Book Club

Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart

In September we planned to try a little thru-hiking to go along with our book selection Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart by Carrot Quinn, a memoir about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. The PCT is easy to access from Seattle and we had plans to hike from Snoqualmie Pass to Lake Valhalla for an overnight. We were excited to encounter some thru-hikers on their way to Canada. Mother nature had different plans, though, and the weather report warned of heavy rain in Seattle and the first big snowfall of the season in the mountains.

Rather than get rained and snowed on, our ever flexible group changed plans at the last minute and headed to Baker Lake instead. We all assumed it would still be rainy and stormy, but everyone was in good spirits and eager to get out for a backpack. We were especially excited to take Sulina, our member Rebecca’s 8-year-old daughter, on her first ever backpack! We bundled up at the trailhead and started on the trail through the gorgeously foggy forest.

Quickly we realized that a trail race was happening as several runners passed us. It was annoying at first to get the whole group to move aside but the runners were nice and polite and we soon started cheering them on with high fives and shouting, you’re doing great! We were hoping to be cheering on thru-hikers this weekend, but this was the next best thing!

We detoured off the main trail to check out the camping area at Anderson Point. The trees opened up to milky blue glacial water and we even got great views of Mount Baker across the lake. We scoped out some nice campsites and spotted what we thought may be lobster mushrooms. As we were getting ready to move along we came upon a female solo backpacker and struck up conversation with her. She quickly became our new friend Sue and she asked if she could camp near us. We obliged and looked forward to meeting up with her later.

As we hiked, there were times when the wind would gust from the lake and shower leaves on us. We thought that the storm would roll in any minute, but minutes later the sun would poke through the clouds. I love these kind of days between the seasons.

photos by Sulina R.

We found the Maple Grove campsite and decided to camp there. It has two(!) bathrooms, plenty of camping spots and a nice big beach with a dock and a spectacular view of Mount Baker. We left a note for Sue on a massive yellow maple leaf to let her know we were camping there, which felt like a real thru-hikery thing to do. As we put up our tents, we noticed a pair of hammocks and an interesting fire setup nearby. We lingered to the beach at our leisure and to inspect our neighbors a bit.

We snacked on unhealthy snacks as an homage to Carrot, took naps, read, and generally lapped in the luxury of nothing to do all day. I was worried our youngest of the group would get bored, but she was perfectly content reading her Harry Potter book (the fourth one- I know you are wondering) and combing the beach. She asked me several questions about my DSLR camera and I showed her how to use it. It was like putting a camera into little hands that were made for it. She quickly disappeared, finding all kinds of things to photograph. When she came to show me her shots I was very impressed. She has quite an eye for photos, and dang, there is nothing more hopeful and inspiring than to see the world from the eyes of an 8-year-old.

We had been giving our manly camp neighbors, seemingly shipwrecked and now living out of their kayaks and hammocks, the side eye all day as they kept their campfire going under what appeared to be a cauldron hanging witch-style from tree branches circled teepee style above. Next to it was a growing pile of empty beer cans. We watched them chop wood and they offered us beers. We politely refused and kept to ourselves.

Later, one of them came over to us with another offering. It was a thick juicy hunk of steak wrapped in a homemade tortilla. Our jaws dropped and we all looked at each other with widened eyes as Brenda took it. Red juice dripped as she took a bite and her eyes rolled back in her head out of pure joy. She passed it around so everyone could have a bite. It was probably the best steak I have ever had. They must have been slow roasting it all day long. They also came back later to give us more. It was the BEST kind of trail magic.

Sue found us and joined in on our book talk. Then we had even more visitors. A fleet of canoes carrying Boy Scouts made landfall by the dock. They swarmed the beach like ants carrying gear to the campsites and then returned for more. They were polite but mostly ignored us and we couldn’t help but listen as they struggled to assemble and cook a massive pan of lasagna which subsequently burned into a dark blob of cheese and noodle. One kid shook his head as he walked down to the beach and poured a packet of uncooked oatmeal into his mouth. We didn’t tell them about the steak.

Finally after the excitement of the day, the sun sank behind Mount Baker and the air felt suddenly cooler. We watched the few clouds turn orange and then pink as the sky darkened. We retired to our tents unlike the boys who stayed up late stoking the fire and being regular loud prepubescent boys. I was glad I had my earplugs.

The next morning we gathered on the beach again for tea and breakfast. The scouts were quick to get up and get going in the canoes. Again they were ants now carrying gear in the reverse direction. We waved and wished them luck as they pushed off. Sulina took a photo of the group and then we packed up to head back to the cars.

Our trip was not exactly like Carrot’s PCT hike in the book. We didn’t hike many miles, we didn’t have the worries that come with a long journey like hers, but we did find some parallels. What often makes these overnight hikes interesting is the people you meet along the way. We certainly encountered many interesting folks on our trip and we even got to experience a little bit of delicious trail magic.

Thruhiking Will Break Your Heart

by Carrot Quinn

In 2013, Carrot Quinn was addicted to the internet. She felt herself falling into a pattern of being an observer in life and not a participant. On a whim, after discovering the world of long-distance hiking online, she decided to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail 2600 miles from Mexico to Canada. Like any thru-hiker she had her fair share of trials on the trail, but what most stands out in this memoir is the relationships she made on the way. She makes new friends, some of which she keeps track of through the trail registers, and others that just seemingly disappear after they leave the trail or adjust their pace. Carrot also conveys the sense of emptiness and depression that frequently follow a thru-hike like hers. She does not shy away. She finds that staying on the trails is essential for her and that is what she has been doing since.

