Dolomites Hike 2023

Day 3 – July 4 Violent thunderstorm & rain last night, but sunny and clear this morning, the beginning of a three-day route (light blue line on the map, left. The red teardrops mark the two “refugios” where I stayed.) I debated hiking up to the ridge instead of the gondola, but warnings about a muddy steep trail nixed the trail – later I was glad. That delayed my start until 8:30 but it was only 10 minutes to the top. Starting out I encountered some confusion from the map program – and across this entire valley noticed that the trail signs didn’t always give the trail numbers, sometimes gave only local destinations, and sometimes Outdoor active app was confusing – I had several back-tracks. However, it was a lovely hike across and down into the valley, warm sunshine, beautiful vistas in every direction, accompanied almost everywhere by the symphony of cowbells. At first the most prominent view was the long mountain to the north (the first half of tomorrow’s walk), then the destination for today became more evident, though I didn’t realize it until later in the morning after I had approached more closely. I was quite taken by the pyramidal rock on the right end, and the little spire in the gap, details of which don’t show in this photo. The tall mound toward the left is the mountain top, the highest point on that end; my destination for the day, Schlernhaus Hut or “refugio” (more of a large dormitory really) lies at the foot of that mound on the left. The meadows are all filled with lovely wild-flowers; I recognize a few species but many of them are new to me. The pale purple ones in the photo (next page) are new to me. By the time I reached the grade leading up to Schwernhaus, clouds were already building in the sky (that seems to be a theme in this area.) The trail up the mountain is in the lower right corner of this picture; the large mountain in the distance is the destination for tomorrow – at the very far end of this long rolling meadow of a valley. It was a long climb up but I kept a slow steady pace and enjoyed walking. I reached Schlernhaus a little after noon (as usual, having snacked along the way on granola bars, an apple, and a couple of cookies). A young employee, probably college student, checked me in, showed me the boot room, where you are supposed to change from outdoor boots to indoor slippers, and warned me that rain was expected later (no surprise given the thickening clouds). I immediately started up the peak, and got a few nice pictures of nearby peaks, half-hidden in the clouds. Occasionally a patch of sun would break through and illuminate some of the peaks for a moment or two, as shown to the right. The fog thickened quickly, enveloping the refugio (“hut”) entirely, as shown on the next page. The temperature dropped rapidly, ruling out any possibility of sitting outdoors to enjoy the lovely patio area. Unfortunately my room, though single, is very small; the bed is the only possible place to sit. The only common area is the dining room – I sat there for a while, then one of the staff told me that I should sit at a table they had assigned to me, so I moved there. I think in better weather the patio area would be very nice in the late afternoon. The picture to the right shows the refugio just before it became totally enveloped in the cold wet fog. Day 4 – July 5. I went to bed early, slept quite well, and awoke about 5. Looking out the window I saw that the fog had totally cleared, so I dressed in all the warm clothing I had, put on my boots, and went outside. The first thing I saw was a pile of snow in front of the door (where it had apparently slid off the roof), and a few patches on the ground beyond. There was a thin high overcast but visibility was excellent and all the surrounding mountains were clearly visible. The first half of the hike ran along the top of the ridge separating two valleys, then past some fairly large peaks. It was easy hiking, moderately uphill until it approached the end of that ridge, and an area where two ridges meet, separated by deep gorges. The trail descended along the face of a cliff, with many switchbacks and a few places where gravel had slid down, damaging the trail and leaving only a precarious narrow path (for the most part the trails are at least three feet wide). Near the bottom of the descent I realized I was going to have to share the trail – with a flock of sheep. I sat down on a rock next to a switchback to wait and see what they would do. The bellwether saw me, and led the herd uphill onto a steep grassy slope where they commenced to graze – leaving the path open for me. From that point the trail began to undulate more, up for a while, down for a while, but with the large mountain next to my destination ever closer. I had seen and photographed that mountain from the far side of Ortisei the day before, and I had assumed it to be a single big mass. I had been thinking about whether I would climb that mountain, Sasso Plate, or not. I was beginning to feel a bit tired from the up and down, probably because of the need to keep adjusting my pace to the slope, and when I had reached the destination, Plattkofel Hut, I had almost decided not to do it. The climb is over 2100 feet, topping out at 9700, well into the thin oxygen zone, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Also, the usual cumulus clouds were beginning to form, many of them building up like thunderheads. However, as the trip notes warned the place was rather a zoo, with dayhikers all over the place and the manager too busy with them to spare any time at all for checking me in – and the room wasn’t made up anyway. I looked at the mountain again, studied the slant lines that were probably the route, and decided to do it. As usual, I set out uphill with short steps and a slow pace I could sustain without overtaxing my breathing. Fortunately this route is well marked with the red and white squares of paint every few feet so I didn’t need to stop and consult the gps – I just slogged on. Halfway up the sod and grass gave out, and it was just a scree field; bushwhacking would have been possible but it was very nice to have the best route marked well. I encountered a number of hikers coming down, as I expected; usually the trail is wide enough to allow easy passing. When I broke over the edge I was surprised to see the cross-marked top separated from me by a deep canyon sloping down on either side of a narrow stretch of rock – not terribly tricky, but a “steep” penalty for a mis-step. A young couple were on top; he offered to take some photos of me. I took a few others just to show how broken up this mountain top is – not at all the monolith I had thought it was. The ridge I was standing on stretches for some distance, with several other peaks beyond the one we stood on, separated by narrow, steep-sided saddles with a narrow path along the entire length – far too narrow and steep-sided to tempt me. In fact, the mist and the thickening cloud had me sufficiently concerned that I only wanted to hang around there for a few minutes. I hadn’t seen enough sign of thunderheads to be worried about lightning yet, but I had no desire to be up there in a thick fog, so I carefully crossed over to the top of the slope I had climbed and picked my way down, grateful for the splashes of color marking the way. As it often does, it subjectively felt like it took much longer going down than coming up. The fog did not thicken for another couple of hours, after I had checked in and set up my bed. I was in a room built to accommodate four people, but in spite of the claim that the place was booked full, no room-mates ever showed up. As in the other place, there was no place to sit except on a bed; I tried sitting on the patio wearing my pullover and jacket for a while, but the thickening fog and chill drove me in. About the time dinner was served it started to rain, then some lightning and thunder. I chatted to my English-speaking table-mates for a while, then we all went to bed about 8:45. Day 5 – July 6 Woke up to a clear sky – 5:15. Stepped outside to see how cold it was – and the door swung shut and locked behind me, so I had to go around front, push the door-bell; someone popped his head out an