Although the days are getting longer (and colder) now that the Winter Solstice has passed, it's still what we call the "dark days" here in Washington.
Our chilly wet weather is about to turn into a possible record-breaking cold snap, with likely snow. Local moss, in its multitude of varieties and very happy from our wet autumn, will go dormant from the freeze. So, too, will some Mossbacks who live here.
But many of us will be outside reveling in winter.
Last week on a bone-chilling rainy/snowy day, I dashed east of Seattle into the foothills near North Bend for a short but sweet hike to Twin Falls (which is actually three waterfalls). On this rainy Wednesday in the middle of the day, I only saw two other hikers on this normally super popular trail.
The Twin Falls trail skirts close to the South Fork Snoqualmie River
Besides it being a week day, another reason I had the trail mostly to myself was, of course, the steady, hovering-just-above-freezing rain.
As I tramped onward, just happy to be out in such lush Northwest beauty, the rain turned to big fat wet snowflakes.
I kept on thinking I'd turn around because it was so wet despite my rain pants and Gore-Tex shell, but I couldn't stop until I got to the main bridge over the waterfalls. It was too lovely out there.
By this time, snow was covering the bridge, although thankfully it wasn't slippery.
On this trip, I bypassed the lower waterfall viewpoint deck. But I did stop to admire lots of moss and the huge old growth Douglas fir along the trail.
After about 90 minutes of hiking in nonstop rain/snow/rain, at places the trail seemed like a side channel to the river.
Because there was such a healthy flow in the river and I had the trail to myself, I did a few detours down to the river's edge to shoot a few clips from my smartphone.
By the time I got back to the car, my jeans were damp beneath my rain pants and so too was my jacket layered under a shell. But I just slipped off those outer layers and turned up the heat in my car as I drove home, thoroughly exhilarated from "forest bathing" in solitude. This is a rare treat anymore near Seattle.
Happy holidays!
Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.
This is the second post about an early September backpacking trip in Glacier National Park. Read the first post here.
On this second day of our trek, we hiked through a stark, glacially carved landscape where mountains meet the sky. After a relatively easy first day, this second day was more challenging, but the payoff was absolutely worth it.
After packing up and leaving No Name Lake by mid-morning, my hiking buddies Mark and Andy and I hiked up switchbacks a couple miles to Dawson Pass (elevation 7,600 feet) on the Continental Divide. For this lowlander (I live about 300 feet above sea level), I actually didn't feel the elevation that much.
Along the way, we passed above timberline into a dramatic landscape of shale and scree (Mark, who has a geology degree, would describe the rocks/formations more precisely).
Approaching Dawson Pass, Two Medicine Lake behind and below.
Wildfire smoke blew in and tamped down the dramatic views, a minor downside on an otherwise spectacular day hiking. We'd been warned about the winds at the pass, and sure enough, as we crested the pass, wind raced across, prompting us to pull out windbreakers when we stopped for lunch.
Windy Dawson Pass. Mark Beaufait photo.
Smoke obscured the views on the other side of Dawson Pass
After lunch and hiking up a few hundred feet above the pass, the real drama of the day began. I'd read about the relatively narrow ledge portion of the trail that skirts beneath Flinsch Peak, but I didn't realize this narrow goat trail (or so it seemed) continued over 3 miles.
The trail continued past and around the backside of the second peak in the distance.
Let's be clear: The trail was pretty exposed in some places, where a misstep on the loose scree could lead to an unstoppable fall/slide down a 3,000 foot mountainside. Have I mentioned that although I like being in high places, I'm not a big fan of heights?
But onward we trekked because, of course, there was no going back. A couple times rock steps on the trail were so tall that it was a challenge to step up with a heavy backpack (once with an assist from Andy). And some wind gusts were so strong that I was pushed sideways and had to stop to steady myself.
We passed beneath the glacial horn of Flinsch Peak shown here. M. Beaufait photo.
One of the widest stretches of the ledge trail. M. Beaufait photo.
The trail at times. M. Beaufait photo.
Walking the ledge for that distance required complete focus with every step, at least for me. But the views, even with the smoke, wow! I felt a sense of expansive space, like being in an airplane and looking around and down at the world below.
Starting the descent down to Oldman Lake, our destination for the night.
M. Beaufait photo.
As we neared Oldman Lake, we passed through big scarlet patches of low-lying huckleberry bushes heavy with sweet ripe berries. We also passed some very large piles of berry-infested bear scat; we'd heard from other hikers that grizzly bears had been spotted near the lake and even wandering through our upcoming campsite.
While black bears aren't that scary to see, grizzlies are another matter. Fortunately the bears decided to forage elsewhere that night. Perhaps they were scared off by our pack of hikers (nine of us) at the campsite, most of us from Seattle.
