Book Club

Reading the Clouds

September is the best month for clouds. Little puffs of white invade the cotton candy blue skies of the hot, dry Pacific Northwest summer. Fish bones of ice striate the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Mid-level altostratus greet us at sunrise and bid us good day at sunset as they stretch into the horizon gathering reds, pinks, and oranges. And, most wonderfully, the good ole plain stratus returns. Yes, I do mean that non-descript marine layer that blocks out the sun and covers the earth in what some people may describe as smothering and depressing and what I call a nice, cozy autumn blanket. It’s even better when it extends itself all the way to the ground and becomes my favorite of all, fog. This is when I’m no longer just admiring the clouds, but am literally in the cloud. How does everyone not think this is the coolest thing ever?

I think Maria Mudd Ruth, the author of A Sideways Look at Clouds, would agree with me. In my favorite part of the book, she describes swimming in a lake early one September morning. Fog covered the lake and she bravely swam into it, attaching a string to the shore so she could follow it back. Just thinking of this scene makes me feel still and peaceful. I don’t think we are only ones with a heart for the foggy. Maria goes on to point out that there are a myriad of descriptors of fog (she writes about them in a blog post, 51 Names for Fog) proving to me that if people say they don’t outright enjoy the fog and its many forms, they at least respect it and maybe, on some deep down level, they enjoy it just a tiny bit.

On still, cool nights I sense that our tired, end-of-summer earth is sighing. In the morning there is the beautiful blanket of fog it has exhaled.

This mutual love for fog and clouds is what found me and the Alpine Trails Book Club sitting fireside in a historic forest service building listening to Maria read an excerpt from her book. I watched a tree sway in the rain-spotted window as the wind howled and the warmth of the fire brought feeling back to my fingers. Maria graciously agreed to come out and hike with us on what would have ideally been a gorgeous day of cumulus cloud spotting and admiring Mount Baker and the surrounding peaks. Instead, our group circled up at the trailhead (we were the only ones there) bouncing and swishing in our rainbow colored rain jackets and rain pants to keep warm. We hugged each other and introduced ourselves to our first ever guest author. Maria later told me she was convinced that she and I would be the only ones who showed up that day. I explained to her how hardcore and amazing our group is. Their wonderful smiling faces didn’t even flinch at that nimbostratus.

So we marched straight into the clouds surrounding Bagley Lakes. Maria fed us interesting bits of cloud knowledge as we fed ourselves with the surrounding ripe blueberries (of course). I corralled everyone onto a little stone bridge and did a little happy dance as I took the best photo of our group. I remembered that there was a ranger station near the trail and wondered if we could get to it to seek some shelter from the cold wind and rain. We climbed up stone steps attached to a smooth ancient lava rock to the old building and sure enough, there was a little covered porch area overlooking the lakes. We shed our wet coats and got out our mugs and even some china. Laura brought some hot chai to go with the pumpkin-flavored cloud-shaped cookies I made to share. Maria topped off our little tea party with some donut holes she used to demonstrate the origin of the word “cloud” derived from the word “clod” meaning “rock” or “lump”.

As we chatted on the porch with Maria about how her cloud book came to be, we smelled smoke. It lured us inside the building where we were greeted with what I can only describe as book club magic. Benches surrounded a raging hot fire and the place was empty save a few lovely lady volunteers. They explained to us that one of them had just cleaned out the old fireplace and thought this was the perfect day to try it out with a fire. I asked if they minded if we stayed and hung out for awhile in this bit of serendipitous perfection. They agreed, happy for the distraction on what would normally be a long, lonely day. Maria appropriately read a passage from her book about how rain forms and we peppered her with questions as we thawed our fingers and toes. Then she anointed as all pluviophiles, lovers of clouds.

I could have stayed there in that cozy room forever, but alas, we mustered up the courage to return to the outside and continue on the loop trail. The rain had slowed but the stratus clung to the mountains even more than it had earlier. But once in a while it would clear ahead of us just enough to give us the tiniest bit of a view of the surrounding mountains. It once even cleared enough for us to spot fresh snow on nearby Mount Shuksan.

