Why were we going? And, what did we expect to gain? A bit apprehensive, I was not completely sure we would succeed. And yet, I pushed forward. For I was the leader, the conceptualizer, and the designated planner of our little foray into the North Cascades.
As October approached, Mark and I prepared for three magical hikes in the second week of the month. We deemed it our ‘Larch Quest.’ You see, here in the Pacific Northwest, an annual collective mania known as ‘Larch Madness,’ seems to generate as much fan fervor as a Taylor Swift concert. Perhaps more.
Sure,
everyone loves the enticing colors of autumn, the falling leaves, and the softer
light of the shorter, chillier days. The quest to experience that changing
season seems a cultural universal in every place that hosts the trees and
shrubs that reveal their October brilliance.
Is
it simply the rich, saturated reds, oranges, yellows, and russet colors that
are so emotionally evocative? Or, do we see more than the transcendent colors? Is
it something deeper, and more profound, that illuminates an internal human
experience, the poignance of loss? Does our subconscious perceive an internal
metaphor that speaks to the ephemeral, mysteries of life? Probably all of
that.
But
it is not the same everywhere. Vermont may have its famous ‘leaf peepers’ but
here in the Pacific Northwest, we have a particular type of mania, a fall color
show that entices us all and ratchets the insanity dial up to eleven!
And,
that is why we are driven to be among the splendor of the seasonal change as
the slender needles of the subalpine larch turn from chartreuse to gold before
finally softly falling away in anticipation of the snows ahead.
The
rarity of the species, Larix lyallii, the subalpine larch, or simply alpine
larch, and its unique nature result in a color display like no other. Known as
a deciduous conifer, its thin needles lose their chlorophyll as the daylight
grows shorter and the temperatures fall. The green color having masked the
underlying pigments of the needles through much of the year, once gone, reveals the
remaining colors of the needles, a stunning yellow gold. Like the leaves of a
deciduous tree the needles turn in a graduated process, from green, to
chartreuse, to yellow gold, and then wither and fall.
While
a hardy species, the alpine larch lives in a marginal environment, at higher
elevations, perched on rocky, well-drained soils. Their best-known
companions are the whitebark pine and the snow-white mountain goats that browse
among them. That is except for those two-plus weeks of the year when a plethora
of hardy day hikers and backpackers journey into the mountains to witness their changing color.
It
is not only their mesmerizing luminescent yellow-golden color that enchants us,
but the palette that hosts them, the way the subalpine larch trees are
scattered in small groves against the hard gray of broken granite slopes with
harsh crenelated peaks towering high above them. While the range of most of the
North American subalpine larch extends from the Rocky Mountains north into
Canada, there exists a disjunct population on the sunnier, eastern side of
Washington’s North Cascades. Those golden groves, scattered amongst the rugged Cascade
peaks were our destination.
Last
year, our larch venture was mostly a stealthy affair, seeking out lesser-known
and unmaintained trails that led to more remote and little-visited locations, to
great success. This year we would journey into the belly of the beast, the eye
of the hurricane, to hike some of the most well-known and popular larch trails
in the North Cascades along with so many others. Why would we do this you may
you ask?
Despite
the annual fervor on the Washington Hikers and Climbers Facebook page, the
gushing trip reports on the Washington Trails website, and the recent Seattle newspaper
articles, we went because my friend Mark had never been. We all get some joy
from showing our friends the places that have special meaning for us. So, I
figured why not hike the classics. There is a reason they are so popular. However,
to make it work we needed to go mid-week and arrive at the trailheads early.
And while even arriving early could not guarantee a spot at the trailhead lot,
we would certainly get close, and have the most solitude in the early morning.
It
would not do to wake up in the middle of the night to drive three and a half
hours from my house to the trailhead. We would need to sleep closer than that, so
I researched the local campgrounds. I figured we could car camp at Lone Fir
Campground, not many miles from the trailheads. It seemed ideal, though it
would be bitterly cold at night. We would have to break camp in freezing temperatures,
eat quickly, and haul buns to the trailhead. It did not sound like a lot of
fun. Not fun at all. It seemed the price we would have to pay.
And then things changed. After sharing plans with a friend who had a cabin in the nearby hamlet of Mazama, we got an iffy offer to spend a night, or two. Could we lock down a cabin? Was that a real possibility? As our departure day approached, our plans varied, still in flux, a possible stay here, or there. And then, on the last day before departure, we scored three consecutive nights in three different Mazama area cabins owned by three different groups of friends. It was a bit cumbersome, but a very welcome development. It sure beat the hell out of tent camping at Lone Fir. Amazed at our good luck, we set out, fueled with optimism.
