The Light Dimension

Workingman’s Dead rolled on the cassette player, the Grateful Dead cranking out an energetic version of “Uncle John’s Band.” Always one of my favorites, I turned up the volume.

“Well, the first days are the hardest days, don’t you worry anymore…”

I listened attentively to the close harmony as I sat on the short steps that led up from the sewing floor to the small offices at the back of our little shop. Once a mom-and-pop grocery store, the small wood-framed building at the base of Seattle’s Queen Anne Hill was now our factory.

I wasn’t idle. My hands were fully engaged in assembling pole sets for Omnipotents, gluing aluminum ferrules onto spiral-wrapped fiberglass pole sections with a crack-filling epoxy. The west-facing windows captured and magnified the late afternoon heat on that cloudless sunny day. Even though I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, probably a Grateful Dead or Ski Hut t-shirt, I perspired freely and fought my torpor. It felt too hot to work.

A visitor interrupted the ordinariness of the afternoon. A man in a rumpled brown suit approached our front door, looked in tentatively, and walked in. His tie askew, he looked a bit weary and apprehensive, carrying his boxy brown briefcase in the heat of the day. I wondered, who is this guy?

He certainly didn’t resemble our regular customers. They varied from disheveled climbing bums who needed good gear to well-heeled outdoor couples wearing their barely used mountain parkas. We didn’t get any suits. Probably lost and looking for directions, I thought.

The man who looked as if he might be lost introduced himself.

“Hello, I’m Joe Tanner. I’m from W.L. Gore.”

Joe was an engineer from a technology company based in Wilmington, Delaware. After a three-week trip to introduce a new fabric to the outdoor companies of the Rockies and the West, he finally arrived at Early Winters, a whistle-stop if there ever was one. How had he heard about us?

While waiting for his Denver appointment in a sparse reception area, Joe picked up a copy of Mountain Gazette. Paging through the niche publication, he noticed a small black-and-white space ad. Great Pacific Ironworks. He did not know of them, but they seemed a likely candidate for his fabric, so he added them to his list of companies to visit.

Joe drove his rental car north to Ventura. The Pacific Coast Highway was a two-lane driver’s road that curved back and forth, up and down as it snaked along the coast with the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean below. As he approached Ventura, he wondered if this small town held any promise for his quest to find the companies that would embrace his new product. He pulled into the parking lot at Great Pacific, looking forward to meeting Tom Frost.   

Tom, already a legend in the Yosemite climbing community, was a disarmingly approachable and friendly guy. He welcomed Joe and gave him the company tour. As they walked, Joe noticed a periwinkle blue tent pitched in a showroom. It was an Early Winters Omnipotent, the same tent that I had left with Tom Frost several weeks earlier on a stop after a Sierra ski touring trip before I returned to Seattle.

As an experienced engineer, Joe quickly assessed the structural principles, determining it was
no ordinary mountaineering tent. Intrigued, he asked Tom to tell him about it. Tom gave Joe the highlights and finished by suggesting,

“These are some guys that you should talk to. They might be interested in your fabric.”

He gave Joe our company name and address.

After visiting every potential client that he could find in California, Joe headed for the Pacific Northwest. He stopped in Portland to call on Hirsch Weiss, who made the White Stag products, and then with Tim Boyle at Columbia Sportswear. Flying towards Seattle, Joe looked from the window at the stunning massif of Mt. Rainier, glaciers gleaming in the sun. It spoke to him that he had come to the right place, a vast, rugged wilderness where intrepid adventurers would welcome his new product. He felt this was a good omen that portended success.

Seattle began at Eddie Bauer, REI, and Sportcaster, all with significant research and manufacturing facilities, capable of quickly developing and bringing new products to market. Would one of them be the first to incorporate the new Gore-Tex fabric into a commercial product? As with the outdoor industry folks that he visited in California and Oregon, they all accepted Joe’s offer to send sample yardage.

But something important was missing. Where was the wild enthusiasm that Joe thought he might hear? Yes, everyone was very cordial, but no one seemed truly excited. He decided to visit the tiny company that Tom Frost had pointed him towards, Early Winters.

As Joe drove to the Queen Anne area of Seattle, he wondered what he’d find. He noticed the Seattle Center and the Space Needle, the landmark tower built for the 1962 World’s Fair. Lower Queen Anne wasn’t an industrial area where one could expect to find a manufacturing facility. He drove slowly as he scouted for Early Winters, searching for the corner of Queen Anne and West Thomas; he saw only apartments and small shops. Was he lost?

And then it appeared, a small one-story, flat-roofed, wood-frame building on the corner at 300 Queen Anne North. The façade had a windowed double door flanked by two front picture windows, and on the fascia above were large hand-painted plywood letters. They spelled out Early Winters, Ltd. At first glance, it was not very impressive, but Joe, someone who always followed through, parked his car and prepared to meet the folks at Early Winters.

When he opened the front door and looked in, he saw three sewing machines, a fabric cutting table, and only a few workers. Everyone was wearing shorts and T-shirts. They all looked like hippies. Hippie music filled the small factory floor.

A scruffy young man approached him. He looked friendly, but Joe thought to himself,

“This is probably not going to be my best sales call.”

He did not expect much from this last Seattle sales pitch. It looked for all the world like a real long shot, a complete waste of time. Hot and tired, he sighed and entered.

The Omnipotent, the world’s best two-person mountaineering tent, was our only Early Winters product. Made in small production runs, we sold them directly to customers in our shop, at outdoor shows, and through mail order. Our limited wholesale program hadn’t taken off, and we now realized that it would never take off. Consequently, our sales were limited.

Not enough people knew about the Omnipotent or needed the world’s best mountaineering tent. Even if they wanted it, few felt they could afford it. We desperately needed a second act, another more mainstream product. Tents were our expertise, so we set out to create a lighter-weight, more affordable two-person backpacking tent. There were more casual backpackers than dedicated mountaineers, and weight was always an issue for backpackers.