upper story window and told me the boot room was unlocked. (?). Anyway, I put on my boots and walked ¾ mile over to the next ridge and back to warm up and loosen up. Someone at breakfast said the forecast called for rain and, sure enough, the sky had clouded up by the time I set out. It did start a very light rain an hour into the hike – the familiar Portland dilemma, is it better to be wet from a light sprinkle and slightly chilled or wet from sweat and overheated? It didn’t rain long, and I hiked most of the way in my short sleeve shirt. The trail basically circles the mountain, with a possible detour to the top of one of the halfway down canyons that split the mountain where you can catch a lift down to a resort hotel at the pass above the Val Gardenas; the photo above shows this split. Officially the trail ends at a gondola down to Selva, but I chose to follow Trail 526 all the way to the pass – nearly level and not terribly long. The meadow-covered valleys are beautiful; I had to include one photo. It’s all pasture for sheep and cattle, and the animals all wear bells, presumably so they don’t get lost. I loved this gate – a tree stump for the frame and it’s two branches to form the gate. There are sheer cliffs like this all over the place; I thought this one was particularly impressive. One reason I chose to follow the trail all the way to the Selva Pass was to visit what is described as a “City of Rocks.” I wasn’t disappointed – the two mountains hovering over it justified the extra walk (and actually it was less than an extra hour, over nearly level and slightly downhill terrain). In the selfie you can see that the mountain is actually split into three by the deep canyons. The bus down to Selva was two stages; I had to change at a resort halfway down, but the stop was only 2 blocks from my hotel, which has a little balcony with a very nice view. The trip is halfway over, great trip thus far. If only I keep being lucky about rain! Day 6, July 7. Second day in Selva Day started out clear and sunny; I headed out at 8 for the recommended hike, a loop up to the top of Mount Stevia then down and back, recommend direction counter-clockwise, but with a hairy-sounding descent on the north side of Stevia I preferred to go clockwise, because if there’s scree and loose gravel I strongly prefer to go uphill. The route is in blue on the map to the side – 11 miles, 3800 feet up and down. The old trail follows the fall line for the first mile or two, but heavy construction equipment blocked that way, so I followed a street that switch-backed up the steepest part. One of the Trail 17 routes branches off fairly early, then a second at about Juac Hut, but I had decided to go clockwise so I continued on almost to Regensburger Hut / Refugio Firenze. At first I missed where the trail branched off so I had to double back. The first few miles were forested so I didn’t really get a clear view of the formation below until well past Juac Hut (which is far from a hut to judge by the external appearances). I walked clear around Stevia Mountain (below). The left-most knob is the top; it is separated from the other wing by a very deep chasm. The trail leads up another deep chasm (first photo on the next page), but after a little meandering through some pretty woods at the bottom the first part of the ascent, probably about half, is over a long slope of unstable gravel, cobbles, and small rocks. It didn’t take long for me to realize that this would be a nightmare coming downhill – and it was almost as bad above the gravel area. The top half or so of the climb is over stairs. Some of the stairs are made of planks (below and right), which would probably get slippery in even a light rain. Others are made of logs in front filled in with cobbles and gravel, which would provide better footing in rainy weather (left). One flight of stairs was a little narrow – they had strung a steel cable for support. It would have been much more welcome down on the scree. This picture also gives a good sense of the vertigo-inducing slope – and why they built these stairs. I talked to an Italian-American woman, obviously experienced, fairly near the top and she agreed that up is the only sane direction for this part of the trail. As it often happens on a trail like this, after climb-climb-climb suddenly you reach a ten foot long stretch of wide easy trail and – you’re at the top, looking at the top of that odd stone spire. The view behind the rock formations was so spectacular I decided I had to stop for a granola bar here. My new friend offered to take some pictures of me (left) before she hurried on. After enjoying the view for a while I started on down the trail, then thought again about it. The peak is only about a half mile and maybe 200 feet above the trail, and it was already after 11; I ran a serious risk of getting back to the hotel by one. So I back-tracked a quarter of a mile and climbed up the grassy slope on a faint trail to a pleasant almost flat spot at the top. There I spent well over an hour in complete solitude: Surprisingly few people make that extra little climb. I almost didn’t! While I was sitting there just soaking it in I took several more pictures, including a couple more selfies. Some (inevitable) afternoon clouds began to form – and created the composition to the right. I’d have liked to get the foreground peak a little closer to the center of the shadow-peak (but still off-center), but that would have required me to dash out into thin air, like Wiley Coyote, so I accepted the gift I had been given. I like the slightly off-center effect anyway. Eventually I returned to the trail and headed down again. As I headed down the sloping ridge I noticed the rock formation in the picture to the left – like teeth in the jaw of some monster. I sat for ten or fifteen minutes just gazing at these before moving on. The rest of the hike was uneventful – ups and downs, then a long descent, mostly on more of those stairs, logs back-filled with rock, no slippery gravel to contend with. I returned to the hotel by three, even after loitering so long on the mountain top. Day 7 July 8 Today I walked partway up a glacier-carved valley, then climbed up a steep trail 3500 feet to a ridge around the end of the valley; the red dot trail shows where the valley abruptly ends in a virtual wall – a true box canyon. The red trail meets the trail I took at a refugio – not much of a view from it, but a good base for several potential hikes. Trail 14 leads around the end of the canyon then, where several other trails converge, begins a long steep descent into Corvara, in the next valley over. It was a pleasant sunny day, with some clouds developing in the afternoon but never actually developing into much. Top of next page is the mountain that guards the entry to the long glacial valley. The first four miles, through the valley, was mostly forested, but an occasional meadow afforded views of some of the rock spires near the upper end of the valley – like the ones pictured to the right. As I climbed higher, I began to get the occasional view of the cliffs at the upper end of the valley, like the one shown at the top of the next page. I also began to see the sheer wall that terminates the valley – also pictured on the next page. At first I encountered several people but they must have turned off onto a different trail. After at least a mile of vertigo-inducing trail hugging the canyon wall, it broke out onto an upland meadow. Here, only a quarter mile from the refugio and the end of the canyon, I found a delightful meadow to stop and have a granola bar and sit a while to enjoy the view. It was only about 10.5 miles total and I really didn’t want to get to my next hotel too early in the afternoon. I saw one other hiker in the 30 minutes I sat there – very unusual! At the crossroads refugio I saw a young couple engaging a bunny, trying to feed it I think (not a good idea and strongly discouraged – but people will do it.). Its companion, who was having none of it (but still pretty tame) is pictured to the left. A half mile or so on, where the trail began its descent into the next valley, I found another great spot, this time a hundred yards off the trail, to have lunch and kill some