Of
course, housing logistics wouldn’t be the only hurdle. Weather is always
mercurial in the mountains and the three days ahead were no exception. We planned to
start with Cutthroat Pass, expecting storm clouds battling with patches of blue
sky, but not raining or snowing. On the second, and best forecasted weather day,
we would hike the fabled Maple Pass Loop, the longest and most renowned of our
trilogy. As the weather once again deteriorated to gray, we would make our third pilgrimage to the storybook vistas above Blue Lake, and then, once satisfied, drive home.
After
picking up hot egg and bacon bagels at the Mazama Store, we headed towards the
Cutthroat Pass Trailhead across the road from the Maple Pass Loop. We had planned
to arrive not long after 8:00 am. As we neared the closer Blue Lake Trailhead, the
weather became an ominous pelting rain. We pulled over, decided on a ‘Plan
B,’ turned around, and headed west. It is always good to have a ‘Plan B’ And the
Goat Peak Lookout was today’s.
The twisting dirt road to the trailhead was a gnarly, wash-boarded affair that seemed to take way too long, but the opening valley vistas somewhat made up for it. We arrived as the second vehicle at the small trailhead lot. And, without a drop of rain. We greeted two other hikers and headed up. The first section of the trail ascended over rocky dirt that after leaving the forest snaked higher towards a much steeper wooded section. That section was a bit of a grinder, but we were soon hiking among the subalpine larch and whitebark pine.
Once
above the climb, beyond a long ridgeline traverse, the lookout tower etched
itself against the skyline, perched atop a knoll well populated with golden
larches. The skies were in turmoil, massive gray clouds jostling with a whisper
of blue trying to break through. The drama of the sky hovered over the knoll of
gold making the scene storybook magical.
We hiked past the richness of twisted silver snags and tufts of spiky grasses scattered across the rocky lichen-inhabited soil as we approached the last slopes and the summit lookout. The final section snaked through substantial stands of larches, the trail leading us up through a hall of gold, a golden staircase, the larches intimate, close to our touch.
Suddenly we arrived, explored the historic lookout, and layered up as stiff winds compelled us not to linger. But linger we did as we marveled at the place and the long views from the top. It took us only about eighty minutes from the trailhead to the lookout. Despite the modest stats, the steep part of the hike made us work for the privilege of being on top. Even with little sun, the colors of the place were rich and enticing to the eye. Perhaps even more so in the soft light.
The
trip down happened fast. We encountered less than ten people heading up and
noted their vehicles in the trailhead lot. Not many. It was a dramatic contrast
from the overcrowding that the Rainy Pass hikes experienced. Tomorrow would be
different.
We noted that Thursday had the best weather forecast of the week, sandwiched between two other days of less-than-optimal conditions. Since Mark had never hiked the Maple Pass Loop, I decided we had to do the ‘big daddy,’ even though I had done it before, and it has since become insanely popular and crowded. We arrived at the trailhead parking lot around 8:00 am, made a quick loop, and found no open spaces. Once back to the entrance, we drove east and parked along the highway, the fourteenth car from the entrance. Not bad. It would be far worse later in the day. And, on weekends, hundreds of cars would line the roadway.
I had hiked the loop clockwise twice before and knew it to be a sensational approach. This time we hiked counter-clockwise. The trail is composed of the usual rocks, roots, and both dusty and muddy dirt. But in good shape. The traverse above Lake Ann emerges from the woodland cover and surprises with big vistas and fall colors. The lake glistened below as granite peaks pierced the skyline. A surprise inversion layer lent an ethereal quality as the distant peaks seemed to float above the drifting white. Higher up we marveled at the snow-capped forms of Mount Baker and Mount Shuksan, clearly silhouetted against the northern sky. The ascent was an intermittent affair of steepening switchbacks punctuated with flat sections between. Throughout the hike, we passed by both small clusters of subalpine larches and through scattered groves of the hardy golden trees.
The
last push to the pass was the steepest of all. And, then we were there. We found the stunning alpine views panoramic. We headed up the arm toward the
rocky butte above the pass where we paused and sat on inviting boulders. We snacked and took photos.