Inspired by Jack Stephenson’s Warmlite tent, an ultralight two-person tent with a hoop design and tapered body, I developed a two-person backpacking tent. Constructed with the same materials that we used in our Omnipotent, it was smaller and lighter. A single-wall tent, made from coated nylon ripstop and two fiberglass pole sets, it tapered sharply from front to back to reduce weight. Two differential vents would create airflow from back to front to eliminate or minimize interior condensation.

We pinned our hopes on this new design and christened it the Potent. We liked the name. After some brief prototype testing, we made a short production run of three and quickly sold them all. Within a couple of weeks, all three were back in our shop, having been returned by angry customers who complained of excessive condensation. The Potent was a total bust. Impotent. We reluctantly shelved the patterns and put that concept on the back burner, despondent with its failure.

Nicolai, Z-man, and I now huddled around Joe in Nicolai’s small back office, anticipating something which might be special. Without any flourish, Joe slowly opened his bulky briefcase and pulled out a large black-and-white photograph and a flimsy 6” square swatch of thin white plastic-like material, a membrane. Polytetrafluoroethylene, Joe explained, was a synthetic fluoropolymer of tetrafluoroethylene. PTFE is an inert material more commonly known by its DuPont trade name as Teflon. This material was no ordinary Teflon; it was their company’s proprietary Gore-Tex membrane, a sheet of expanded PTFE, with nine billion pores per square inch.

The founder’s son and lead engineer, Bob Gore, conceived a unique way of stretching the Teflon to create a porous membrane. Joe offered the photo, a photomicrograph. The microscopic view of the material showed an intricately interlaced system of fibers and nodes that constituted a semi-permeable membrane. The microscopic structure and hydrophobic chemical properties allowed for the passage of water vapor but not water droplets. Joe’s pitch was more than interesting. It was riveting. This material had functional properties that loudly shouted ‘Breakthrough Technology!’

After the theoretical explanation, we witnessed a physical demonstration that would change everything. Joe asked Nicolai if he could get a cup of hot coffee. Nicolai returned with a mug that was steaming with the hot beverage. Instead of hoisting the coffee mug up for a sip, Joe laid the thin white membrane over the opening at the top and secured it around the perimeter with a heavy rubber band.

Wisps of steam emerged from the hot coffee, rising through the membrane. Joe reached for the mug, held it up, and slowly turned it upside down. The coffee was trapped inside by the membrane, but not a droplet escaped. The steaming vapor continued to pour through even though the hot liquid coffee was in full contact with the interior surface of the membrane. Joe’s demonstration absolutely stunned us. Our jaws dropped. We looked at each other in silence, our eye communication speaking volumes. This semi-porous membrane had the technological magic we had been seeking. The road ahead now looked clear and bright. We had the material for our second act.

The membrane itself had little structural integrity. So, W.L. Gore laminated the membrane with a sandwich of 1.5 oz ripstop nylon on one side and a non-woven polyester scrim - they called it nexus - on the other. The fabrics and membrane were bonded together with thousands of tiny adhesive dots arrayed in a matrix pattern. The sandwich of materials was named the Gore-Tex laminate. It was the first application of the expanded PTFE in a fabric.

When Joe asked if we were interested in receiving some sample yardage, we all nodded a big ‘yes.’ Key people at many larger companies had all seen Joe’s pitch. Presumably, all were smart and none lazy. Had they passed? Or were they jumping on this new technology in a race to market? We did not know, and we couldn’t assume anything. We had to move. Right now!

I ordered fifteen yards, explaining we had prototype tent patterns that I could quickly adapt to test the new Gore-Tex laminate. We emphasized our will to act. As Joe left, I remember saying, “If this works, it could be big, really big.”

After counting the days, I tore open the end of the brown cardboard tube and pulled out the sample yardage from W.L. Gore. A bright yellow fabric with an orange cast emerged. We named the color Acapulco Gold. It signified the hue and also something powerful and desirable. I quickly unrolled the fabric onto the cutting table and laid out our new patterns. Anticipating the Gore-Tex fabric, I had already revised the old Potent patterns. I ditched the differential vents and made other changes to improve the tent and make it ready for the Gore-Tex laminate. 

We cut and sewed up three prototype tents and tested them in my backyard in Seattle’s Wallingford neighborhood. That night was perfect, damp and chilly. We crawled into our respective tents, zipped the doors shut, and spent the night in our sleeping bags. We awoke with the dawn without any noticeable condensation inside the tents, even though the outer shells of the tents were wet with water droplets. This first test encouraged us forward.

We now needed a name. We brainstormed in earnest, all wanting to be the author. Most names struck out. Z-man proposed the Light Dimension, and it stuck. Our new tent weighed three-and-a-half pounds, which was significantly lighter than the six- to eight-pound weights of the conventional 2-person A-frame backpacking tents. And it introduced a new dimension to the outdoor experience, one without annoying condensation inside the tent.

While we exhibited the Light Dimension at the Sunset Magazine Outdoor Show in Menlo Park earlier in the year, we effectively launched the Light Dimension to a larger audience with a direct marketing mailer on May 1, 1976. Since we already had a small mailing list, Z-man suggested augmenting it with rented subscriber lists from Off Belay and a few other outdoor magazines to target and pitch the performance attributes of our new product.

Z-man pulled out all the stops for our Light Dimension mailer. The mailing envelope featured a young parka-clad man smiling and holding a small bag in his extended hand. On the lower right of the envelope, a large bold type proclaimed,

“In this Bag is an Amazing New Tent. Its Weight? Just 3-1/2 lbs. Details Inside…”

Inside the envelope was an introductory letter, a product brochure, a $20 off coupon, a certificate with “Your Guarantee of Satisfaction,” an order form, and a pre-stamped business reply envelope. Ron included every element of the selling cycle. The letter had a handwritten message printed below the letterhead, “Special introductory offer – Try this amazing new 3-1/2 lb. tent at no risk and save $20.” The letter praised our Omnipotent and introduced the new ultralight Light Dimension and described the revolutionary new laminated fabric as “The Barrier that Breathes.”

The “Save $20” certificate looked a bit like currency. Its engraved image of Ben Franklin gazed past the typed message. Who wouldn’t trust Ben Franklin? There was a call to action that stated the offer expired at midnight on July 1, 1976. And if all that wasn’t enough, the opening statement inside the brochure announced in bold type,

“Introducing a New Dimension in Outdoor Pleasure…”

It sounded very intriguing and vaguely sexual. Was that intentional? Who knows? But who could resist?

