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Kelly Butte Lookout

July 27, 2016October 9, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

One of my favorite things to do in the summer is climb to lookouts. My first of this year was Kelly Butte on the July 4th weekend. My husband drove us to the trailhead through a meandering of forest roads and I was surprised at the chill in the air when I opened my car door at the trailhead.

Clouds clung to the top the mountain and I was positive we’d be socked in at the top, but every now and then the sun would poke out to give us a little hope of views at the top.

The trail starts out lazily on an old continuation of the road through forest. We let Nali off the leash to run free and smell all the smells. Soon we arrived at the official trailhead where it abruptly switchbacks up and up through some fascinating geologic features. One particular rock outcrop looks like stairs and I joked that we could just climb up them for a shortcut.

Instead we kept to the narrow trail rising along the steep slope. I read that originally this area had a makeshift climbers trail that had to be scrambled up. While this seems plausible, I was happy for the tread.

Once cresting the steep section the trail opens up into broad meadows. Red paintbrush, blue lupine and white beargrass painted the slopes in patriotic splendor as the grade eased to mellow.

The sun still poked in and out of fast-moving low clouds. We delightedly watched them whip by. As we climbed we entered an alpine forest shrouded in fog. The white of the beargrass stood out on the background of dark green meadow like constellations. Soon we caught a glimpse of the lookout in the mist.

The lookout was open and we let ourselves in to take shelter from the cold and enjoy our lunch. We were amazed at the care that was taken to keep the lookout in amazing shape. The structure was originally built in the 1920’s and rebuilt several times with the latest restoration in 2011. A nice plaque hangs commemorating the volunteer effort to preserve this piece of history.

As we ate our pb & j sandwiches the wind picked up and whistled through the rafters. As usual while in a lookout, I thought about what it would be like to be there during a storm and got a little thrill in my stomach. I felt safe and secure in the lookout and lingered as long as possible.

Before leaving I flipped through the register notebook. Not many people had been there recently, in fact we only saw a few others on the trail that day. I scribbled a line for me, my husband and the dog and then almost as an afterthought, added a plus one. I scribbled “and Baby G (16 weeks pregnant!)” with a big smile on my face. As we put on our jackets to head back down the trail I hoped that our baby could feel he happiness, love and contentment I felt on that mountain.

Hikes Featured in this Post:

Kelly Butte

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Outdoor Life

Mt Whitney

April 5, 2016August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

What do you say when a friend calls and asks if you want to climb Mt Whitney with her? You say yes. You don’t think about how high it is, how long the trail is, the dangerous weather or snow conditions. You just say yes. Absolutely, yes.

It was 2013 and I was working on climbing 30 mountains before I turned 30 years old. My BFF in California scored some permits for September and thought that I might want to add the highest mountain in the lower-48 to my list. I hadn’t really considered it before, but of course I was in. I booked a flight to LA and then did a little research. I found that the Mt Whitney Trail is not technical (when there is no snow present) but climbs 11 miles and 6000ft from the trailhead at Whitney Portal to an altitude of 14,500 feet and we were doing this all in one day. Yikes!

I really didn’t know if I would be able to do it, but I was going to try. I was also nervous about the altitude since I hadn’t climbed higher than about 12,000 feet and that was when I was acclimatized. But I just decided to take it one step at a time and evaluate how I was feeling. If I didn’t make it to the top, I didn’t make it to the top, no big deal. It would still be an amazing trip.

So I hopped on a plane and stuck my head to the window looking at the Sierra below and wondering what it would be like at the top of Whitney. Then we packed in the car and headed north to Lone Pine. The one horse town sits on a plateau at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains near the Alabama Hills. It’s picturesque location is famous for the many western movies shot there. I remember our dinner that night like it was yesterday. We sat outside and looked up at the mountains. I had butterflies in my stomach and a big smile on my face. I couldn’t wait to climb the mountain the next day.

We awoke in the dark and checked and rechecked our packs then headed up to Whitney Portal around 4am. In single file we trudged up the trail. For a few hours all I could see was the gravel of endless switchbacks and my boots lit up by my headlamp. Eventually the trail flattened a bit and we got to a stream. I looked up at the sky and saw nothing but stars. I will never forget the moment I switched off my headlamp, looked up at the endless stars, the water gently trickling nearby.

Then we began to climb more. We were at about 11,000 feet when we stopped for a break and a snack. I was not feeling great and was starting to worry about the altitude. I was hoping it was just nerves. I forced down a sammy jammy and lots of water and continued on. Not long after that we began to see the sun rising. We reached a basin with a lake (where many people camp) just as the ramparts of Whitney and others around lit up in alpenglow. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it seemed like some kind of magic. We stood, huddled together for warmth as we watched in awe as the sunlight painted the mountains orange.

Now finally being able to use my preferred sense of sight, I got a boost of energy. We could now see the clear switchbacks that tracked up seemingly unclimbable jagged peaks. This is when the altitude really kicked in. My head began to thump and it felt like it was blowing up like a balloon, it was also much harder to catch my breath. We slowed down dramatically here. Take a few steps, stop. Take a few steps, stop. I was so thankful for the switchbacks with their gentle grade. We passed some young men working on the trail with tools. I knew they carried those tools up there and I couldn’t even begin to fathom it.