more time while I took in the scenery. Here’s a picture of part of my view from my lunch spot. The hike down is pretty. Mellow actually – after the first 200 yards or so. I had been watching the trail up while relaxing over lunch, and seen only one big party and a handful of 2s and 3s. The big party went partway up the trail to the point shown on the right of the picture; by chance they returned to the main trail and started on just when I decided to head down. The trail is squeezed between two rocks just at the top, and there is a narrow, tight staircase – I had to wait for three people above the pinch point, and for at least 35 on the landing between there and the staircase. How I do love huge hiking groups – they are really the major pain in the butt in the Dolomites. Unfortunately I neglected to get a photo of that traffic jam point, but I did get photos of the mountain to the right of the trail coming down – the bottom part of the trail can be seen faintly on the right of the picture. I also got a nice picture of Corvara from several hundred feet up – right. I am in the nicest room by far I have had here – Hotel Villa Eden. My room has a balcony with a view of one of the mountains, two good places to sit inside, a roomy bathroom (a rarity in my experience) and a jacuzzi open at 4 pm – not quite hot enough for my taste, but still relaxing after a long hike. And they lent me a bathing suit – no charge – probably something a previous guest forgot. The dinner was also quite good – good salad bar, GF pasta with excellent pesto, pork chops well seasoned – oddly paired with black beans, but that’s the fashion now. Chocolate ice cream – full serving not the tablespoon full I had at the Crown. Day 8 7/9/23. 11.3 miles, 2700 feet climb. Today was billed as a potentially easy day – if you took advantage of the ski lifts to do the uphills, but I preferred to do the full hike. It started out with some frustration – supposed to catch a bus to another village, Badia, and it wasn’t clear where to catch it, but I encountered some other hikers from Oregon and they set me straight. Once I was on the bus it was a short ride, all downhill. The trail led uphill for over a mile on a steep paved road, which gave way to gravel for another couple of miles, still quite steep but through beautiful countryside. Eventually the trail loops back to a church, San Croce, and refugio named after it. An attractive place, but on a very pleasant Sunday afternoon it was crawling with hikers – and mountain bikers. Going uphill, most of the bike riders could barely go faster than I – a few of them not as fast – and their steering was consequently wobbly, requiring hikers to give them extra room. Downhill, they really zoomed. I didn’t see any of them wrapped around a tree so I guess they weren’t completely out of control. After San Croce, the trail is level for a mile or more, then heads downhill, soon joining a steep graveled road (fortunately the gravel is not loose. Near the bottom I decided to take a different trail, leading more directly to a trail that follows the river back to Corvara, instead of catching a bus back. It was a very pleasant three mile walk (not steep – it just rises 600 feet in those 300 miles) and I got back to the hotel before 3. At 4 I went to the jacuzzi to help ease my shoulders – and discovered that the heat turns on right at 4; I lingered until almost 5, and it finally got hot enough to do my muscles a little good. They have artists doing installations along the trail – I was quite taken with one that celebrates fairy ring mushrooms (the subject of local folklore). Even the full-size photo unfortunately doesn’t do full justice to it: the globes, about 6” diameter, on little “stems” a few inches high, in a circle 8 or 10 feet diameter, are very shiny and reflect the sun in sparkles reminiscent of a mountain lake. I will copy in the largest that will fit the page on the next page. I don’t want to sound like Ronald Reagan’s comment about redwood trees, but other than the fairy ring sculpture the mountain scenery did not really set itself apart from what I’ve copied in before. It’s all spectacular and there’s a temptation to show every photo I’ve taken but I’ll try to restrain myself! Tomorrow and the next day promise to be more exciting in terms of scenery – the trail goes higher, and it leads to some WWI battlefields with considerable historical importance. The sparkles actually look like little lights; much brighter in presence than in the photo. Even the shape of the ring is like a mushroom fairy ring – slightly uneven, dense in some places, not so dense in others. The largest globes are about 6”; the smallest only a couple of inches.   Dolomites 9 July 10 2023 Today was a long hike, 13.9 miles, 5496 feet total climb – I chose to do the whole thing. It was mostly a good day, truly fine weather. The company recommends against starting out in town on Trail 2A and recommends a chairlift to get you up the first fifteen hundred feet or so. I was glad I hiked it – the woods are sparse and afforded some nice vistas of distant mountains. However, there was some rock scrambling, some of it on the edge of a cliff. When I was near the top, I saw a sign for Trail 2B pointing back to Corvara with the word “facile.” Apparently all that scrambling could be avoided – also, I discovered when I looked more closely at the map, 2B comes out on the main trail a hundred feet lower. I had some frustrating experiences with the navigation app, Outdoor Active. It was set for trail 14 – Alpine Hikers recommends 13 and I should have just stuck with that, because partway through the app started leading me off onto minor trails that disappeared into the grass – “you’re leaving the route” when there is no other trail or, a couple of times, the trail it tried to take me on was headed downhill when the route was side-hilling – a hundred yards or so down, “you’re off the route.” I finally sat down, re-read the trail-notes, which are often frustratingly non-specific, and located the pass we were supposed to go over, climbed a hundred feet or so to trail 13, ignored the “you’re leaving the route.” Fortunately the app shuts up once you’re completely off its programmed route. As I mentioned the entire center section of the trail side-hilled around a mountain, a way above timberline, affording some superb photos. Once we got around the mountain, entirely new vistas opened up. Most of trail 13 after I joined it was relatively narrow, and required some scrambling over a jumble of fallen rocks and again where huge rocks made for gigantic step-downs or step-ups. As I have on half the trails out here, I wished several times for a green grubber or some other tread improvement tool – often 5 minutes with a good tool would have remedied an excessive slope or a narrow spot squeezed by slough from above. The trail notes recommend taking the chairlift up to Lagazuoi Refugio, the goal for the night. However, after bumming some added water from a bar, I elected to climb the 2000 feet. I was glad I did for several reasons, including the best photos I got on this entire hike, made more dramatic by cloud shadows. (bottom of previous page) This area was the front line and scene of heavy fighting during WWI and there are trenches scattered here and there and rock walls and caves (left) where digging a trench would be difficult. The one pictured is at the top of the mountain, a few hundred feet from the refugio. The peak is riddled with fortifications and caves, some dug for safety from enemy fire, some as part of a scheme to blow up an enemy position The refugio itself perches on a cliff with 360 degree views (right), and it’s dorm only – I share a room with 16 other people, in bunk beds. Unfortunately the clouds thickened enough to block the sunset – and the morning haze was too dense for sunrise – or distance photos. Fortunately there wasn’t much wind and it was warm enough that we could all sit outside until dinnertime then go for a sunset walk before bed, so the lack of indoor sitting space was not the problem it has been at other refugios. Food was adequate – the GF problem again; lots of great bread and pastries. However, they did manage to provide an excellent flourless chocolate tart for dinner, greatly compensating for the lamb chops (overcooked and I had to cut off literally half of each chop because it was pure fat). At breakfast I met five people, two art students, two employees of Nikon, and I think the third was either another Nikon employee or a guide. The art students were getting a multi-day lesson in how to use their Nikons to take fantastic nature photography. Talk about a plum job! How I envied those Nikon employees. Last day – July 11. 