Non-fiction (Memoir) // Published: 2015 // My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

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Outdoor Life

Boulder River

“I am here today, mommy.” Uh huh, I say, distracted by making breakfast and packing up for our hike. “I am here today.” Yep, that’s right, I affirm while throwing our big and little backpacks into the back seat and buckling my not so little daughter up in her car seat. I speed off to the highway to get us to the trailhead for what would inevitably be a very slow toddler-paced hike.

Evie’s been really into waterfalls since I took her to Twin Falls a few months before. She walked by herself on that one, so I was sure we could go even farther on the Boulder River trail. I had high hopes as we pulled into the parking lot and got on the trail. We found her a good walking stick and she kept a good pace for all of five minutes.

She yelled “snail!” and pointed to a clump of green off the trail. She leaned over and stuck her nose down low into the foliage and sure enough, there was a big old slug. I told her it was actually called a slug and that we should see how many we can find on the trail.

I was excited to show her some of my favorite plants on the trail. Goat’s beard exploding in white like fourth of July fireworks, tiny little Pacific starflower, and my favorite of all, the maidenhair fern. “Can I touch it?” she asks and I always nod and say yes you may. Be gentle, please.

She picks up leaves and counts them out: one for her, one for mommy, and one for daddy. “Here you go, mommy.” She gives me leaves, sticks, pine cones, even a little yellow flower to put in my ear. When she twirls a rogue sword fern frond in her fingers, she yells, “oh, polka dots!” We put her treasures into her backpack until she stopped and asked for the moss out of her pack. I handed it to her and she smiled. “I want to touch it.” She just wanted to hold it.

She wants to sit on EVERY rock. To find the comfiest one, I suppose. Why else? Meanwhile, she’s still counting the slugs and I’m amazed at her ability to find them hiding in the leaves. We are up to six when she sits down in the middle of the trail. “I want a snack,” she says.

I find us a log to sit on and get out our lunch. We’ve been on the trail for hours and I assess how far I think we’ve gone. A mile, maybe a mile and a half. She is so content as she sits and eats her lunch, I can’t help but smile. This is it. This is toddler hiking. I am here today, I think. This is where we are right now.

After our lunch is eaten, I ask Evie if she wants to turn around. I’ve resigned myself to toddler pace and have actually been really enjoying it. But I knew the joy of the trail would only last so long and I was willing to turn back before our delightful hike turned not so delightful. But Evie was determined to see a waterfall. She got upset at the thought of turning around and insisted we keep going.

It was only another half mile or so, but that could take hours at toddler pace. So I picked her up and carried her a little ways. We found a hollowed out tree and took turns going inside. It completely blocked the sound of the river and was incredibly quiet. “It’s so dark in here,” she says and comes out, and then immediately says, “lets do it again!” I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a tree like that before.

We get to the waterfall and Evie is not really all that impressed. This day was all about the journey, not so much about the destination. I was okay with it. We made slightly better time on the way down the trail. While Evie investigated something on the side of the trail, I looked up into the trees. The sun lit up the trees in a warm glow. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A breeze rustled my hair and my skin felt tingly. Hi, dad.

I am here today. This is where I am.

Book Club

On Trails

I was worried when I arrived at the trailhead. For one, I was running super late (nothing new there) and what was normally an insanely gorgeous view from the parking lot was completely obscured by fog. Our group was unfazed and cheery as always. As we started walking, our view was narrowed to the trail and the trees just around us. We stirred up some grouse and they exchanged deep staccato bellows that made someone ask what the heck that was. We stopped to inspect spider webs. What was regularly invisible was now illuminated in silver mist. Someone suggested that we call ourselves the Cloud Hikers and I had flashbacks to our hike in the clouds last year.

We were on our July book club outing to one of my very favorite places, Cascade Pass in the North Cascades. Our book of the month was On Trails, a philosophical journey through the history of trails all over the world, from the very tiny trail of one of life’s first travelers 565 million years ago, to a modern extension of the Appalachian Trail that spans the world and everything in between. The author pays special attention to Native American trails and searches for the remains of an old Cherokee trail. The problem in finding old Native American trails, he says, is that they are so efficient and effective that they have evolved into roads. Cascade Pass is one such trail heavily traveled by indigenous people for at least 10,000 years. It was commonly traveled from the east side up the Stehekin River valley, the river name itself meaning “the way through.”

For many indigenous people, trails were not just a means of travel; they were the veins and arteries of culture.

Robert Moor, On Trails

In the early 1920’s, the state of Washington contracted the Cascade Wagon Road from Marblemount over Cascade Pass to Twisp. During the road’s construction, a group called the Cascade Pass Pilgrims (from both the east and west sides), gathered at the pass for camping and speeches to promote the building of the wagon road. But after the stock market crash of 1929, funds for the road were rescinded and construction was halted. In the 1930’s, the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) maintained the road and made improvements before the Forest Service and Washington Highway Department officially abandoned it in 1940.

The idea of building a road over the pass was revisited many times, but never materialized. Instead, the current trail was built to the pass and over to the east side to meet up with an existing mining road from Stehekin to Horseshoe Basin. Soon after the trail construction, in 1968, the North Cascades National Park was formed and Cascade Pass was preserved. Since the 1980’s, significant archeological sites have been found at the pass including a particularly spectacular unearthing of a 9600 year old cooking hearth. Scientists now think that contrary to popular belief, people my have lived here and spent more time here than just passing through.

