Hiking in the Time of Covid

I’ve been writing a book since November of 2020 so I haven’t been on any of the bigger hikes yet this year. The book is now complete and I’m more than ready to get out. I wonder what it will be like out there in primetime of 2021.

Hiking during the ramp of Covid in 2020 was a cautious endeavor for me, always solo and mostly on trails less traveled. I wanted to avoid people while getting my wilderness fix. Last year the more popular trails were surprisingly crowded with people who rarely hike. I took a chance on a couple of more popular hikes and promptly turned back to the more obscure. I look back at my experiences hiking to Summerland and Panhandle Gap on Mt. Rainier in the first week of August.

Raves: Summerland is a stunning hike that provides small waterfalls along the forested entry trail and ever-changing expansive vistas and visual beauty once you break out from the forest trail, especially in the wildflower season. The Glacier Lilies have disappeared and many of the other wildflowers are now past their prime and fading but others are still abundant and serving up a visual feast. The real excitement begins with glimpses of the mountains from the upper sections of the forested trail just before you break out to cross the log bridge at Frying Pan Creek. The bridge crossing signals the start of something wonderful as you ascend through flowering alpine meadows which culminate with series of switchbacks through more flowered high angled meadows up to the Summerland camp area, which features a natural amphitheater with open wildflower meadows, a tumbling creek, rollicking marmots and views of Meany Crest and Mt. Rainier. Curiously, there were no bugs at all.

Ascending from the Summerland meadows the scenery abruptly changes from lush meadows to a rocky glacial moraine. Another log bridge fed by roaring glacier melts cascades across the trail creating a dramatic environment where you will need to pause to take it in. Even here, amongst the rocks, there are small patches of alpine flowers. Pushing further on, the trail passes by glacial tarns before traversing a cirque and crossing the remnants of snowfields to arrive at the gap. The snowfield crossings on the way to the gap are very straightforward and you will marvel at the views as you traverse this giant amphitheater. The diversity of scenery from trailside waterfalls to wildflower meadows to snowfields sprawled across steep rocky slopes is what makes this hike so unique.

Rants: Number 1: Thoughtless people. A prominent sign greets hikers at the entrance to Summerland that states: ‘Summerland is a fragile meadow that has received heavy use. You can help preserve this special place. Stay on designated trails.’ And of course, on descending from the gap and hiking through Summerland, I noticed three separate couples lounging and lunching in the fragile meadows by the creek that runs through Summerland. I took photos and mentioned them to a ranger that I encountered by the shelter. He said he was just about to head up there and would take care of it.

Number 2: Too many people, even on a Friday. I didn’t count but it had to be in the hundreds with through-hikers, trail runners, and day hikers, many in larger parties from multiple households, carpooling during a pandemic. Most hikers had and put on masks and/or turned aside on the trail to respect physical distancing protocols, which is heartening. However, too many younger men wore no masks and failed to cover their mouth and nose, and simply hiked ahead without stepping off or turning away, business as usual. Annoying.

After picking less popular hikes earlier this season where I encountered very few people, I decided to revisit Summerland for the sensational diversity and views. I discovered that dealing with so many people was emotionally fatiguing, for me at least. This is my fourth and probably the last hike of Summerland until we are again safe. I had been thinking about repeating the hike from Paradise to Camp Muir, but after this experience, I expect that the number of hikers would be even greater and the best step for me will be to seek out the less known and less traveled wild places.

Here are links to four spherical panoramas that I shot between 2015 and 2020. For best viewing click on the ‘Toggle Fullscreen’ icon in the panel in the upper right of the onscreen image. Then scroll to experience the immersive image.

Summerland Meadow Creek, Mt. Rainier National Park, WA State: https://www.360cities.net/image/summerland-meadow-creek-mt-rainier-national-park-wa-state

Summerland Meadow, Mt. Rainier National Park, WA State: https://www.360cities.net/image/summerland-meadow-mt-rainier-national-park-wa-state-usa

Fryingpan Moraine Creek, Mt. Rainier National Park, WA State: https://www.360cities.net/image/fryingpan-moraine-creek-mt-rainier-national-park-wa-state

Panhandle Gap, Mt. Rainier National Park, WA State: https://www.360cities.net/image/panhandle-gap-mt-rainier-national-park-wa-state-usa

Snow, Rock, and Rainbows

We felt fortunate for one of those rare auspicious good weather days in The Cascades. Johannesburg Mountain stood as an imposing sentinel across from our destination. Notable for its immense, dramatic Northeast Face, which drops 5,000 feet, it presented a visually arresting sight. We couldn’t look away, now hiking through the halls of the mythic mountain kings.

We finally broke out to the lower section of the basin. The expansive view revealed an enormous icy amphitheater, Boston Glacier. It hosted a continuous parade of high spiky granite peaks. Prominent on the skyline, the sharp angular, glacier-carved form of Forbidden Peak, accompanied by a host of other sharp peaks, Mt. Buckner, Ripsaw Ridge, Sharkfin Tower, Boston Peak, and Sahale Mountain. The immense Boston Glacier was the parade ground that spread before them, a foil for their rugged beauty.