Oldman Lake
A rustic gray-bearded, solo man (trail name, Stormwalker) showed up at camp later than the rest of us and told us he'd done many epic thru hikes since the 1970s (Pacific Crest Trail, Appalachian Trail, the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), Nepal, New Zealand...). On this outing, he was seeking CDT thru hikers to give them advice and $2 bills. In some parts, that's still good for a cuppa (not Seattle).
Evening light at Oldman Lake.
Fellow hikers we met at our two campsites were all fun, friendly, and engaging. Maybe that's partly why I'm drawn to the outdoorsy. We swapped stories and laughs in the designated cooking areas (away from our tents to deter bears) and then wandered off to our tents as it got dark.
Perhaps the grizzlies were hunkered down due to the persistent strong wind, with occasional big gusts. Who knows. But regardless of the bear factor, I slept well again. Being "good" tired makes for good sleep.
Just too many more photos to share to cram them all into this post, so check back in a couple days for the third and last post of our backpack trip on the Dawson/Pitamakan Passes Loop.
Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.
As I sit down to reflect and write about hiking the spectacular Dawson Pass/Pitamakan Pass Loop in Montana's Glacier National Park, I still feel a lingering sense of awe. This hike was different than my usual treks in the Cascades of Oregon and Washington.
There were plenty of big mountains, big views, and big sky. The sense of space and chiseled (rather than Cascade craggy) mountains dominated. Despite a smudgy blanket of wildfire smoke that subdued the views somewhat, it was still all that and more.
With so many shots to share, this is the first of a few posts about this early September road trip/backpack. While many hikers do this 16- to 19-mile loop as a day hike now, some of us opt for a more leisurely trek, with a few days on the trail. Yes, I'm old school, but I don't want to rush through paradise.
Road Tripping
You don't want to hear much about the car troubles I had as I drove east from Seattle to meet friends north of Spokane. I'm grateful for AAA and managed to barely make itto a truck stop in George, Washington, where I charged up my dead smartphone to call for help since my clutch died. Enough about that.
After a good night sleep at the home of my friends' relatives north of Spokane, we took off mid-morning for the 5+ hour drive across northern Idaho and on to East Glacier. My friends Mark and Andy splurged on a big room for us at the historic Glacier Park Lodge, vintage 1913, before we started our 3-day backpack.
Glacier Park Lodge lobby
I love these big old lodges built for guests traveling by rail. This lodge was along the Great Northern Railway, and you can still arrive by train today.
We had dinner and breakfast in the lodge dining room, where the food was tasty and the portions were very generous. I gave half my breakfast to Andy, and it was plenty for two.
Day 1 on the Trail
We needed to be up and out early to pick up our two-night permit (pre-reserved) at the Two Medicine Lake ranger station when it opened at 8 a.m. It was fun to chat with some of the other hikers in line ahead of us at the ranger station. One middle-aged woman was thru-hiking the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) solo and down to her last 3 days.
Two Medicine Lake
We hopped on the historic shuttle boat that traverses the lake to the trailhead, and enjoyed the gorgeous morning as we cruised across the lake. (Some hikers start near the ranger station and hike an additional 3 miles along the lakeshore to the trailhead, but we opted for the scenic boat ride. See the short video below for a taste of the ride.) The boat is on the National Register of Historic Places and was originally built in 1926.
Historic Sinopah shuttle boat
All the other passengers dispersed pretty quickly up a few shorter trails as we slathered on sunscreen, shed layers, and threw on our backpacks. Our first night destination was No Name Lake, a short warm-up hike only about 2.2 miles away and 900 feet higher.
While hiking up a somewhat steep trail with a heavy-ish backpack can be a slog, I tend to do better on the uphills because they're easier on my aging feet and knees. We stopped once for a water/snack break and to enjoy the increasingly spectacular views.
Looking back down to Two Medicine Lake where we started.
Our best weather was this first day, with clear blue skies and mild temps. Since it was such a short hike, we arrived at the lake by early afternoon and had our pick of the three campsites.
And then we chilled all afternoon after setting up tents. Thankfully, this late in the season mosquitoes and other pesky bugs aren't a problem.
No Name is a lovely alpine lake tucked close against the base of a steep cliff wall that juts upward abruptly a few thousand feet. Mark spotted a couple snowy white mountain goats lounging on some steep scree at the toe of the cliff, far above.
No Name Lake
We'd been warned to be on the lookout for grizzly bears and carried bear spray wherever we went. So when we heard a loud huff and something crashing through the brush coming our direction, I got a quick rush of adrenaline.