I need to look where I was going, but I also need to stop and look up to appreciate the miracles of the sky, to experience the joy of the clouds, and to learn something new about them every day.

Maria’s book makes the science of the clouds interesting and approachable. She has such enthusiasm that exudes from every word on the page, it is contagious! After reading this book I vowed to pay more attention to the clouds. I have a new-found appreciation for these ethereal things of everyday life. I’ve started taking more pictures of clouds and I picked up some of the books Maria mentions in her book like The Cloudspotter’s Guide and The Met Office Pocket Cloud Book to learn even more. I find that this brings me immense joy and is just another way to enjoy and appreciate nature.

 

Although there was a mile or so of atmosphere between us, I felt a special kinship with these clouds at the lake. There was so little difference between us. Here we were, fluid bodies floating. Here were the clouds, aloft, reflected. Here I was, afloat, reflecting. I had found my way in.

You can learn more about Maria on her website. She is working on a new book (that can’t come soon enough!) and she wrote a lovely blog post about our outing, Book Club in the Clouds.

 

 

A Sideways Look At Clouds by Maria Mudd Ruth

Book Ends

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

 

Book Ends

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

Shriner Peak Lookout

An old friend and I hiked up to the Shriner Peak Lookout on a foggy August morning. It’s been a dry summer. The moisture collected on the leaves and trees, though the forest still clung to a dryness that was palpable. My friend is an avid birder and we listened for bird calls as we walked. He called them out as we heard them: raven, steller’s jay, junko, robin.

After a few miles, the trail opened up to what I imagined were fabulous views, though all we saw were occasional masses of trees layered in clouds. Fireweed towered overhead and my friend picked a leaf for me to chew on. I didn’t know that fireweed was edible and I enjoyed its nice peppery flavor. We climbed on, the fog allowing us to only focus on what was immediately around us. Glowing white orbs of spider webs, soaked mushrooms, and ripe huckleberries. A spritely pika alerted us to its presence just off the trail and we watched as it collected some vegetation and scurried off.

Higher on the mountain, pristine green meadows revealed themselves. Although we had seen plenty of sign of deer or elk, they did not grace us with their majestic presence in the meadows. Bummer. In one particular area, though, it seemed we had been temporarily transported back to my childhood. Emerald green false hellebore towered over my head. The large stalk with wide flat leaves and its trailing clustered flowers made me feel like I was in a foggy cornfield back in Pennsylvania. I had never seen such a dense field of it before.

Finally we spotted the lookout as it emerged from the clouds. One of four in Mt Rainier National Park, the charming two-story lookout was built in 1932.  The fog was starting to clear in patches and we sat on the catwalk and watched the clouds roll by. It felt like we could have been sitting in an airplane. We sat facing where we knew Mt Rainier was, as though we could clear the clouds with our minds. It didn’t work, so we ate our sandwiches instead. A stiff cold breeze froze us until the sun broke through to thaw us again.

We didn’t linger very long in the cold and soon headed back down the mountain. The weather seemed to change with every switchback. The sun came out and we were sure that the mountain would come out for us as we picked some blueberries on the high slopes. As we re-entered the forest, we turned to see a wall of clouds and rain that seemed to come out of nowhere. It showered on us just long enough for me to consider getting out my rain jacket and when I finally decided I should, it stopped and the sun came out again. I shed a layer instead. We soaked up all the sun we could to justify a stop at Wapati Woolies for arguably the best huckleberry shake on the planet.

Hiking Washington’s Fire Lookouts by Amber Casali

As you can imagine, I was SO EXCITED to see this book released recently. Amber Casali has given us a gift- an updated guide book to the lookouts of Washington State. This full-color book has all the details you need to visit as many as you can, including how to access them and some history. There is even a checklist in the back of the book that makes my list-making brain happy.

 

 

 

Outdoor Life

Mount Sawyer

As the weekend rolled around I realized that I need to hike three more peaks in ten days to get to my goal of 50 peaks by 35! This time my husband and Evie came with me to Mount Sawyer. I chose this one because it is relatively easy for carrying up a toddler and I saw from the latest trip reports that lovely wildflowers were blooming.