9.85 miles 1700 ft. Even beyond that pass, it clung to the side of a very steep hill, just below a sheer cliff, most of the way to the objective. One particularly interesting spot was where the cliff overhung the trail, and left about four feet of clearance, on a steeply uphill part. Fortunately, the trail opened out onto a more moderately sloping meadow not much further, and that led to a saddle, with the objective just beyond. The hiking notes described this as a moderate day – and I could have made it a little more moderate by waiting until 9 – but by 9 I was already down the mountain and over a mile up the trail. Where it got not at all moderate was when the trail (#441) came to the final pass – two or three hundred yards of the most intense rock scrambling I’ve ever done, straight up a narrow split in the mountain-top, some of the reaches three feet or more, with only a dimple in the rock for footing. It was fun, but pretty taxing, and not for the faint of heart. The objective of the hike was Cinque Torri, a cluster of gigantic rock slabs standing on end, a few upright but most leaning at crazy angles – and a mecca for rock climbers from all over the world – several were on top of some of the slabs, and others on the way up. It was fun hiking partway around, then through a passage between two of the slabs into an open area climbers were using as a staging area. The hike back circled the other side of the mountain on Trail 440, descending sometimes gradually, sometimes very steeply, with some more rock scrambling – nothing remotely like that on 441. The cab obligingly picked me up at 2 instead of the scheduled 5, so I arrived in Cortina well before dinner, in time to clean up and walk around a bit. The Cortina d'Ampezzo is a 4-star hotel, frankly not nearly as comfortable as the “3-star” Hotel Villa Eden. The Cortina d’Ampezzo has many more staff, young men who don’t seem to be doing much most of the time, and does not have any seating on the balcony – a great advantage of the Villa Eden. In my book, the Cortina d’Ampezzo’s 4-star rating is just for pretentiousness, gilded antique décor, and a bell-boy who hung around expecting a tip (I didn’t realize that hotel bell-boys are an exception to the “no tips expected” generalization about Italy until I googled it again). The town is nice, and I’m sure it is a great place to live. Overview This was a great experience – the Dolomites have to be one of the world’s most spectacular mountain ranges. The crowds are a problem but did not spoil the trip. My cab driver tells me that the last half of June and September – “shoulder” seasons – are much better for the crowds. The scenery is wonderful, the trails as well-maintained as gravity and unstable soil allows. Many are quite steep, and in a few places it feels rather precarious. Loose cobbles and gravel are problems on many of the steep stretches: I blessed my trekking poles on every hike (and still managed to have my feet slip out from under me once). Good equipment is essential – sturdy boots, trekking poles, a hat with a brim, sunglasses. Overall I consider it one of my great hikes. It would be possible to arrange this for yourself – expect to spend a couple of weeks researching trails and accommodations and arranging luggage transfers. Alpine Hikers did a good job for me and saved me a lot of time. It would also be possible to spend a week or ten days almost entirely in the high country, hiking from one refugio to the next – the people I met who were doing that were mostly in groups with a guide. If you’re lucky enough to have several friends interested in adventure travel, hiring a guide would also be worth it. For a solo traveler or a couple, it would be quite expensive. Hotels The best hotels I stayed in were the Hotel Cosmea in Ortisei and the Hotel Vista Eden in Corvara. Comfortable rooms with comfortable places to sit both inside and outside on a balcony – with a great mountain views. Competent, relaxed, friendly and attentive staff, great food morning and night. The Vista Eden has a table and two chairs on the balcony, comfortable for reading or writing or just chilling out. The Hotel Cosmea in Ortisei also has a nice outdoor garden. The owners are very helpful and kind; when I arrived late because of a delayed flight they kindly managed to put together an excellent gluten-free supper for me on very short notice. Both of these hotels were very successful at accommodating my dietary restriction. Another option to consider, if you don’t mind the dormitory sleeping arrangement, would be to book a bed in a refugio for several nights (some of them have single rooms) for several days and use it as a base camp – most of them are situated at the convergence of several trails, enough for at least three days’ hiking. I talked to several people who were doing that. If you don’t have dietary restrictions the food is pretty good – unfortunately breakfast relies heavily on bread and pastries, but they all serve some meats, cheeses, and yogurts. At dinner there is often only one suitable dish for each course. I don’t know what the situation would be for other food allergies. Accommodations in the refugios are often bunk beds, dormitory style, with no place to sit indoors – the dining areas are often locked until just before each meal. If weather is good the outdoor patios are great – great views, reasonably comfortable, but if weather is bad it can be rather miserable.

Nick Eaton, Herman Creek, PCT - 2022.

Herman Creek Loops I did not set out to hike 26 miles. Two weeks earlier I hadn’t set out to hike 23.5 miles, either, but found myself enjoying it, and I wondered. For the past three or four years I have been hiking the Nick Eaton Ridge trail (blue, on the right). The first couple of times, I returned via the Horton Creek trail (magenta, farther right), where I had done some work with the Trailkeepers of Oregon. Then I hiked to the cutoff down to the Cedar Swamp Camp on Herman Creek, and back along Herman Creek, a total loop of 19 miles. About a mile and a half of Nick Eaton Ridge involves a steep climb through brush, followed by a scrabble over a series of rock piles, poorly marked trail, quite a bit of deadfall. The rest of all three trails is pretty good, pleasant hiking. The last time I did this hike I started thinking about the trail that goes on around the ridge to the main Herman Creek trail. It didn’t look like it would add more than a couple of miles, so I decided to try it. The ridge trail was a bit longer than expected, and I had to do some route finding over a late season snow pack at the very top, but otherwise it was a very pleasant hike down the top part of Herman Creek, through lovely woods. There is still a lot of deadfall, mostly just step-over but about a third require some serious scrambling; otherwise the trail is in great shape – after the bit of snow it was easy hiking. However, it was a couple miles longer than I thought – a total of 23.5. To my surprise I didn’t feel too beat-up, and didn’t feel at all stiff the next morning. A few days later I hiked up the first part of the PCT with a friend; excellent trail aside from the deadfalls. That got me to thinking about that loop (green on the map) – again, it looked like only a mile or two more than the Nick Eaton loop. After a brief hot spell (enough to finish off the snow pack) I planned a hike in mild weather with another friend – but she injured an ankle and backed out, so I decided to do it solo. Very pleasant hike, but 3 miles longer, for a total of 26.5 miles in 9 hours (again, by far the longest day hike I’ve done). 