We paused for a break after the arduous steep trail, picked an open rocky spot at the foot of the Quien Sabe Glacier, and had a picnic lunch. Looking back at Mount Johannesburg, riven with its hanging glaciers and steep snowfields that populated the couloirs between its steep ridges, we could not have previously imagined such drama.

After our lunch break, we hiked higher up onto the lower apron of the Quien Sabe Glacier and found a flat spot on the crest of a snowfield, a snowfield with a view, and made camp with our small 2-person Light Dimension tent. We pulled our new Marmot rainbow sleeping bags from their stuff sacks and ceremoniously unfurled them into the tent.

The sunlight that filtered through the walls of our golden tent showered the bags with a warm light that made their colors seem even more saturated and radiant. We paused there and were content to hang out and relish the view, soaking up the ambiance. On that day, we and the aura of the mountains were both alive and vibrant.

Even then, in one of the most popular climbing areas in the North Cascades, we were alone. We had the alpine cirque all to ourselves because this was 1977. Two years later, Steve Roper and Allen Steck would publish a seminal mountain history and climbing guidebook that would change all that. They titled it Fifty Classic Climbs in North America. It quickly became the bible for many climbers who aspired to complete one or several of the fifty climbs.

One of the six climbs featured in the Pacific Northwest was the West Ridge of Forbidden Peak. With that name, that airy route, and now the knowledge of it compellingly broadcast, aspiring climbers began flocking to it. Boston Basin has since become overwhelmed with alpinists seeking to climb that and other daring routes in one of the most spectacular alpine environments in the United States.

That day we brought no ropes, harnesses, or ice axes, or any other climbing gear. There was no grand, fearsome and coveted alpine objective to be climbed. We had not come for that. We had come to savor the brilliance of the expansive place. That evening we looked up the basin in the fading light and agreed that we had a room with a view, a most incredible alpine view. Our new Marmot bags served us well in the frigid cold, under the starry stormless sky. We snuggled together, in the comfort of our rainbow bags, pleased with the day and with each other.

We awoke the next day to the presence of an immense glacier that sparkled in the early morning light. After a leisurely campsite breakfast and a good deal of simple procrastination, we loaded our packs and began our descent.  It was with some regret that we hiked down the trail and back toward the structures of the civilized world. We had that strong desire to stay, that pull that we all feel, when we want to linger and appreciate the summit a bit longer or to soak up a more of a special place. As always, the mountains would be a place of joy and regrets. And on this day, the small regrets of goodbyes.

This is an excerpt from ‘Snow. Rock, and Rainbows,’ an adventure story from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

 

The Shakedown Cruise

He carried a weathered gray French Sacs Millet rucksack, so well-worn that it already looked vintage. I was an astute observer of gear and would try to uncover what stories they might represent or reveal. The rucksack spoke to me of many days in the mountains and also of expertise. His battered blue MSR Eagle ice axe reinforced that impression. While those observations appeared as a convincing visual resume, the perception of alpine expertise was complete conjecture on my part, as that had yet to be proven. The condition of his rucksack and ice axe were somehow reassuring.

We headed up the Snow Lake trail from the Alpental parking lot and passed into a truly alpine environment. A brilliant sunny day spoke of possibilities. We left the hiking trail and, after passing Source Lake, encountered snow.

Nicolai pulled his ice axe from his pack, and I did the same. He began ascending the steep snow slope, kicking steps and plunging the spike into the snow. I watched and, a bit unsure of myself quickly called out.

“Hey, how do you use this thing?”

The cat was now out of the bag. I didn’t know shit about travel on snow or ice.

Nicolai didn’t give me the business about it or laugh in my face. Like a patient mentor, he explained the rudiments of ice axe use for glacier travel, demonstrating the techniques. I picked it up quickly, relieved that my little bit of instruction had gone so well, and we continued towards the base of the granite spire known as The Tooth.

Nearly there, we ascended the basin under the east face of The Tooth to the second notch, south of the South Face. Climbing through the notch, we descended to the north and back up to Pineapple Pass, the notch between the South Face and the other pinnacle to its south. Although circuitous, the approach now over, we roped up and began our ascent directly up the South Face to a broad ledge about 50 feet below the summit. We traversed on the narrow ledge, the Catwalk, and then scrambled to the summit.

The route was only three pitches long, and we swung leads, Nicolai taking the first and the last. I lead the middle pitch. Yes! The South Face route, though short, had clean solid colorful lichen-encrusted rock and a moderate technical difficulty making the climb easily doable, the structure of the exposed ledge adding to the thrill.

The summit was notable in that it was spacious and although, slightly sloping and quite irregular, relatively flat, flat enough to lay down, which is exactly what Nicolai did. As he reclined, he opened his shirt to expose his bare chest to soak up the warmth of the sun and then quickly lapsed into a mid-day nap. What a guy, so cool, I thought. Colorful climbing gear, carelessly strewn on the summit, Nicolai napping, just the two of us as we had seen no one all day. I slowly turned all the way around, scanning and marveling at the views of nearby Chair Peak and so many others, innumerable snowcapped peaks shining bright across the skyline. The day was still, without wind, and time seemed to stop.