And resist, they did not. Customers responded in droves. We soon had so many orders that we papered three walls of our tiny office with them. We mapped the dates of their backpacking plans onto a planning calendar. And with push pins, we rearranged their orders on our office wall to align manufacturing and fulfillment priorities. To hell with filling orders based on the sequential time of receipt. If we could help it, no customer order would go unfulfilled. And none did.

Fifty years ago, in May of 1976, our little company, Early Winters, created and introduced the world’s first Gore-Tex consumer product, the Light Dimension tent. It fulfilled a latent demand so strong that it propelled our fledgling enterprise from obscurity to overnight success. We soon introduced the world’s first Gore-Tex mountaineering shell garments in the spring of 1977. And the rest, as they say, is history. Footnote: Many of us still have them and use them today. The last photo is from a camp in the Mount Baker area, taken last year.

Fire Watcher

It seems we are all fire watchers now, even if we don’t peer through high-powered binoculars or use an Osborne Fire Finder in a remote fire lookout perched atop some faraway rocky peak. No, just us down here in front of our computer screens, leaning forward, perched on the edge of our ergo chairs, scanning online resources, looking for wildfire incident reports, smoke plume progressions, air quality indexes, and updated weather forecasts. We’re busy juggling and adjusting our hiking plans, regretfully scratching destinations off our wish lists as wildfires now run rampant throughout Washington State. It’s that season, from late July, now early August, and soon to be September, and we’re busy gaming lightning strikes, burn zones, wind, and weather to find beautiful places to hike without endangering ourselves. It’s frustrating, not fun.

Earlier this year, back on July 23, we hiked up to the historic fire lookout on Desolation Peak, perhaps the most remote lookout in the state, situated deep in the North Cascades, high above Ross Lake, not far from the Canadian border. One of my photographic objectives was to take high-resolution images of nearby Mount Hozomeen, but I arrived to find the peak almost completely shrouded in a haze of gray. At times, I could make out little more than its looming silhouette and substantial form. The resident Ranger, Jim Henterly informed us that there were two recent wildfires in the Ross Lake area: the Luna Fire, located west of lake, southwest of Luna Camp along the Big Beaver Trail, in remote, rough, and steep terrain, and the Border 2 Fire, a blaze east of Ross Lake to the north of Hozomeen Mountain, again in steep, rocky, remote terrain near the Canadian border. Both had been ignited by lightning strikes a few days prior, and the Border 2 Fire was spreading rapidly. Although annoyed by the smoky Border 2 smoke as it cloaked Hozomeen, I would later marvel at the coincidence of witnessing an active forest fire from this iconic North Cascades fire lookout.

I’d hoped, earlier in the season, that we might skate free, but no, it seems not to be. Wildfires have become all too common in recent years, and yet my wishful thinking had remained undiminished until Desolation. The Border 2 Fire, at 6,433 acres, is currently listed as out of control and seems destined to spread beyond its current perimeter. The Luna Fire, while smaller at 1,390 acres, is less aggressive. Of more concern is the Little Giant Fire. Located 41 miles NW of Leavenworth, WA, in the Chiwawa River drainage, the lightning strike fire has consumed 74,284 acres and is only 1% contained due to “increased winds and poor access in steep inaccessible country.” Another lightning strike blaze, the Sinlahekin Fire, 12 miles west of Tonasket, is even larger at 120,692 acres, but now 20% contained as firefighters continue work on strengthening and constructing more containment lines. These four are only a few among the many wildfires already actively burning across Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. A recent blaze north of the Mount Fremont Lookout shocked us, closing one of our favorite access points to hikes on Mount Rainier. WTA.org now flags hikes all in that area: “8.7.26: Trails and roads in the White River & Sunrise section of the park are closed due to the Grand Park 2 fire.”

The NW FireWatch Staff Report from August 6 states: “Fire weather conditions across the Pacific Northwest have reached levels not seen since 2020, with the National Weather Service issuing its highest-tier fire weather alerts — Particularly Dangerous Situation (PDS) Red Flag Warnings — for large portions of eastern Washington and northeastern Oregon. The warnings signal an elevated threat of rapid, erratic, and potentially uncontrollable fire spread.”

The report further explains: “The catalyst for this week's extreme fire weather was a dry cold front that moved across the region starting around August 1-2. Rather than bringing meaningful precipitation, the front delivered strong gusty winds with gusts of 40 to 55 mph across eastern Washington, the Columbia Basin, and northeastern Oregon. Combined with daytime temperatures approaching 100°F in the Willamette Valley and even higher in the Columbia Basin, and relative humidity values plummeting to 4-10 percent across the Sierra Front and Columbia Plateau, the front created a nearly ideal ignition and spread environment.” So, it is not over yet and will likely get much, much worse over the weeks ahead, before late-season rains arrive to quench the flames. 

This year seems a perfect storm for the emergence of unprecedented wildfires. A very low snow year, historically low moisture levels, and the abundance of fine fire fuels, grasses, sagebrush, and light timber just waiting for a spark from dry lightning- thunderstorms which arrive without rain to ignite what will become a rampaging mass of flame. Seasonal winds exacerbate the situation with frontal passages that periodically bring wind without meaningful rain, and are often accompanied by high-pressure conditions that push easterly winds and smoke into Western Washington and Oregon.

And during all this carnage, we confront the sobering fact that our firefighting resources are now more stretched than ever before. Headlines like, ‘Wildfires Burn at Record Rates, Trump Cuts Forest Service Funds’, both shock and anger those of us who care about our national parks and public lands. Massive Forest Service staff cuts occurred last year, and more are destined to come. The Trump administration aims to continue shrinking the Forest Service, eliminating programs and decimating services. It is obvious that his workforce reduction initiatives will reduce the Forest Service’s ability to manage and care for our public lands. And that will likely have a significantly negative impact on current and future fire management capabilities. After all the cuts, who will be left to rake the forests to clean up dead brush and trees? I jest, of course. Trump’s inane solution to the 2025 wildfires in California seems now to be long forgotten. Not that his foolish notion would have worked anyway. The tragedy is that we and the wild places we love will greatly suffer the consequences of Trump’s idiocracy, he and his obsequious ship of fools.