At the top of the switchback section, the trail begins a long traverse across a row of pinnacles and then gradually climbs once more to the broad summit. Along the traverse, the trail fell away thousands of feet between the tall pinnacles. It is not particularly dangerous if you stay on the trail, but I definitely scooted across them being sure to not look down. Once back on solid ground, it’s not far to he summit. Many people were coming down and encouraging us, announcing “you’re almost there!” I got another boost of energy, so excited to see the ugly shelter and to actually make it to the top!

We signed the register, took many pictures, woofed down some snickers bars and took a nice long nap in the sun. We chatted with others from all over the world and snapped group photos for them. I could not believe that we were at the top of the highest point in the lower 48! And better yet, I got there with my friends.

Outdoor Life

Iditarod: The Last Great Race

March 18, 2016July 30, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

The relationship between dogs and people in the Arctic spans thousands of years. In winter, the harsh Arctic landscape is covered in snow and ice and a sled was the most practical way to travel for the indigenous people. Dogs have incredible endurance and strength, and their thick coats keep them warm in cold weather. This makes them perfect for pulling sleds and large loads throughout the north.

In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s during the Klondike Gold Rush, people flocked to the Yukon and Alaska. In Alaska, fortune-seekers sailed to Seward and then made their way north overland through the heart of the territory to Nome. They established a route that connected trails originally established by the native people. Dogs were indispensable at this time. They hauled people, cargo, and mail to these places unsuitable for horses and roads. The route became known as the Seward-to-Nome Mail Trail, and later the Iditarod Trail.

In 1925, during an outbreak of diptheria, 20 mushers and 150 sled dogs relayed life-saving serum from Nenana, near Fairbanks, to Nome. The run was completed in five and a half days and saved the town from an epidemic. The race became known as the Great Serum Run and the lead dog on the last leg to Nome was famous thereafter. You can still see the statue of Balto in New York City’s Central Park.

But not long after the Serum Run, the airplane began to take over the duties of the sled dog and the sport soon fell out of favor. Native Alaskans continued to use the dogs as a means of transportation and for hunting until the snowmobile, or “iron dog”, made it’s way to the north in the 1960’s. At the end of the decade, there was an effort to restore and preserve the historic Iditarod trail and to commemorate the trail with a sled dog race.

The first official Iditarod race took place in 1973 with twenty-two finishers. It took twenty days to complete, about twice as long as it takes these days. The race started a resurgence in dog sledding that continues to this day. About 50 or more mushers enter the race every year and many of the mushers and their dogs are local celebrities. The Iditarod starts on the first Monday of March with a ceremonial start in Anchorage. The race’s official start is the following day in the smaller town of Willow.

When our friends asked my husband and I to join them in Anchorage for the Iditarod start, we jumped at the chance. People from all over the world travel to Anchorage for the event and the town is full of energy and excitement. Early on Saturday morning we made our way downtown to check out the dogs. The main street was closed off and they hauled in snow to cover the road. It snowed a few inches the day before, but it was the first snow in a while and certainly not enough to cover the route.

The main street was lined with trucks with dogs chained up around them. Most of them were snoozing away in the snow or in their quarters and others expressed their joy with excited yips. Surely they were aware that their journey would start soon. We read off all the dog names and chatted with some of the mushers, wishing them luck. We even got a special souvenir, a real homemade stinky used dog booty! Honestly, we were totally thrilled.

Finally we heard the announcement for the first musher and caught a glimpse of them through the crowds. We walked further down the street to find a less crowded spot and get a better view of the dogs as they charged by us. We felt the excitement of each team as they sped by and we gave them a hardy cheer and wished them godspeed.

Later, after all the mushers had completed their ceremonial run, we lined ourselves up on the snowy street to run with the reindeer. Yep, reindeer. Male ones with huge antlers. We weren’t alone, though. Thousands of people flee from the reindeer down a few blocks of the main street. A thrilling end to a exciting day in Alaska.

Fast into the Night by Debbie Clarke Moderow

Debbie fell in love with mushing after a friend gave her an old sled dog, Salt, for a pet during a hard time in her life. She was in her forties and a mother of two when she finally decided to run the Iditarod. She had experience running other races and had the full support of her family, all mushers in their own right, but unfortunately had to scratch on her first try. Two years later, Debbie was back on the trail with her memorable dogs Kanga, Juliet, Lil’ Su, Piney, Creek, Zeppy, Nacho and Taiga. This time, her tenacity and resilience got her to the finish line on Nome. This is a beautiful story of love and dedication between a family and their dogs.

Outdoor Life

How to: A Realistic Valentine’s Sunset Hike

February 8, 2016July 30, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Note: Oyster Dome, the gorgeous trail featured in this post, is currently under threat of clear cutting that will drastically alter the trail and others around it including Lily Lake. Read more about it here and find out what you can do. Now onto the post…

Step 1: Hold breath while checking calendar a month in advance. Husband is not working day shift, night shift, on call, or out of town AND Valentine’s Day is on a weekend! It’s a miracle!