I paused and mused to myself that this sure beat the hell out of another day at the office. Now, working at NBBJ, another big architectural firm, larger and a big step up from Maloney, I was not liking the tedium of drafting architectural working drawings. Though I did not know it, this climb would be another pivotal moment, an unconscious decision point, that would lead to my breaking away and leaping into the unknown.

The climb, relatively straightforward, athletic, and satisfying, led to a descent that proved to be big fun as well. We rappelled back down the climbing route, taking it slowly, savoring both the place and the process, and were soon back on snow, the softer mushy snow of the hot afternoon. I was elated. The day had been perfect, and in a real sense, I had been spoiled. Not all alpine rock climbs would be of this quality and rarely conducted on such a fine day.

This is an excerpt from ‘The Shakedown Cruise,’ an adventure story from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

 

Mailbox in May

“Let’s do Mailbox.” My old climbing partner, Rainer sounded enthusiastic.

I accepted, knowing full well what I was getting into. It’s not pretty. If you want pretty, there are better hikes. We hike Mailbox because it’s close, has a reputation, and an iconic mailbox on top. All that and it’s strenuous. So, of course, it’s wildly popular for training and the novelty of it.

We took the old steep, heavily tree rooted trail. Though there were muddy sections, they were negligible and there was no snow. This second time on the old trail we somehow managed not to get lost. That’s easy to do and it chews up time and wears you out. You need to look up often enough to see the white metal diamonds on the trees. The route through the forest consumed the first 75% of the hike’s 4,000-foot elevation gain. It was the least fun.

After joining with the new trail, we hiked up the granite staircase that switchbacks through a talus field. The granite steps, though only a fraction of the hike, is the most enjoyable part. And just when you’re getting used to the pleasure of it, it ends. The final stretch is a rough and eroded mess of dirt and rocks that leads to the summit. This area is completely exposed to the sun. Rainer hiked shirtless. The only snow we encountered was a patch at the summit.

We arrived at the mailbox in 2 hours and 51 minutes, not too bad for a couple of old farts. The summit was ours for about 20 minutes until other hikers arrived.  We spent about an hour enjoying the expansive views, snacking, and visiting with new arrivals. We hiked old school with hiking boots and daypacks, with training weight, extra apparel, food, first aid kit, and lots of water. On the descent, we encountered many runners training for upcoming 50 and 200-mile races. We also saw people wearing flip-flops and carrying nothing. Go figure.

Although we planned to descend the old trail, Rainer wanted to take the new trail, which we did. Surprisingly we encountered a good deal of packed dirty snow and quite a few muddy sections. Rainer slipped and fell on one section, but without incident. After my third descent of the new trail, I’m done with it. It is just way too long, even if it is prettier than the forested section of the old trail. Next time I’m going down the old trail. Either way, good training for the bigger hikes to come. If you haven’t done it. Do it. Check it off your list and move on.

I took two 360 virtual reality panoramas at the summit. Here are the links to view them in a pano viewer at 360cities.net. Be sure to click the full-screen icon as you roll over the upper right of the photo for best viewing.

Mailbox Peak, Mail Call, Snoqualmie Area, WA State: https://www.360cities.net/image/mailbox-peak-mail-call-snoqualmie-area-wa-state

Mailbox Peak, Lunch Break, Snoqualmie Area, WA State: https://www.360cities.net/image/mailbox-peak-lunch-break-snoqualmie-area-wa-state

Thanks for the Memories

I originally began this project twenty years ago after being inspired by William Goldman’s hilarious book, Adventures in the Screen Trade. I thought our mishaps in the mountains might make a decent comedic screenplay. And so, I began to write. For some reason, probably driven by growing doubts that anyone would find the stories as interesting as I did, I shelved the project. And only now, in December of 2020, during a great pandemic, hunkered down at home, has the spark returned, and I am furiously putting words to page.

As I write, I am, of course, reliving those times, reeling back memories from the deep recesses of my mind. They come in waves, in bits and pieces, all out of sequence and unpredictably, often choosing to visit during the dead of night and in the shower where my right brain reigns free. It has always been pleasant to greet my old memories again, even if rarely convenient, having to pop out of bed or the shower to jot them down before they disappear, perhaps irretrievably, into the mists of forgetfulness. I have learned to keep a notebook by my bed, waiting for my night visions, ready so I can then stagger forth and record them. The shower presents a different problem. My wife Diane jokingly suggested that I need Rain Notes, a product we used to sell in our Early Winters catalog. I have not yet tried that.

I tell this series of stories with much affection for all the characters that I have named. I treasure them all in the memories that I hold close. And I’m grateful to both the people and those incomparable wild places for the times that we spent together and the experiences that we shared during this formative period of my life.

As I look back, I recognize that this life is a sacred journey. One where you should prepare to embrace the unusual, creative, and talented people that you meet, as they will add complexity, nuance, understanding, and joy to your life. These spirited individuals were, and many still are, my companions, friends, partners, accomplices, and mentors. You know who you are. You are my tribe.

This is the forward from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

Photo caption: Author, Muir Snowfield, DC Route, Mt. Rainier, 1975