The devastation of our treasured wilderness forests is the heartbreaking part; the loss of a long-anticipated hike not as big a deal. But still, it is a crushing disappointment for all of us who yearn to visit those magical wild places. So, what shall we do?

Well, we do what we can with the resources available to us. My current approach is to identify and eliminate locations that are impacted by the current wildfires. I often start with a fire map and then utilize the hike search tools on WTA.org, the Washington Trails Association website. The hiking guide page is the best place to start as it offers multiple ways to search. I can enter a hike that I am curious about, or specify a broader search by region and subregion. For example, a search for Little Giant Pass yields a link to the hike page along with an alert in red type. “7.30.26: The trail is closed until further notice due to the Little Giant Fire.” The same message will be repeated for many other hikes in the Central Cascades, Stevens Pass, East region. That tells me there will be no Spider Gap, Buck Creek Pass loop for me this year. Sorry dude, I tell myself. And I look elsewhere.

Sometimes we hunker down and wait for conditions to change. And when they don’t, it is always good to have a plan B. In fact, it’s always good to have a plan B, even without wildfires. That’s why I maintain an active list of trails arranged by region. If a group of trails in the North Cascades, or elsewhere, are closed due to wildfires, or road washouts, or trail maintenance, we might opt for the Olympic Peninsula to backpack the North Coast from Shi Shi Beach to Ozette. But, as wonderful as beach hikes and sublime oceanside sunsets may be, they’re just not the North Cascades, or the Alpine Lakes, or Glacier Peak Wilderness, those places where we celebrate the brilliant subalpine lakes, remote glaciers, pristine peaks, and intoxicating high routes.

Sometimes we return to sites where wildfires have previously ravaged the forests. In July of 2020, I hiked to a former fire lookout site in the Chinook Pass area to the east of Mount Rainier. The Norse Peak Fire started by lightning strikes on August 11, 2017, and was not contained until November 1, 2017. The fire killed most of the hemlock, silver, and noble firs in the 55,909-acre blaze. Nearly three years from that time, I solo hiked the Norse Peak trail to view the burn zone. The scorched trees remain as silent sentinels, displaying a tragic beauty. The high-angle alpine meadows flanking the open trail through the burn zone were resplendent with broad swaths of wildflowers including lupine, paintbrush, asters, columbine, arnica lilies, and more, providing an exuberantly colorful show. The regal snowcapped Mount Rainier stood proud, cresting the horizon to the southwest in the upper sections of the trail, and Mount Adams was easily seen from the summit to the distant south. The hike, though through a site of tragic devastation, was made strikingly beautiful by the reemergence of the wildflowers.

Sometimes a hike through a burn zone is far from enjoyable. It can be what we refer to as Type 2 Fun, challenging and unpleasant on the day, but later remembered with some appreciation. In September of 2023, my hiking companion, Roy, and I punished ourselves on a short trail from our Stuart Lake basecamp up to the pristine Horseshoe Lake, perched high in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness close to the north side of Mount Stuart. It was an easy trail at first, then a half mile of dense burn zone deadfall, with over a hundred downed trees in our path. And, after that, a steep climber’s trail that gained 1,200 feet in seven-tenths of a mile. Even that challenging path to the remote alpine lake was occasionally encumbered with charred deadfall. But still, there was a sublime beauty to the place, dramatically enhanced by the presence of vast clusters of blooming Chamaenerion angustifolium, commonly known as fireweed. Even the charcoal flanks of the burn zone trees had an eerie, visually interesting quality.

The torched woodland was the sorry remnant of the Jack Creek Fire, ignited by a lightning strike on August 11, 2017, the same day as the Norse Peak Fire. By the end of September, the fire had burned a total of 4,606 acres in the Stuart Lake and Eightmile drainages. Though short, the rough trail up from our Stuart Lake campsite and through the burn chewed up an inordinate amount of time as it was completely unmaintained. No one had come, or would be coming, to clear the wildfire debris that lay like giant scattered matchsticks across the trail. And, as an out-and-back route, we had to deal with the deadfall obstacle course twice. We stooped low and gymnastically circumvented those that we could. We stepped over, traversed along, and butt swiveled over many rough, charred trunks and crawled under and wriggled through gaps in the thicket of wood that impeded us. We got filthy dirty. We got snagged, poked, and scraped. The deadfall drew blood. Was it worth it? Though it wasn’t a whole lot of fun that day, it was a journey through and up to a place of rare beauty that I will long remember. So, yeah, Type 2 Fun.

Anyway, I sit here writing about wildfires and wondering if the smoke will clear enough that we can hike tomorrow. I had proposed a hike up to Red Pass, the old unmaintained Snoqualmie area trail that preceded the newer section of the PCT that now traverses the Kendall Katwalk. Mark and I had hiked up there back in August of 2021. Our objective was to get a closer view of Mount Thomsen. Mark had often gazed at the peak from the Alpental chairlift during ski season and wanted to get a closer look. I took my heavier camera gear and captured source images to create two spherical panoramas. While I found the finished panoramas quite beautiful, the skies were blanketed with a streaky orange-gray wildfire haze. I planned to someday return to find clearer and more pristine skies and reshoot the place. So, I suggested it to hiking friends earlier this week. And then, things changed. Things got smoky. The irony is that all of us now sit robotically querying the AQI (air quality index), wishing it to drop from an unhealthy 167 so we can hike tomorrow. But I don’t see it. Not going to happen. (And, it did not.)