It was a cool day, one where the fog hung lazily in the valleys and the vegetation on the trail was covered in perfect little drops of water. Evie walked about a quarter mile, investigating the ferns and practicing a new word she learned, “up.” Once she plunked herself down in the middle of the trail, we knew it was time for her to go into the carrier. After a little coaxing with a snack, she settled in for the ride.

The trail gently follows Tonga Ridge through hemlock with occasional openings to the south revealing Mount Hinman and Mount Daniel, both capped in snowfields. Fireweed lined the trail along with large red paintbrush, the occasional tiger lily. The farther we walked, the more diverse the species got. I spotted some white pine and fir trees and it seemed like each clearing revealed different flowers: purple penstemon and aster, sitka valerian.

After a couple miles we reached the turn off for Mount Sawyer. The trail climbs steeply up on eroding tread before returning to a more gradual incline. It was not too long until we were above treeline with sweeping views of the valley. The flowers gave way to a hillside full of blueberries. They were not quite ripe yet, but I managed to find a handful of good ones. I snacked on a few and carried the rest to the top to share with my husband and Evie.

The trail takes a long sweep along the backside before the last push to the summit. From there, you could see the views to the north along with a distinct layer of hazy smoke from wildfires. We just made out Glacier Peak in an orange hazy glow and Sloan Peak along its side.

There are lots of little spur trails on the summit and I wandered around to find different perspectives. We lingered for a while as Evie explored and climbed on rocks and ate her usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When we had enough, we packed up and headed back down the mountain through the flowers again.

Outdoor Life

Mount Catherine

I was not excited about this one. I decided to go at the last minute and wasn’t mentally prepared. I needed to find a peak for 50 by 35 with a short trail that I could take Evie on. This one seemed doable, but the guide book gave it a rating of 2 out of 5 stars. I mean really? I figure any hike that gets you to the top of a mountain with some decent views should get at least 3 stars. Anyway, then I also read that the road to the trailhead was rough and some people were parking along the road adding an extra 2 miles to the round trip. Lastly, I found that there was a steep section at the top that required a little scramble with a cable rope. This normally would not be an issue, but could I do it by myself with Evie on my back?

I decided to try it anyway. I could always turn around if I got uncomfortable. I packed up Evie and tried to figure out what I forgot while I drive to the trailhead. I tripled checked that I had my hiking boots since just a few weeks ago I forgot them (yep, I was that lady hiking in flip flops with a baby on my back, oops) and realized that I forgot my hiking poles that I like to use with Evie. Oh well, could be worse.

 

When I got to the rough part of the road I got out to take a look. It seemed not too bad and I was driving our high clearance wagon, but when I’m by myself with Evie, I tend to get extra cautious. I sat and waited assuming someone would be coming up behind me soon. Sure enough a big Suburban came by. The driver, a seasoned mom with a gaggle of kids in the back got out to look. She decided it was no problem for her and asked me if I wanted a ride. I said no thanks and watched her go on with little hesitation, admiring her confidence. I sat and waited a little longer. Sure, we could have just walked from there, but I really didn’t want to do the extra road walk, especially in the heat of summer. Then I just started up the car and went for it. And was completely fine.

 

The short trail heads up from the beginning. It wasn’t terribly difficult, but Evie is getting terribly heavy. I had put her sun shade on and she was grabbing it, pulling it down onto my head. Whatever, I thought, at least it’s a short trail. When she started screaming and pulling my hair, I stopped and put her down. I realized she had dropped her prized fox lovey. I was debating between going back to find it or to just continue and find it on the way back down, when a kind man found it and brought it up to us. Crisis adverted, but just for a few switchbacks until she started screaming again. I put her down, tried to feed her everything in my bag, checked her diaper, offered water, did all the things and nothing worked. I just sat there thinking about what to do when she calmed down a little bit and started walking up the trail. Of course, why didn’t I think of it before? She just wanted to walk on her own.

