Peaks and Pencils

When I first scanned my old film photos to digital, I didn’t remember or recognize the place. I found that puzzling and frustrating. It was obviously a thoughtfully planned trip taken with two old friends. A celebration of sorts. Was it the Enchantments? No, despite the rugged alpine quality of the terrain, it was not.

As I reviewed our journey through my photographs, I felt that I was there once again. I almost physically felt the oppressive August heat as we struggled up the off-trail route on our ascent from the end of the Necklace Valley Trail at Opal Lake. We negotiated an exposed and relentlessly challenging boulder field. Our goal? To seek out and camp near a pristine pair of isolated lakes. Lakes with breathtaking views of some of the most rugged peaks in Washington’s Alpine Lakes Wilderness. Our quest was to savor solitude in a visual paradise.

Ensconced in rocky granite basins high in the Central Cascades, Tank Lakes are small bodies of water so remote that there are no signs of civilization. There are no visible highways, clear-cuts, or nighttime light pollution. In short, a hidden gem of a place. One could easily compare the environment to the Enchantments, but without the crowds or need for a lottery permit.

We arrived exhausted but quickly pitched my Early Winters Starship, the prototype of many to come, on a granite shelf overlooking a lakeside snowfield. We had traveled almost 12 miles and gained 4,300 feet in elevation to achieve our mountain camp. The stats belied the difficulty as the route finding and scrambling ascent made the day seem even much longer than the numbers would suggest.

Once there, the view to the southwest summits held us captivated. Though we didn’t know their names at the time, we admired Little Big Chief, Summit Chief, the three spires of Chimney Rock, and Overcoat Peak, all between seven and eight thousand feet in elevation. Scattered snowfields blanketed their north faces, adding another dimension to their dramatically sculpted verticality.

That day we casually meandered about, exploring the Tank Lakes basin throughout the afternoon hours and into the orange hues of the sunset, always looking back towards the dazzling array of peaks on the southern skyline.

As I wistfully recall our trip, I found that now, 40 years later, I yearn to return, to be there again. An even more adventurous trip would be the pilgrimage to Tank Lakes with an added backcountry traverse over Iron Cap Mountain and rigorous off-trail travel out the West Foss River drainage. Fred Beckey named the remote and magnificent loop the “Alpine Lakes High Route.” It would become known as a difficult and demanding traverse, one that should be only attempted by seasoned mountaineers. Nonetheless, it’s tempting. Very tempting. Undoubtedly the trip of a lifetime.

In the meantime, I find I can commune with the rugged place just by sketching the peaks with pencils. So often when we view a place or look at a photograph, our experience is of the gestalt, the overview, but when we sketch and paint, we are inevitably drawn towards more considered scrutiny of form, texture, color, light, and shadow, and the relationship of objects. It’s my experience (of course, echoed by others) that drawing becomes a way of seeing that deepens the perceptions and experiences of the artist. These pencil sketches are my way of immersing myself in the place, once again, just by examining the peaks more closely. And through the process, I see the dramatic alpine scene with new eyes. And now, some four decades later, return to Tank Lakes.