The high AQI is not just a meaningless statistic; the Air Quality Index tells us how clean or polluted the air is. And, that matters. A lot. We should always take heed when the AQI is unhealthily high. Listen up. Back in September of 2020, National Geographic published an informational piece titled, ‘How Breathing Wildfire Smoke Affects the Body.’ This excerpt cuts to the heart of the problem: “Wildfire smoke is a very complex type of air pollution,” says Sarah Henderson, an environmental health scientist at the University of British Columbia. “It has many different gases in it, and the composition of those small particles can be highly variable, depending on what’s burning [and] how hot it’s burning.” Of particular concern, she says, is particulate matter 2.5 microns in diameter—also referred to as PM 2.5. Those small particles, and ones even smaller, are capable of penetrating deep into a person’s lungs. Henderson says the body responds by releasing the same immune cells it would deploy to attack a virus. Unlike a virus, however, particulate matter isn’t broken down by that immune response and results in long-lasting inflammation. “That inflammation affects your lungs, kidneys, liver, and probably your brain,” says Henderson. Yikes!

Although the severity of wildfire seasons fluctuates, the recent trend is toward more fires and increased devastation. It feels prophetic, as if this is the heavy cross we will now bear before every remaining outdoor adventure this season. And, unfortunately, that crushing burden will probably remain for as many years as we have yet to come.

I created several spherical panoramas in the Norse Peak burn zone, at Desolation Peak, and on the Red Pass hike. If you wish to view them, I have posted the links to a few below. For the most immersive viewing, click the link to open the image, then locate the menu bar in the upper right of the image. Click ‘Toggle Fullscreen’ and scroll around, up and down. 

Norse Peak, Summit Knoll with Wildflowers, WA State

https://www.360cities.net/image/norse-peak-summit-knoll-with-wildflowers-wa-state

Norse Peak, Burn Zone with Mixed Wildflowers, WA State

https://www.360cities.net/image/norse-peak-burn-zone-with-mixed-wildflowers-wa-state

Manning the Fire Lookout, Desolation Peak, N Cascades, WA State

https://www.360cities.net/image/manning-the-fire-lookout-desolation-peak-n-cascades-wa-state

Ranger Jim on Call, Desolation Peak Lookout, N Cascades, WA State

https://www.360cities.net/image/ranger-jim-on-call-desolation-peak-lookout-n-cascades-wa-state

Red Pass Vista with Peaks, Alpine Lakes Wilderness, WA State

https://www.360cities.net/image/red-pass-vista-with-peaks-alpine-lakes-wilderness-wa-state

 

A Few Fire Watch Resources:

NW FireWatch https://nwfirewatch.com

InciWeb https://inciweb.wildfire.gov

Western Fire Chiefs https://wfca.com/fire-map/detection/599ee11abfb61c1d

Plume Forecast https://plumeforecast.com/

B.C. Wildfire Service https://wildfiresituation.nrs.gov.bc.ca/dashboard

AirNow https://www.airnow.gov/

Northwest Active Fire Map FireRisk.AI https://firerisk.ai/fire-map/washington

Room at the Top

I had been thinking about it for years, and so had Mark. Of course, he was a step ahead of me as he’d been halfway up to the famous fire lookout before reluctantly abandoning his quest. He and a friend, Mike, had paddled their kayaks fifteen miles north from the Ross Lake Resort to arrive at Desolation Dock, the site of the trailhead. Their paddling hours chewed up so much daylight that they knew they could not succeed by their turnaround time. As is often the case, the lake waters that had been relatively smooth in the morning had now turned choppy with both waves and wind beating against them as they struggled to paddle back before dark. Fortunately, their concerned friend, Gerry, had motored north in his aluminum boat in search of the two kayaks. And, once he found them, he tied Mark’s kayak to the boat with a tow rope, and Mike’s kayak to Mark’s. Even though Gerry motored back at a reasonable rate, the kayaks were always in danger of capsizing. They eventually made the long tow back without mishap. But the exhausting and perilous experience had shaken them all, and none had since ventured forth to attempt the summit route to Desolation Peak. Or even considered it seriously, until now.

Somehow the magnetism of the quest had resurfaced for Mark. And after all my spring training hikes, I finally felt physically ready to embrace the challenge. When planning this summer’s outings, we agreed the time had come to tackle what we expected to be a beast of a hike. It was not only the strenuous nature of the trail but the difficulty of even getting to the trailhead. But in a way, we saw that as a good thing. We would likely have the place mostly to ourselves. The most difficult and rarely visited places are always more attractive.

This iconic hike would see much more human traffic if it were easy to get to. But it is not. While there are all sorts of ways to get to the trailhead, none are straightforward. We could hike up the East Bank Trail over 16 miles to overnight at Lightning Creek Camp. And then hike another two miles to the Desolation Trailhead. Or, we could rent a small outboard, or paddle a canoe, or kayak north to the trailhead dock. But all of those would chew up a lot of time on the water before even reaching the trail. We took the easiest and probably the most expensive route. We reserved two spots on a water taxi. It wasn’t cheap, but it was direct and fast, and therefore time-efficient. So, we readily swallowed the $190 water-taxi fee each way to Desolation. We thought, hey, it’s only money.

We pitched our vintage Early Winters Winterlights at the Newhalem Creek Campground the night before the hike. It had reached an annoying 94 degrees earlier that day, and we had visited the air-conditioned North Cascades Visitor Center to browse the amazing exhibits and, more importantly, keep cool. By 9:00 pm our campsite temperature had waned a bit, and we somehow slept. During the night we received a brief respite as it rained lightly. I found the soft patter of raindrops on my tent somehow comforting as it suggested the promise of a cooler day ahead. The next morning, I awoke way too early but too alert to return to slumber. We downed coffee and ate our modest meals in silence, broke camp, and departed. We drove Hwy 20 northeast for 23 minutes to reach the Ross Dam Trail parking lot. We donned our packs and quickly hiked a mile down the trail to meet the water taxi pickup at 8:00 am.

We breathed a sigh of relief as the water-taxi approached the dock, right on time. We clambered aboard and sped north on Ross Lake, taking roughly 30 minutes to reach the tiny Desolation Dock. As we churned up the rare placid waters of the morning, we exchanged stories and news of backcountry adventures. Our gregarious boat driver, John, whom I named Captain John, told us some group from New York was presently trying to beat the North Cascade High Route record set by Kaytlyn Gerbin and Jenny Abegg.

