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Northeast Part 3: New York & PA

December 14, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

The next morning we said our goodbyes as my mother-in-law stuffed our bags with apples and snacks and we headed out to catch the ferry to New York. The gusty cool autumn wind formed white peaks on Lake Champlain and I bundled up to run out of the car and snap a photo of the boat. As we waited, another ferry boat pulled up to the dock and unloaded. We watched several cars disembark and then, no joke, there were probably ten tractors that roared off the boat like a small town parade. We chuckled as the proud owners waved and we waved back.

This was just our first indication that we were traveling to another world, a place deemed “forever wild” when it was saved from deforestation and declared a park in 1892. While we crossed the lake we planned our route via paper map. Our smartphones could not help us find the most beautiful way through the mountains or the direction to go to spy the most lakes. Anyways there was no cell service in many areas we would be driving through. For a while we were free.

As we weaved through the windy roads we marveled at the unique architecture and outdoor furniture style of the area. It reminded me of my dad and his house full of mounted animals, a bear rug and rocking chairs made of twigs. The leaves here were the brightest and most colorful we’d seen yet. People with phones held up packed into small turnoffs along the roads. We planned to stop for a hike and thought we were clever but getting a few miles off the road, but we got a big dose of reality when we saw cars lined up for miles along the forest road. It was a short hike and we figured we would have to double the distance to include the walk from the car to the trail head. We decided to skip it and stop instead for brunch in Lake Placid.

The sun hovered above the horizon as we scanned the last of the Adirondack lakes for moose (we didn’t see any) and the way became flatter and filled with corn fields and farms. This was the beginning of the familiar territory that I recognized as my home land. The sunset colored the endless fields with a soft yellow glow. We counted deer in the fields between tiny towns as we crossed into Pennsylvania. By then it was too dark to see much, but we would see more in the days to follow. I was home.

The next day my dad took us to my favorite outdoor places growing up. He took us the “back way” on gravel roads bearing my maiden name through yellow and orange hardwood forest. I kept my eyes peeled looking for wildlife like I always did as a kid while driving through the forest. We drove to our old cabin filled with memories of family gatherings, lots of cakes and cookies (I inherited my sweet tooth from my dad and his five brothers), card games and laughter. On the way we stopped at a overlook where my uncle’s ashes were spread.

While driving back, we spotted a beautiful white church across the road from an apple orchard. I asked my dad to stop so I could get some photos. While I took photos my dad wandered through the tiny graveyard next to the church. He found that almost all the gravestones had our family name on them. He’s driven by that church more times than you could possibly count but had no idea that we might have relatives buried there. It was a beautiful discovery.

Lastly we stopped at Halfway Dam, a small lake with a sandy beach where I spent many a summer day with friends and family. I remember running wet and barefoot through the stone structures built by the CCC to the concession stand to buy popsicles and hotdogs. I hadn’t been back there in years but it all came back to me like it was yesterday. These places are so ingrained in my being. My family’s roots run deep here in central PA and we can trace our ancestors back to the Revolutionary War. And no matter how long I’m away, it will always feel like home.

Road Trip

North Cascades, Hwy 20

November 12, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Fall is a time for reflection. It’s time to take stock and prepare for the winter, time to set priorities and hunker down and get things done. It’s a time to bring back tradition and most importantly, it’s time to go look at the larch. Yes, that’s right, larch. In most places around the country it’s time to look at the leaves, but the Evergreen State doesn’t turn orange and red as much as it just gets a little less green. But the larch are an exception to this. So we don our puffy jackets, hats, and mittens and drive high into alpine country to seek out these unique golden symbols of fall.

Larch are coniferous which means they have needles and cones like our other NW trees: Douglas fir, hemlock, spruce, etc. But unlike those trees which stay green all year, larch are also deciduous meaning their needles turn yellow and drop off in autumn. This is unusual for a conifer, but it is actually a great advantage for a tree that lives in a harsh winter environment. Trees lose their leaves because they begin storing extra nutrients instead of using them to make leaves. This gives them a nutrient boost that helps them survive the winter. Some other advantages are that the snow will not pile up on their branches causing them to break and they recover faster from forest fires since they have the ability to regrow needles.

So where to find the magical larch? Well, one of my favorite places is the North Cascades. Larch tend to grow on the eastern slopes of the Cascades so I like to find them near Rainy Pass on Highway 20. The key is getting up high into the nearby passes: Easy Pass, Cutthroat Pass, Granite Pass, Maple Pass. These are all spectacular places to see larch and incredible views.

There is something special about seeking out the larch in the fall. There is something to be said about the importance of tradition, but more than that, there is a sense of calm and peace that comes with autumn in the mountains. You notice things more. The cool air on your nose, the crunch of the leaves, the frost clinging to the shadows. The sky is a deeper shade of blue as the sun hovers closer to the horizon and the dense air dampens sound.

