Rachel Lake Backpacking trip 2008

The fourth of July signals the real start of summer in the Pacific Northwest. Despite the solstice being a week or so earlier, there is some magical clock that strikes on the fourth weekend which signals clear skies, warmer temperatures and great conditions for getting outdoors.

For the past few years, friends of mine Sandro and James have been kicking off the backpacking season with a trip up to the Rachel and Rampart Lakes in the Alpine Lakes region of the Cascade Mountains. Both areas are very beautiful, while taking some work to get up to. This was my second year coming with them and based on our experiences last year, it’s been something I’ve been greatly looking forward to the entire year.

This trip started out with a bang, literally. The evening before there was an unexpected set of thunderstorms, not the most inviting idea considering the hike alternates between high forest and open plains areas. We set out regardless, considering that the mountain ridges might buffer the worst of the weather and the trail report was pretty favorable. It claimed “some snow” on the trail, but mostly clear with trillium flowers sprouting up along the path. In hindsight, there ought to have been ominous foreshadowing music.

To say “some snow” was a wild underestimate. In fact, there were areas of up to nine feet of snow judging by the depth of the tree wells going up the path. Whole areas of the trail were obscured by snowfall and it took the master pathfinder — James Wittingham Spencer — to keep us on track. It didn’t click at the time, but the waterfalls were far more active than usual, owing to the massive amount of snowfall and the very delayed start of any warm weather. This would have an impact on the path up, something I’ve never had the circumstance to do before: fording water. For those who do not know (and as I said, I didn’t until it was brought up) fording a stream involves taking off your boots, striping off your socks, removing the lower half of your hiking pants and walking through water barefoot. However, in this case, it was barefoot in snow melt. Very recent snow melt. Perhaps around 33F. And lots of it.

By the time we made it up to Rachel Lake, it became obvious that the trail report was woefully inaccurate, collectively we had all packed inappropriately and on the upside, this was going to be a trip with a great deal of solitude. Rachel Lake had about 60% ice cover and most of the campsites were snowed under. It had take us far longer to get to Rachel Lake than we had expected, just short of 5 hours. We were tired, cold and faced with the prospect of hiking further in diminishing sunlight. We set up camp in a day use spot of Rachel Lake.

The next morning we started off on a day hike to see the Rampart Lakes and whether or not we should relocate camp. The morning was warm and had some sun so the heading up hill was going to be an easy enough affair. Our original plan to ascend Mt. Alta was largely out of reach, the point having been shrouded in deep cloud cover, so Rampart Lakes it was. If Rachel Lake was merely frozen, the Ramparts were arctic tundra. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice — including things I have not seen before, like rivers and waterfalls.

On to passport #2

It’s amazing for to say it, but I have now retired my first passport and moved on to the second. Near as I can tell, this passport represents at least 800,000 miles of international travel out of my total accumulated miles of 1.5 million. (As least as far as American Airlines tells me. I suspect that the number is higher since I used to split my time between American and United when I lived in Chicago.) My carbon footprint is huge.

Not all the trips are stamped sequentially, it seems to me that border agents play a game of stamping where they fancy. Also, not all countries stamp your passport. Switzerland, for example, just looks to see if you have a passport. They don’t even go as far as to *scan* it. Bizarre neutrality.

On to number two !

A pictorial summary of my travels:

Olympic Hot Springs

The camping crew hit the road again for a dayhike on the Olympic Peninsula, this time with a trip to the Olympic Hot Springs. Coming out for this trip was a smaller group than we normally have: James, Jason, Mike and myself. Ordinarily this kind of thing has double that number, but the smaller size meant more space per person in the hot spring itself, so I was all for it.

James planned the trip to be an all day affair: we were meeting for coffee at the Starbuck’s on Olive at 8:45 am, making the trek over to the O.P. for a few hours of hot springs soaking and ultimately returning to Seattle around 10:30 pm. Since it’s still winter-ish in the mountains, the trip was billed as a snowshoeing excursion. So we packed our snowgear, a clean (and more importantly *warm*) change of clothes, the necessary after-soak bath towel, some snacks and as is mandated for all backcountry trips, a full three bottles of red wine.