Back in July of 2022, the two intrepid alpine climbers, also both serious distance runners, took a water taxi up Ross Lake to Silver Creek, the northern most dock on the west side and plunged into the brushy forest, to begin the first leg of their linkup of five North Cacade alpine traverses that would cover over 125 miles with a mindboggling cumulative elevation gain of 60,000 feet, of which roughly 100 miles was off-trail alpine travel over remote and rugged terrain. Their seemingly audacious goal was to complete the route in under seven days. They finished on July 26, 2022, in 6 days, 19 hrs., 38 min, and 28 seconds, an astonishing achievement. Fortunately, they filmed the stunningly beautiful route, and you can view it on YouTube.

I asked John if he had ferried Kaytlyn and Jenny to the dock. He replied that his partner had. John had an opinion on the likelihood that the current group would pull it off. He turned his head to face me and announced with all seriousness, “They’re fucked.” We all laughed, and none disagreed. He went further, disparaging the chances of some gym rats from New York, of all places, to achieve success. He dismissively said, “I don’t care how much time on the treadmill or how many reps you do with weights.” Yeah, I could not see it happening unless they had some serious alpine chops, and that seemed unlikely. But what did we know? Nonetheless, it was hard to conceive of anyone completing the difficult high route any faster than Kaytlyn and Jenny.

John slowed as we approached the lonely little dock and brought the boat upside. He quickly jumped out to steady the craft as we grabbed our packs and stepped onto the undulating platform. And, after wishing us success on our hike, he powered up and was suddenly gone. Now enveloped in the silence of the place, we shouldered our packs and quickly departed. The task at hand was to make good time as we had only a little more than we would need. We’d have to hike up to the summit, spend brief time at the lookout, and hike back to the dock in time for a 4:55 pm pickup. We had an 8 hr. 25 min window before John would taxi us back to the Ross Dam Dock for our final hike up the trail back to the parking lot. Our daily total would be over 11.5 miles with nearly 5,000 feet of elevation gain.

The hike to the lookout began right at the Desolation Dock. The lower half of the trail was forested, and on the west side of the mountain, so we benefited greatly from the morning's relative coolness. The ascent began in earnest, relentlessly switch-backing up through terrain that could well be part of a classic Tolkien adventure. We soon encountered the intersection with the East Bank Trail. As I regarded the weathered trail marker, I was surprised to discover a tawny woodland deer, standing only a few feet away. It held its regal head high, with ears at attention, as it paused to regard me briefly, and then nonchalantly resumed munching forest foliage. In that most brief of encounters, I was grateful the deer had not spooked at my presence. I felt fortunate, and we continued up. The trail became both narrow and increasingly intimate as it drew us forward. At two miles we encountered what would be the only trailside water source. It was merely a trickle of a water crossing, but it would be good enough to slake our thirst if we needed it.

About halfway up, the trail broke out to exposed meadows, more brilliantly profuse with wildflowers, many tentatively reaching into the slender path. The sun was now fully upon us, and the increasing heat made the already strenuous hike even more grueling. An occasional breeze refreshed us as we gazed at Ross Lake, now far below, and the magnificent peaks, far distant on the western skyline. The switchbacks continued to the signpost for Desolation Camp at 3.6 miles. We skipped a tour of the camp because our hike had become a race against the day's increasing heat. The last section to the lookout was an exercise in patience as we were more than ready to arrive. I joked that this hike was Hors Catégorie (beyond category), a reference to the most difficult mountain stages in the Tour de France. At 12:09 pm, I finally peered into the lookout to meet the resident Ranger, Jim Henterly. It had taken me 3 hrs. 35 min to cover the distance while carrying my heavier photo gear (a 20-lb pack).  

My hiking partner, Mark, soon joined us. Now relieved, we abandoned ourselves to the present moment, to soak up the magnificence of the place. As Baba Ram Dass once counseled us, our mission was to be here now, to catch life as it flows. After years of dreaming and weeks of planning and training hikes, we had finally arrived to find the skies mostly clear, the clouds doing their bright dramatic thing, the historic lookout open, and Jim Henterly calm and welcoming. Jim noted our sweaty state and quickly offered mugs of cold water, which we gratefully accepted and quickly consumed. We rested and talked for about 20 minutes, and then I unpacked my tripod and began taking images which would eventually become spherical panoramas. I wandered around like a star-struck teenager evaluating vantage points, determined to make the best use of the limited time that I had in the wild, remote place that seemed to truly be the top of the world. I took enough frames to create six panoramas, both inside and outside the lookout, while Mark visited with Jim. Always curious, Mark peppered Jim with questions about his experiences as a fire watcher at the remote Desolation Peak Lookout. Jim episodically paused their conversation to direct his binoculars north and later take time on his radio to address an uncontained blaze. Even with my photography and the ongoing wildfire, I was fortunate to have some time with Jim and was touched by his presence and thoughtfulness.

I took my last photo frame at 1:36 pm, and we headed down four minutes later. The high heat of the day was ever present, and at times the magic of the place paled due to the state of our fatigue. I ran out of water a bit over a mile from the trailhead and resolutely soldiered on. I finally arrived at the dock at 4:04 pm, and immediately filled my water filter bottle with lake water. I drank heartily and sat on the undulating dock, feeling both woozy and happy. Mark approached, and without a word or any hesitation, quickly stripped off his sweaty clothes and waded into the refreshing cold waters of Ross Lake, seeking total immersion.

Mark had barely dressed when Captain John roared back up the lake for an early pickup at 4:40 pm. We were more than ready and happy to board and depart. As the boat sped south, John announced the pickup of an unscheduled ride-share at Lightning Creek Camp. He hailed the young couple and their dog as he approached. Heading straight to the dock, he gently bumped the prow against the end of the dock. He instructed the startled young woman. "Just sit your butt down and swivel." The water was too rough for any other dockside entry. She promptly sat on the foredeck and deftly swung her legs into the cockpit. Her boyfriend handed her their dog and packs. He then joined her, and once everyone was seated and secure, John throttled the boat south. The water, which had been smooth as glass this morning, had become a sea of white-capped waves that crashed relentlessly against the aluminum hull, bouncing us up and down. Heads bobbed, bodies gyrated, long hair flew askance. Deafening noise prevented any conversation. We entered the flow.

