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.
It's a chilly, damp late fall evening as I'm writing this 2021 Thanksgiving post. I'm tired and worn down from the last couple months of work overload.
To be honest, I'm worn down from the last almost 2 years of the pandemic. I'm not as resilient as I was as a young woman, and my family suffered a couple sad losses in the last year.
But, well, I'm still here, like the Salish Sea tides that rise and fall and rise again near my home. And as we get on in years, just being here is the ultimate gift, to witness life and all its messy loveliness.
Take mushrooms. I'm increasingly intrigued and captivated by their weird and wonderful variety, their shapes and sizes, and that they spring up like a surprise each year. Did you know that their DNA is closer to human than plant?
I stalk them with my camera, and of course I live in good fungi territory. So here's to gratitude for mushrooms/fungi. There's so much more to learn about them.
I guess that leads me to another gratitude:curiosity. Without curiosity, human societies around the globe would be much less developed and advanced (although with the state of resource overuse and climate change, one can question the wisdom of some of our advances). But there is just so much to learn and read about in the world (and universe). Curiosity has led me to many excellent books as well, for which I'm grateful.
It was hard to think of a photo to match curiosity, so I grabbed the shot above of Yuki, the last cat standing of the colony of spayed/neutered feral cats I've helped manage and feed (along with my neighbors) since 2007. He has been successfully dodging coyotes, cars, racoons, crows, and perhaps an owl or two since at least 2013.
One of the bunch, Tashi, became my beloved pet who died at the end of 2020. Yuki is too feral to become totally domesticated, but he is a nice cat who talks to me and likes to be petted and scratched around the ears. I'm grateful for his feline companionship over the years, and sad he just lost his last buddy Jude. They kept each other warm at night.
I'm also grateful for ferry rides back and forth across Puget Sound/Salish Sea for visits to family in Port Townsend and Bainbridge Island, Washington. I will never, ever tire of the clarifying embrace of the stiff, cold breeze while standing on the front ferry deck as the vessel skims across the sea surface.
On my semi-regular trips to Port Townsend for Monday morning coffee/tea with the gang up there, I always stop at a park on Port Gamble Bay and walk along the bluff or down to the water's edge to take pictures.
I'm always the only one there on Monday mornings, and it's an incredibly peaceful escape from the city. As always, I'm grateful for the balm of nature.
I could continue rambling here on what is basically a stream of consciousness post. But just reflecting on these things bring even more things to mind for which I'm grateful. One can't forget friends and family to share adventures and the everyday.
And I'm happy that it's always possible to make new friends and reconnect with old friends. They're all gold.
So what tops your list of gratitudes this year? I've barely scratched the surface. But it's a good exercise to get one thinking and appreciating all there is to be thankful for again.
Wishing you and your loved ones a happy Thanksgiving/holiday season. May you cherish just being here and remember, let's strive to look beyond what divides us to what binds us, with compassion and humanity.
And let's all strive to approach others with kindness.
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.
Fall color in October around Leavenworth, Washington, is nothing short of magical. Compared to what we see over on "the Coast" (western Washington), the mountains and canyons glow crimson and gold.
With a short window during the work week to avoid the Oktoberfest crowds, last week my sister and I dashed over Stevens Pass for a getaway. While I've spent lots of time in the Leavenworth area staying with friends, this trip we decided to stay at Sleeping Lady Resort south of town on Icicle Creek.
This resort/conference center site was originally built as a Civilian Conservation Corps camp that operated from 1934 to 1942. After also serving as a dude ranch and Catholic camp, in the 1990s Northwest arts and environmental philanthropist Harriet Bullit developed it as Sleeping Lady Resort.
Many of the cabins at the resort were repurposed from the old camp but upgraded. The compound features walkways that were constructed using recycled wood materials. With arts venues, a pub, office/conference facilities, a mercantile, cafe, and restaurant interspersed around the site, along with art and sculpture from Northwest artists, it feels like a charmed mountain village.
Waterfalls beside the outdoor patio at the Grotto Bar.
We arrived after dark and and then walked along the lit pathway through open pine forest to our comfortable and cozy cabin (no driving up to your cabin, it's pedestrian-friendly and car-free). On such a dark and quiet mountain night, I had one of the best night's of sleep I've had in months.
I was up and out shortly after sunrise, camera in hand, to snap some of the shots here. No one else was up and about yet on this Friday morning.
The sculpture above is one of many artworks scattered around the compound. (Apologies to the artist for not checking the name or title, but I think it might be Richard Beyer.)
Since we were going to a friend's home for a visit, we were up and out pretty early. Due to the pandemic and related staffing shortages, indoor breakfast wasn't being served at Sleeping Lady's O'Grady's Pantry, but we grabbed hot tea and fresh, delicious scones for breakfast.
O'Grady's Pantry courtyard
While I don't have any more shots of the onsite art, we were fortunate to visit one of the artists whose gorgeous wildlife sculptures are featured there. Longtime family friend and artist Gretchen Daiber lives nearby and has several of her sculptures scattered around her garden.