The old trail follows the creek

past ancient trees

and the sound of water.

The sky clears, light fades,

varied thrushes sing their two-note song

deep within the forest.

Once again, like visiting friends,

I walk into familiar mountains.

-Once Again by Saul Weisberg, Headwaters

This year I didn’t get out to see the larch turning. I was traveling throughout most of October including a trip to the east coast to visit family and revisit an old childhood tradition of mine, driving into the mountains to look at the leaves with my dad (more about that trip later). But as I flew over the Cascades I looked down to see the jagged mountains topped with yellow and my heart filled with joy.

I don’t always like to return to my favorite trails. That’s why I love the tradition of looking at the larch. I could spend a lifetime visiting all the trails with larch, and each experience would be unique. There is a sense of returning to a familiar place but without the expectations of repeating the same experience on a beloved trail. Sometimes the memories of our favorite places are enough and these places are better left not revisited. Kind of like your favorite childhood books, they are never as good as you remember them.

Now as the snow begins to fall in the Cascades, I revisit the larch through my memories and old photos. Normally I would be disappointed with this, but I’m giving myself a break. Besides, it is much warmer here as I snuggle in a blanket and sip tea, remembering the way I felt on those hikes and my feet don’t hurt. Sometimes just thinking about my favorite places makes me just as happy as visiting them. I especially like to use this technique while at the dentist or getting a flu shot.

Headwaters, Poems and Field Notes by Saul Weisberg

As I read this collection of poems I got the same feeling I get when I think of my favorite hikes. The poems are short and succinct and evoke a sense of place with every word. This is the type of poetry I’ve been looking for, the type that I can understand and doesn’t try to be anything more than it is. Saul writes about the North Cascades and is the executive director of the North Cascades Institute. He has worked in the Northwest as a climbing ranger, field biologist, fisherman and fire lookout and lives in Bellingham, WA.

Hikes featured in this Post:
Cutthroat Pass
Easy Pass

Reading List

Reading List: Halloween

October 29, 2015March 14, 2019
by Ashley Gossens

When I was a kid I had an obsession with Halloween books. Anything about ghosts, werewolves and vampires excited me (this was well before the Twilight craze, btw). I vividly remember circling all the creepy books in my 3rd grade Halloween Scholastic book order pamphlet and begging my dad to buy them all for me and then reluctantly narrowing it down to one or two choices. I frequented our local bookstore, The Lexicon, and bought all the Goosebumps and Fear Street books with my allowance. I just loved being scared. These days I am still drawn to creepy books, not the full-on horror kind, but the ones that keep me up at night because I want to finish them with my heart racing just a bit. Here are some of my favorite chilly and creepy books with an outdoor theme perfect for the season.

The Mountain Story by Lori Lansens

Oh my, this book is so good. Its the fictional story of an 18-year-old boy named Wolf who, on a cool November day, rides a gondola to the top of a mountain to end his life. But on the way he meets some unprepared hikers and the four of them become lost on the mountain. In the following days the hikers learn about each other and their secrets. This book will have you double checking your ten essentials before going out on your next hike and staying up all night reading about these fascinating characters. This is one of the best books I’ve read this year and a perfect autumn read.

Haunted Hikes by Andrea Lankford

There is nothing better than ghost stories from the trails. Lankford, a former National Park Ranger, sets out to tell you what they don’t tell you the travel brochures, muhahahaha. These true stories of disappearances, hauntings and even murder span the country’s most famous National Parks. But be careful, it will certainly put terrifying images in your head on your next foggy hike.

St Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves & Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell

Karen Russell is one of my favorite authors. Her stories are dark, mystical and creepy, just what I love. I read these books a few years ago and I still have vivid images in my mind from their pages. Her stories are usually about kids and mostly take place in the outdoors – a plane crash site on a glacier, a stormy seaside or a magical Florida swamp and they are topped with just a touch of magical realism. I don’t want to spoil the stories too much, I just encourage you to go discover them for yourself.

The Sasquatch Hunter’s Almanac by Sharma Shields

Many words have been used to describe this debut novel by Spokane-based author, Sharma Shields: weird, dark, fantastical, whimsical, bizarre, surreal and spooky are just a few. The book follows the life of Eli, a young boy who watches his mother run away with a sasquatch by the name of Mr Krantz and grows up obsessed with proving the beast’s existence. There are many monsters in this book but the humans are real and their emotions are relatable. This book will stick with you in a strange, haunting and wonderful way.

