Passing the Torch

Mark referred to his young sons as the ‘cubs.’ That fit. As a seasoned alpinist who had once ascended Ama Dablam, climbing the final summit pitches solo, he had adopted the shy and elusive Central Asian snow leopard as his spirit animal. That day in June, just five years ago, his sons Chase and Tyler were eleven and thirteen. Nonetheless, the ‘cubs’ moniker still seemed right as they rapidly ascended the steep and rocky trail on Bandera Mountain, both quiet, nimble, and quick.

We had come for the Beargrass super bloom and the expansive alpine views. The creamy white blossoms blanketed the steep alpine meadows but the day was densely foggy and offered no vistas. The Beargrass was magnificent, but the gray shroud of mist dampened our spirits. We sat on the summit of Little Bandera and ate our snacks in silence. While the cubs seemed to enjoy the hike, it was hard for me to gauge their enthusiasm for more. They too seemed shy and elusive.

Our next adventure took us even higher to cowboy camp under a clear night sky with brilliant starlight and a robust meteor shower, the famed Perseids, streaking overhead. Tyler had a previous commitment but Chase, now a year older, accompanied his dad as we trudged up the trail to the Granite Mountain Lookout. Mark and I had heavy packs, me with ten pounds of camera gear, and Mark with all the fixings for a gourmet camp meal, his savory smoked chicken sausage stew. I knew our hike would be a grind as I had been there many times before with a lighter day pack. Even then, it was always an ass-kicker. We arrived, feeling spent. The strenuous effort was soon forgotten as we settled in, made camp among the summit boulders, wolfed down dinner, and waited for the light show.

Chase explored the jumbled granite world of the spacious summit, energetically jumping from boulder to boulder and sometimes turning back with a smile. His enthusiasm was contagious. As the light departed the day, we added layers, and the cold and starry night enveloped us. Mark and Chase laid back on their sleeping pads perched on granite boulder recliners as I manned the camera in my first attempt at capturing the Galactic Core of the Milky Way. It soared above us as it arched over the eastern shoulder of Mount Rainier to the south. The fire lookout tower framed it on the other side making the dramatic composition I had envisioned. Once finally satisfied, we snuggled into our sleeping bags and looked up at the ancient lights of countless stars. We felt the wonder of it all as we drifted into dreams.

The next day dawned a brilliant golden orange as the sun crept over the eastern peaks. I took a few more panoramas in the saffron light before breakfast. We ate silently, all remembering the night. With some regret, we packed and departed. As we descended the rocky trail, we encountered over a hundred Saturday hikers coming up. It would be crowded at the lookout today, but last night we had it all to ourselves. As we headed toward the trailhead I briefly thought of Tyler and wished that he had been able to join us as the whole experience, which I called the “Granite Mountain Galaxy Quest” had been pure magic. Of course, there would be other future hikes to share. So, I thought.

But in 2020 there were none. COVID-19 held court and I hiked solo, discovering my aloneness.

Last year, I finally resumed hiking with Mark, and the cubs, soon to no longer be known as the cubs. We embarked on two epic adventures, the first a failure and the second a success. Mark had long wanted to return to the Picket Range and climb Luna Peak. Since we were in the business of helping each other realize our alpine dreams I quickly embraced his vision. It became mine as well through the process of planning each section of the journey. One thing was clear from the outset. It would not be easy.

Our mission to Luna Peak was to experience the ethereal summit views of the dramatic surrounding peaks of the Northern and Southern Pickets. Instead of a quick trip, we decided to take five days. I called our schedule the Luna Peak SKT (slowest known time). We'd hike to Luna Camp on day one, ascend to Access Creek Camp on day two, summit Luna Peak and return to the high camp on day three, descend from Access Creek Camp back to Luna Camp on day four, and hike out on day five. It was a good plan. It seemed easy and doable from my desk at home. But like so many mountain adventures in the North Cascades, the plan did not survive the second day. It simply blew up.

We left my house at the crack of dawn and drove to the Marblemount Ranger Station to pick up our pre-reserved Luna Camp permit. We arrived around 8:00 a.m. to find a host of hikers milling about, waiting for walkup permits. It was a ‘please take a number’ situation, literally. So, I took a number and waited. The time cushion from our early start was evaporating. We had a 9:45 a.m. water taxi reservation at Ross Lake.

When we got to the Marblemount Ranger Station permit desk the ranger asked if we had ice axes and helmets. We did not. The young ranger frowned. GPS and/or locator beacons? No. Another frown. Bear cans or bags? Yes. Finally, a smile. Had we bushwhacked before? Why yes, we had. Another smile. Did we bring blue bags? No. Another frown. So, the ranger gave us enough for our party of four for two nights at Access Creek Camp. I assured the ranger that we had long mountaineering experience and would not do anything stupid. She smiled and handed me our permit. The process was impressively thorough but chewed up more time than I had anticipated.