The morning we left the sky was a misty gray that threatened rain. However by the time we reached the parking area near the trailhead the cloud layer had burned away leaving only crystal blue sky and a very manageable cool temperature. I had checked the NPS website for the trail conditions in the morning, and despite it claiming there was up to four feet of snow in places, from where we parked there wasn’t even slush mound to be seen. It was a perfect cool spring morning.

We started out towards the trailhead leaving our snowshoes behind — at the time it didn’t make any sense to bring the extra weight on a journey which clearly didn’t call for extra snow gear. From where we parked, the walk to the trailhead is an easy 2.5 miles entirely on a paved asphalt road with next to no incline. A little past the first mile we started to see hints of packed snow hidden under the tree canopy shadow. This was to be expected, so we continued on figuring that returning to retrieve our snowshoes would be a waste of time. We reached the trailhead; the snow is now about 9-10 inches deep. Despite this, we make decent time, partly because we are taking a well trodden path, partly because we’re just all fast walkers. We start the hike up to the springs.

From the trailhead to the springs is an additional 2.5 mile hike (also labelled as an “easy grade” but I’m sure that is more applicable when there isn’t snow on the trail). The more we continue up, the more snow we encounter. The snow itself did not bug me at all — even when it became clear that the path we were on was easily 3 feet above the ground. What gave me a little pause were the valleys and rock streams we had to ford. Bear in mind that we are still walking on an ice path about a foot wide surfaced with a quarter inch of wet ice. From this vantage point, now scramble down a 40 degree incline to shimmy across wet rocks and then shimmy up another 40 degree incline. In hindsight, the Eagle Scout in me wonders why my safety klaxon didn’t go off. Finally, we make it up to the hot springs and find an unoccupied, off-the-path spring for us to use.

Now I have never been in a hot spring before, so I wasn’t particularly sure what to expect, beyond it revolving around nekkid soaking in 1) water that is hot, where 2) that water is being fed from a spring. To be sure, both of those points are accurate. What I had not considered were the implications of hot spring water trickling from the underneath a mountain: namely, dissolved minerals. The sheer amount of dissolved minerals gave the water an interesting deep sea-green color. It also made the water feel thick and soapy to the touch (this is, I presume, why water softeners use huge bags of salt). There was, I must add, an odor as well. Charitably one could say the smell was of slightly ripened egg salad (if one were uncharitable, the smell was not unlike a faint flatulence). We remained undeterred. Propping up our bags so they would not get wet, we stripped off our hiking clothes and settled au naturale into the pool.

At the start of our soak, the conversation centered around ideas. We opened the first bottle of wine and passed it around. A while later we were near polishing off bottle two and the talk had progressed to events and current happenings. By the time the third bottle ran dry (and no small amount of alcohol buzz going around) we were down to talking about people. In general: people we’ve slept with, people we haven’t slept with but for whom we would entertain the notion, and finally people we would never touch regardless of circumstance.

Right around this time, a large group of 10 people (about 5 couples) showed up at our pool. We had been making plenty of noise — and frankly shouting out some pretty outrageous things — in an effort to keep folks away. Regardless, a pack of European expats showed up. Upon seeing four grown men in the hot spring, fully half their group went to find greener pastures. The remainder put down their bags (not really daypacks, but *bags*) and started to put on swimsuits. Seeing this James let them know we were naked. The euro-hipsters then opted to go in the buff.

The newcomers didn’t stick around for too long, maybe about 30 minutes. After polishing off a six-pack of beer and two wine coolers, they promptly got out, toweled off and redressed. We continued soaking for a bit until the light had daylight began to fade.

Worst Whistler ever …

Last weekend Bill and I made our way up to Whistler in British Columbia for the 2008 WinterPride ski week. We’ve never really been into “community” activities — we actually did attend an IML one year in Chicago, but entirely on accident; the sight of a crowd of leather-clad men kept us amused for hours — so WinterPride is actually something unusual for us to attend. The fact that the Whistler / Blackcomb resort area has been nominated the best ski area in North America (besting Aspen, Vail et al) for the past few years is an added bonus.