9 hours means a bit under 3 mph overall; but subtracting the rest and lunch breaks, it was less than 8, a moving average of about 3.3. That’s only a little slower than I was doing 20 years ago. I was pretty tired by the time I got back to the trailhead, 9 hours after starting out, but I recovered by the next morning – when I went on a 7.5 mile hike on Mt. Hood with a friend. I don’t plan to do hikes that long very often (it’s also good to spend more time just sitting by a stream or waterfall) but it feels good to push myself, test my limits every so often. I’ve definitely slowed down in the past 15 years – I know I couldn’t do Dog Mountain (2900 feet, 3.5 miles) in 60 minutes again – but it’s good to know I still have the strength and stamina for a 26 mile day. Nickn Eaton loop – the long way. I’ve hiked the Nick Eaton Ridge several times, taking the shortcut down to Cedar Swamp Camp, a total hike of 19 miles. I’ve been thinking of doing the full loop, following the ridge to the top of Herman Creek then following that trail down. From the paper map it looked like that would only add a mile and a half or so – which turned out not to be true – it added 4.5 miles, for a total hike of 23.5. I reached the TH at 7:15, beautiful hiking weather, and set off. I passed an old man resting at the side of the trail on the first switchback; he said he decided to start slow and finish slower. I think he’s the same old guy I passed last spring. I passed a young woman halfway up the switchbacks, and didn’t see anybody else until I was halfway between the Gorton Creek cutoff and Green Point – another young woman who had camped at Mud Lake. She warned me about some snow at the top but I decided to continue on anyway. The section between the saddle and the first rest stop was brushy farther up than I realized, and it continued through brush a hundred yards or so below the ridge for nearly a mile; on the other hand, trail-finding through the rock piles along the ridge-top was easier than I recalled – except for several new deadfalls across the trail. The first rest stop is just before the old Casey Creek trail – now abandoned as far as I can tell. It is a flat rock outcropping with a good view of Mt. Hood. The half mile or so past that point is in much worse shape than I recalled – a lot of deadfall and some overgrown bushes, but then the trail gets a lot better. The section between the Gorton Creek cutoff and the ridge trail is steep for at least a mile, four switchbacks then a steep section uphill to the Ridge Trail. I think next time I do this hike I’ll take the Ridge trail – looks like an extra half mile or so but probably a good view most of the way. I talked to the young woman I met for ten minutes or so, reached Green Point about 11, the base of the peak about 11:30. The trail along the ridge is wide, good hiking; two short uphill stretches, but much longer than I expected. When I finally reached the trail connector to the Herman Creek Trail I saw a lot of snow patches; then lost the trail under a long stretch. Fortunately I had the GPS function, and could see where the trail would cross the slope below me, so I bushwhacked the couple hundred yards downhill and connected up with it again. There were quite a few deadfalls on the way down into the valley, but nothing very difficult. The trail is otherwise in excellent shape, mostly carpeted with soft duff, really nice walking through very pretty woods, lots of birdsong. I stopped for lunch (at 1 pm.) at the crossing over Herman Creek, very pretty place next to the creek. Lots of deadfall between there and Casey Creek, where Scott and I turned around last week. The water was down enough that it was an easy crossing. I stopped two more times for a snack and 10 minute rest, reached the car about 4:30, a total of 9 hours 15 minutes, including an hour and a half of rest stops. Beautiful day in the woods, like a nine hour long meditation, and I didn’t feel nearly as beat up as I thought I might after that long a hike. Post script I did this again, counter-clockwise, in August 2025 and it was a beast – lots of downed timber, two burns, and a long gravelly descent, much of it like walking on marbles. I would no

Trailwork and Dayhikes May 24, 2022

I signed up for a work crew on Friday, carrying tools in to the middle section of Eagle Creek for a work party the following week. Susan, the crew leader, confirmed my doubts about Eagle Creek when she told us the work party had initially been scheduled for the previous week but the trail was blocked by a mudslide that it took her and two others a full day to clear. It was wet, stick, half liquid mud. There were also several small rock-falls, not enough to block the trail, and a couple of trees we had to move out of the way. The ground is saturated with water and clearly still unstable. A large group of day-hikers started a few minutes before us; we leap-frogged with them all morning; we would stop to clear a log off the trail and they would get ahead, then they’d stop for a rest and we’d get ahead. It was a beautiful day; we hiked 7 miles in, almost to 7 ½ mile camp, but cached the tools a half mile short because we were behind schedule because of the stops for tree removal. (Susan did get us back to the trailhead at 3:55, five minutes before the scheduled time.) She said the 4 day work party had a total of 16 down trees to clear that she knew of; given recent wind-storms and the unstable soil, there were probably more since the trail was scouted. On Tuesday I decided to see if the Hamilton Mountain loop is clear of snow (it is, though I saw a few patches of snow near the top of Phlox Point). I reached the trailhead at 7:20; no other cars in the parking lot: I didn’t see any other hikers until I reached the top of Phlox Point. On the way up to Hamilton Mountain and along the ridge beyond it I saw several patches of larkspur left) and phlox (above) as well as other wild-flowers, even a few early paintbrushes. I had already decided to do the entire loop, starting with Hamilton Mountain, then climbing Phlox point (seen from the ridge below Hamilton Mountain.) Usually we hike along the side of the ridge through the woods, then descend into the valley and climb back up on the far side. However, I’ve noticed an abandoned trail on the map, leading up to a “4WD” road that circles around the top of the drainage and passes behind Phox Point, so I decided to see what that is like. The trail we usually take is marked in green on the map: clearly the bushwhacking route is no shortcut. The trail leads along an abandoned road, which continues all the way to the ridge-line. However, the old trail has not been maintained, so large sections were overgrown with saplings and some bushes, including some small devil’s club (nasty sharp thorns all the way up the branches). At the top of the ridge the trail connects with a well-maintained gravel road (with several fallen trees and branches partially blocking it.) However, after it circled around to the Phlox Point ridge, the gravel road turned aside and it truly was “4WD,” except it was blocked, a hundred yards along, by a deep hole (probably bulldozed deliberately to block it). Still, aside from the occasional thicket of saplings or brush, it was pretty easy hiking until it reached the vicinity of Phlox Point itself, where the old road passes a couple hundred feet below the rocky outcropping that constitutes the point. Between the abandoned road and the ridge line is a series of thickets, saplings mixed with thorny bushes. I selected an area where this was the thinnest and scrambled up to a saddle from which I could climb along the relatively gentle slope of the ridge up to the highest point, Phlox Point, where the maintained trail ends. It was no surprise that I shed a little blood from scratches and gouges as I fought my way through all of this. It was just thick enough to be a challenge, and to require the occasional route-finding decision, so it took close to a half hour to scramble up the last half mile to the top. There I sat down for an early lunch (it was only 11) while enjoying the spectacular view of Mt. Hood, still fully covered in the heavy snow-falls we had in April. The weather forecast predicted wind, but there wasn’t any, so it turned out to be a great spring day. On the way down I saw two other hikers, then finally began to see groups of people when I got back to the waterfall.