Wildwood by Colin Meloy
I adore this kids series that has been called “hipster Narnia.” Sure, it’s a little hipster, I mean, it is written by a Portland musician and all, but the story is compelling and I loved spending time in this enchanted world. On a foggy September morning Prue’s baby brother is stolen by a murder of crows and taken across the Willamette River to the Impassable Forest. She and her friend Curtis bravely follow, determined to rescue the baby. They go on to enter an unknown world full of talking coyotes, owls and eagles, and of course, an evil governess. Northwestern trees, plants and animals fill the pages, and even the pesky english ivy makes an appearance. Kids and adults alike will love these whimsical books filled with beautiful, if not hipster, illustrations.

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

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

Outdoor Life

Park Butte Lookout

September 21, 2015September 24, 2019
by Ashley Gossens

This crazy Northwest summer has me reminiscing of the Septembers with blue skies and blueberries. I guess I have spent too many weekends at foggy lookouts lately and deprived of my usual blueberry intake! But my trip up to Park Butte a couple years ago was anything but foggy. It was a bluebird day, the temperature perfect and there were blueberries for days. Ahh, how sublime.

The long drive to the trailhead gets you high into the alpine from the get-go. It’s not long before you come upon Shreiber’s Meadow, in most years full of blueberries. I once saw a woman here picking blueberries with a swedish berry picker and a 5-gallon bucket. She gave me the stink eye like, don’t even think about picking berries here, so I kept walking and a made a mental note of the berry picker. Later my husband would gift one to me for Christmas and it has changed our berry-loving lives. We now bring home gallon ziploc bags full of berries from the trails instead of a couple half-filled Nalgene bottles.

Once past the meadows, pick your way across an alluvial plain, an ever-changing waterway with shifting sediment that keeps the bridge builders on their toes. Look upriver for a metal ladder bridge. Here you will get the first glimpses of the white mass of Mt Baker if you are lucky. Continue up through forested switchbacks. Just when you start to think that you’ve had enough switchbacks, the way opens up to beautiful meadows and up-close views of Mt Baker.

Hang a left to the lookout or go right to explore the railroad grade trail up to Easton Glacier, a popular climbing route. The railroad grade trail traverses the top of an arête, a knife-edge formed from two parallel glaciers pushing earth up between them forming a thin ridge. Gazing at the massive glacial-carved valley below will have you marveling at the wonders of this volcano and the power of it’s glaciers.

Head back toward the lookout while froliking through the gradually climbing meadows of heather and blueberries. After rock hopping a few creeks and wet spots, the way rises through a rocky outcrop. Head down to the tarns for picturesque views of Mt Baker reflected in the crystal clear water. Continue up while gazing down upon Pocket Lake, nuzzled below in a small cirque.

Finally, after a push up the rocky way, the lookout is in site and views abound. It feels like you could reach out and touch the glaciers on Mt Baker. To the south, feast your eyes on the Twin Sisters range and the Nooksack Valley. The lookout is open to the public and can be slept in at a first-come, first-served basis. This is a great place to linger, bask in the sun and take in the beauty of one of my favorite places, the Mt Baker area.

Outdoor Life

Winchester Mountain Lookout

September 14, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Every year for Labor Day weekend my husband and I go backpacking with another couple. It’s become a tradition for us and we look forward to it all year. I usually choose an epic hike in the North Cascades with spectacular scenery where we can roam and snack on blueberries for a couple days. But this year was different. We had a new addition to our crew- a little one-year-old. Hmph, well now, I had no idea how to plan for a baby. I don’t have any children and I don’t know the first thing about a one-year-old’s wilderness skills. I had so many questions. How far should we go? How much food do we need? Would the baby be miserable in the tent all night? Where do you put all those dirty diapers?

I was stressing to determine the answers to these questions. I immediately decided that I was not going to have anything to do with the dirty diapers, so in turn was not going to worry about their whereabouts. Our friends are amazing parents and I really didn’t have to worry about these kind of details. I just didn’t want them to be uncomfortable or to push them too hard. So I gave them some choices and was happy they chose an easy hike to Twin Lakes where we could base camp and explore as much as we wanted. Then I freaked out again because I checked the weather and it was going to be cold and rainy in the high alpine. Will baby freeze to death? Ugh.

We met our hiking partners at the charming Wake ‘n Bakery on the Mt Baker Highway and loaded up on delicious pastries and coffee. We then made our way to the busy Yellow Aster Butte trailhead and walked up the 4×4 road to Twin Lakes. The cold morning air gave way to sun and blue skies prompting us to take multiple breaks to shed layers. The road walk wasn’t so bad and we chose a particularly entertaining switchback to stop for a snack and watch the trucks struggle up the bumpy road. I’m sure they did not appreciate the audience.

We made it to the beautiful Twin Lakes but they were unfortunately surrounded by trucks and car campers. We walked to the far side of the upper lake to look for a more secluded site. A narrow boot path led around the lake and we followed it past a mine shaft (where we taught baby about echos) to a big camp spot. There was a faint path leading up to a tiny narrow saddle and we went up to explore expecting that it would just lead to a nice bathroom spot. Instead, what we saw took our breath away. The path came to an end abruptly and the ground plunged into a steep valley. Directly in front of us were the silvery jagged peaks of the Pleiades sprinkled with just a touch of fresh snow.