She walked up the switchbacks like a champ. We even passed some nice folks who were taking a break and they were impressed. She walked much longer than I expected, and as we neared the top, I knew I would have to get her back in the pack for the last scramble. Getting her into the pack was as difficult as I thought it would be and I apologized to other hikers for all the screaming. But finally she settled and I carried her up to the cable rope. It was a very short section and like earlier in the car, I just went for it without thinking about it too much. As I took the last few steps up, the group we saw earlier were there cheering us on. I looked back and wondered how the heck I was going to get back down, but for now I just needed to find a shady spot that wasn’t too close to the edge. When I put Evie down I realized I was shaking.

 

We took in the views of Mt Rainier, Snoqualmie Pass, and the surrounding peaks. Butterflies fluttered by without a care in the world. While Evie ate her PB&J, I discovered the summit register in a box under the tree that was shading us. I made our climb official and carefully tucked the register back in the box. It was nice, but I was eager to get down. I struck up a conversation with a nice couple who had a 4-year-old at home. They gave me some tips and I asked if I could go with them down the initial scramble. They found an easier way for me to get down and followed behind me to make sure I got down ok. When they headed off ahead of me they told me if I needed anything to just holler down the trail. This small act of kindness made my heart sing.

 

I sang to Evie on the descent and she quickly fell asleep. At the trailhead I gingerly scooped her up out of the carrier. Her head rested on my shoulder and I hugged her in tight for a minute before lowering her down into the carseat still asleep. This had never happened before, she always wakes up when I pick her up. But every day now she is changing and growing. No longer satisfied with the constraints of the backpack, she is becoming independent and strong-willed. My baby is now a toddler.

Outdoor Life

Boardman Lake

Early summer is for alpine lakes in my book. We took advantage of a promising forecast and packed Evie up to Boardman Lake on the Mountain Loop Highway. The long, bumpy drive makes for a solitary and short hike to the lake. We pulled into the empty trailhead and let Evie lead the way, fox lovey in hand.

I optimistically thought that maybe our budding little hiker would walk the whole 1 mile to the lake, but as it turns out, a mile is a LONG way. Especially for such tiny legs with the brain of a squirrel. Her little mind was like a sponge and she wanted to investigate every plant and rock along the trail. I was, however, so proud that she made it up the root-filled trail all the way to Lake Evans, the first stop along the trail, about a quarter mile in.

Lake Evans is more of a pond than a lake, and Nali promptly jumped into it with a splash. Evie, eager to follow suit, marched right up to the water’s edge. We had to hold her back and tried to distract her by pointing out a small frog hopping around. This seemed like a slam dunk of a distraction to me, but she was completely unimpressed and continued to insist on walking right on into the water.

We managed to guide her away from the lake and back to the trail. She walked a bit longer up over rocks and roots, holding my hand. When she sat down in the middle of the trail we took it as a cue to put her in the pack. She didn’t resist.

It wasn’t far to the lake and we headed clockwise around it and across a log jam to find a place for lunch. We found a nice little beach and had some snacks.

Nali stomped around the shallows of the water despite the icebergs still floating on the surface. Evie, always eager to play in the water, watched enviously from the shore.

For a short little hike, it was quite a pleasant one. We had the place to ourselves and there was a yellow glow to the lake from some pollen or algae that gave it a pretty and surreal feel. It felt good to be out and even a tiny bit adventurous.

Book Club

A Weekend in Paradise

The waterfall took my breath away. I was perched on a steep slope as close as I could get to Comet Falls. The air was full of spray, my face instantly soaked, and it was hard to breath. I leaned in, yelled AHHHH and then signaled for the others to come see. They leaned in too and I pointed and yelled, RAINBOW! When we stood in just the right spot a brilliant rainbow appeared at the bottom of the waterfall. We put our arms around each other’s shoulders and closed the circle.

This month our book club group took a weekend trip to Paradise, quite literally. We drove up the long road from Ashford to Paradise Inn in Mount Rainier National Park, following in the footsteps (or rather, snowshoe steps) of Floyd Schmoe and his wife Ruth. Floyd and Ruth spent a winter on their own in the inn back in the 1920’s. Floyd then became a guide and naturalist and the couple spent many summers in Paradise and even took their 3-year-old son around the Wonderland trail on horseback. Floyd wrote a memoir about his time at Paradise, our book of the month, A Year in Paradise.