Goat Rocks – Lost Lake Loop

For my last back-packing trip of 2021 I decided to do a short, 3 day hike I’ve done before; the first time was about 15 years ago; I think the second was 6 or 7 years ago. It’s a total of about 33 miles, but includes some very rough country and spectacular scenery. Unfortunately the sky was still pretty smoky, the scenery was not up to its usual standards. Otherwise it was an excellent hike. The route is shown to the right. The first day starts out with a long mostly level hike parallel to the Clear Fork of the Cowlitz River, then crosses the river and starts steeply uphill until it joins the PCT. A mile or so further along is a detour down into the McCall basin (lower right on the map) where I camped the first night. The second day ascends almost to the Goat Rocks summit, then follows Coyote Trail along the top, then the side, of a long rocky ridge, culminating at Lost Lake, where I camped the second night (another detour, near the top left.) The third day passes over Lost Lake Summit, side-hills along the ridge, then eventually crosses over and descends back to the junction with the Clear Fork Trail. Sept. 1. Weather was cool for early September, but sunny, dry, and pleasant. I had noted on my map of the area that the forest service road to the trailhead is rough – actually, it was in excellent shape until near the end, when it became riddled with pot-holes, then became increasingly rocky. The last steep quarter mile or so is covered with huge (football-size) rocks, very much like what you might find in a scree field. Low gear, slow as you can go; without high clearance and heavy-duty tires you wouldn’t want even to consider it. The first several miles of the Clear Fork trail are well-maintained, mostly level with some up and down, only a few dead-fall to deal with. However, once it crosses the river (creek really, at that point) and starts up, it gets ugly fast – lots of dead-fall, detour around, clamber over, even crawl under. Several ravines were badly eroded; in one ravine, three fallen trees, lying at a steep angle, provided a precarious way across. This went on for the entire final three miles up to the junction with the PCT. I was pretty bushed; a granola bar and 15 minute rest repaired some of the damage. The PCT is much better maintained, and at that time of day I only encountered a half dozen through-hikers on my way to the McCall Basin cut-off. Halfway there I passed a swampy little pond, Lutz Lake, next to a very nice campsite. The water was quite unappealing. McCall Basin: I recalled a sublime campsite next to a lovely little brook from my last hike here – well, the brooks were mostly dry, but after 30 minutes of scouting the meadows I did find one trickle, enough to fill my water filter bag, and it was right next to a nice camp-site. If it had been completely dry I’d have had to press ahead hoping for a snow-melt stream two miles further up toward the pass – or go back to swampy Lutz Lake. Pleasant afternoon munching peanuts to repay some of the energy deficit and reading Bill Gates’s book about Climate Change. By the time I had boiled water and eaten my freeze-dried dinner, it was getting quite cold, and the mountain to the west cast an early deep shadow; I ended up in my sleeping back about 7:15, for a pleasant, sound sleep. Sept. 2. I awoke at 4, put my gas can inside my sleeping bag to warm the gas up enough to evaporate and burn in the morning chill, managed to get another hour of sleep while dodging frost-bite from the can. By 5:30 it looked light enough to stumble around getting breakfast, so I performed the acrobatics of dressing inside a one-person REI quarter-dome tent – underwear, long underwear, pants, shirts, fleece, jacket… By the time I’d completed what amounted to a morning workout and crawled out of my tent, it actually was light enough to see. Coffee first, with a granola bar and a couple of gluten-free fig / blueberry newtons. Strike the tent and roll it up (with my deflated sleeping pad inside it); a second cup of coffee and another granola bar, then get serious about packing up: On the trail, still warmly dressed, at 7:30. Unfortunately it was still smoky; my photos of the Goat Rocks peaks and crags aren’t much. Fortunately, this mountain goat gave me something to photograph. He looks well-fed, especially considering the drought conditions. By the end of the first mile I was delayering; soon after the mountain goat I stopped to take off my long underwear and undershirt. It was still cool in the shade, but the hiking kept me warm. A little farther up the trail is a spot where I camped the first time I did this loop – lovely spot near a stream (it was dry last time I was here but had water this time) with a great view of Rainier as I recall. Someone was camped there so I didn’t go over to check it out. I was encountering PCT through-hikers about every half-mile in the morning, and almost every flat spot anywhere near water had a tent or two on it – many of them I’d guess making a last dash toward the Canadian border before snow hits the North Cascades, but also some just out for a few days on the trail. From the last time I hiked this loop I recalled a long stretch, at least four miles, running along the steep side of a narrow ridge. The picture to the right shows Rainier looming over that ridge – the trail curves around the farthest peak. This image was taken from just before a precarious section of the PCT, where it follows a narrow ledge around a steep cliff, part of it a sheer vertical drop of several hundred feet. Around the corner the trail leads out onto a nice broad ridge; a few hundred yards on I came across eight hikers resting and chatting- two separate groups I think. I went on down to the junction with Coyote trail, where I stopped for water, a granola bar, and a ten minute rest, and snapped this photo of the trail sign. On the reverse side is an old, very faded sign that warns about the hazardous conditions for livestock. From before I recalled several long sections of trail where I would not want to meet another hiker, much less a string of pack animals. (Nonetheless, I passed several mounds of horse-turds between there and Lost Lake; it seems some horse-lovers can’t read.) I also took a picture of the Goat Rocks across the narrow canyon between. The smoke had cleared well enough by this point that their rugged beauty shows pretty well. The Coyote trail makes a long descent, several hundred feet down to a saddle, before it climbs steeply back up again, both along the ridgeline and along the side near the ridge-line. To the right, a typical stretch of this section (looking back across the saddle toward Goat Rocks). The trail is rarely even a foot wide; in some places it’s only a few inches. This section wasn’t too scary, but there are several areas where the drop is so steep that if you fell, you’d likely slide (or tumble) all the way down. There are several places where the trail has been repaired from washouts, and several short steep sections with gravel and cobbles, with a steep scree and gravel slope below – not too bad going uphill but I’d hate to come down them, especially without trekking poles to control the sliding. Some of the worst stretches showed evidence of a recent trail crew, maybe Forest Service but probably WTA volunteers – these had been widened to a foot or more. There were also several fresh saw-cuts where deadfall had been cleared. I’ve done a lot of trail work but I can’t imagine even carrying tools over most stretches of this trail, much less work on them. Hats off and a heart-felt thank-you to the intrepid trail crews! Like many of the other lakes I’ve visited this summer, Lost Lake shows the results of the prolonged drought: You can see the “bathtub ring” – the lake is at least ten feet below full. Otherwise it’s a beautiful lake, with several great camp-sites along the south shore, one acceptable site next to the trail. I spent a very pleasant afternoon here, though even in the middle of the afternoon the air was too chilly to think about swimming. Like McCall Basin, I had the lake entirely to myself. The long spells of total silence (between airplanes) were wonderful. However, even this far from the trailhead someone must have been feeding the chipmunks – I heard them rustling around next to my food bag and realized I would have to hang it up somewhere – usually that isn’t necessary in a place this remote. It was at least five degrees warmer than the previous night; I was able to remove my long underwear and most of my other warm clothing before hitting the trail. The trail climbs a total of 1000 feet but most of it is fairly gradual, not much over 10%, through pretty woods and meadows. Then the trail rounds the bend and reveals the real reason why people are not supposed to bring pack animals. If you look closely at the photo, you can see the trail, almost horizontal across the top of a very steep scree slope, above a couple of near-vertical cliffs, and around a rocky point – the contrast is too poor to see it but it is a near vertical drop where it rounds the point – and there’s at least another hundred yards just like this beyond the point, a total of probably a quarter mile of sheer terror. Most of what you see in the picture is less than a foot wide, some only a few inches, fortunately pretty solid, but you want to keep full attention on every step. After I took this photo, there was no place I felt safe to stop to take a photo until I reached the summit. Even the junction with the Coal Creek Trail was too narrow to risk fumbling around with my iPhone for a photo. The other side is almost as steep, but about 100 feet down the scree gives way to grass and wild-flowers; an outright fall, if you started rolling, could be fatal, but a mis-step wouldn’t be such a problem. The slope is very steep all the way down to Lost Hat Lake (where I spent a cold rainy night the first time I did this loop, after being followed by thickening clouds and dropping temperatures the entire way from the PCT junction). It never was much of a lake, and half-drained by the drought it wasn’t even much of a pond. Below Lost Hat Lake the trail descends a few hundred more feet then side-hills past a series of folds in the ridge (up 50 feet, down 50 feet, level for a hundred yards or so, repeat). There were several lovely little meadows and a couple of ponds where one might pleasantly camp along this stretch. Just after the trail started downhill I met a very nice young couple. The young man, who seemed to have instigated and organized the hike, asked where I was coming from and about the trail. After I reassured him that the trail wasn’t washed out, and showed signs of a recent trail crew, he said he didn’t want to hear anything more – apparently knew it is not a trail for the faint-hearted. I did remark about their lack of trekking poles and warned them about some of the tricky cobble and gravel slide spots. Later I wondered – I hope they are both experienced hikers. This isn’t the trail to get a novice excited about back-packing. The bottom part of the trail is pretty awful – a lot of deep erosion-ditches and long step-downs. At least the deadfall have all been cleared. I was glad to reach the junction and the well-maintained trail back to the car. Friday before Labor Day. Packwood was having some kind of festival, lots of visitors camping out in vacant lots, main street (otherwise known as the main highway) jammed with people, 5 mph through town. All I could see was lots of food and crafts booths – rather like the annual Hawthorne Street fair, but people seemed to be having a good time. It was a great trip in spite of the smoke, a good trip to end this summer’s back-packing season.