We quickly figured out that the farther down the road we went the more spectacular the views. We set up camp at Skagway Pass, an old mining route to the Lone Jack Mine which gave up $200,000 worth of gold to it’s original owners and is still active to this day, hence the high alpine road. The area is full of old open mine shafts in the ground and old cabins. The guys dropped rocks down the holes to see how far down they went. Not too far. We all laid in the heather and took a nice long nap. Later we made biscuits and pasta and squished water and chocolate pudding in ziploc bags for dessert.

That night as we went to sleep, it was so quiet you could hear a needle drop. It made me uncomfortable. I tossed and turned searching for just the tiniest hint of a breeze or rustle in the trees. I’ve been living in the city too long. Even in my quiet neighborhood I can always hear the soft hum of the I-5 highway, cars driving by, airplanes overhead. The baby cooed in the nearby tent and I hoped he was warm enough. I worried that the weather would turn bad the next day and snow on us. I knew I had to stop worrying, just let it go or I wouldn’t get any sleep. The baby fussed softly and his mom gave a long calm shhhhh. Rain (or was it snow?) began to lightly drum on the rain fly. I drifted to sleep.

The next day was foggy but there was no snow and the rain stopped. We packed up the baby and all our warm clothes and headed to Winchester Mountain. The trail climbs immediately between the lakes and we found ourselves shedding layers again. I was hoping maybe the clouds would burn off while we climbed, but I doubted it. I was disappointed. I was so looking forward to the stellar views. All we could see were the deep blue lakes below in a haze. The lookout was completely shrouded in fog when we arrived. We were only three miles from Canada as the crow flies. We could throw a stone and hit it but we sure could not see it.

We met a friendly forest service worker and she told us the lookout was open, but asked us to remove our boots before going in. We complied. It was very zen. We had lunch in the lookout as we checked out every nook and cranny and I poured over the guest log entries and book collection. Mostly Edward Abbey and nature writing. I thought about what it would be like to spend the night there and decided that it would be incredibly cold. The layers started coming back on.

Later our friends and the baby would head down the road for a more comfortable night’s sleep and we bid them farewell at the lakes. It had been a successful first backpacking trip for baby and we were so happy to share it with them. We sat by the lake and watched the bats feast on the bugs surfacing the lake. They undoubtedly made their homes in the myriad of mine shafts nearby. We walked back to camp and climbed into our sleeping bags. It was quiet again without our friends but the rain returned and I drifted to sleep.

Backpacking Biscuits Recipe:

At home, mix the following ingredients in a ziploc bag:

1 cup biscuit mix (I use Fisher brand, but any will work)
2 Tbsp powdered milk
1 tsp dried parsley
1/4 cup dried corn
3 Tbsp grated parmesan (the shelf-stable kind that comes in a shaker, not fresh)

On the trail, put the mixture in a non-stick or greased pot approximately 6 inches diameter (the smaller the pot, the thicker the biscuits!). Start by adding 1/4 cup of water and add more if needed. Spread the mixture out and put on low heat covered for about 3 minutes or until the bottom is golden brown. Flip the biscuit “pancake” and cook covered for another few minutes until golden brown and cooked all the way through. Cut into quarters and enjoy them warmed.

Hikes featured in this post:
Winchester Mountain

Outdoor Life

Return to Green Mountain

August 27, 2015October 11, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

The first time we went to Green Mountain was in 2006. We had just moved to Seattle two months before and it was our second hike in the Cascades. My sister and her then boyfriend joined us for the drive up the long washboard Suiattle River Road to the trailhead. It was a hot sunny September day and we got a late start. We sweltered in the heat on the exposed switchbacks slowly making our way up. My sister’s boyfriend wore brand new leather boots that required many re-applications of moleskin and we stopped a hundred times for breaks like classic rookie hikers. We finally stopped for lunch on a rocky outcropping. We were nearing the lookout that crowned the top of the mountain but we couldn’t see it from our lunch spot. I didn’t know how much further it was, but I knew we weren’t going to make it there that day. That was ok, we were just beginning a lifetime of exploration in our new home, we would have plenty of time to return. And anyway the views were fantastic from our vantage point, could they really be that much better at the lookout?

We made our way back down the trail and re-traveled the long road in our old forest green Jetta, the muffler occasionally grazing the bumpy road. We watched the sun set behind Whitehorse Mountain and had dinner in Lake Stevens. By the time we got home it was dark. After that epic day we decided to stick to easier hikes before tackling a big mountain again. But I couldn’t wait to return to Green Mountain, the place where I fell in love with the Cascades and that mysterious Glacier Peak volcano. But just months after our hike, a strong winter storm washed out the Suiattle River Road and did not reopen until October of last year, a whopping eight years later. Over those years I longed to return and complete the hike to the lookout. So when I heard the road reopened I knew I had to return this summer.