Step 2: Choose a trail that almost meets all of your unrealistic expectations: has spectacular unobstructed west-facing views, a water feature (preferably with an island or two), is easy to navigate in the dark, and is not too difficult (sweating is not romantic, you guys). Oyster Dome has all the things! Although, let’s face it, there is going to be sweating. There is always sweating…

Step 3: Completely forget about plans until Valentine’s Day morning and wake up in a panic. But oh, sweet joy! You planned a sunset hike and you don’t have to get out of bed for hours! Propose deal to get husband to make you blueberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast in exchange for carrying the backpack up Oyster Dome. It’s totally worth it. Then make mental note to find smallest bottle of wine known to man to pack for the hike.

Step 4: Pack up the car and the dog and convince husband that the blanket is the thing that makes it a picnic and that yes, it is absolutely necessary to bring along. Stop at the grocery store to purchase picnic items. Branch out and get those little french pickles and something you’ve never had before like quince spread. Then grab the old staples: salami, cheese, and water crackers. Lastly, get one of those super chocolatey tiny fancy round cakes in the bakery section for dessert. Don’t worry, you earned all of it.

Step 5: Hike up Oyster Dome while regretting the deal to carry the backpack and attempt not to sweat. Reach the rocky overlook and choose a spot to put down the (totally necessary) blanket while pointing out how freaking photogenic it is. Nosh on your new favorite thing in the world, crackers with cheese and quince spread, while the sun begins to set. Spend like half an hour setting up the tripod and camera and take a hundred photos to capture a romantic moment between the two of you before finally getting one where you are not in mid-run when the timer goes off or the dog’s tail does not appear to be coming out of the side of your head. Then pause for just a moment when your husband and the dog look at each other and feel your heart melt with love. While hiking down the trail in complete darkness, stop, turn off the headlamps, hold hands, and look up until the stars come into focus. Vow to do it all again next year.

Hikes featured in this post:
Oyster Dome

Outdoor Life

Hiking History: Franklin Falls

January 26, 2016July 30, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Winter is a great time to visit this popular waterfall. The snow gives everything charm, especially the cabins along the creek topped with a thick layer of icing-like snow. The normally two mile hike is extended down the forest road about a mile making it more of a worthwhile destination for the day. It is, however, still as popular as ever in the winter so get there early to avoid the crowds.

The trail climbs gently through old growth along Denny Creek. In the summertime, you can walk along the Wagon Road Trail adjacent to the falls trail and see the remnants of the original road that climbed over Snoqualmie Pass. The old wagon road was built in 1867 to promote trade between Seattle and Ellensburg. There were frequent cattle drives on the steep road over the pass and maintenance was understandably difficult. Hiking along here, imagine what it would have been like traveling in a wagon…

The wagon road continued to be the main passage through the mountains for cattle and goods until the Northern Pacific Railroad was completed in 1887. The railroad provided a much easier way to transport freight and the road fell into disrepair. David Denny, brother of Arthur Denny who is one of the founders of Seattle, took it upon himself to save the road. He repaired the road, laid corduroy, and built bridges. In 1905 the first automobiles would cross over the pass on the road that Denny built.

Later, during the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Expedition, an auto race over the pass popularized the route. The state planned to build an official highway called the Sunset Highway that would run from North Bend east to the Idaho border. At its opening in 1915, the highway was hailed as “the first passable route between east and west sides of the mountains.” The new highway replaced the steep wagon road grade with switchbacks and hairpin turns that are now part of the forest road 58. The forest road parallels the trail and crisscrosses the original wagon road trail.

The trail to Franklin Falls has much to offer. It’s got old forest, a babbling creek, history and of course, the beautiful 70-foot falls. My favorite part of our winter trek was the impressive icicles guarding the falls on both sides, hanging from the rock like stalagmites. We walked the forest road down to make it a loop and threw snowballs into the deep snow for Nali to chase. She slept the whole way home. It was a perfect winter day.

More info about the Wagon Road

Hikes featured in this post:
Franklin Falls

Outdoor Life

A Year of Inspiration

January 7, 2016August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

On New Years Day I went for a hike to Lily Lake. The territory was a bit unfamiliar to me and full of unexpected obstacles. I literally had to dodge clumps of snow falling from the trees above me, and there was much more snow on the trail than I anticipated. It was also more beautiful than expected. The low hanging sun filtered through the trees lighting up the snow in orange. Every branch was topped with a thick layer of snow giving them a magical quality. I felt like I crossed into Narnia. When I reached the lake I found it completely frozen over and I wandered out onto it feeling brave while examining the exquisite jagged crystals of hoar frost that covered everything in sight.