Soon two BIG moose came trotting toward us and then split around the three of us standing close together, passing within less than 10 feet on either side. These beasts can do serious harm if annoyed, so we (outwardly) kept calm.
After dinner when we were sitting on the beach at the lake, fellow campers Maggie and Rowan yelled to us that the moose were headed our way (four of them this time). I looked up to see a moose headed right toward me about 20 feet away, so we quickly scrambled sideways and back to camp, keeping an eye on them the whole way.
As I lay in my tent at night after dark trying to fall asleep, I heard moose thrashing about loudly in the brush, getting closer and closer.
It was cool to hear the clacking of their antlers together as they jousted, but I really couldn't sleep until they wandered away. Then I slept a good sleep in all that mountain fresh air (thanks in part to a light warm sleeping bag and inflatable mattress).
In the early light the next morning, the cliff behind the lake glowed pink as the sun was rising, and I scrambled out to snap a few shots.
After a quick breakfast and packing up, we set off for what would be a much longer, more dramatic day ahead. You can read the second post here to join us as we hike up to Dawson and Pitamakin Passes.
Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.
Colorful stones and a hint of autumn at No Name Lake
There's something indefinably magic about autumn that makes it my favorite time of year. And this year, we all can use some magic, right?
While it's a drippy rainy evening here in Seattle as I write this, we've had some brilliant fall color and weather. Our first frost is expected in a few days.
People this year are flocking and recreating outside in our forests and parks like never before. So today's post is about getting outside and celebrating late summer/autumn beauty in this splendid region.
Early Autumn
By late August, you can usually feel a hint of autumn at higher elevations in the Cascades. The sun travels lower across the sky, vine maples are starting to show a hint of color, and pesky bugs are no longer an issue.
Just before Labor Day weekend, I joined a friend and her daughter for a weekday hike near Snoqualmie Pass in the Mountains to Sound Greenway, less than an hour east of Seattle. We got an early start and felt a morning fall chill that later transitioned to mellow warmth.
Within a couple hours we made it up to tranquil Mason Lake, where huckleberries were starting to pop out on shrubs around the lake. While sitting on the shore of this mountain lake in the soft warm sunshine, all that 2020 anxiety drained away for a spell.
But this being 2020, heavy smoke from the raging West Coast wildfires kept us inside for almost 2 weeks starting Labor Day weekend. I was lucky to get out a day ahead of the smoke to kayak off Vashon Island.
Early sign of fall on the beach
When things cleared up later in the month, I caught an early morning ferry to meet my aunt and friends for morning coffee at Fort Worden in Port Townsend, Washington.
Olympic Mountains, predawn
After an hour sitting outdoors in distanced chairs, sipping hot drinks, and enjoying excellent conversation, we walked around Fort Worden State Park on what was an absolutely stellar, crisp early autumn day. I kept exclaiming out loud, "This is a perfect fall day!"
Historic Fort Worden building
And then there were huckleberries. I joined a small group of lovely women for a book club hike into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness to discuss Twelve Moons by the late great poet Mary Oliver. Although the trail was plenty busy, we managed to spread out and stayed mostly masked.
Near the top of Mt. Sawyer, we filled emptied water bottles with huckleberries after discussing the lyrical poems. With a clearing sky and all that mountain fresh air too, it was another perfect fall day. (And the huckleberry tarts I made later were pretty wonderful too.)
Evergreen state
October
And then there were golden larches. I'm addicted to seeing these deciduous conifers each October at their peak brilliance. This subalpine species only grows in a limited range, between elevations from 5,800 to 7,500 feet on the sunnier eastern crest of the Cascades.
On a midweek hike to Ingalls Pass in the Teanaway region near Cle Elum, Washington, I met up with my high school backpacking buddy Alice. Many years had passed since we tramped together along a trail, so it was a special day for me.
Mt. Stuart
In early October, even on a Wednesday trail traffic was steady. We both felt the elevation as we trudged upward a few thousand feet. But as soon as we topped out at the pass, glowing golden larches appeared everywhere and any dragginess we felt disappeared.
We hiked onward through and past groves of vibrant trees in the basin below. Just an awesome day!
Closer to Seattle, a couple girlfriends and I snuck out for a chilly, misty morning hike recently on a popular trail west of Snoqualmie Pass.
While it didn't rain on us that morning, by afternoon the next storm arrived. Our thirsty plants and forests throughout the region soaked up the much needed moisture.
This is what we call a good rain. As I write this, snow is predicted even in the lower mountain passes later this week.
But where I physically feel the change of seasons most is during weekly brief open water "wild" swims in Puget Sound. When my plunge buddy and I started in January, the air and water were downright frigid. Then this past summer, we'd sit in the warm sun on the beach afterwards.