While the Suiattle River Road slumbered and the wild encroached on it’s edges of gravel, bureaucratic controversy around the fate of the road and the lookout roared to life. First, repairs to the road were delayed for years by extensive environmental studies brought on by environmental organizations. Then, Wilderness Watch, a Montana-based environmental organization, sued the Forest Service in 2010 for violations to the Wilderness Act for using helicopters and other machinery to rebuild the 1930’s era lookout. This case went on for years until, shortly after the nearby Oso landslide in the spring of 2014, Congress passed a bill saving the lookout. Then finally, in late October 2014, the road was re-opened.

In late July of this year my husband and I returned to the Suiattle River Road. It still had it’s jarring washboard just like we remembered. It was cloudy but we were determined to get there so we headed up the trail anyway. We were the first car at the trailhead and as we climbed through the trees I jogged my memory for any recognition of the trail. There was little and it was different than I remembered and a little creepy. We heard something rustle in the brush nearby and Nali was on alert. Then just as we were about to clear the treeline we heard a loud clap of thunder. We were now in thick fog and it was beginning to rain. The trail ahead was brushy and ready to soak us to the bone. We reconsidered. We didn’t want to be on the tallest mountain around inside of a thunderhead. It didn’t seem like the triumphant return we wanted anyway with little to no views so we headed back down and decided to try again later.

I was really disappointed that we didn’t have good weather that day, but a month later (just a few weeks ago) we decided to give it another go for my birthday. Well, once again thunderstorms were in the forecast. We decided to car camp the first night during the storms and then backpack up to Green Mountain on the following day when the weather was supposed to improve. So we headed out with rain gear in tow to the newly re-opened Buck Creek Campground. The campground was about half open and the rest blocked off. We walked through the abandoned portion during a break in the rain to get water at the creek. It was eerie, like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. Picnic tables were turned upside down and fire rings removed leaving a circular scar in the dirt. Fallen trees criss-crossed the gravel squares meant for tents.

The next morning the rain stopped and we headed out early to hit the trailhead. Again we were the first ones there, and again it was cloudy and foggy. But we had faith that the forecast would be correct and that it would burn off any minute. So we climbed through the trees and this time continued into the open meadows above treeline. This time the trail was thankfully brushed out, but we still got wet. That was ok, we would dry everything in the sunshine later. As we climbed the switchbacks I tried to recall what is like the first time we were there and I remembered the slopes just full of green ferns now beginning to brown after a harshly warm summer.

Before long we made it to a tarn, the rain beginning to come down harder and steadier now. We stopped at a bench to rest and scout out a camping spot. Wow, that’s funny, I said, I have absolutely no recollection of this tarn at all. My husband remembered that we sat around the lake for a long time snacking on blueberries. It’s funny how our memory plays tricks on us.

We set up camp near the lake and I thought how lovely it will be in the oncoming nice weather. We then headed back up the trail, our loads lightened for the increased grade. As we climbed I had the sinking feeling that we were going to be socked in at the lookout. But we climbed anyway and I looked forward to lunch and checking out the lookout itself. Sure enough on the last bit to the top, we watched the basin below us fill with white. But we made it to the top! Finally after all those years. But it didn’t feel as victorious as I hoped for. But then I thought we could return in the morning when the weather will surely improve.

As we headed back down to the tent I started to get the feeling that the weather was not going to improve. My husband felt it too and suggested we move the tent to a more protected spot in the woods. I reluctantly agreed. It was better under the trees and we could sit outside and cook dinner and make hot chocolate. It would do. We stayed in the tent and read out loud to each other and eventually dozed off to sleep. The fog encased us while the rain dripped, dripped on the tent. It was cold and the dog was shaking so I zipped her up into my sleeping bag with me. Summer, sadly, was coming to an end.

We didn’t end up trying again for nice views at the lookout, as the top of the mountain was still shrouded in fog in the morning. We instead packed our bags, skipped breakfast, and looked forward to a nice hot meal in town. As we descended on the trail I thought about how much has changed in the nine years since we first climbed those green slopes, how much I’ve changed in almost a whole decade. I realized that the mountains have made me a better person in those years. One that cares about the environment and saving our special places (including historical lookouts), one who is healthier and who has overcome fear and anxieties to accomplish goals and climb even bigger mountains. Green Mountain may not have spoiled me with it’s lovely views for my birthday, but it has given me so much more than that. Thank you, Green Mountain, I will return again and one of these times I will finally bask in your lookout’s glorious views!