Much like my journey to Lily Lake, my first year of writing and sharing stories on Alpine Lily has been an unexpected adventure. Before I started the blog I was feeling low and stressed out at work. My company was downsizing and my mentors and long time coworkers were leaving while I was left with more work. I was struggling and felt like I was just getting by each day, surviving. This caused a serious case of wanderlust. I counted down the hours to the weekend so that I could escape and get out to explore and replenish my energy. I hiked every weekend and racked up the miles as I checked off the trails off in my guide books. I always felt great in the mountains but no matter how many miles I logged, I still dreaded Monday morning.

So then I got the idea to start Alpine Lily. I wanted to do something completely different from my day job (engineering) that was fulfilling and creative and completely for my own pleasure and joy. I was filled with a rush of excitement and purpose. I made a list of books I’ve read and adventures I’ve been on that I wanted to write about and, more importantly, made a list of new adventures and books to read so that I could write about them. I found myself taking short walks outside at work when I got frustrated, and instead of thinking about work while I walked, I thought about what I would write on the blog. Instead of just filling up the week with thinking about what trails to check off, I started reading inspiring books and planning fulfilling adventures. The wanderlust that was only making me dislike my job more morphed into a sense of purpose and inspiration.

Over the past year I quit my job and found a better one. I volunteered for trail work five times for the Washington Trail Association and earned my very own hardhat. I spent a weekend camping with my sister in California and another in Oregon with my other sister discovering waterfalls. I tried sketching and painting on my hikes and went clamming and foraging for the first time. I took my friends backpacking and hiked with strangers that became friends. My husband and I revisited Green Mountain, the first peak we attempted to climb in Washington, after the trail was closed for nine years and finally made it to the top. We also revisited our home states back east and shared our favorite childhood outdoor places with each other and our families. I read so many books! I didn’t get in the number of miles that I was hoping for, but the quality of the miles more than made up for it.

I completed most of the goals that I set last year, but I am taking a different approach this year. I have only one goal for the year- to go into the outdoors as much as possible with my loved ones and with purpose. In addition, I came up with a Life List- experiences I want to have sometime in my life with no specific end date. These are things that are near and dear to my heart, not just places and trails to check off a list. Here are some of them in hopes of inspiring you to do the same.

Spend a night in a lookout and/or lighthouse
Find an Alpine Lily flower in the wild
Start an outdoor book club
Backpack solo
Hear wolves howling at the moon
Night kayaking
Snow camping
See the northern lights
Climb all the volcanoes in Washington with my husband
Visit the Three Sisters Wilderness in Oregon with my two sisters
Visit an active volcano
Hot air balloon ride

I wish you a very Happy New Year filled with lots of inspiration and quality time on the trails!

Hikes featured in this post:
Lily Lake

Outdoor Life

Hiking History: Iron Goat Trail

October 27, 2015November 28, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

A few weeks ago when a friend asked me to take her on a spooky hike, I knew exactly where to go. The Iron Goat trail is by far the creepiest trail I’ve been on. Not only does it have train tunnels and collapsing snowsheds, but the trail leads to the site of a horrific tragedy. In 1910 the worst avalanche in American history swept two trains off their tracks and killed 96 people at Wellington.

The Iron Goat trail follows the old Great Northern Railroad route that switchbacks high above the valley floor on its way to Stevens Pass. This high route perched on the steep slopes of Windy Mountain was an impressive feat of engineering, but it also received 20-30 feet of snow in the winter. This in combination with recently burnt exposed slopes above the tracks made the stretch from Scenic to Wellington a dangerous one. Efforts were made to hold the heavy and wet Northwest snow by building giant concrete walls, snowsheds and tunnels. But ultimately nature won the battle with the railroads and a tunnel was built in 1929 to avoid the switchbacks to the pass all together.

We started our hike at the Scenic trailhead, the midpoint of the trail, and headed up steep switchbacks to the old railroad grade. From here we headed east on the easy grade toward Wellington, the site of the avalanche. It was a foggy fall day, perfectly setting the mood for this macabre hike. We soon approached Windy Point, a tight turn that required the train to slow to a crawl before a tunnel was built in 1913. We then followed a tall concrete wall along a slope so steep that you must walk along a narrow concrete base carpeted in moss to the end of the tunnel.

We explored the tunnel, but not too much. The western end of the tunnel is collapsed making the tunnel dark as could be and not a place for lingering. We shivered and continued on through the foggy trees. The snowshed wall continues along this part of the trail, looming. But nature is slowly reclaiming the walls. Water cascades over them in places and full grown trees tower up from the ledges. We heard the echos of the modern day train tooting its whistle in the valley below and I got goosebumps.

As we rounded a corner I caught a glimpse of the snow shed at Wellington. I told my friend that we were getting to the creepiest part of the trail, muuuhahahahaha. And then we both jumped and squeaked. Two other hikers emerged from the bushes and scared the crap out of us. We scared them too. We neared the snowshed and marveled at the collapsing concrete clinging to twisted rebar like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. The rest of the snowshed is intact and complete with a boardwalk. We made our way to an overlook, halfway through the shed for a lunch break.