It is impossible to fully appreciate the value of a trail until you have been forced to walk through the wilderness without one.

Robert Moor, On Trails

Back on the trail, Brenda wanted to show us something she noticed on a previous hike on this trail. The book mentions how people can’t tolerate being on a trail where they can hear water, but can’t see it. Brenda stopped us and we could hear the water. Sure enough, there was a little footpath up a large boulder with a view of a waterfall. We all took turns to climb up and spy the cascade. While we took our water break, the fog began to disperse giving us peek-a-boo views of the dramatic and glaciated mountains across the valley from us.

We rose with the fog and found ourselves rising above the treeline as the clouds rose above the mountains. Pink heather and sitka valerian blanketed the meadows. We stopped to identify other flowers- monkey flower, columbine, spirea. Up ahead, Brenda and Kirstin were stopped and looking at something with binoculars. As the rest of us approached, they pointed out a marmot doing its marmot thing above us on a rock. We watched for a while and saw little baby marmot heads popping up over the heather. Baby marmots! We gushed over them and pointed them out to others walking by.

While we continued our climb, I noticed a distinct chill to the air. It felt more like an autumn day than a July one. We spotted pika in the rocks as we approached a lingering patch of snow on the steep, narrow, trail. I was worried that some of the group may not be comfortable crossing on the snow, but we all supported and helped each other across. I was so proud of the group! Not much farther, though, and we had a scare of the furry kind.

It was marmots! Yes, more marmots. But these marmots were right on the trail and had zero interest in yielding to us. They were busy gnawing on something in the trail dirt and couldn’t be bothered to budge. As we got closer to them, instead of scurrying away like normal marmots, they ran toward us! Kim walked with her hiking poles out in self defense as we finally passed them. This was clearly their territory and they were clearly not afraid of us in the least.

The attacking marmots were our last hurdle to the pass. There we shed our packs and got out our snacks. Brenda shared her favorite pastry she picked up on the way to the trailhead, and we passed around a fancy chocolate bar to share. We talked about the book and I slipped on my dad’s fuzzy sweater for warmth and comfort. We chatted with some climbers who just came down from Mix-up Peak. They pointed up to it. “That one,” they said, “next to Magic Mountain.” From where we were, one could be convinced that not many people have been here, or to the tops of the mountains around our heads. It feels so remote and wild here, and yet the dirt that we stood on was packed down by thousands, maybe tens of thousands of feet before us?

The trail had taught me that good designs – like old-age tools and classic folk tales – are trail-wise. They fulfill a common need by balancing efficiency, flexibility, and durability. They streamline. They self-reinforce. They bend but do not break. So much of our built environment, by comparison, seemed terribly, perilously inelegant.

Robert Moor, On Trails

A trail is a beautiful thing. Trails allow us to reach places that would not seem possible otherwise. The mind can focus on other things while the body simply follows, not having to choose a direction or make a decision, the trail does it for us and keeps us safe.

Ironically, I feel closer to humanity in this wild place than I do in the highly populated city. Not just closer to my book club pals and the other hikers on the trail that day, but to our ancestors and to the Okanagan Nation who claim this area as their traditional territory. The ones who made the trail a little better with each foot step.

photo courtesy of Mala Giri

I now see the earth as the collaborative artwork of trillions of sculptors, large and small. Sheep, humans, elephants, ants: each of us alters the world in our passage. When we build hives or nests, mud huts or concrete towers, we re-sculpt the contours of the planet. When we eat, we convert living matter into waste. And when we walk, we create trails. The question we must ask ourselves in not whether we should shape the earth, but how.

Robert Moor, On Trails
photo courtesy Mala Giri
On Trails by Robert Moor

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Book Club Archive

Outdoor Life

Larch March to Blue Lake

I am worse than my nearly two-year-old. She smiles right to me as she climbs up the stove and I pull her down and say no for the millionth time. She’ll make perfect eye contact and touch something she’s not supposed to touch, putting just one finger on an item and then looking to me for approval. I give her my disapproving mom look for the trillionth time. Like her, I push and push at boundaries compulsively without seeming to learn a lesson. I find the limits of myself and my daughter and then I inch up against them, just just to make sure we can’t squeeze out a tiny bit more. This is how I once again found myself alone in the middle of the trail with a screaming toddler wondering why I keep doing this to myself. And then I did something I’ve never done before.

The forecast called for blue skies. When this happens on an October weekend day, it simply must be taken advantage of. I’ve been itching to see some larch and I knew this weekend would be my best, if not last, opportunity before the fall rain comes. I decided to take Evie up to the North Cascades, a good 3 hour drive from our house, to a short trail filled with brilliant larch. I had the genius idea to wake Evie up before dawn and slip her into the car seat where she would go back to sleep while I drove. She didn’t go back to sleep. So I gave her snacks and entertained her as much as I could on the long drive. She did really well until the last 20 minutes or so when she finally had enough. She cried until I pulled into the trailhead and looked back to tell her we’ve arrived. She was fast asleep.

I woke her up and gave her more snacks with the promise of adventure and golden trees. She seemed up for it and padded down the trail pointing at rocks and trees. Though the sun was out, there was frost on the ground and I showed her how the iced-over puddles crackle when you step on them. She was doing great and I had high hopes that she would walk far on her own. She didn’t. She walked a little ways and then asked me to pick her up. I asked if she wanted to get in the backpack and she said yeah. With her in the pack I hustled along to cover some ground until she changed her mind and wanted down. I let her down but then she wanted up, but not in the backpack. I held her in my arms and walked a little but told her that I couldn’t carry her like that the whole way. Then she had a full on meltdown while I cycled between putting her in the pack, carrying her in my arms, and letting her walk. Then I gave up and just sat with her for a while, trying to console her and making sure she was warm in the cold shade of the trees.