Hikes Featured in this Post:
Green Mountain

Outdoor Life

Hiking with Strangers

August 21, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

One of my goals for 2015 was to hike with a stranger and I did it! Ok, I cheated a little bit. I didn’t go hiking with a complete stranger, but rather some of my fellow Northwest bloggers. I put out a call to see who wanted to meet up for a hike and much to my surprise I got some responses. I was thrilled, not only because technically these three lovely ladies were strangers, but because they are my kind of people: smart, outdoor-loving and inspiring.

I chose Snow Lake as our destination because it is easy to get to, not terribly difficult and just plain beautiful. I also chose it because it’s one of the first trails that I hiked alone. I hiked it back in July of 2009 when Nali was just a puppy. In fact, it was the first hike I took Nali on by myself. She had so much energy that we ran up most of the switchbacks and then kept going and going until we got all the way to Gem Lake, the next lake up the trail. I ate my lunch there and sat far away from other people because she was so whiny about stopping. She just wanted to keep going. She’s six now and hasn’t changed much really.

My original intention was to find a hiking buddy through an online forum where people post wanted-type ads for hiking partners like NWHikers.net. But as I started finding other blogs and started my instagram and twitter accounts, I found that there is such a generous and supportive community of writers, bloggers and outdoor-loving people online, I just never realized they were there. So I thought why not meet up with these great people that I already kind of know?

I met Jill, Laura and Lainey at the resort-sized parking lot of the Snow Lake trailhead. We were early enough to get good parking and there was a coolness to the air that was much appreciated by all in this relentlessly hot summer. As true Seattleites we relished in the distant clingy fog, yellowing foliage and the thick smell of autumn in the air. We discussed knitting projects, favorite baked goods, books and trails, all my favorite topics.

By the time we reached the top of the ridge you would have thought we’ve been hiking together for years. Jill showed us a gorgeous lookout spot on top of a giant rock where we lined up in a row to take photos. Later we would all stop to admire the drops of dew on the leaves lit by the morning sun. We reached the lake and after getting chilly in the shade, we basked in the warm sunshine. I brought banana bread to share and we chatted for a long time. But the temperature was rising, the trail was getting busier and we had to climb back up the ridge, so we made our way back to the trail. The conversation never skipped a beat.

I thought that after this meet up it would be clear which I like better, hiking alone or with others. But the truth is that both fulfill different needs for me. I crave alone time so I can think clearly. But I also thrive on meeting new people, learning from them and being inspired. I can go further and faster on my own but then I miss out on the tiny beautiful moments like stopping to find a squeaking pika or as Lainey so elegantly described it on her blog, “pass[ing] through fields of nearly-spent fireweed that were busy sending their seeds aloft on silky threads; the downy clusters ascending straight into that blue sky as though they were stars racing to claim their place in the heavens.”

I am so thrilled with the new friendships I gained at Snow Lake and I hope to make more. I will continue to organize meet up hikes for whoever is interested and maybe we can expand our lovely group. Maybe even start an outdoor book club? A girl can dream. Let me know if you are interested in a meet up and I will start a list. And don’t be afraid to go out there and make new friends on the trails!

My new friends:
Jill – PNW Seasons
Lainey – A Day Without Rain
Laura – Tiny Pines

Banana Bread Recipe (from my sister):
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
1 cup mashed banana
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cup flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup milk

Cream sugar and butter
Add eggs one at a time.
Add banana and vanilla, mix well.
Sift dry ingredients together and stir into batter alternating with milk.
Pour batter into greased loaf pan and bake for 55 min at 350F.

MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche

After getting married and moving to Chicago, Rachel had a great life but felt like she was missing something. She had lots of good friends but they were spread out all over the country. She wanted to find new friends in the city but wasn’t sure how. So set out on a year long mission to go on a “friend date” once a week in hopes of finding a new best friend. The story of her quest is a hilarious, charming and satisfying read as she meets an array of characters. But what is important is her message that making new friends, much like dating, means you sometimes have to put yourself out there in ways that can be uncomfortable. This book showed me that there are many people out there looking for friendship and encouraged me to find them.

Hikes featured in this Post:
Snow Lake

Outdoor Life

A Birthday on Glacier Peak

August 12, 2015August 7, 2018
by Ashley Gossens

Two years ago I turned 30 on top of my favorite mountain. I effortlessly walked to the top of Glacier Peak and held up my ice axe in defiance and celebration. I was in the best shape of my life and 30 felt so good. My husband pulled cupcakes from his pack, the vanilla ones with confetti inside AND the confetti icing and they were surprisingly intact. My brother-in-law revealed a bottle of champagne and he shook it and we all screamed as it exploded and we drank straight from the bottle in celebration. As we posed for pictures my normally frizzy hair was miraculously smooth and I looked amazing and refreshed. It was everything I wanted it to be. It was perfect.