In the winter of 1910 an unprecedented snow storm hit western Washington. Thick, wet snow piled on the tracks at a rate of a foot an hour and the snow blasting plow engines could not keep up. This was not unusual for this area that receives up to 35 feet of snow in some years. But what was unusual was the length of the storm. It lasted for nine days and the snow never let up. Two trains traveling to Seattle from Spokane, one a passenger train and the other a mail train, were trapped by slides at Wellington. Rescue efforts were thwarted by the ever-piling snow.

Some of the passengers braved the weather and hiked out the 3 miles to Scenic while others waiting to be rescued, their supplies dwindling. Then on March 10, 1910 a rare thunderstorm came through and the heavy rain loosened a mass of snow from Windy Mountain above. The snow smashed into the trains, toppling them off the rails like toys. The scene was chaos and the few surviving passengers rushed to dig out others, but it was not long before many of the buried suffocated and died. The last to be rescued was Ida Starett. She muffled out a scream when she regained consciousness and found herself face down buried in snow with a large object pinning her down and her dead infant pressed against her belly. Rescuers heard her cries and dug her out of the snow. Earlier her son, 7 year-old Raymond, was recovered with a 30 inch splinter in his forehead. His rescuer, a doctor, removed it with a shaving razor.

In all, 23 passengers survived and the bodies of the dead were put on Alaskan sleds and taken down the steep avalanche slopes to Scenic. Other bodies weren’t recovered until the snow melted in the following July. The news of the avalanche took the country by storm and the town of Wellington was renamed to Tye soon after so that weary passengers did not have to pass through the doomed Wellington. The concrete snowshed that still stands was built in response to the deadly avalanche, but it was not long before the route was rerouted all together to the modern Cascade tunnel. In the 1990’s the trail was built by Outdoor Washington with boardwalks and interpretive signs making the site accessible and preserving the history for future hikers.

More info about the Iron Goat trail:
Outdoor Washington’s Iron Goat Trail website

The White Cascade by Gary Krist

This gripping account of the 1910 avalanche and the days leading up to it is a must read for fans of the Iron Goat trail. Krist compiled the narrative from events recounted in letters, diaries, memoirs and court documents. It brings together the stories of the passengers, workers, rescuers and the turmoil that plagued the leaders and decision makers of the Great Northern Railway during those days into a complete package that is impossible to put down.

Outdoor Life

Trail Work

October 19, 2015July 30, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

I’ve hiked many years in the Cascades and have been a member of the Washington Trail Association for just as long. I happily paid my dues every year and felt warm and fuzzy about helping out my local trail maintenance organization. I’ve belted out, “Thank you, WTA!” while hiking through a trail team’s working area many times and took pride in knowing that I was helping them out through my donations. But deep down I had that feeling that I should be doing more. Besides, I’m an engineer, and I always wondered how they build the trails and bridges and how on earth did they build those giant rock steps? So this year I decided I would find out and volunteer for trail work. And not only that, but I was going to earn my very own hard hat by joining in five outings.

Lesson 1: Breaking Trail

There are many ferns in the forest.

I thought it would be fitting to break new trail on my first outing with the WTA so I signed up to work on a brand new trail that wasn’t open to the public yet, a new section of the Grand Ridge trail. I would learn the basics of trail building from the very beginning. I showed up that first morning with a spring in my step and found a spot in the circle of a motley crew. There were burly men, old ladies and teenagers that looked like they had better things to do than trail work early on a Saturday morning. I smiled and put on my gloves and hard hat as the crew leader started their briefing. For the first time I heard the WTA’s mantra: “Be safe, get some work done, and have fun.” That seemed easy enough.

Next it was on to the tools. I recognized the shovels and clippers among the piles, but the rest looked like mutants from some kind of hardware freak show. There was the Pulaski, a combination of an ax and a hoe named after the famous fire fighter who invented it. There was the McLeod, also a fire fighting tool that resembled a giant rake with a scrapy side. Even the shovels were modified from the garden variety to perform better on the trails. Then I learned how all those tools get to the work site a mile down the trail: you carry them of course. Now that I was acquainted with the gear, it was time to get to work.

I was assigned a section of “trail” that was not really trail yet. It was cleared of the major obstacles, but it needed some additional work to make it real trail. I was instructed to dig down and remove all the nice dark loamy soil, the stuff that you would kill to have in your garden, and get to the harder, rockier sub soil that would give the trail a solid base. You know you got there when the soil turned a light brown color. So I dug and I scraped and I leveled and I dug some more.

The crew leader came by and said it looked great, except that I should get rid of a sword fern that was just off the trail. I looked at her like she had three heads. What do you mean get rid of the fern? She said to dig around it and pick it up and put it off to the side. They may be able to replant it later. It felt so wrong to dig up a wild fern that was almost as tall as myself and minding it’s own business. But this was trail building and building trail means digging up perfectly happy ferns and other plant life for that matter. So I did it. I struggled for a long time trying to dig up that huge fern and by the time I finally got it out of the ground I was cursing the thing. So this is trail building… I like it.