We left intent on hauling ass from Marblemount to the Ross Lake parking lot. It would not be as we had imagined. At mile 134, we encountered three separate road crews working on repaving. Why now, I thought. Good weather, of course. Three stop-and-wait situations occurred, all with a slow drive following the lead truck through each of the one-lane sections. More time evaporating. A nail-biter. We finally got to the Ross Lake parking lot and found what looked like the last available space. We shouldered our packs and sped down the one-mile trail to the lakeside dock.

The boat finally showed up at 10:00 a.m. We loaded our packs and climbed in. With 250 horsepower, the water taxis again hauling buns, the first of the day. A feeling of exuberance enveloped us all as we sped towards the Big Beaver dock. We exchanged broad smiles. The trip to Big Beaver Camp and the start of the Big Beaver Trail took only 10 minutes. We disembarked, took a group photo, and started up the trail.

That Wednesday and Thursday were forecast to be around 90 degrees so we wanted to make time in the morning before the day really heated up. Fortunately, the early part of the day was reasonably cool. The plan was to continuously hydrate and eat snacks during a single push on the 10 miles to Luna Camp. As we hiked the long approach toward Luna Camp, the day grew measurably hotter and the last miles to camp were brutal, even with relatively light 35 lb. packs. We perspired mightily as pesky bugs swirled around us. The ‘cubs’ took it all in stride.

Once at the Luna Camp signpost, we descended the spur trail to find two tent campsites and a single campsite for horse campers, all spread far apart from each other. We picked one, pitched our tents, and settled in. The local bugs arrived on cue and tormented us as we tried to relax and make dinner. Even so, the insect’s attacks could have been way worse. And, the air was still and without rain, a blessing The camp toilet location was well signed. An open-topped wood box looked out over a forested area thick with fallen timber, truly a room with a view. The nearby water source was a free-flowing creek with a shallow pool which we used to wash and cool our sweaty bodies. We ate dinner quietly, anticipating the next day, bound to be even more difficult.

We planned to rise early, get on the trail, and find the brushy backcountry route that left the Big Beaver Trail and descended to the water crossing. Once across the swiftly flowing water, we would ascend the intermittent climber’s trail on the north side of Access Creek which would lead us up to the open basin near the headwaters to Access Creek Camp, the area from which we would finally see the cathedral-like silhouette of Luna Peak. The second day’s objective looked like about 4 miles and 1,600 ft. of elevation difference. We expected to travel slowly as there was no established, well-signed route from the Big Beaver Trail. It traveled through the brush, and an obstacle course of fallen trees, to the shoreline of Big Beaver Creek. And once there we might find a friendly log to cross, or not. And if not, we must wade. A successful crossing depended on the right log and/or a wadable section. While it was still the approach, it stood out as the crux section of the whole trip. The crux appearing on the approach was not that unusual in the Pickets.

That morning we headed up the trail, cautiously confident that we would be successful. After all, we had many years of mountaineering experience among us and had read all the beta that we could find from Peakbagger.com, SummitPost.com, and WTA.org. Most reports suggested heading 1.5 miles up the camp marker and then plunging into the brush and making your way down to the water. The problem was that the dense brush was composed of small confers, Devil’s Club, and a continuous thicket of large fallen conifers, a practically impenetrable mess. Once there, a shoreline search for a crossing would occur. Some travelers reported finding convenient logs or wading reasonable sections, while others searched for hours to find a way to cross. The situation was always changing. Whatever we expected, it would be different.

We had met a couple of departing climbers on day one who had successfully completed their ascent of Luna Peak. As we suspected, they confirmed the presence of negligible snow and no need for an ice axe. They suggested leaving the trail at 1.1 miles up from Luna Camp. They also mentioned a faint trail near a fallen tree. I did not burden them with more questions as they seemed in a hurry to depart. I noted later that I should have asked them to describe the fallen tree so that I might distinguish it from the hundreds of others. What fallen tree?

We hiked much further than 1.5 miles on the main trail and yet found no indication of any climber’s trail to the water crossing. So, we backtracked and tried crossing through the brush at the 1.5-mile mark. It was an arduous undertaking and so distant from the creek that we turned around and went back to the Big Beaver Trail. We hiked down and tried again at 1.1 miles, without success. The cubs made several recons and while I worried about them when they were out of sight, they always returned. They had found no accessible crossing. Those unsuccessful forays into the brush and thick debris of fallen trees sapped our collective energy.