This seemed to work and we walked a little ways more. Then she started crying again just as we passed someone who said we were close to an open area with sun. I picked her up and walked to the sun, promising a break and a snack. Sure enough, we found the sun and some lovely views and even a log to sit on. I gave Evie her lunch and we watched people and dogs pass us by. We were not even a mile up the trail. I coaxed her along offering her more peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the way. Then she would hunker down and sit to eat her sandwich at a snail’s pace. Each time I took a deep breath, summoning patience. It’s the journey, not the destination. It’s the journey, not the destination. I repeated this mantra, pushing out the counter thought: did I drive us all the way up here for nothing?

It was only two miles to the lake and three hours had gone by now. I kept thinking we had to be getting close. If I could just get Evie in the pack we would be up there in no time. I decided that I just needed to get her into the pack. I filled her up with even more food and changed her diaper and then told her how we could see the golden trees and the big mountains and the pretty lake if she got into the pack. She refused. I began to worry. We were a ways up the trail and it was getting late in the day. I was going to have to get her in the pack eventually to get back down the trail. That’s when I planted the pack right in the middle of the trail and decided she was going in no matter what. Of course there were hikers going by from both directions that got to witness the lovely sight of me forcing my screaming child into a pack. I waved them around us and they gave me sad looks. A couple with their young kid came along and gave me some words of encouragement and then I did the thing I never do. I asked how much further it was to the lake. They looked at each other with a gaze that I recognized. They said, “oh man, you’re getting there. You’re doing great!” This was hiker code for, “oh man, this lady doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into, poor thing.”

I finally got Evie in the pack and decided that I’d hike five more minutes up the trail. If she was still crying and screaming, I’d turn around and go back to the trailhead. If she stopped, I’d keep going to the lake. I walked for about 2 minutes and she was quiet. I glanced back and her head was hanging down, fast asleep. I hiked just a few minutes more into the magic of the golden larch and spectacular views all around. The larch gods blessed me with this quiet time all to myself the short way to the lake. I relished in it. I didn’t linger long at the lake though, and as I started back down the trail I felt guilty for being so happy that Evie was asleep. She was missing out on the best part, all that I had promised her.

Just before we left the larch forest and views, though, she woke up. She exclaimed whoa! and wow! as I pointed to the golden trees and pretty mountains around us. I let her touch the soft needles of the larch and she mimicked my enthusiasm. Pretty mountains and trees! she said in her tiny little voice. All of the worry, hesitation, and impatience I felt earlier melted away completely. Then she said, sing, mama!  So I sang. The ants go marching through the larch, hurrah, hurrah.

Maybe one day I’ll learn my lesson and find our limits. But until then I’ll keep pushing. Just a tiny bit.

 

Book Club

Yellow Aster Beauties

This month the book club went on our first backpacking adventure together. I chose a fun and quick read about a group of girlfriends who hiked the John Muir Trail back in the 1990’s. They just graduated from college and were taking a break before diving into real life. They spent 28 days hiking the 215 mile trail from Mount Whitney to Yosemite. When her friend Erika asked her to hike the JMT, the author Suzanne immediately agreed. She was not an experienced backpacker, but she had read a lot of John Muir, so she thought she knew what she was getting into. She climbed nine mountain passes, encountered snow, storms, and bears and dealt with food shortages, but mostly she had to learn to work together with two other women.

We opted for a much shorter hike than the JMT, Yellow Aster Butte, in the North Cascades. After a week of smoky skies in western Washington, it looked like the weekend was going to be a nice one with the smoke blowing off. When we reached the trailhead in a thick haze, though, I had a feeling that was not going to be the case. We decided to go on anyway, vowing to take our time and drink lots of water. We switchbacked up and up as we caught up with each other and what’s been going on since we’ve seen each other last. We didn’t have any new members come out with us this time and as much as I LOVE meeting new book-lovers out on the trails, it was kind of nice to spend extra time with some “regulars” and get to know these ladies better.

We chatted about our favorite parts of the book and we imagined which characters we would be. We even made plans to reenact our favorite parts later at the campsite. I imagined myself as Erika, of course, the leader and planner. I had to admit I was afraid that I scared everyone off a few weeks prior when I sent out a spreadsheet including an offer to pack the food. In the book Erika was ruthless with the food rations and the group regularly received meager tablespoons of oatmeal and often ate Powerbars for lunch. Nobody took me up on my offer. I laughed hysterically when I put two and two together, although the group promised they didn’t think I was an Erika.

Once we rounded the butte we found the trail that leads down to a huge open area filled to the brim with tarns. Kirstin spotted a campsite from above and it looked like the perfect spot perched on its own little island. We hustled down to stake our claim and have some lunch. Afterwards we felt like lounging among the sculpted rocks like marmots and reading and chatting. There was a tarn just below us, calm as could be, so we went down to lounge next to it. In the book, the girls have a “spa day” toward the end of their trip where they filed each others nails and braided each others hair. We thought that sounded lovely and decided to make our own “spa day.” We slipped into the water, one of us quite literally, and one of us quite purposely, and like Erika in the book, quite naked. I lingered on the edge with my feet in, squirming my toes into the thick oozy mud. I really wanted to get in, but I never swam in an alpine tarn like this. A small chunk of snow still clung to the far end. Then I just went for it. The alpine water washed away the trail dirt and smoke ash.  It felt like it washed away the stress and tension built up in my body over months or even years. I felt refreshed and renewed, better than any spa.