Lesson 2: Breaking Trail in the Rain

Get better rain gear.

A month later I signed up for another work day, this time at Tiger Mountain. When I saw that the weather prediction was rain I was kind of happy. After all, I didn’t want to waste a good weather day on trail work. And like all Pacific Northwesterners, I knew full well that a little rain never hurt anybody. So I put on my boots and rain jacket and headed to the trail. I was incredibly sore after my last outing but it was a good sore. It felt good to break trail and I wanted to do it some more. So I volunteered to work on re-routing a section of trail. This time we were starting from scratch with only a few orange flags showing where the trail would be. We moved sticks, logs and rocks out of the way by flinging them as far off trail as possible. And I got rid of ferns, many ferns, and every one of them was easier than the last. I was catching on.

It was raining while we worked, but the forecast didn’t call for much so we assumed it would taper off any minute. I wasn’t as prepared for the rain as I should have been. I forgot my backpack cover and I was wearing non-waterproof boots with running pants. My gloves were soaked through and they sloshed as I shoveled. I was getting tired but every time I stopped to take a break I was instantly chilled. So I dug and I scraped and I leveled and I dug some more. We skipped lunch on account of the rain and by the time we called it quits I was totally beat. The rain never quit. It only rained harder and I was miserable. I envied the people shedding their rain pants before getting into their cars. My pants were soaked through with a slick layer of mud on the entire front of my body. My boots were so thick with mud I couldn’t see the laces. I tried not to touch anything in the car on the way home. When I got home I took a long, hot bath and the next day I hung up my muddy clothes and sprayed them down with the hose. I decided I must get rain pants.

Lesson 3: Building Bridges

Measure twice, or thrice, or four times. Cut once.

On my next outing I smartened up a bit and volunteered for a more interesting job. Breaking trail is great and all, but it’s back-breaking work and I began to realize that the more seasoned green hats were volunteering for the special projects. So when the crew leader, Jen, asked me if I wanted to try something new, I jumped at the chance to build a bridge. I was so looking forward to not using a shovel or grub hoe and I would get to learn about bridge building. The goal for the day was to attach the stringers (the longest boards that run the span of the bridge) to the bulkheads (the ends of the bridge).

The large bridge stringers were already near the bridge location but we had to move one to it’s proper place across the creek. Eight of us lined up on either side of the board and used straps to lift the stringer and move it to it’s new home. We would be working with Pete, a long time trail worker and bridge builder, and his daughter Jane. Pete was a great bridge builder because he knew what he was doing and he meticulously checked and rechecked everything before drilling holes for the fasteners. We lined up the bulkheads and made sure everything was square at least four times. Then every time something was a tiny bit off we would start all over again. By the end of the day Jane was beginning to lose her patience with her dad checking and re-checking, but by golly that bridge is as square as square can be.

Lesson 4: Zip Line

Always volunteer for the zip line.

On my next outing at Franklin Falls I volunteered to work the zip line. It was my favorite day of trail work yet. Near our section of trail there is a road and a large pile of gravel was dumped there to use on this busy trail. The road was above the trail on a steep slope so the best way to get the gravel down to the trail was via a zip line in buckets. It was a dual zip line. The first line got the buckets down the steep slope and the next line carried it even farther down the trail. Two of us were stationed at the confluence of the two lines to transfer the buckets from one line to the other.

We worked together at unclipping the buckets and clipping them onto the next rope. It required lifting the full buckets up so that the handles were at head height. We quickly got into a rhythm even though we frequently had to stop to let hikers go by. While transferring the buckets, I used the tops of my thighs as leverage and the edges of the bucket dug into my skin each time. I had so many tiny bruises on my legs that I couldn’t wear a skirt for a week. It sounds crazy, but I was so proud of those bruises.

Lesson 5: Building Rock Steps

It takes a team to move mountains.

My most recent trip was to Annette Lake where I finally got to learn how they make those lovely giant rock steps. Like most things with trail work, it takes a team to do the heavy lifting. We scoured the surrounding areas for large boulders that have a nice flat side then we used a rock bar or our feet to roll them to the trail. If the rock was too heavy to roll we would use a rock net with straps that allow several people to lift the rock at once. These rocks are incredibly heavy and I was amazed at how some of the volunteers could pick them up and roll them by themselves.

Once the big rocks were in place and level we filled in around them with smaller rocks and dirt. It took us all day to get just two large rocks into place. Hikers stopped and thanked us and marveled at the steps. I was proud to be on the other side of the trail now, on the working side, and now with my very own green hat. I’ve learned so much since I first dug up that fern at Grand Ridge back in February. Mostly I’ve learned how much work and care goes into making these trails. Someone took the time and did the work to make every single foot of trail and I know that I will never look at a stretch of tread, bridge or rock steps the same way again. I still have so much to learn and I am just getting started. I look forward to getting some more dirt on my fresh green hat.