No place on earth except in a few similar alpine settings can you find such gorgeous wild flower gardens as along the streams of Paradise Valley: white water singing songs, gray water ouzels building nests, and massed flowers nodding approval – a combination of sounds, sights, and odors that lacks only an Adam and an Eve to make of it a little Garden of Eden within the larger Paradise.

 

Our adventure weekend started at Comet Falls and Van Trump Park. We spotted a few avalanche lilies about halfway up the trail and swooned. We spent several minutes snapping photos and getting the best angles, only to find out later that the avalanche lilies were in full bloom all along the trail. I’ve never seen so many of the delicate white flowers on a single trail. They blanketed the forest floor, giving the trail a magical feel.

We climbed up and up in the heat of the day until we topped out and finally got a glimpse of Mt Rainier herself. We could see icicles hanging of the glaciers that must have been massive. As we ate lunch we heard the crash of avalanches and rocks in the distance. We reluctantly tore ourselves away from the view and headed back down to set up our campsite at Cougar Rock and meet up with some others in our group.

After settling in and making introductions over delicious snacks, we geared up for a sunset hike to Pinnacle Saddle. Floyd mentions climbing the peak in the book and how from its vantage point on the Tatoosh Range, you can see a perfect view of Paradise Valley. We climbed up, wondering how far we would get before hitting snow. The views of Mt Rainier are non-stop from the beginning and only get better with each foot of elevation. We crossed just a few spots of snow and were thrilled to make it all the way to Pinnacle Saddle.

 

In the evening when the sunset glow climbed quickly up the ice dome of the mountain and was reflected across Paradise Valley, the pearly gates stood wide-open and all our streets were really paved with gold.

 

We cheered each other on as we reached the flat saddle in the golden glow of sunset. In front of us were sweeping views of Mt Adams, Mt St Helens, and even Mt Hood. We snapped photos and turned around to see The Mountain herself, in full glow. The timing was perfect and we relished every second, even though we were getting swarmed by mosquitoes. When we’d had enough we tiptoed back down the scree, quickly realizing just how much we had climbed. Above us, Pinnacle Peak blazed a fiery red. By the time we reached the trailhead, it was dark.

 

 

We returned to the campsite, excited by the sunset hike. We fueled up on Laura’s amazing homemade chocolate chip cookies and chatted about our day. I was exhausted from the heat and all the hiking we did that day, but also energized. I leaned back and counted the stars. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore I snuggled up in the tent, sleeping for the first time in a long time, without the rain fly.

 

 

The first patch of bare ground had appeared on the south slope of Alta Vista, and the first creamy-white avalanche lilies were nodding a welcome to us and the warm spring sunshine.

 

The next morning we lazily prepared our breakfasts and slowly sipped tea. Most of us weren’t finished with the book so we took advantage of the morning to sit and read while we ate. Some people might think it’s rude to sit at the table with others and read a book, but here, it was perfectly acceptable.

After breakfast we headed back up to Paradise for the last of our hikes. The Skyline Trail was lined with avalanche lilies, pasque flowers, and heather. Marmots popped up and bid us good day, even sometimes showing off by posing majestically on rocks. We found a perfect spot for lunch with a view of Mt Rainier, of course, and the valley below. It was the perfect spot to chat about the book. I couldn’t help but wonder what Floyd would think of a group of women reading his book and hiking in his footsteps almost 100 years later. From his book he seems like a very forward thinking man for his time and I like to think that he would have got a kick out of it. Later we learned that Floyd lived until 2001 when he died at the ripe old age of 105(!). I like to think that his time on the mountain had something to do with that.

Before leaving Paradise, we had to go visit Paradise Inn, where Floyd and Ruth spent the winter of 1919. The historic inn is much as it was back in their day, and as we approached, we heard piano music coming from inside. It was easy to close your eyes and imagine Ruth playing it. One of our sweet group members treated us to cold water and ice cream. It was the perfect ending to our weekend in Paradise.

 

… we were both acutely aware of the healing calm of the wilderness around us, of the forests below and the skies above, and of the great silent mountain which stood over us.