After the seemingly interminable ride, John slowed and paused the boat in the calmer waters before the final dock and scanned our credit cards. I joked that there would be no dine-and-dash. He explained that it would be easier without the bumping at the dock. Sure, okay, that makes sense. Upon docking, we quickly disembarked, stood in some sort of realization, got our bearings, and then slowly made our way up the Ross Dam Trail to the car. In those unhurried moments, I found the trail enchantingly beautiful, especially the section by the wood bridge across Happy Creek. I mused that it probably receives scant attention as the trail is only a means of access, an approach to the prime objectives. Once at the car, with packs stowed, we could finally say that we had done it. I was happier than on any recent hike that I could remember! We returned to the Newhalem Creek Campground to grill kabobs, drink wine, and savor our accomplishment. Although the weather forecast had predicted a high of 75 degrees, it had actually reached 86 degrees. Despite the heat, we had achieved what we set out to do. No small accomplishment!

The beat writer, Jack Kerouac, spent 63 days as a paid fire lookout on Desolation Peak during July and August of 1956. He later wrote of his experience in both ‘Dharma Bums’ and ‘Desolation Angels.’ That made this year the 70^th anniversary of his time on Desolation Peak, and that somehow added to the magic and motivation that propelled us forward. I even read the last three chapters of ‘Dharma Bums’ aloud to Mark as he prepared our campground dinner the night before our hike. The unexpected gift of our ascent to the lookout was to meet Jim Henterly, the former wildland firefighter and current seasonal lookout. Jim is one of the last fire watchers in the North Cascades, a very talented artist and impressive person. We both immensely enjoyed meeting and visiting with Jim. Very cool guy. 

What we could not have predicted, with any certainty, was the emergence of nearby wildfires and their sooty smoke. One of my photographic objectives was to take high-resolution images of Mount Hozomeen, but I arrived to find the peak almost completely shrouded in a gray haze. At times, I could make out little more than its silhouette and substantial form. Jim informed us that there were two recent fires: the Luna Fire, located in a rock scree southwest of Luna Camp along the Big Beaver Trail in remote, rough, and steep terrain, and the Border 2 Fire, a blaze east of Ross Lake to the north of Hozomeen Mountain, again in steep, rocky, remote terrain near the Canadian border. Both had been ignited by lightning strikes a few days prior, and the Border 2 Fire was spreading rapidly. Although annoyed by the smoky Border 2 Fire as it cloaked Hozomeen, I would later marvel at the coincidence of witnessing an active forest fire from this iconic North Cascades fire lookout. While we did not get the bluebird conditions that we had hoped for, we got so much more. The place was nonetheless stunningly beautiful. The whole experience was absolutely amazing and would be one long remembered.

Final Notes: Jim Henterly is featured in a short film, ‘Ode to Desolation’ by Lindsey Hagen, now streaming on YouTube. It is worthy of a watch.

The story title “Room at the Top” is a tip of the hat, an homage, to the late, great Tom Petty who sang, “I got a room at the top of the world tonight. And I ain’t coming down.”

 If you wish to view my six spherical panoramas, I have posted the links below. For the most immersive viewing, click the link to open the image, then locate the menu bar in the upper right of the image. Click ‘Toggle Fullscreen’ and scroll around, up and down. 

Ranger Jim Henterly, Desolation Peak Lookout, N Cascades, WA State https://www.360cities.net/image/ranger-jim-henterly-desolation-peak-lookout-n-cascades-wa-state

Pondering the Infinite, Desolation Peak Lookout, N Cascades, WA State https://www.360cities.net/image/pondering-the-infinite-desolation-peak-lookout-n-cascades-wa-state

Northwest Corner, Desolation Peak Lookout, N Cascades, WA State https://www.360cities.net/image/northwest-corner-desolation-peak-lookout-n-cascades-wa-state

Helipad View, Desolation Peak Lookout, N Cascades, WA State https://www.360cities.net/image/helipad-view-desolation-peak-lookout-n-cascades-wa-state

Ranger Jim on Call, Desolation Peak Lookout, N Cascades, WA State https://www.360cities.net/image/ranger-jim-on-call-desolation-peak-lookout-n-cascades-wa-state

Manning the Fire Lookout, Desolation Peak, N Cascades, WA State https://www.360cities.net/image/manning-the-fire-lookout-desolation-peak-n-cascades-wa-state

The Trip Report

Somehow, back in August of 2013, I started writing trip reports for the Washington Trails Association website. My first account was of a hike to Kendall Katwalk with a friend and his dog, on a semi-foggy day. I just completed and posted trip report number 178, a narrative of my recent hike up to the historic Granite Mountain fire lookout, on a semi-foggy day. It was my fifteenth time at the lookout out of eighteen attempts, foiled at various places before the lookout on three prior occasions by rain and snow conditions. I had not been back for two years, and though I knew it well, I felt compelled to return. Why, my friends might ask. Haven't you done it enough? Well, no.

You see, there is a good reason. In a few weeks, I’ll be hiking up to the historic fire lookout on Desolation Peak. It’s remote, with challenging approach logistics, and the day will entail hiking 11.5 miles overall, round-trip, with almost 5,000 feet of elevation gain. If I were in my 30’s and carrying a light daypack, the hike would be no big deal. Now in my late 70’s, and carrying a 20-pound pack with heavy photo gear, it will likely be a grinder.

The objective is to hike up to the lookout and document the place by taking several spherical panoramas outside the lookout, and one interior, if possible. After all, it’s the 70^th anniversary of Jack Kerouac’s 63-day stint as a fire spotter at the lookout. And, that’s as good a reason as any to make the pilgrimage. We’ll likely get one shot at this since it’s a somewhat complicated endeavor for a day hike. We’ll tent camp at a campground near Ross Lake, drive to the trailhead parking lot, hike one mile down to the boat dock, take an early morning water taxi 18 miles up the lake to the Desolation Peak trailhead, hike to the lookout, hang out, and then hike back down to the dock for the late-day water taxi back to the final trail out. 