Ptarmigan sculpture by Gretchen Daiber
On such a glorious autumn morning, we walked with Gretchen through forest near her home above Sleeping Lady. She enthusiastically talked about the Icicle Fund's Artist-In-Residence program celebrating the
conservation, history, and arts of North Central Washington. The goal of the residencies is to honor, celebrate, and record
the unique environmental aspects of the Wenatchee River/Valley watershed. She is one of the 10 selected Watershed Artists this year.
Aspen Grove
Later in the day we drove up Icicle Creek Canyon and walked the Icicle Gorge Trail, an easy warm-up hike that has very little elevation gain and winds over and along Icicle Creek for a little over 4 miles.
Icicle Creek
Since crowds of people were arriving for the first weekend of Oktoberfest, we didn't want to deal with trying to drive and park in the center of town for dinner. Instead, we grabbed a thoroughly typical Bavarian grilled bratwurst topped with sauerkraut at longtime local burger shack Heidelburger, which sits right off the highway at the edge of town.
Then we snuck up into Tumwater Canyon to snap some of the fall brilliance.
All in all, our sister road trip was a great success. I highly recommend a loop over one of our passes here in Washington to see the eastern side of the Cascades soon, while the colors are still aglow. And if you get to Leavenworth, I also highly recommend Sleeping Lady.
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
Icicle Creek
Sleeping Lady is not a budget lodging destination, but their cabins can accommodate from two up to eight people, plus they allow pets (my sister's beagle Zelda joined us). Prices vary by season and time of week, but our room was $224 per night and could accommodate four.
Our cabin had a mini-fridge and a hot pot with tea and coffee provided for us to brew hot drinks ourselves.
Part of the proceeds from the resort goes toward the Icicle Fund, a non-profit co-founded by Harriet Bullit that supports the arts, environment, and cultural and natural history of the North-Central Washington region.
When I awaken on this third morning of our Glacier National Park backpacking trip, I notice the air is warmer than yesterday, even though we're at a higher elevation at Oldman Lake. Summer isn't over yet here in the Montana Rockies, even though the park ranger told us there used to be sleet and snow already by this time of year.
On this day, it's mostly all downhill, except a short uphill near the end of the trail. And, thankfully, it's a much more gradual descent than yesterday's descent to Oldman Lake from Pitamakan Pass.
In the early morning light, the first thing I do is grab my camera and head down to the lake. There's a gorgeous pink glow that's not visible in the harsh glare of midday.
Oldman Lake
Oldman Lake campsite trail, morning light
We gather at the campsite cooking area for a hot drink and breakfast and pull down our bags of food from the high bars provided at each campsite. In grizzly country, the protocol is strict: Before even going to your campsite to drop your pack and pitch your tent, pull all your food and lotions/toothpaste out of your pack and hang them in a bag at the top of a 12-foot + bar.
After a light breakfast of hot tea and a KIND bar, I go back down to the lake while shooting another short video. (My shadow makes an appearance in the video linked below.)
After saying our goodbyes to the other hikers, we pack up and head on down the trail. This day is sunny, warm, and mellow compared to the strong wind and drama of being up on Dawson and Pitamakan passes. This day is just fine by me.
Occasionally we stop and take a look back from where we came.
Back below timberline, we're seeing brilliant fall color in the huckleberry and other shrubs.
Passing through what appeared to be a grove of dwarf aspen
Seriously, the trail grade is so mild for most of the 6+ miles we hike this day, it hardly feels like we're losing elevation. After crossing a mostly dried up stream (Dry Fork Creek) over a small log bridge, we take another look back.
By this time, we're like horses headed to the barn. We do have a long drive back to the Spokane area (about 5 to 6 hours) tonight after finishing, so we're moving along at a pretty steady pace through alpine meadows, then forests, before finishing the loop.
Just as we can see the parking lot, suddenly we come to an abrupt halt. About 10 yards ahead is a cluster of bighorn sheep (I call them goats, but Mark corrects me) on the trail. They seem to be wary of the people down on the river below watching them. We're wary of them. They're also wary of us.
Bighorn sheep. Photo by Mark Beaufait
After a few minutes minutes, the sheep finally all descend to the river below, and we scoot past to finish our hike.
The first thing Andy and I do is tear off our hiking boots and walk over to Pray Lake, where we both soothe our battered feet in the cold water. (My taped up feet and ankles make an appearance in the video below at the lake).
And then it's over, this hike planned for months. Mark got the reservations in January through a lottery, although some hikers told us they showed up the day of and got permits.
Happy Hikers. The End.
Regardless, it was challenging, spectacular, and very rewarding. We covered 15 or 16 miles overall and gained and lost about 3,000 feet in elevation, peaking out at about 8,100 feet at our highest point; many do this loop as a day hike now. Gotta say, it would be much faster going without a full backpack, even with ultra light tents and such.
I'm happy to have seen a new corner of the park (and world). I'm slower than I was as a young woman, but I'm not much bothered anymore when faster, younger hikers pass on the trail. It's all worth it, no matter your pace.
Many thanks to Mark for planning this trip, and Mark and Andy for being so generous and including me. Old friends are gold, but old friends who like to get out and do fun outdoors adventures together are platinum.
I'd love to hear in a comment below if you'd done this hike too, or other similar adventures.
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.
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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