I didn’t want to leave our magical tarn, but when we spotted some strange bugs creeping along the bottom in the impossibly clear water, I high-tailed it out of there. I’m not usually afraid of bugs, but these were strange and we were pretty sure, just a few minutes before, that the tarn was devoid of any life whatsoever. They seemed to emerge from the mud. Yuck. So we headed back to camp and setup our three tents on our little island and just lounged some more. We had the perfect vantage point for people and marmot watching, both equally entertaining. The tarn basin tended to amplify the voices of the hikers coming down the switchbacks. We would hear voices and then get quiet to see if we could make out what they were saying. The basin amplified the whistles of the marmots as well and we watched groups of them play and roll on the steep slopes.

We discussed trail names like the women in the book had, and thought what ours might be. We gave other groups names too, there were the “dog people” who were yelling at their dogs the whole time they hiked down while the unleashed beasts terrorized the poor marmots. There were also the “rock people” who sat on a smooth rock across the way in a perfect circle, seeming like they’ve always been there and always will be. The next morning I discovered that the dog people were the same as the rock people and my head exploded. It made sense. The smoke had kept many people away and a normally very busy place was quite quiet on this weekend.

After we had enough lounging we moved onto dinner. We fired up our tiny stoves with a loud whhhhhrrrr, and I boiled my ramen noodles (I know you are thinking wow, those other ladies really missed out on a gourmet dinner. I know, right?) and we talked some more about the book. I first read this book about a decade ago and I remember totally relating to the author, Suzanne, who was obsessed with John Muir. I loved how she included a John Muir quote at the beginning of every chapter. Reading it again for this trip, I related more to her discovery that John Muir doesn’t have all the answers and its actually hard to relate to his stories, as fantastic as they are, because, well, turns out he’s not a woman. Suzanne discovered that her journey and story was not going to be the same as his. This self-discovery really stood out to me. I’ve realized how much I’ve been growing away from the “old, dead white guy” stories of nature and adventure that we are accustomed to, and have come to very much prefer stories from women’s perspectives. Simply because I am a woman and I can relate to them.

Rather than relying upon the language of men, a language that doesn’t take into account all the ways I felt about being in the mountains, I needed a language of my own to describe the landscape in all its complexity…

I love how Suzanne addresses gender in the outdoors quite frankly and unapologetically. She didn’t shy away from her 20-year-oldish boy crazy thoughts and daydreams, and also from her feelings of being uncomfortable and vulnerable around men she didn’t know on the trail. She doesn’t have an agenda, she’s simply telling her story from her female perspective. I adore these honest memoirs and it’s books like these that inspired me to go searching for more of them. I even made a list of my favorites that I’ve read and loved and will be adding to. There are so many great stories and it makes me so happy!

With the smoke it was hard to tell when the sun was setting, it just got darker and then all of the sudden we saw the moon. It was huge and full, like we could just reach out and touch it. And the smoke gave it a crazy deep orange glow. We retreated to our tents, and in true sleepover style, we stayed up late talking about anything and everything. I felt so comforted and safe with those ladies in their sleeping bags just feet from me. I am so grateful for the wonderful friendships I have with them. This trip, like Suzanne’s trip on the John Muir Trail, was not about the destination, heck we couldn’t see a thing! But it was much more about the journey and the connections we strengthened between each other.

We found our connection to each other, our place within wildness. The John Muir Trail was more than a completed goal. We didn’t conquer the mountains; instead, we learned to feel safe walking among them, to feel more at home in nature. And with each step we came closer to knowing ourselves.

 

Almost Somewhere by Suzanne Roberts

 

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Outdoor Life

Hidden Lake Lookout

For my birthday weekend my husband and I packed up Evie and doggie Nali to go camping at Marble Creek Campground. We planned it so that I could go for a solo hike on my birthday to get to my goal of 50 peaks. I decided on Hidden Lake Peak as the grand finale. It’s arguably one of the most beautiful trails in the Cascades and I wanted something challenging. And for an added bonus, there’s a lookout at the top.

We snagged a river-front spot and set up camp. Evie helped me set up the tent (she did actually mostly help!) and we lazed around eating snacks. We brought an Evie-sized chair, but she mostly just wanted to sit it one of our grown-up chairs, sitting up and very proud of herself. One of her favorite things to say these days is “sit down.” We had a bit of a panic moment when we couldn’t find her binky. We only brought one and we knew that getting to sleep was going to be an issue if we didn’t find it asap. We searched for like two hours, scouring the cars and campsite but couldn’t find it. We decided it was just going to have to be the day she gives up the binky cold turkey.

We went for a walk and found a path leading down to Marble Creek. There were gorgeous sandy beaches and the water was cold and turquoise. We sat on the shore and threw rocks for Nali to chase in the water. We had to keep Evie from walking straight into the water. That girl has no fear. We played in the sand and collected rocks until it was dinner time and headed back to camp for a dinner of burgers.

I was very nervous about the missing binky as bedtime approched, but it turned out fine. Evie fussed and cried but eventually fell asleep and I was actually happy that it happened this way. It is much harder to resist giving into her when I have a choice, but this time I had nothing to give her. As I’m writing this, it’s been four days and last night was the first time since that fateful day that she went right to sleep without a peep. Yay! My husband and I distracted ourselves from her cries with a game. We’ve had Bananagrams for years and finally decided to get it out and try it. It’s basically a speed version of scrabble and got hooked.

