (i was laying half way on the trail and in the brush, trying to sleep) and the top of the bottle snapped off, Greg went ass first into the brush and the bottle came flying out of the tree crashing 6 inches from my face. I looked over at Greg and saw nothing but his feet sticking out from the bushes. We had a good laugh (10 minutes of gut cramping, face aching laughter) and got back to hanging our bear line.
Pre-Departure photo. Look how happy we all are (this will change shortly)
The start of Day 1. Frisbee questions her father's choice of trail (and pack weight).
Greg signs our lives away. This probably should have been an indicator of the trip we were about to embark on.
Russ and Hugh taking a quick breather.
Me taking a quick breather and time to shoot what Russ calls my "Facebook" photo.
I took a break and snapped this on the way up.
Just a glimpse of the wildflowers that lined the trail.
Russ and Greg bringing up the rear.
Greg and Russ reaching the summit of Mt. Townsend
The view. Worth all the cursing, sweat and more cursing.
Russ helping me set up the camera for the group photo (how photogenic).
The boys (and girl) on Mt. Townsend's summit.
The trail on the way down to Silver Lake (look more wildflowers and mountains).
Silver Lake.
Ernie keeping an eye on things.
Hugh keeping catching a pre-bedtime star gaze.
Day Two:
Our second day had a pretty simple plan in mind, just 2.5 miles. There wasn't an established path for the route we had planned. I guess that is what topo maps, compasses and gps devices are for (all of which i had nothing to do with). Looking at the maps, Greg and Hugh decided it was best to abort Greg's original plan to hike up to a saddle along the ridge and scramble along the ridgeline until we found the valley we needed. Instead, we picked the more direct, aka vertical, route to our desired destination. Just behind our camp there was a boulder field that, in theory, would lead us to the summit. According to the contours there was even a "flat spot" to collect ourselves. The plan was to hike to said "flat spot" and see if we could reach the ridgeline from there. We did reach the "flat spot" (the reason for the ". . ." is because it was in fact, our only flat spot of the day) but only after slogging through the boulder field, some scree, a vertical mountain meadow, and some more scree. Once at the flat spot, which was snow filled and not all that flat, we saw our path to the ridge. Guess what. . .another scree field. We got to the ridgeline and took a well deserved break. Cursing the uphill battle we had just completed, we were ready for some downhill (careful what you wish for). Hugh and Russ took a quick, packless scramble around a rock feature and scoped out our route down. After some snacks we threw our packs on and started along the ridgeline. About an 1/8th of a mile along the ridge we walked out into an alpine meadow that marked the downhill we had been craving. There was some resemblance of a trail as we trekked through meadow after meadow, after scree, after meadow, after snow field, after meadow, after scree, after down climb, after meadow. . .you get the picture (and if you don't, you never will). We got back under the timberline and continued downhill to a creek crossing, up a little hill and we were at our camp for the night. After only 2 1/2 miles my legs felt the same the did after the previous day's 7 1/2 mile grind. Our campsite was situated along a stream that at one point in time (1950-something) was the site of b-17 bomber crash. The wreckage was still all over the place. We even had a piece of the tail sitting in our campsite.
High spirits for the start of day two.
Russ trying to hide from the morning rain. I think his tentmate left a little something on his chin (Hugh you dirty, dirty man).
Our "path" on day two.
Looking back to where we started.
Greg taking a break a the "flat spot" and scoping out his route for the last push to the ridgeline.
Looking back on the flat spot and Silver Lake from the ridgeline.
Russ, Hugh and Ernie descend into the clouds.
Russ and Hugh breaking away from the group in a scree field.
Group photos were a great excuse for taking a break and catching your breath.
Another wildflower patch.
Leftover bomber wreckage.
Russ holding some bomber scraps, the tail fin behind him and Fris waiting for him to throw something (anything).
By the end of day two our emotions were all over the place.
Day Three:
We woke up to a morning filled with liquid sunshine. It made for a messy clean-up of camp and limited photo ops (as did the dying battery of my camera). The final day on the trail should probably be labeled a "cake walk." The hike back to the cars was walk in the park (which it actually was "a walk in the park" Olympic National Park that is. Ha, ha) in comparison to the two previous days. A 4-mile lightly graded downhill was all we had between us and real food, flip flops and a soak in the hot tub. Our packs were lightened from the prior night's gorging of food and limited water supply. We basically ran out of the woods, completing our 4-mile stroll in just under an hour. We posed for a final group photo along the foot bridge leading up to the parking lot and bid the woods good bye.
The last group shot as we headed back to civilization.
It was an awesome trip. Kudos to Greg for picking a challenging route that made all of us question his planning but in the end left us thanking nature for the views and experience. The Olympics are more than just another gem the wild west has to offer. They are a trip through thousands of years of history (fossils can be found at 6000 feet above sea level), a experience in nature's flower shop and an excellent way to wear the skin right off the back of your heel.
No comments:
Post a Comment