Dirt Work by Christine Byl

After graduating from college, Christine decided she wanted an outdoor job. Intent on avoiding the typical 9-5, she wanted a job that was physically demanding and a worthy cause. She decided to work for the Forest Service as a trail worker. As you can imagine this is not a job typical for a young woman and Christine does not shy away from the complexities of being an anomaly in this industry. In true literary fashion (she is a book loving philosopher) she starts each chapter off with an ode to a trail tool. The book is a collection of vignettes of her work over the years from Glacier NP to Denali that come together to create a rich and full story of the unconventional life of a trail dog. Anyone who has volunteered on the trail will appreciate her struggles and triumphs on the trails. I hope this book inspires you, like it did me, to get out and volunteer on your favorite trails.

Hikes featured in this post:
Grand Ridge
Poo Poo Point (Tiger Mountain)
Evans Creek Preserve
Franklin Falls
Annette Lake

Outdoor Life

Granite Mountain Lookout

October 1, 2015February 23, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

I’ve been to this nearby lookout many times over the years, but the first time was my favorite. It was late September and Seattle was nestled under a chilly layer of clouds. I started hiking up in the shadows before entering the foggy layer. I was a little disappointed because I thought the lookout would be in the clouds. I wouldn’t see any views but I was looking forward to seeing the fall color anyway. To my surprise as I climbed I discovered that the cloud layer was not so thick and suddenly it was all pure blue skies. I was on top of the clouds and it felt like I was on top of the world.

It was my first fall hiking experience in the Cascades and I was in love. It felt like being in an airplane up there above the clouds. The air had a crisp coolness that refreshed me from all the climbing. And the yellow, orange and red color of the foliage popped against the bluebird sky.

When we got to the lookout my dog Nali, then only 6 months old, was hesitant to go up the flight of wooden stairs to the lookout. I picked her up and she whined. Apparently my dog was afraid of heights. What kind of adventure dog is afraid of heights?

I was greeted by a couple dressed in forest service khaki and the most amazing smell, so out of place that I almost didn’t recognize it. It was chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. The woman handed me one and my jaw dropped. It was still warm and it melted in my mouth. I was completely blown away by this simple gift. It was officially the best day ever.

I discovered that the couple were volunteer rangers just up there manning the lookout for the weekend. They showed me the Osborne fire finder and how they lined it up to determine the coordinates of a fire. I lingered above it, matching up the mountains etched in the metal with the ones I saw out the windows. The space was cozy with a cot and blankets, a desk and chair and that all important gas powered oven.

This past weekend I returned to Granite Mountain. It’s the same time of year that I made that first visit and I had high hopes when I woke up to a marine layer in Seattle. But the clouds didn’t stretch its fingers past the foothills under the unseasonable warm sun. And the lookout was locked up, no cookies this time. But it was a beautiful day so Nali and I climbed up the rocks to find a nice lunch spot and looked to the north. Jagged brown peaks pierced the blue sky as I spotted Glacier Peak and Mt Baker, more interesting, at least to me, than the views of Mt Rainier to the south.

I’ll never get a repeat of that first hike to the lookout. But there is still comfort in returning to a beloved trail. I know exactly what to expect and where the hardest part of the trail is. I know that the last push to the top is easier than it looks but will take every last bit of energy out of me. I know that when I get about halfway up I will wonder why on earth I would ever succumb myself repeatedly to this leg torture of a trail. And I know that as soon as I hit the meadows I will forget all of that. Most importantly, I know that I can make it to the top and that the hard work to get there is worth it. And maybe, just maybe, there will be a warm chocolate chip cookie waiting for me at the top.

I haven’t had another cookie experience like that one on my first trip to lookout many years ago, so I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up. But you can create your own cookie experience with a recipe for my favorite version of the universally loved snack. Share some with strangers at the top to make it their best day ever.

Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookie Recipe:

1 1/4c flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
3/4c softened butter
3/4c brown sugar
1/3 c sugar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 egg
2 Tbsp milk
1 3/4 c chocolate chips
1 c quick oats

Preheat oven to 350F.
Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon and salt in a bowl.
In a separate bowl, beat the butter, brown sugar, sugar and vanilla until creamy. Beat in egg.
Gradually beat in flour mixture and milk.
Stir in chocolate chips and oats.
Drop onto baking sheet and bake for 10-14 minutes.

Hikes featured in this post:
Granite Mountain

Outdoor Life

But, Where Are All The Men?

September 28, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Yes, sigh, I was asked this a few weeks ago when I took my lady friends backpacking. We were not in any sort of trouble. We were not lost, injured, hungry, tired or struggling in any way, shape or form. We were just hiking along after a fun and adventurous night in the mountains. No need for men here, we weathered the storm perfectly well on our own, I said. The old man chuckled and I rolled my eyes as I kept on walking. Damsels we most certainly were not, thankyouverymuch.

After a few years of casually mentioning a backpacking trip with my friends, I finally decided to make it happen. I rounded up a few of the adventurous ones and we picked a weekend and a trail: Yellow Aster Butte in August. Some of them hadn’t backpacked since they were younger so we discussed what to bring and what to expect on the trail. I mixed up many dried meals into tiny bags and borrowed a big tent. I pictured group photos at the top of the butte with blue skies and jagged peaks behind us. I could not wait to see their faces as they watched the pink and orange sunset behind Shuksan. Everything was planned. And then I checked the weather.