The next morning my husband made breakfast and I geared up for the day’s climb to Hidden Lake Peak. I lingered for a while before convincing myself that it was time to go off on my own. I said my goodbyes and headed to the trailhead, just a few miles down the road. I noticed that the sky was white and wondered if it was fog or smoke from forest fires. As I started out on the trail, it was clear that it was smoke. The smoke affects the sunlight differently than fog. It filters the sunlight, where fog tends to fully block it. The sun appeared as an eerie orange orb and a fiery orange glow lit up the forest.

After a short and steep climb through the forest I popped out into an open meadow. Now the severity of the smoky haze was apparent. I could hardly see across to the peaks above the valley and looking down was a complete white-out. It was even worse than I thought. The flowers in the meadow made up for the lack of views and the filtered sun made for nice photos, but I was really hoping the smoke would go away.

The trail climbs, sometimes quite steeply, through an open avalanche chute covered in flowers. It was a spectacular display, one of the best I’ve seen in the Cascades. I stopped to catch my breath and took way too many photos. There were lots of small water crossings and I plunged a bandana in the cool water to wrap around the back of my neck. It helped. Eventually, I was above the gulley and the trail mellowed a bit through high alpine heather and granite. Although there were plenty of people on the trail, it was quiet. So quiet. I didn’t hear even a single bird call or pika squeak. With the lack of wildflowers up high, the white of the sky and the white and brown of the granite and trail, it felt like sensory deprivation.

But I continued on and soon the lookout was in view. The descriptions of the trail warned me that it would seem like there is no possible way to get up to the lookout. I already knew this yet I still gaped up at the mountain and wondered how the heck I was going to get up there. It seemed impossible. I was tired and the smoke was giving me a headache. I couldn’t see any of the spectacular views that were supposed to be had and now the trail was getting hard to follow. I emerged on a saddle above Hidden Lake and looked at it with disgust. I could barely make out the outline of the lake and the jagged peaks that surround it, my beloved North Cascade peaks, were obscured by thick smoke.

I thought of turning back, but then I reasoned that getting up to the lookout would brighten my spirits. I followed cairns that led me back and forth between a steep exposed trail and a scrambling route. I did my best to not look down and just go up. I saw that the lookout was much closer now but I still wondered how the heck I was going to get up there. It is vicariously perched on a pile of boulders. They didn’t bother to put a catwalk or even an entryway for that matter on the thing, due to the shear drop-offs on all sides. And when I reached the door it was closed. I could hear people inside, but didn’t want to bother them. I shuffled back down the rocks to the saddle, waited for my nerves to calm and then ate some food.

Instead of appreciating my alone time and reflecting on my 35 years and whatever, I really just wanted to get down the mountain. I was sad that I was expecting an epic hike and didn’t get it. I was sad about the smoky air and that the whole state (and British Columbia for that matter) seems to be on fire. This is not what it was like when we moved here over a decade ago and I’m worried that the smoky summers like this one and last year will become normal or worse.

But as I hiked down the smoke began to clear just a tiny bit. I could make out the green of the meadows and as the wildflowers came back into view, I realized just how beautiful it really was. I even noticed later that there was even some blue sky in my photos. After all these years, it is still an important reminder to find beauty everywhere, even if I have to work to seek it out.

Outdoor Life

Pregnant in the Wild

When I found out in the spring that I was pregnant, the first thing I did was calculate my due date. The second thing I did was calculate how pregnant I would be in August. I had plans. I had a long list of hikes and mountains to climb this summer, including a multi-day backpacking trip complete with a summit of Mt Adams. But I would be 5 months pregnant in August. I naively thought perhaps these things were still possible. 

As the snow melted and trails opened up for the summer, it was clear that my hiking days would be limited. After a few months spent doing nothing but napping, I returned to outdoor life. But I was completely out of shape and out of breath on even the easiest of trails. Well, if I wasn’t going to climb a volcano while pregnant I at least wanted to do something besides hobble down an easy trail without passing out. I decided that I would try backpacking.

This was not an immediate decision and I went back and forth about it over and over again. Would it be comfortable sleeping on the ground? How much weight could I carry in addition to my growing belly? And of course, most importantly, was I going to hurt my baby? After doing some research, I decided that I could do it as long as I didn’t carry much more than I normally carried on a day trip. That wouldn’t be possible with just me and my husband, but luckily, we had some family coming to town who offered to carry the extra weight.

We set out on a hot August morning on the road to Mt Baker. We chose to hike up to Twin Lakes since it was an easy road hike and people would be car camping up there so we could get a ride down if we needed it. That gave me some peace of mind. It was also a short climb with stunning views and we could visit one of my favorite lookouts on Winchester Mountain.

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I shouldered my backpack and felt comforted by its heft. I knew I could take more but I let the others carry my weight. I would have to get used to this. I’m not accustomed to letting others help me and I know I have to let go of the urge to prove I’m strong by imposing unneeded suffering on myself. This just seems like an unhealthy parenting style to me and anyways, I don’t have just me to think about anymore, but my little growing baby too. I let it go.

As I trudged up the road at a snails pace and sweating buckets, I was instantly grateful for my light pack and for my husband who hiked slowly with me. I thought about giving birth and how it was going to be infinitely harder than this. I told my husband that when that time comes and I’m struggling, to gently remind me that at least there are not swarms of black flies in the birthing suite trying to eat my flesh. I vow to keep all things in proper perspective.