Many others settled in as well. More hikers gathered below. We had prepared
for that and thankfully noted less than we had expected. That changed on the descent.
We headed down the steep switchbacks from the pass and took a quick detour to a nearby spur with a rocky overlook. We paused again to savor the scenery, viewing scattered groves of golden larches on the rocky slopes below. As we resumed our descent, we encountered many groups hiking down, sometimes conga lines of hikers, many engaged in noisy chatter. And, lots of dogs. I had last been here eight years ago and had seen far fewer hikers. So much has changed. You may ask, Is it still worth it? Well… YES!
Having hiked it both ways I have concluded that neither direction is superior. In fact, you should just hike it both ways. And, as you hike, you should always turn and look back, frequently. The loop is a veritable symphony of heart-stopping views with surprises at every turn. The larches, while transcendently stunning, are just the visual spice, the ephemeral seasoning on one of the finest view hikes in the Cascades.
After
cabin hopping, mooching off the goodwill of friends with residences in the
Mazama area, we finally headed to Blue Lake, to hike the third of three, after
the Goat Peak Lookout and the Maple Pass Loop. It was our October trilogy, all
Cascades larch classics.
We
arrived at the trailhead parking lot, again around 8:00 am, drove through, and
found no spaces. Back to the entrance, we turned east and parked along the
highway, the fourth car down the road. Not bad.
I had hiked to Blue Lake in October of 2017 as it snowed, cloaking the hike and the destination with a charming blanket of white. The flakes drifted down as we traveled and paused to marvel at the place, Liberty Bell and the Early Winters Spires dominating the skyline above the shimmering lake. We saw only two other people that day. This day was similar, but without snow, and with many more hikers.
So, cold we could see our breath, we layered up and ascended. Yesterday on the Maple Pass Loop we traversed many steep slopes only cleaved by a narrow trail. The trail to Blue Lake was much wider in most sections and seemed more gradually graded toward the lake. Because of the short distance, the easy grade, and the lack of vertical exposure, it seemed a perfect hike for kids. That thought was validated as we encountered many happy families with cute youngsters as we descended.
Because
of its beauty and easy accessibility, the trail to Blue Lake has received too
much hiker attention in recent years, without enough thoughtfulness, and it
shows. The lakeside trail, now also wider and more at risk than years ago
deserves the considered respect of today’s hikers. The sections by the lake now
have sturdy wire stakes holding a white cord designed to keep hikers from
meandering off trail, destroying the fragile lakeside plants. This special
place is a treasure and we all need to be mindful as we pass through.
As we headed down, we considered taking the climber’s trail higher but only went a short distance before deciding to save that for another time. That steeper trail is now well-signed and easy to find.
In
this second week of October, many larches were in their prime, needles turned
an iridescent gold, while some were just turning from chartreuse to gold, and
others already drying out preparing to fall to the rocky soil. Blue Lake, is a
worthy destination and we loved it. As we headed down, back to the trailhead,
my hiking partner declared that he was now officially “larched out.” It had
been a superb three days of hiking among the golden splendor of the Larix
lyallii during a keyhole in the unpredictable weather of our beloved North
Cascades.
Thinking
in operatic terms, I have concluded that hikes like Goat Peak Lookout and Blue
Lake present as arias, solo pieces of great beauty, each remarkable and worthy.
By contrast, Maple Pass is so much bigger, more expansive, and dramatic. The
Maple Pass Loop is an entire visual opera, resonant, powerful, and Wagnerian in its
intensity.
I
am grateful to have hiked them all once again, regarding the experience as a sublime
gift.
Here
are links to four of the six spherical panoramas that I took during our three hikes
among the magical golden subalpine larches.
Goat
Peak, Larch Vista, Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest, WA State
https://www.360cities.net/image/goat-peak-larch-vista-okanogan-wenatchee-national-forest-wa-state
Maple
Pass Loop, Alpine Vista, Okanogan Wenatchee National Forest, WA State
Maple
Pass Loop, Rocky Overlook, Okanogan Wenatchee National Forest, WA State
Blue
Lake, Overlook Vista, Okanogan Wenatchee National Forest, WA State
https://www.360cities.net/image/blue-lake-overlook-vista-okanogan-wenatchee-national-forest-wa-state
For
the most immersive viewing, move your cursor to the menu bar in the upper right of
the image and click on the ‘Toggle Fullscreen’ icon. Then scroll to enter the space.