We headed back to a point where we could finally see the distant creek. It was less than a mile from Luna Camp. Now, even more bereft of confidence, we decided to make another quick recon, leaving our packs by the trail, and making an unencumbered bushwhack to the creek. Once there, a steep bluff overlooked the shore. We noted a crossable log and another two upstream that were higher above the water and narrower in diameter. The creek was flowing fast and deep enough to negate wading. We sat and meditated just watching the swift water and forest thicket ahead. Now what?

We had burned up more miles and time than reasonable to get to the water. But worse, the flailing effort had seriously eroded our confidence. Mark said, “So, we get to the other side. Then what?” Our failure to navigate this one short section had germinated significant seeds of doubt that we would do any better on the other side. After some consideration, we found that none of us wanted to hike back up to get our packs, thrash back down through the brush, cross the log, hike into more brush, and get completely fouled up, and completely lost. Or worse. I had already fallen backward off a large log during an earlier traverse. Fortunately, without injury, but could we count on that going forward? I had a map and compass, but there was not a GPS among us, so, we were a bit light on precision tools for navigating the brush with any confidence. Our motivation now depleted and with no universal agreement to proceed, we bagged our quest.

Were Mark and I disappointed? Hell yes! And, we were completely dumbfounded that we had not easily found the right path and crossed the creek. That had never happened to us before. We trudged back and settled in at camp and had dinner with the mosquitos and black flies, our penance. At least we had plenty of wine. Mark and I briefly grumbled about the day as we ate, yet we looked forward. The cubs wisely stayed silent. Always resilient, we conjured up a consolation plan. We would hike out, catch a water taxi, and head to the Thornton Lakes Trailhead, hike in, and summit Trappers Peak. We so needed to seize victory from the jaws of defeat. Yes, that would help us feel better. Absolutely!

The next day we hiked out, just missing a drop-off water taxi by 20 minutes. After waiting for three hours, the taxi finally showed up again at 4:00 pm and we sped back, a light rain now splattering on the windshield. After 10 miles on the Big Beaver Trail, we were not looking forward to that last uphill mile from the dock to the parking lot. The ‘cubs’ took the entire arduous effort, failed attempt, and retreat, quite well. I heard not one complaint or disparaging word from either of them. Even our defeat seemed an adventure to them. I noted that and was impressed with their graceful composure.

We trudged up, loaded the car, and drove away to search the nearby campgrounds for an overnight tent camp. All were full. It was Friday evening after all. Nuts! We left the North Cascades, returning to home base after a brief stop at the ‘Burger Barn’ in Darrington. As we wolfed down the savory burgers and fries, we resolved to come back, not for Luna Peak, but to summit Trappers Peak. The magnificent summit hosted sensational views of the Southern Pickets, vistas not to be missed. As we drove back, I reflected that there are thousands of these failure and redemption stories in the North Cascades. Our story was only one of many, and yet uniquely ours.

After our self-perceived ignominious defeat on the Luna Peak quest, we had to come back. If we could not gaze in wonderment at the spiky spires of the Southern Pickets from the north side, perhaps we could view them from the south side. Our earlier solution, to summit Trappers Peak and look north still held promise, a simple plan that renewed our hopes for a successful venture. Visions of granite peaks enveloped us as we envisioned not only the Southern Pickets, but also Mt. Triumph and Mt. Despair, and the three Thornton Lakes, all tiered in ascending rocky alpine bowls.

The trailhead to Trappers Peak is a long drive from the Seattle area for a day hike. I had done it before but did not look forward to that approach. Perhaps we could camp at Thornton Lakes and summit on day two? Fortunately, we could not get a Thornton Lake camp permit which led to a much better solution. We scored the single remaining available reservation for a walk-in tent camp at Newhalem Campground. It was perfect! A gift. Easy car camping and the Thornton Lake Road, the trailhead access road, was only minutes away.

We set our tents, settled in at the campsite picnic table, and carbo-loaded with Mark’s spaghetti with meatballs and a tasty Argentine Malbec. And, wonder of wonders, very few bugs! After dinner, we pulled out various maps and planned future trips. Our mood was auspicious. Our energy was renewed. The route tomorrow would require no bushwhacking. We slept that night with summit dreams.