If that sounds ridiculous to you, that’s because it’s not true. But that is what I wanted it to be like, a total dreamfest. In reality, the only thing that happened is the part where we made it to the top of the mountain. My husband wasn’t toting cupcakes nor was there champagne, of course. I was certainly not in the best shape of my life. 30 hurt. A lot. My hair was a mess and we didn’t even summit on my actual birthday. And to be honest I was pretty terrified on that mountain and I couldn’t wait to get off of it. Like usual there were mishaps, misapprehension and a good dose of reality checks. It certainly wasn’t perfect, but in it’s own special way, it was better than perfect.

In 2013 I decided I wanted to hike up 30 mountains before I turned 30 years old. I’ve told you this before and I told you how my husband thought it would be a great idea to climb up Glacier Peak on my 30th birthday, my favorite mountain in the Cascades. I was a little reluctant but I agreed and we poured over the maps to find a good route. We would have to go a long way just to get to the mountain so we thought why not make a big loop of it while we are out in the remote Glacier Peak Wilderness? Why not? So we planned out a 6 day, 50 mile route complete with Glacier Peak summit and invited my brother-in-law. I thought maybe the plan was a little ambitious, but it was winter and August felt forever away. Surely we had plenty of time to prepare.

Well, August came around and I didn’t feel all that prepared. I had been hiking a ton that summer but we only went for one backpacking trip in the spring. I was worried about the pack weight and mileage. Not only that but I had never climbed a big glaciated mountain before. I knew how to use an ice axe and how to tie knots. The rest we learned from The Freedom of the Hills and a guided glacier trek on Mt Baker. We practiced roping up in the backyard. We made prusiks and learned crevasse rescue. We showed my brother-in-law these things when he got here. Even after all that, I was still nervous. But soon enough, we were packing our bags and my nervousness turned to excitement.

On the first day we had 11 miles and a 4000 ft climb up to White Pass ahead of us. We strapped on our packs (mine was 40 pounds, a good 10 pounds more than I’ve ever carried) and climbed through the trees to open meadows. We passed a group on their way down carrying climbing gear and asked them if they made it to the summit. They had, but they said it was tough. And long, so long. Their eyes looked tired and I tried not to think of them as I climbed the switchbacks.

It was unbearably hot even in the early hours of the day and I was slow. I had to take many breaks and sit in the little available shade to give my shoulders a rest. I felt like I was going to pass out. This was not like me, I was tougher than this. I hated making the guys wait for me. The sun beat down on us, the horse flies were feasting on my legs and we were running out of water.

The trail finally leveled out a bit into a boggy meadow with even more bugs. I felt like we had to be getting close to the pass. Then I looked up. The ridgeline towered above and I realized that we still had a long way to go and at least another 1000 feet. I took off my pack and sat down killing as many flies as possible and holding back tears. What was I doing? If I can’t even make it to the pass, how was I ever going to climb the mountain?

We kept going. We found a stream to replenish our water and eventually made it to the pass. We set up the tent and made some food and shared a liter of gatorade which made me feel better. From the pass we could see just the very tip of Glacier Peak peeking out over the ridge above us. We stared at it for a long time. It seemed so impossibly far away. There was a group with horses camping near us and we watched them trot by in the alpenglow. We snacked on gummy bears as the sun disappeared behind high mountains.

As tired as I was I didn’t get much rest that night. We all woke up to a hellish thunderstorm. The ground we were sleeping on rumbled as lightning lit up our tent. Then the rain came. Big loud drops evolved into sheets battering the tent. We could hear the cries of the nearby horses in the storm and my heart broke for them. We looked outside to make sure water wasn’t pooling beneath the tent. Thankfully we were in a safe spot.

The next morning the horses were gone. The campers must have packed out early with the terrified animals. We packed up and prepared for our first day off trail. We studied the GPS and the map. There were lots of ways to get up over the ridge but only a few good ways down the other side. We did our best to find a good route but still had to scree slide down the other side. We ran into two guys and they gave us some tips on camping spots. We crossed a snowfield and found a nice spot near a glacial lake. It was lunch time and I was thankful for the low mileage day even if it was over some tough terrain.

All day we watched the clouds build up and we waited for the storms to return. They did. This time it hailed on us before it downpoured and we didn’t pick a good spot. We had to get out and move the tent to higher ground. We cooked in the vestibule and ate and played Yahtzee as the bands of storms came by one after the other. I relaxed a little bit because I thought there was no way we would climb the mountain the next day.

The next morning after getting battered by more storms, my husband woke me up at some ungodly hour. Hey, the storms are gone and the clouds are clearing, let’s give it a try. I grumbled and rolled over. Can’t we take a zero day and just relax? I replied. I wasn’t ready to go up the mountain. But deep down I knew I never would be. He poked and prodded before I finally rose and went through the motions, the ones I had been preparing for all summer. Put on hat, jacket, headlamp, check and re-check gear. Start up GPS.