It wasn’t too long before we reached the lakes and had lunch. We found perhaps one of the best campsites in all the North Cascades and set up camp. We wandered back down to the lake and dipped our toes in the ice cold water. It felt so good. I found the most comfortable patch of grass and laid my head on a smooth rock and took a nap with Nali curled up at my feet. That night we cooked up some delicious food and played Yahtzee until the sun set and we had to use our headlamps. Before we went to sleep my husband and I snuggled on a blanket and watched the stars come out. 

The next day we trekked up to the lookout on Winchester Mountain. I had no pack this time but I was still incredibly slow. Young couples glided past me and I envied their normal-sized bodies and their infinite energy. A few fit young moms carrying their toddlers on their backs passed me and I thought it insane that a body can go from this to that and decided there is no way that my body will ever do that. I decided to just not think about it and have a snack instead. Pregnancy is humbling in so many ways…

I used the following day to rest while the others went to hunt for mines. I took out my sleeping pad and sleeping bag and piled all the soft things I could find up at the top to prop myself up. The air had just a hint of coolness that made it the perfect temperature to put on my beanie and lay in my sleeping bag and read. I was reading about mindfulness. I read through the body scan meditation and really felt every sensation happening to and around me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more relaxed than I was right there snuggled in my bag, Nali curled up next to me with nothing else in view but mountains.

I thought about getting up to grab my camera or phone to take a picture so I could remember that moment forever. But I knew if I got up the spell would be broken. Instead I took a moment to commit it all to memory. The contours of the peaks on the horizon, the waving evergreen limbs of the trees, the hum of the bees buzzing in the wildflowers nearby. It’s all in my head now, there to recall whenever I need it. When the pain comes, this will be my happy place.

 

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Mindful Birthing by Nancy Bardacke

This is the mindfulness book that I was reading on this backpacking trip. I really recommend it for anyone who is pregnant and anxious about the birth. Bardacke teaches meditation to prepare the body and mind for relaxation during the birthing process. This is a whole new way to think about pain and endurance. The jury is still out for me on whether it works or not, but I know that it has already helped to calm my worried mind in preparation for birth and I can only hope that it helps someone else as well.

 

 

 

 

Hikes Featured in this Post:

Winchester Mountain

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Outdoor Life

Evergreen Mountain Lookout

This year for my birthday all I wanted was to spend the day with my husband and go for a hike. We chose to go to Evergreen Mountain because it checks all of my pregnancy hike boxes, which is really just one: short. And, bonus, it’s a lookout! Double bonus: blueberries!

We got lots of elevation out of the way on the long drive to the trailhead which was much appreciated as we hit the trail in the heat of the day. Luckily there were lots of huckleberries to distract from my frequent stops to catch my breath. The trail is short but it’s a bit steep in the beginning and I was a little worried as I looked up to our destination.

But as we continued on, the trail mellowed through some trees providing much needed shade. From there it was just one final push to the top. We were extra happy to find that the whole upper side of the mountain was completely covered in ripe blueberries. We paused to munch away vowing to harvest them on the descent.

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Where there wasn’t blueberries there were wildflowers pink and white inviting us higher. It was mostly Sitka valerian, spirea, and pink heather, some of my favorites. Soon enough, the lookout and Glacier Peak came into view.

The lookout was not open but we had the place  to ourselves so we huddled against the shaded side of the structure. We ate our lunch and identified the surrounding peaks: Monte Cristo, Columbia, Sloan, and of course, Glacier Peak.

It was just three years ago when we climbed that mountain and my how things have changed. Being pregnant, I sometimes forget how it was in the not so distant past when I was un-pregnant. I miss spending a full day on a long, grueling but ultimately rewarding hike and then waking up the next day and doing it all over again. I miss checking off summits and feeling like I earned my exhaustion, not just feeling exhausted because I got out of bed today. Sometimes I think I will never have the energy or time to climb mountains again, but I know that’s not true. My “to be climbed” list just has a new title: “to be climbed someday with my kid.” Man, I really hope she likes mountains…

Hike Featured in this Post:

Evergreen Mountain Lookout

Book Club

Summer Summit

I first hiked to the top of Sauk Mountain solo back in 2013 as part of my quest to climb 30 peaks before I turned 30 years old. It quickly became one of my favorite hikes, so when I was thinking of places to take my book club group, this one was on the top of the list and I couldn’t wait to share it with them.

The road to the trailhead is 8 miles of rough, steep gravel. It seemed we were driving all the way to the summit when we finally broke out of the trees to meadows and the trailhead. We craned our necks up to see the summit towering above. I pointed out the zig zag of a trail scrawled on the steep mountainside. I promised it wasn’t nearly as bad or scary as it looked from there.

Just a few steps down the trail we stopped at possibly the cutest outhouse on the planet. The little brown wooden A-frame is trimmed in white scallops and the best part of all- it was stocked with toilet paper!

We continued onto the famous switchbacks which start out from the beginning and cut back and forth through a steep blossoming meadow. White and purple dominated for a few switchbacks until the other colors of the rainbow emerged as we climbed higher and higher. We stopped to capture the colors and watch the butterflies and bees collecting pollen.

As the trail nears the upper portion of the mountain you really feel a sense of accomplishment as you look down to the trailhead below. For such a steep mountain, the switchbacks really take the pain out of the climb and are much appreciated. At one particular switchback I turned back to chat with the others and stopped in my tracks with a “whoa!” as Mt Baker came into view rising like Mt Fuji above the hazy valley below.