It was our second year. Last visit we had a ton of fun: hanging out at the apres ski get-togethers, crowd watching at theme parties like the “BearTrap”, meeting some interesting folks.

No so much this year. Sigh.

This year I had to make the trip up with a bad headcold. A headcold which degraded into a lovely sinus infection, and a few days after that a nice bout of bronchitis. It was everything you hate about winter sickness: sweaty fever / icy chills, dripping nose, hacking cough, unstoppable sneezing. Except this time, it was in a 4-star hotel, with a 1 minute walking distance to the gondola for the best skiing in town.

I took Friday off as a day of rest to hopefully kick the bug enough from my system. I woke up Saturday (whether by force of will or adrenalin or the fact I knew I pre-paid $75 for a lift ticket) raring to go up the slopes. I would not be denied.

One of the things that makes WinterPride so cool is the fact that there are a big number of ski groups (ranging from Slow Green to Fast Double Black) and they’re all a good number of skiers; generally no more than eight. Ghim and I got into a fast blue group and set off. The group was really good — I was the slowest amongst them — and the group leader Peter set us down some really great powdery runs. The trouble was, I couldn’t breathe let alone exert myself to actually keep up the pace of the group. I took one tumble into an 18-inch bank of powder and got the wind knocked out of me. From that point on, I was basically done for. Ghim skied down the mountain with me, I stopped to get a beer in me at Dusty’s cafe and took the shuttle bus back to the village.

Sigh. There’s always next year. This time with Zicam and lots of echinacea.

Second ski of the season

Headed up to Crystal again this weekend, this time solo by riding on the express bus. The temperature was bitter cold — in the high teens — and it kept snowing the whole time the mountain was open. These conditions mean a few things: a) the visibility will be questionable, b) the crowds on the mountain will drop off as people get too cold and c) there will be a fresh layer of powder the whole time you’re on the mountain.

True to form, all three came to pass. Since this was my second trip I thought I would step it up a notch (the first trip up of the season is really to get my ski legs back). I looked for the blue runs I haven’t been on before or the runs that i thought looked good from a chairlift. From there, I would really focus on speed and technique and go to town on the mountain. This time up I found a whole set of runs that I’ve never been on before (the Green River Valley runs). The whole area had at least 12 inches of sticky powder everywhere, and since the crowds were low, nothing was tracked to pieces.

I was having such a good time that I decided to step it up a notch even further. I saw a face off to the right of the Green River Valley chair with only a single person and absolutely pristine snow. From the chairlift this looked like a great place to be, the only problem was you had to traverse off the beaten path to get to it. Now, in skiing when you go off the beaten path this either means you’re in the “backcountry” or “off piste.” (Things sound so much better when they’re in a different language, no?) Well, this face was definitely off piste.

Way off piste in point of fact. Of course one could only discover the full breadth of its off-pisteness once you were staring down the face. To be clear, staring down the steep tree-packed face to your front and with a sheer rock cliff behind you. A cliff festooned with safety flags and warning orange signs saying: “EXTREME DANGER — CLIFF FACE.” Understatement is really a fine art when it comes to warning signage, in my humble opinion. The signs would be most noticeable by someone plummeting past them on their way down to make a cruel introduction to the boulders below.

Now the ski face was more extreme than I had realized. There were a number of trees in basically every ley down the mountain, and because it had never been groomed, falling over or sitting down meant you sank a good three feet into powder. I sat, snapped some pictures just in case I needed to prove an insurance claim (always thinking ahead here) and made a very slow descent. All in all, it was really a great ride but following that I opted to be far more boring for the rest of the day… and, when in doubt, not ever go off piste evah, evah again.

Pictures from the day:

First Ski of the Season

Yesterday my friend Lars and I hit the slopes of Crystal Mountain for our first (albeit late) ski of the season. Crystal’s been having an amazing year snow-wise, in the last two weeks, they’ve received nearly 10 feet of snow; since opening day the measure is over 240″ inches of the white stuff.

The weather couldn’t have been better for the trip. Crystal (if you’ll pardon the overuse) blue skies, relatively short lines and great snow made for a fantastic trip. One down, 9 more to go!