We walked silently in the early morning glow over the rocks. So many rocks. Big rocks, little rocks, giant rocks, all types of volcanic rocks. We walked for miles over rocks, we climbed up rocks and down rocks until we finally hit snow. The going was much easier on the snow. We climbed and climbed until finally the full view of the mountain and the route was in front of us. It was truly a beautiful sight. We looked around for other climbers but there was no one around. We switched back and forth between snow and ashen dirt and scree. Crampons on, crampons off. Rope on, rope off. We crossed an icefall on pure blue ice that did not seem real. We looked down into crevasses that seemed infinite. It was so quiet up there. The only noise was the snow crunching under our boots.

After countless hours we were climbing up the last bit on rotten rock and snow. We were careful not to loosen rocks down onto each other. And then we were at the top. At 10,541 feet we were the tallest things around and it felt like we were on top of the world. We took some photos and tried to eat some food but I wasn’t hungry. My adrenaline was pumping and I felt happy, strong, scared and tired all at the same time. I didn’t think it was possible to feel so much at once. But I knew one thing and that was that the clouds were building up and the storms would come again. I wanted to get down and fast.

We reversed our route and glissaded down on our butts when possible. I was amazed at how fast we descended something that took all day to climb up. But when we hit the rock fields again we slowed down to a glacial pace. It was rough going and we were so tired but we could see the clouds settling in so we tried to hustle. Soon enough though we were in a whiteout. We had no choice but to ignore our intuitions and trust the GPS. Thankfully, after a little searching, it led us back to our tent.

We celebrated with a big dinner and Yahtzee but as thunderstorms battered the tent for the third night I was unsettled. It was as if the universe was reminding us that although we may have climbed a big mountain, we are still just little itty bitty breakable humans. Two days later we celebrated my 30th birthday at Blue Lake on Pilot Ridge. The lake was freezing but the guys jumped in to wash off the dirt and sweat. I rinsed my arms, feet and face but didn’t go in the frigid water. There was a mysterious small red bag at the bottom of my pack that I was instructed not to open until my birthday. I got it out and my husband told me to go away for a bit. I smiled. Fine. I came back and found that they made me a cheesecake topped with freshly picked blueberries. It was such a great surprise and oh so delicious. There was a duo of men camping nearby and we invited them to share our dessert. They were surprised to see such a delicacy and happily dug in as we swapped our hiking stories.

When I got the idea for Alpine Lily I was so excited, but I recognized a feeling I felt on Glacier Peak and it made me uncomfortable. It was vulnerability. I enjoyed telling my friends and family about my adventures and climbing Glacier Peak, but I always left out the parts where I was scared and weak. I left out the bugs, the pack weight, the struggles, the storms and the fear. I told everyone about my goal to climb the peak like it was no big deal. But it was really hard and I struggled on the mountain.

I didn’t tell anyone about Alpine Lily at first, not even my husband. I was scared of putting myself out there, sharing my weaknesses, free to be judged by anybody and everybody and especially my friends and family. Then one day I just decided to put Lily out there, just like the day we decided to climb Glacier Peak. And I did it. I climbed the mountain, created Alpine Lily and now I told my story. The story isn’t the perfect tale I had in my head, but it’s better than perfect because it’s real and it’s mine.

As I publish this post I will be on my way to celebrate my 32nd birthday on a mountain. A smaller mountain than Glacier Peak and one with a lookout on top. I will certainly be snuggling with a blanket, reading a book and sipping tea. Nali will be incredibly well behaved, and when the sun sets my husband and I will lay on the rocks with our heads together as meteors blaze before our eyes into the atmosphere. He’ll take out a perfect little vanilla cupcake with confetti inside AND the confetti icing and I will smile and say, how did you know, and how did you get that up here intact? And it will be perfect.

When I get home I will tell you the real story, and it will be better than perfect.

“It is not the critic that counts; not the man who points out how

the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust

and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,

because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds;

who knows great enthusiasm, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails,

at least fails while daring greatly…” – Theodore Roosevelt

See Also: Setting Goals: 30 by 30

Note: We found out later that the hail and thunderstorms on the night after our summit climb ravaged the North Cascades. 70 people were stranded at the Cascade Pass trailhead when the Cascade River Road was washed out and a separate landslide blocked Highway 20.
Cascade River Road Washout
Slide Blocks Hwy 20

Daring Greatly by Brené Brown

In this profound and eye-opening book, Brené dispells the myth that being vulnerable is a weakness. We are bombarded with so many messages these days that perfection is ideal, so we often hold back on putting ourselves out there for fear of being not good enough or being criticized by others. I’ve certainly felt that way, but this book and Brené’s TED talk helped me to realize that the people I most admire are bold and never play it safe, they dare greatly, and if they fail at least they did so by giving it their best, and that is better than perfection.