The first rain storm was coming after a drought of a summer. I checked the weather everyday that week and every day the prognosis was worse. Chance of showers changed to 60% chance of rain with lows in the 40’s. Ok, fine, we’ll be cold and maybe a little wet. It will be an adventure. By Thursday it was 80% chance of rain and by Friday it was full blown storm’s-a-coming, 3-4 inches of rain and 60 mph winds. And it might even snow. I literally laughed out loud when I saw this. How silly of me to think I had it all planned out.

One out of the group bailed and others seemed hesitant. I wasn’t about to take them into that kind of rain. We would be miserable. I needed a back-up plan. I looked to the drier east side of the mountains. The North Cascades were experiencing unprecedented wildfires and huge areas of National Forest were closed to hikers, so that left few options. It looked like there would be less rain in Leavenworth and I thought maybe we could score a coveted Enchantments permit to some of the lakes in the area. It was a long shot on a weekend but I figured we’d give it a try. My friends were all on board, confident that their leader knew what she doing. They were certainly more confident than I was.

We met up Saturday morning and did last minute prepping. We checked for all the rain gear: jackets, tarp, backpack covers. And warm stuff: hats and fleeces and gloves. Check. We divided up the gear and most importantly, determined how much alcohol we would be sufficient without overloading our packs. We decided, realistically, that we needed very little. Sarah brought us freshly baked blueberry scones to fuel us on the long drive (check out her lovely food blog, Little House Pantry). After all the planning and re-planning, we were finally on our way and I was so excited for my first ever all women backpacking trip! Two hours later we arrived at the Leavenworth ranger station and asked for a permit. They said they only had permits left for Lake Stuart as they eyed us up and down. Have you checked the weather?

The hike started out great. We had sun, rain and clouds all in the first few miles. But we were hardly paying attention as we caught up on what was happening in each others lives. We stopped for a snack and covered our packs when the rain became steadier. Once in a while a big gust of wind would come try to blow us off the trail, reminding us that a storm was brewing. We were stopped by a duo of rangers asking to see our permit. Have you checked the weather? they asked.

We circled the lake until we finally found a camping spot, set up the tent and tarp and devoured a late lunch of turkey and avocado pita sandwiches. It wasn’t raining so we sat by the lake sipping cider with rum and cocoa spiked with peppermint schnapps. Later as it started to get dark we whipped up some backcountry biscuits to warm us up. Then we saw the most spectacular thing. We noticed a strange bright light coming from behind the mountains straight across the lake from us. We were mesmerized by it lighting up the bottom of the clouds. Suddenly the clouds parted just enough to see the top of the super moon cresting over the mountain top. It was so big and bright it felt like you could reach out and touch it.

It was getting cold so we snuggled up in our sleeping bags. It was quiet and there was still little sign of the forecasted storm. The tent was so bright from the moon that we didn’t need our headlamps. Someone said it was eerie and ominous, like the beginning of a horror movie. But we drifted off to sleep anyway. Later I woke up to the roar of the wind coming up the valley. I waited. One, two, three, four, five…it grew louder and then suddenly slammed into us. My eyes shot open to check the deflection of the tent poles. Then it was completely silent. This repeated a few times until the rain came. It rained and blew off and on all night, but we were cozy in our dry tent, the tarp deflecting the water away.

The next morning we took turns going in and out of the tent between rain showers. The wind died down and the rain came and went. We made oatmeal and ate it as we stood in a circle with our rain jackets on. The low clouds lifted enough to expose the tops of the mountains and they had just a touch of fresh overnight snow. We headed back and grabbed lunch in Leavenworth when we found out that the storms were bad in Seattle and that thousands of homes were without power. I was so glad I chose to go to the east side. But most importantly, we all made it through the storm and I am so proud of my friends. They are badass backpackers. They knew it would be an adventure with the weather but they didn’t back out. I think they even preferred the stormy weather since it makes for a better story. And no, we never once wished we had a man around to do something for us. We were perfectly fine on our own.

Backpacker’s Oatmeal Recipe:

1 packet or 1.5 oz instant oatmeal
2 Tbsp dried blueberries or cherries
1 Tbsp slivered almonds
1 Tbsp powdered milk
1 tsp brown sugar

Mix all ingredients in a ziplock bag (the snack bag size works great). On the trail add about 1/2 cup boiling water. Use less if you like a thicker texture and more if you like it soupy.

Two in the Wild by Susan Fox Rogers

Solo journeys are great and I believe much needed, but sometimes you just want the company of a good friend. This book is a collection of essays about spending our valued outdoor time with others. There are stories of adventures with old friends, new friends, mothers, daughters and even ghosts. There are stories of finding friendship in unlikely places and encouraging each other to be brave. Anyone who has enjoyed the company of others on an outdoor journey will appreciate this book.

Hikes featured in this post:
Lake Stuart