The air was cool and the hike along the decommissioned forest road went quickly. After the second mile, the trail got down to business, ascending about 1,850 feet in the roughly 2.35 additional miles to the trail split post for Thornton Lake and Trappers Peak. I reflected that just looking at the stats does not adequately convey the difficulty. The woodland terrain is a veritable rock and root fest. The kind of trail where you spend a lot of time looking down, both ascending and descending. After another picturesque creek crossing at about 3.75 miles, just prior to the National Park signpost, there was an opportunity to filter more water as the trail up to Trappers Peak soon emerged into full sun and would get baking hot. A subsequent signpost announced the trail split to either Trappers Peak or Thornton Lake (the lower of the three) at 4.55 miles and 5,050 ft. elevation. We continued up.

Ascending Trappers took another roughly 0.8 miles from that signpost and 900 plus feet of additional elevation gain. Again, the stats minimaxed the effort, some of our ascent on an easy-to-follow trail with intermittent sections of steep scrambling. The crux scrambling section came at about 5,350 ft. The steep rock pitched upward against a granite wall on the left. The route narrowed into a chimney-like formation. Fortunately, there were several sturdy tree limbs on the right, easily available to grab onto. Always faster than me (I was carrying the heavy camera gear), Mark and his sons had waited above the chimney. As I prepared to climb it, Tyler descended and offered to assist by taking my pack. I had not considered needing his help as I had climbed this section on a previous attempt, but I thought accepting his kind offer was a good idea. He shouldered my pack and we both resumed. Mark later hefted my pack and declared. “It’s heavy.” Tyler replied, “But it’s comfortable.” What a guy!

Once past the crux, there were still a couple of steep sections with some exposure. One a short traverse along a narrow granite rib with considerable exposure on both sides. Highly motivated, we all watched our feet, ignoring the exposure, crossed the rib, and continued to the summit. On arriving at the top, we were exhilarated to witness a magnificent panorama of spiky peaks surrounding our summit. Drifting clouds alternately obscured and revealed each one. A dynamic visual alpine opera drifted before us. The rugged panorama held us speechless. I thought of my favorite superlatives. They all applied. And then some. Simply jaw-droppingly beautiful!

As I set up my tripod to shoot photographic images to make spherical panoramas, I noticed the weather was changing. I had pictured an array of clouds to provide visual structure but there were far more than I had envisioned, the sun at moments peeking through and at other times obscured by the enveloping clouds. It was yet another situation where I realized that I could not art direct nature. I accepted the gift of the present and moved forward. The summit peaks of the Southern Pickets were shrouded by the drifting white mist, yet the east face of Mt. Triumph jutted proudly before us. Upper Thornton Lake, ensconced in a steep granite bowl, still had ice on the surface. Completely entranced, we stayed, snacking, exploring, and photographing for an hour and a half before heading down. None of us wanted to leave.

But before our departure, I asked for everyone’s attention as I stood before Tyler and Chase and unfolded two sheets of paper. I read from them, addressing each individually, and inducted them into the Analogue Mountaineering Alpine Club, a society that I founded three years prior to honor the alpine accomplishments of old mountain companions. That day at our Colchuck Lake camp I inducted five founding members, all old farts, myself included. It was both a humorous send-up and a serious acknowledgment of our long friendship and shared mountain quests. I felt the summit of Trappers Peak was the appropriate place to induct two new members and that day Tyler and Chase became the youngest. Each received a document of their induction with the club crest and motto. Their ascent that day was no small accomplishment, one that I thought worthy of recognition. As I read, I was pleased by their satisfaction in that symbolic moment.

Our journey to the top was more physically challenging than the numbers suggested, a 10.6-mile round trip with 3,500 feet of cumulative elevation gain. On our way back to the trailhead Tyler approached me and said that he hoped to still be active in the mountains when he was 74. That of course was my age at the time. I was both surprised and touched by his comment. Both Tyler and Chase loved Trapper’s Peak, vowing to return someday to share it with friends. You cannot beat that for an endorsement.

I had become charmed by Mark’s sons, so capable and yet quiet and acutely observant, always evaluating, learning, and moving forward. I had seen Mark’s videos of their athletic prowess on the basketball court and was amazed at their virtuosity. Their speed, stealth, and dance-like movements routinely outwitted their taller opponents. Most notable was their keen intelligence, and their openness to learning new things. I thought it was due to their acute powers of observation. It was no surprise that they were superb outdoor athletes as well. Another year passed.

This year, Mark seemed determined to summit The Brothers, the higher south peak, Mount Edward. Since he lives on a bay that overlooks the Olympic peninsula, he gazes at the twin peaks every day, and that fed his obsession. Having climbed The Brothers in his youth, Mark now longed to share the summit with his sons. He invited me to accompany him to recon the climb before inviting Tyler and Chase. At first, I eagerly agreed to join him. However, after researching the route and terrain, I declined. It looked like too much unsavory territory to cover in quest of a summit, both on the approach and the climb itself. I called him and said so.