 

A Year in Paradise by Floyd Schmoe

Book Ends

 

             

Book Club

Dirt Work

There is nothing like getting your boots and gloves dirty on the trail. This month we did just that by volunteering with the Washington Trails Association and reading Dirt Work. The book is a memoir by a self-described “traildog” who has worked trails in several National Parks. From the beginning Christine encounters sexism. In order to prove herself, she has to quickly learn how to use a saw and to endure long days of difficult physical labor. It’s a long road, but she finds that she thrives as a traildog, despite the wear and tear on her body.

Our dirt work day was quite different than Christine’s typical day on the trail. Our group was enthusiastically greeted by the WTA crew and they wanted to know all about the book we read. We stood in a circle and introduced ourselves and the crew leader asked us, in the spirit of the book club, to share our favorite genre of book. This made me very happy and it was something that I assume would never happen in one of Christine’s trail briefing.

Our major goal for the day was to brush out the Snoqualmie Lake trail. The salmonberry bushes were encroaching the trail making for low visibility and wet clothes for hikers in the rain. We were sure to snack on the ripe berries before we “lopped” them to oblivion, sometimes digging them out completely. We unceremoniously slung the poor victims into the depths of the forest to turn to dirt. It seems callous and wrong, but man, it is satisfying. We did a heck of a job.

Some members of our team worked on tougher tasks like digging drainage and moving large builders to support them. We were also tasked with “popping rocks” which is the glamorous job of digging up rocks in the middle of the trail that may be a tripping hazard. Have you seen a trail in the Cascades? Someone could literally spend a lifetime popping rocks on the trails here. Not nearly as satisfying as brushing, but it’s fun to say.

The thing about the book that stood out to me the most was how Christine really appreciated the female companions and teachers she had on the trail. It is nice to feel supported on the trail and like you belong there. WTA does a fantastic job of making you feel at home (no matter the gender) and they really take the time to make sure you are taken care of. This day was made even more special with the support of our fabulous book club crew and from my sister who was in town visiting and was brave enough to join us for the day.

Trailwork is not fetish, hiatus, or a meander off a truer path. Through two decades of changes, years of both drudgery and stimulation, trailwork has been an unexpected constant, the magnetic pull that swings my inner needle true, the thing that has taught me, in a way, how to live.

 

Dirt Work by Christine Byl

 

Book Ends

 

Outdoor Life

Independence & North Lakes

Most people say that Memorial Day is the unofficial start of summer. In the Pacific Northwest, it’s actually the 4th of July. While many find the cloudy and rainy month of “June-uary” to be frustrating and depressing, I secretly adore it. The mornings are foggy and cool and the afternoons sunny and warm. The mountains are just beginning to melt out and the crowds are still somewhat small. You can start a hike off in a fleece and end it with a tan. It’s really the best.

Thinking about this reminds me of a hike we did a long time ago to North and Independence Lakes. It was so wonderfully foggy as we climbed through the towering Douglas Fir to Independence Lake. We skirted the lake and emerged into a flat grassy field at the far end of the lake. A few tents and families appeared out of nowhere and being the first people we’d seen on the trail, I wondered if they were ghosts.

From here the trail switchbacked up into the unknown before topping out and descending into a basin. We couldn’t see how far we were going down and in places snow obscured the trail. I truly felt like we were on an epic adventure. Small tarns reflected lonely trees like a painting and I half expected to meet a fairy or gnome.

As we neared the larger North Lake with its turquoise water, we stumbled upon a solo camper fishing along the shoreline. We gave him space and found a spot along the shore to sit and eat lunch. Nali splashed in the water (and probably scared all the fish away) and I spotted a little black ball on the far side of the lake- a black bear. I pointed it out to my husband and I watched it for a long time, a little black ant against the green meadow, probably searching for roots to eat.

We made our way back through the magical tarns and early marigold blooms, still in the fog. We didn’t get to see any sweeping views, but I’m sure the ones in my head were even better than the real thing. Sometimes, a little mystery, a little fog and obscured views are more exciting than the blue bird days. So says the woman from the Pacific Northwest.

 

Happy Summer!