So, it makes sense that I’d train for this hike. And, I’ve been doing that with progressively more strenuous early-season hikes, which have recently led to Granite Mountain. Though not as long or with as much elevation gain as Desolation, it is close enough to serve as a proxy, a comparative hike where I can gauge my relative physical readiness for the big one. And, it is close enough to where I live to readily tackle with no more than a 45-minute drive to the trailhead. So, I went.

As I made my way up the familiar trail, I thought about what I might say in my post-hike trip report. As I observe the wild surroundings, I now habitually make mental notes as if I am already composing my trip report. As I hiked, it seemed to me that if I wanted to create anything of value, I had two audiences and needed to speak to each of them in turn. The first would be those who have hiked to the lookout before and just want the beta on current conditions. The second would be those first-timers who want to know what to expect and if they should do it at all. What could I say about a trail that I knew so well? I’d want to make my story engaging and informational while keeping it relatively concise, as neither group would want me rambling on without purpose.

Of the many things I did not mention, one of the funniest was the head-down hiker beginning the ascent of the last steep section as I was descending. As I passed, he looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Piece of cake. I wish it were harder.” He wore a silly grin. I replied, “Yeah, right.” Of course, he was being facetious. Or was he? I did not specifically mention the flavorful joy of snacking on Oberto Teriyaki Beef Jerky as I leisurely sat at the lookout, admiring the distant Mount Rainier, dominant on the gray horizon. I also left out my encounters with off-leash dogs (which are prohibited), including my first sighting of an off-leash lap dog. I had to laugh. They’re usually big dogs. I did not mention the content of conversations and stories shared with many hikers I met during my hike down. Even while I attempt to make my trip reports engaging and fun to read, there really is a limit.  

I resolved that challenge by giving repeat hikers a brief update on conditions, followed by a more detailed description of the hiking terrain and my experience, section by section, for the first timers. Since the day was dank and gray, I added links to two spherical panoramas that I had previously taken when the weather was spectacular. I later concluded this might be a good template for future reports. Here is mye trip report.

Granite Mountain Trip Report: June 25, 2026

Nuts and Bolts:

There is no longer any snow on the mountain. Wildflowers are out and abundant except for Beargrass, where there are only occasional blossoms. Maybe no Beargrass super bloom on Granite Mountain this year? Bugs are emerging. There are a few remaining uncleared deadfalls, all of which can be easily stepped over. The trail is in good shape overall except for moderate erosion in a few sections. Oh, and no bear sightings.

Extemporaneous Narrative:

I hiked to the lookout on a cooler, overcast day after several hot days. I’m glad that I did. I arrived at the trailhead lot and set off just before 7:00 am. The early morning light did little to warm up the trailside environment. Colors were muted, and the scene felt a bit tired, as if still asleep. Having hiked this trail many times before, I knew that the views would only improve.

For those who have not been before, know that the first mile to the Pratt Lake connector is a relatively easy stroll on a moderately rocky trail, only gaining about 600 feet. The second mile is where Granite throws down the gauntlet. Things get steeper and progressively rockier as the trail switchbacks up the mountain. This is where you might well ask yourself why you are even doing this and if it will all be worth it. It will be.

I enjoyed the cooler climate of the morning, but even 60 degrees felt quite warm as I labored up the trail. I reminded myself that this is not a footrace and to slow down and immerse myself in the present moment. For that is where most of the wonder lies. The trail is a cornucopia of physical and visual texture that is ever-changing throughout the seasons. Since I hiked alone, I could easily abandon myself to this quest.

About halfway up, the trail breaks out to open alpine meadows and circuitously climbs toward the Granite Mountain Lookout ridge. Here again, the trail is a convoluted, rocky path, but athletically enjoyable. After crossing the nearly dry outlet from the upper tarns, the trail thrusts up the ridgeline. The path here becomes a bit braided. It eventually connects with an ascending traverse that takes you north past the massive piles of granite blocks to the summer route. After crossing a flat section of trail on the east side of the ridgeline, the final steeper and rockier section to the lookout begins. It is here that you’ll keenly feel your fatigue and frustration as every switchback feels like it should be the last, but isn’t. I knew this and thus could better cope with my frustration.

I finally arrived at the lookout a bit after 10:00 am and had the summit all to myself. I settled in on my favorite rock, threw on a windbreaker, and broke out the trail treats I would seldom eat at home. Nirvana! Surprisingly, even though overcast, the skies were clear enough to see many distant peaks, among them Mount Rainier to the south and Kaleetan and Chair Peak to the north. I settled in and soaked up the views in quiet contemplation. After 20 minutes alone, the persistent chill breeze suggested departure, and I complied.

The hike back down was fun in a different way. I encountered a large group of women hikers setting up to take a group photo on the large boulder at the tarns. I arrived and offered to take it so they could all be in it. They loved it. Serendipity. And, many other upcoming hikers paused and engaged me in conversation, perhaps as a means of resting during their arduous ascent. I could not say, but I enjoyed them all.

Granite Mountain is one of my favorite hikes, and I keep coming back for more. Why? It’s close to where I live. Only a short, paved road to the trailhead. A well-defined trail with no super steep scrambling or terrifying exposure. Exciting in the early spring on the snowy ridge to the lookout. Prolific with wildflowers during the approach to summer. And, resplendent with red and ochre hues in the fall. Stunning summit views. Easily doable as a day hike. Two caveats: One: The near constant sound of the river of steel, the cars, and long-haul trucks that race back and forth on the I-90 corridor. However, the annoying noise eventually abates as you get higher. Two: No matter how fit you are, this trail will kick your butt. It is an uncompromising litmus test of your mountain fitness. So, deal with it.

Bonus Materials:

I have taken several spherical panoramas at or near the lookout over the last several years. You can view two of them by clicking on the links below. For the most immersive experience, launch the image and locate the menu bar in the upper right of the image. Click ‘Toggle Fullscreen’ and scroll around, up and down. 

Granite Mountain, Fire Lookout Cabin, Alpine Lakes Wilderness, Washington State

https://www.360cities.net/image/granite-mountain-fire-lookout-cabin-alpine-lakes-wilderness-washington-state

Granite Mountain, Summit Friends, Alpine Lakes Wilderness, Washington State

https://www.360cities.net/image/granite-mountain-summit-friends-alpine-lakes-wilderness-washington-state