“My dear friend, I really want to do this for you, but I really don’t want to do it for me.” I waited a beat for his response. He understood and let me off the hook. Relieved, I thought no more of it until I had returned from a recent solo ascent of Mount Defiance and received a text from Mark. He and the boys were heading up to do The Brothers. I paused in thought and then wished them luck and a safe climb.

During the days of their climb, I waited and worried. Though they were all very fit, I thought the physical nature of the objective would push them to the limit. And, it did. The hike up and past Lena Lake through the Valley of the Silent Men to the climber’s high camp was a deceptively routine event if you overlooked the sometimes-challenging route-finding and an active hornet’s nest right on the trail before the high camp. They reached the climber’s camp after 6.5 miles and 2,500 feet of elevation gain and settled in for the night. So far so good.

They broke camp at 7:00 a.m., traveling light. Unfortunately, the summit day was an unseasonably hot one, one that would exact a price. They soon encountered another trailside hornet’s nest, followed by a steep and arduous ascent through rough terrain, and up loose rock with route-finding issues thrown in. They climbed higher as a relentless sun beat down. To his surprise, Mark’s hamstrings both suddenly seized up very near the summit, only 500 vertical feet away. To his consternation, he discovered he could not climb any further. Tyler and Chase conferred with Mark and a decision was made. The brothers continued up while their dad waited and worried. After an hour and a half of fretful anxiety, he looked up to see Chase energetically waving from the summit. The cubs had made it! It was no small feat as another group of seasoned mountaineers had missed the final key to the summit, a narrow chimney, and had abandoned close to the top. Mark felt both pride in their accomplishment and yet significant concern for their safe descent.

The upper slopes were steep loose and ripe for a fall. As Mark watched, he could have imagined his navigating it for himself. It was not comfortable. When his sons finally rejoined him, his relief was palpable. They carefully made their way down the balance of the steep scree. Finally, near the camp, they again encountered the upper hornet’s nest. Although passing the nest with care, Chase still received two stings and ran like a bandit down the trail as the determined insects pursued him. Once back at camp they rested briefly, packed, and departed. They soon braved a thicket of Devil’s Club to circumvent the lower hornet’s nest. It was a tossup, stinging nettles, or stinging hornets. A no-win situation. Nevertheless, they soldiered on down those last interminable miles of trail to the car, arriving completely thrashed.

It was only later that the boys shared with Mark that they were at times scared during their ascent and descent. They had undoubtedly approached their limit, but with their youthful stamina, athletic capabilities, and perceptual intelligence, succeeded where others had failed. When Mark later called to tell me their story, I listened thoughtfully said I was relieved by their safe return, and joked with him that this trip was indeed an epic beatdown, true Type 3 Fun. No small accomplishment. He agreed.

As I reflect on Mark, his sons, my recent time with them, and their alpine accomplishments I realize that our adventures with Tyler and Chase in the mountains have been a form of mentorship. It is sometimes a subtle thing as we pass on our experience both by the projects we undertake, how we plan, the decisions we make, and what we achieve in the alpine, and yes, also our missteps, our outright mistakes, and how we handle them. Nothing is hidden, everything is revealed. It is for the young alpine acolytes a meaningful coming of age.

I am now far older than when I embarked on my first alpine quests and so must temper my ambitions with the stark reality of my age and physical limitations. I think about that for my older companions as well. I joke with Mark that we must heed our personal ARC, ‘Alpine Reality Check.’ The way it is when we sense that our alpine time is limited and we mentally prepare to leave the stage. As for Tyler and Chase, while they have a decent alpine foundation, they are just getting started, and their future is bright. When I think of them and the symbolism and fire of mountain dreams, I like to feel that in some meaningful way, I have played a part in passing that torch.

PS: I took my tripod and captured multiple images to create some 360 spherical panoramas on the summit of both Granite Mountain and Trapper’s Peak. Here are links to two. I find the images mesmerizing and I think you will too. They are available for viewing at 360Cities.net via the links below. For the most immersive experience, click on the ‘Toggle Fullscreen’ icon in the panel in the upper right of the onscreen image. Then scroll to savor the views.

Granite Mountain Dawn Patrol: https://www.360cities.net/image/granite-mountain-dawn-patrol-alpine-lakes-wilderness-washington-state-usa

Trapper’s Peak, Summit Vista: https://www.360cities.net/image/trappers-peak-summit-vista-north-cascades-national-park-wa-state

Photo credits to Mark Valdez for the shot of me on Trappers Peak and his sons on The Brothers.