My favorite part, though, is when the trail swings around at the top. All at once the North Cascades come into view in all their glory. On this side, the mountain plunges again into a valley, this one full of open green meadow and wildness. Climbing a bit more, we were led to a small campsite in the trees overlooking Sauk Lake far below.

The trail then enters some talus and from here it’s a short steep climb to the summit. We spun around to identify all the mountains we could see- Glacier Peak, Mt Rainier, Mt Baker, Sloan Peak, Three Fingers and finally settled down for lunch. We discussed The Summer Book and picked out our favorite stories from it as I read out loud some of my favorite parts. We laughed at how funny and sweet six-year-old Sophia and her grandmother are in this book. I passed out homemade Lingonberry muffins to go along with the Finnish theme.

As we returned down the trail, we reveled in the views and the much welcomed sun. I thought about Sophia and those formative summers of my own childhood and the memories that I still cling to from my hometown back in PA. I thought of summers so hot and humid that we spent entire days and nights splashing in the pool. I thought of exploring the woods in our backyard and climbing trees and building treehouses. I thought about how my daughter’s formative years will be. Her playground will be quite different than mine and for that I am a little sad. But better yet, she will have these spectacular views.

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One summer morning at sunrise a long time ago I met a little girl with a book under her arm. I asked her why she was out so early and she answered that there were too many books and far too little time. And there she was absolutely right.

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson

 

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Book Club

An Impressive Walk

As I drove to the Old Sauk trailhead, I was sure it would start raining any minute. The dark clouds hovered above the trees and mountains: Pilchuck, Three Fingers, then Whitehorse and the Twin Sisters, blazes of white against the gray. Along the Mountain Loop Highway the towering saturated green trees hugged me and welcomed me back. It’s been a while, old friends, I thought to myself, thankful for the return of spring and the promise of many more visits to come.

I met up with our growing group at the trailhead. I was thrilled to have some new faces in the group as well as others that have become familiar. Our little group of bloggers that met up as strangers not even a year ago were reunited and I’m so happy they have since become my good friends. We gave quick introductions and headed down the trail.

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It’s immediately evident that this trail is a special one. The trees are speckled with moss and sage green lichen giving them an ethereal quality. If they glowed in the dark you could find as many constellations as there are in the night sky. The longer I look I get lost in them and wonder if I am gazing into the past, into the time before there were eyes like mine to see them. When there was only the river, the ferns, the moss, the lichen, the rocks.

My senses were overwhelmed as we stop each other to point out each sign of spring we saw. I heard a squeal of joy as Lainey discovered a trillium and another from Laura who spotted the teeny tiny pink bells of flowers on a huckleberry bush. We imagined ourselves as woodland fairies taking Sunday naps on the soft tufts of moss that covered every branch and surrounding forest floor, shaded by the tiniest white mushrooms caps you’ve ever seen.

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As lunchtime approached we found a comfy place to sit and share our thoughts about the book, Grandma Gatewood’s Walk. Emma Gatewood’s walk through the woods of the Appalachian Trail could not have been more different than ours. She was escaping some fierce demons in her life and she was alone without the modern comforts of proper hiking boots, backcountry stoves, freeze dried food or even a tent. She carried a meager 20 pounds of gear with only a shower curtain to protect her from the rain and depended on the kindness of strangers for a meal and a place to sleep. When there were none, she foraged what food she could find in the woods and slept on a bed of leaves.

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During the 1950’s when Emma embarked on the Appalachian Trail, a huge cultural shift was taking place. The national highway system was becoming established and everyone used their cars to get around. In many places a lack of sidewalks made it impossible to walk from place to place. I didn’t realize just how much people used to walk until Montgomery points out in the book that people used to regularly walk 20 miles a day! Charles Dickens once said, “walk and be happy; walk and be healthy.”

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Emma Gatewood’s story is an inspiring one. She learned about the Appalachian Trail in an issue of National Geographic magazine and just decided to do it one day. She didn’t let the fact that she was 67 years old, had 11 grown children and a horrible abusive husband hold her back. She never felt sorry for herself or tried to justify what she was doing. When asked why she was doing it she simply said, “because I wanted to.”

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As we were walking back on this trail filled with life and incredibly scenery, I felt grateful. Grateful for the comfort of the forest, grateful that it never rained on us, grateful that I have a caring and loving husband, grateful that we have these trails to walk in the age of the car, and grateful for these wonderful people who came out to share a book and a hike with me.

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Be a trail angel and make these for your next group hike to share. 🙂

Whole Grain Blueberry Muffin Recipe:
1 1/4 c whole wheat flour
1 c old fashioned rolled oats
1/4 c flax seed
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 c plain yogurt (I use Nancy’s Organic Plain Non-fat Yogurt)
1/2 c light brown sugar
2 Tbsp butter, melted
1 Tbsp grated orange zest
1/4 c fresh squeezed orange juice
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 c fresh or frozen blueberries

  1. Preheat oven to 350F. Ground the oats and flax seed into a meal (I use a coffee grinder).
  2. Combine flour, oat meal, flax seed meal, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
  3. In a separate bowl, whisk together yogurt, brown sugar, butter, orange zest & juice, egg, and vanilla.
  4. Add flour mixture to wet ingredients and mix until just incorporated, fold in blueberries.
  5. Divide into greased muffin pan. Bake 25-30 minutes.

Grandma Gatewood’s Walk by Ben Montgomery

 

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