With October, we've been greeted by wind, rain, and sometimes fog, like in the short clip below right before our plunge yesterday.
And yes, I think standing in the rain before plunging in the cold sea is actually pretty wonderful. :)
I hope you, too, can get out and revel in the changing season.
Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.
Day 2 There's nothing quite like waking up at the edge of an alpine meadow on a mountain as the new day is still gathering.
After backpacking up above Spray Park on Mt. Rainier, I awaken before sunrise the next morning and crawl out of my tent, camera in hand. Because it's all about the light.
My hiking buddies are still asleep, and the morning quiet is a lovely balm to my city-addled soul. I snap shots as the wispy clouds above turn rosy pink, well before the sun crests the ridge behind our campsite.
By about 8 a.m. we're all up and melting snow for coffee and tea. (The melt stream from the snowfield nearby stopped flowing overnight when the temps dropped.)
Fueled up from breakfast, we head up the rocky slope towards the Flett Glacier for even more expansive views. Not that many years ago, this would have still been snow-covered in late summer.
Echo Rock is the jagged formation to the left.
After an hour+ of scrambling up the sometimes steep incline, we top out at a ridge above the base of the Flett Glacier, where we see a couple hikers making their way down the snowfield above us. We haven't seen anyone else since yesterday afternoon, and we're surprised. So we don't have the mountain to ourselves? :)
Below us, more hikers with skis and boots strapped to their packs are heading up toward the glacier.
Dave, who climbed Rainier from this direction a few decades ago, is shocked at the loss of glacier coverage high on the mountain, compared to when he climbed the route back in the 1980s. After a snack, we scramble down to the edge of the glacier and relax by the vivid blue melt pool before starting back down to camp. Above us, clouds bunch up, spread out, swirl, and dissipate in a variety of shapes and formations. At over 7,000 feet high on the mountain, we're literally in the clouds, off and on.
Views north and northeast included Glacier Peak, Mt. Baker, and the Stuart Range
Chilling above the blue pool at the base of Flett Glacier
Observation Rock enshrouded in mist.
The beauty of a layover day is having no set schedule. We scramble leisurely around the rocks, taking in the drama of the stark volcanic landscape above timberline. And although they're not visible in the shot above, a few backcountry skiers were having fun getting late (or really early) season turns on the soft suncupped snow.
As we meander back down the mountain to our camp, numerous other hikers/skiers are just coming up and setting up camps. Up here the rocky "trail" is marked by cairns between snowfields.
Instead of watching the sun set and the stars pop out in the night sky like the night before, a thick fog rolls in, driving us into our tents not long after dinner. A few hours later the wind picks up and blows so hard that it pushes in the walls of my tent during strong gusts.
About 2 a.m. the rain fly starts flapping wildly, and I quickly throw on a parka and dash outside to tighten it up so it won't blow away up the mountain. But for being outside in the middle of the night, I'm rewarded with a brilliant starry sky, crisscrossed by the Milky Way straight overhead.
Day 3 No sunrise or pink sky shots on our last morningon the mountain. A thick, rain-like mistenvelops us while we have breakfast and break camp. Out come rain shells for the first hour of hiking back down to the lower meadows.
As we start passing hikers coming up, everyone tells us about the bears they saw snarfing down low-lying huckleberries near the trail. One guy even shows us some shots on his camera. Sigh, that is the closest we come to seeing any bear. It's hard to leave the high country meadows and plunge back into the woods below, but nevertheless, the thought of a hot shower when I get home lures me down the mountain.
Good turns, heavy gear
By mid afternoon we're back at Mowich Lake, where the parking lot is much more full on Sunday than when we arrived on Friday morning. I pull a big bag of chips out of the van and share them freely with other hikers in the parking lot who've also just come down the mountain. This is a way to become popular quickly. :) Many thanks to my friends Andy and Mark for the invite to poach on their backcountry permit obtained months in advance. I've really enjoyed doing more backpacking this past summer than in many years. And Mt. Rainier is an ultimate destination, whether you do the whole 93-mile Wonderland Trail loop, or a quick weekend like we did.
Now I'm already plotting longer trips for next summer...
Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.
When You Go
Yours truly in vintage 1990s Patagonia anorak.
To camp in Mt. Rainier National Park backcountry, you need a permit, which you can read about here.
With the explosive growth in our region, and increasing popularity of
hiking, be extra careful to avoid trampling fragile alpine vegetation,
and always leave no trace that you were there.
I’m a bi-state Northwesterner raised near Portland and based in Seattle, where my family roots extend back 150 years. I grew up nurtured by western red cedars, trilliums, swordferns, and waterfalls.
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