American Ridge Lodge Snowshoeing

We just got back from the winter camping from the regular crew. This year’s trip was a return to the American Ridge Lodge; the group had visited a few times prior (this was our first) and so they knew what to expect. I just got the eVite saying essentially: 1) it’s going to be cold, 2) everything is pack-in / pack-out, 3) you have to bring snowshoes or you’re doomed and 4) no electricity, no running water, a twenty seater pit toilet and single pane glass windows.

I packed up our backpacks as best I could, rented a pair of Denali snowshoes from REI and we headed out Friday in the very early afternoon.

Getting There
The American Ridge Lodge is located on the northern edge of the Mt. Rainier national forest. Usually one could get there from Seattle by heading south on I-5, turning left on the connecting highway headed up to the mountain and making the connection over Chinook Pass. Note I said “usually”. That plan doesn’t work in winter, when snow drifts regularly top 20 feet at times, and especially when late year storms take out large swaths of road from overflowing rivers. Such is the case in wintertime.

No, to get up to the lodge in the winter requires you to drive east through Cle Elum to Ellensburg, then head south to Yakima. When you get to Yakima, you take the first off road and proceed to drive 60 miles towards the mountain passes. When the road has turned to a sheet of ice, you haven’t seen another soul in 30 minutes and you’ve approached the opposite end of the Chinook Pass, you’re there. In the summer it’ll take you about 2 hours. In the winter, around 4.

Once you’ve arrived, it’s now time to strap on your snowshoes, gear-up the backpacks and start climbing. Getting up to the Lodge is a little short of a mile hike up a slight grade in the snow. Not bad if it’s just you and your snowshoes. Marginally more complicated when it’s you, firewood, drinking water, food, an inflatable air mattress with battery operated compressor (a requirement), a 0-degree F rated sleeping bag, a bottle of 18 year McCallen scotch and snowshoes. Take your time. Better yet, take your time and do it in the dark with a light drizzle of sleet falling on you. (In all honesty, it’s not that bad.)

About the Lodge
Back around 1905 the early settlers of the region used to come out to this area of the American Ridge to do some downhill skiing. Given what I’ve seen from making the drive and the current weather, I can only assume that the early settlers of this region were batshit crazy. Over time the area grew in popularity when by the early 40s locals had erected a set of small warming huts. Now, bear in mind, they didn’t erect a chairlift system to cart skiers up the hill with their hardwood carved skis and cast iron poles. You had to carry those up hill yourself. But, when you finally made it down hill, you could at least get yourself warm.

During the Great Depression the CCC tore down the makeshift warming huts and replaced it with the lodge as it stands today, around 1948. The ski area only lasted for another few years following that, as better and larger areas opened up in surrounding areas. By the late 50s the lodge had been abandoned and fell into disuse. Ownership of the lodge reverted back to the Forestry Service and in the mid-70s the local school district used it as a sort of nature classroom, taking school children up to the area for classes. Amazingly the lodge didn’t burn down, get vandalized into nothingness or even just rot away. During the 80s a restoration / renovation project brought it back into a more serviceable status, but in doing so they took out the stove, the bar and furnace. Now the Lodge is used by campers by reservation and the fees go to conservation.

Despite the fact that the lodge is as old as it is, and spent a good time of its existence abandoned, the structure is in very good shape.

Around the Cabin
You want pristine? You want silent? You want starry sky and the milky way? You get it in spades. The whole surrounding area basically drips with Hallmark Christmas card goodness. The ski runs are still around for the most part, the smaller runs have all since been reforested naturally. However the main run and the next smaller run are quite easily seen.

Out in the Snow
The hiking in the area was great. From what I could tell, any other group that had been there didn’t make many tracks in the snow. So, we had the range wide open to us — and maybe it’s a primal childhood thing for me — but I just can’t stand seeing pure snow go un-walkedin.

Bill and I started out wanting to head to the top of the main ski run and then make our way across that ridge and finally head down. If we found anything particularly cool, we’d go out after it. Not wanting to be an afterschool special, I had my GPS unit on tracking our movements so that I could backtrack us if I had to. Of course, in hindsight, I could have just followed our deep tracks in the snow. Eh. I got to play with my GPS receiver anyway.