Hiking in the Wallowas and Yellowstone Park – July 2021

Preparatory hikes at Wallowa Lake LaJean and I met brother Dean, Nephew John and their wives Cathy and Carrie at a rental at the south end of Wallowa Lake; I took the opportunity to do a hike new to me (West Fork of the Wallowa River to Ice Lake) and repeat an old favorite (East Fork of the Wallowa, past Anaroid Lake to Tenderfoot Pass). In mid-July it was height of tourist season, but fires had recently started on Thumb Creek, and when we arrived the sky was filled with smoke. Fortunately, the smoke gradually cleared. Right: The route map for the two hikes. We started out at seven; Dean hiked in two miles with us, and John hiked 3.6 miles to the junction with the Ice Lake trail. The first mile of the trail is pretty beaten up by horse traffic, with big rocks sticking up out of four inch dust, but after the junction with the little loop trail where the local stable takes horse riding groups, it improved quite a bit – pretty good trail beyond that. There is a log bridge over the river, and the trail immediately starts uphill through pleasant woods. There is one long series of switchbacks, then the trail side-hills for a half mile or so, to a second set of switchbacks alongside a steep-flowing creek. It eventually leads to a lovely lake at the foot of Sacajawea Peak (below, pale colored mountain), with a high ridge to the right and another ridge to the left leading around to two other high peaks. I found a shady spot there to rest, eat lunch, and enjoy the view for an hour or so before turning back down the trail. Along the way down, I took the old trail (now decommissioned) for a couple of switchbacks because it leads to an overlook from which some spectacular falls are visible; on the new trail they can only be seen through the trees and dense bushes. Surprisingly, I didn’t encounter as many people as expected – only one on the way up, two or three at the lake, and eight or nine back-packing in on the way down. Back on the main Wallowa River trail, about two and a half miles in, I saw a guy carrying a huge, overloaded pack that must have weighted 80 pounds; he was also carrying two grocery bags full of supplies. We chatted for a minute or two; he said he was heading in to the lakes basin (a total hike of fifteen miles or so). I think he must have been carrying stuff for several other people, although I saw no sign of them. He also asked about the distance to the Ice Lake junction, which was about a mile further. I think he must have been planning to camp at the campsite there (and, perhaps, wait for the rest of his group to join him). Distance to Ice Lake is 9 miles, round trip 18, elevation gain about 4500 feet. I got back to the cabin about 3 – greatly enjoyed a beer and some peanuts before my bath. The second day. I headed up toward Anaroid Lake and Tenderfoot Pass (the route to the right on the trail map). John hiked about three miles with me, then turned around in order to get back in time to go on a tour of a bronze casting operation – the proprietor retired to Joseph, and now does castings for artists all over the country. Like the other hike, I encountered virtually no-one on the way out, aside from a group of three women at the power dam 2 miles in, a couple who were hiking quite slowly and two men I saw in a rowboat on Anaroid Lake. There is a private resort that was grandfathered in when the created the primitive area at the far end of the lake, a large campground beside it, and two or three decent-looking campsites suitable for three or four people on the near end. I had a granola bar there and went on to the top of the pass, already almost devoid of snow. I reached the pass about 11:30 but the sun was pretty intense, so I decided to lunch at the lovely meadow at a trail junction just a mile back down the trail. First I walked around a bit, took a picture of Sacajawea peak (above), looked down on a lake below the pass that would make a nice camp site aside from the lack of trees for shade. After a pleasant lunch in the flower-strewn meadow, I hiked back down. Less than a mile past Anaroid Lake I encountered a huge string of horses, a dozen riders followed by at least a dozen pack mules. I encountered two more similar strings within the next mile, then I met the couple John and I passed on the way in, as well as at least thirty other back-packers in groups of two to four, all headed for Anaroid Lake. I stopped to talk to some of them, told them about the horses and suggested they might want to consider the other lake just before Anaroid, or perhaps the lovely meadow with a winding stream a mile below the other lake. I’ve never before seen that many people in the “wilderness,” all planning to camp in the same spot. Alas for the wilderness experience! Left – Wallowa Lake from the Anaroid Lake trail, top of the first set of switch-backs.   Bechler River (Yellowstone) Hike – July 22-25, 2021 31 Miles, total elevation gain 1550 feet, highest elevation about 8500 ft. I flew in to Bozeman from Boise by way of Seattle, had a good night’s sleep and met the guides and my fellow hikers at 6:30. The guides: Kelly (lead guide) and her assistant Charles, a retired Green Beret. Guests: Tim and Kelsey from Minnesota, William, a high school senior and his sister Jacie, a college senior, from Wisconsin, Rebecca, an education researcher from California, Abby, a special ed teacher from Wisconsin, and Eric, an accountant from Chicago During introductions, while the guides handed out tents, bear cannisters, bear repellant spray, and food items, it became evident that I was the only guest with any wilderness experience, or with much back-packing experience, although Abby has done some camping in the midwest as a counselor with groups of troubled teenagers that involve back-packing in to a base camp. The lead guide, Kelly, gave a short “wilderness skills and ethics” talk, including some details about safety around bears and other wild animals and the usual “leave no trace” talk. Unfortunately when Kelly talked about the importance of making enough noise to alert bears to our passage she did not talk about the complementary value of talking quietly and listening to the woods. During the ensuing four days I learned far more than I cared to learn about arcane video games, weird sci-fi spoof videos, and random bits of history (Eric), Abby’s bodily functions, and pop culture trivia (both Eric and Abby), usually inserted into a conversation loudly, and with no connection to anything anyone had recently said or done. The woods were alive with bird song before people were awake and up; after that I had to leave the camp area to hear the birds or much of anything other than pop culture trivia. The other members of the group all seemed like very interesting people, well worth talking with, but it was hard to have much of a conversation with any of them because the constant full-voice chatter overwhelmed everything else. After an hour or so of introductions and preparations we loaded into a comfortable van (wearing masks) for the 3.5 hour trip through West Yellowstone to Old Faithful, just beyond which we turned onto a short gravel road to the trailhead, and after more talk about bears and other trail procedures, we set off about noon. The overview on the REI web page talks up “the wonder of pristine geysers and hot springs” and I was eager to see the back-country thermal features. What it does not mention is that most of the trail is outside the caldera, the main zone of activity. Two miles in from the trailhead on the first day, we arrived at the first and only geyser, which spewed occasional brief weak spurts of hot water and steam while we ate lunch. Not far beyond the hot spring, the trail began a gradual, barely detectable ascent, mostly through new growth woods (the trees appeared to be twenty or thirty years old, probably re-grown from one of the catastrophic fires). Kelly led, crying “hey, bear” every few minutes, to let any nearby bear know we’re coming, and Charles brought up the rear, doing the same. The line gradually sorted itself out, with a few in front, a few a hundred yards back, and the rest in a group in between. We passed a junction with the Shoshone trail, which leads about two miles down to a genuine back-country thermal area with several geysers – the kind of area I thought we would be visiting. Shortly afterward, the grade increased to about ten percent, leading up over a ridge (and over the continental divide), then gradually down to the first night’s camp site. Total miles about 11.5, elevation gain 1500 feet, to an 8500 foot pass – pretty stiff for the hikers who all live near sea level. The trail is almost all in excellent hiking condition, with only a few miles where horse traffic has cut deep trenches and a few gravelly stretches. Although Abby is the only other member with back-packing experience everyone seemed to be in pretty good shape, so we were able to average about 2.5 miles per hour and made it into camp by 6:00, allowing a leisurely camp setup. Kelly was very complimentary to the group – usually she has at least one straggler – and it was quite remarkable, for first time backpackers at an oxygen-deprived altitude. Because I’ve been regularly taking long hikes at relatively high altitudes the thin air didn’t bother me much, but everybody else was pretty wiped out, and my own shoulders were complaining about the pack straps. There were already a few blisters, and Kelly had to open her foot clinic before she could make breakfast. The first camp-site (red marker on the map to the right) is in a little grove of pines next to a wide, pretty meadow with a brook winding through it, very picturesque, especially just after sunset when the full moon rose behind us, reddened, alas, by thin smoke in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, the area for tents is fairly small (a feature of the other two camps as well.) As a result, all of our tents were within 6 or 8 feet of at least one other tent; I barely slept because Tim, 6 feet from me, was rustling around on his inflatable air mattress all night. A couple of cups of coffee compensated for the lost sleep. At all these campsites, the park service has dug pit toilets, and placed plastic boxes on top of them that look vaguely like an upside-down recycling bin with an appropriate shape cut in it. The one here had no lid but, remarkably, there was no unpleasant odor from it. The toilet is located at the end of a long trail through bushes and trees, the first few people to use it call “hey, bear” a couple of times along the way, and of course everyone is expected to carry bear spray all the time when leaving camp. After a breakfast of hash browns, scrambled eggs (both dehydrated but done perfectly) and sausages we set off for a rather short day, and reached the second and third thermal features, a hot spring called “Mr. Bubbles,” which is safe to soak in because of a cold creek that flows through the pool. Some of the hot water bubbles up from a vent in the middle; the pool is also fed by a hot spring higher up the hill that flows down into the pool (right). The currents produce a great effect as first hot then cold water flows past the bather. Laying my head back into the water, I could listen to the hissing of water bubbling up from the spring. Everyone enjoyed the hot water on sore joints and muscles. After a long soak, Kelly and Charles prepared a gourmet feast for lunch (below). We all found bits of shade to sit in while eating. Kelly went back in for a quick soak, then we saddled up again to hike the half mile past another hot spring, across the creek from the trail (picture on the next page), then the two miles to our next camp. There were no more large thermal features, but we did pass a few mineral streaks on the far bank, evidence of some thermal seeps, as well as two or three small seeps (picture on the next page) and mud-pots beside the trail. The main group marched past these without stopping, but I lagged behind to look them over and take a few photos. The second day we reached a camp site in a densely wooded area, with a small waterfall in a stream right next to the cooking area, and two tent sites between the creek and the Bechler River, by now a fairly wide stream. These tent sites allowed slightly better spacing, and the river afforded a pleasant refreshing dip, though it was only knee deep. I found a slightly secluded sand-bar to sit on for a while and enjoy the sound of the river. Walking through the woods on the third day, we encountered some wild raspberries, then several patches of huckleberries, but we stopped only briefly to pick a few – I was surprised that some of them were ripe this early at 8000 feet. This stretch of trail was pretty brushy; my legs got scratched up and one of my arms got a gash, probably from a broken branch (I didn’t notice it until it started bleeding rather profusely). We stopped for lunch at the lovely waterfall pictured at the right, complete with a rainbow. While we were relaxing there, a guy who was trail running passed by. He said he was camped up the trail a ways, and had seen a sow bear and cub just a mile or two back up the trail, where we had just hiked through, which of course validated the bear precautions we were advised to take. After lunch, less than a mile on down the trail we passed another waterfall, higher than the first one but only visible through the trees (left). The third night camp was on a rather steep bank beside the river, with a gravel bank between us and the river. The tent sites were even more cramped here; there were three suitable for one or possibly two one-person tents. I grabbed one of them, Kelly and Charles grabbed the other two, and the other hikers jammed together on the largest open spot, in a configuration reminiscent of an army camp. I don’t know how well any of them slept – by now it was clear to me that eight hikers is much too large a group for the Bechler River trail (or any other trail I’ve hiked). After setting up our tents several of us put on swim-suits and crossed over to the sandbar. Next to the sandbar, the river makes a sweeping turn past a tree fallen next to the bank to a gravel bar, with a four foot deep swimming hole. Rebecca, who regularly swims in San Francisco Bay, demonstrated her swimming power by swimming against the current (the only way to get more than three strokes before grounding on the gravel bar). I tried it myself and managed, barely, to keep even with the current for a few minutes. Most of the time we splashed, sat on the gravel waist deep, or just floated with the current. It was a great experience. The morning of the final day, breakfast was a relatively spartan dish of instant oatmeal with some nuts and dried fruit plus a few strips of bacon. After Kelly did her foot-care business (over half the hikers by now had blisters) we managed to be on the trail right at 8 a.m. The first mile is through woods, then several miles run through what is ordinarily marsh-land, but was almost completely dried out, with two fords across shallow, slow flowing stretches of river. On the first of these, we heard what sounded to me like wild turkeys, but was actually a couple of sand-hill cranes squabbling under some trees near the river bank, a hundred yards or so away. For the first time on the hike I regretted not carrying my binoculars because I could see them only dimly in the shade of the trees. The final water-crossing was over a stretch of deep, still water. The park service had built a suspension bridge over the creek, which was rather fun to cross. After that, a two mile hike through woods led to the ranger station where Kelly put together a lovely salad – very welcome after three days without greens at all, and an uneventful trip back to Bozeman. Overall: The constant full-voice jabbering about pop culture trivia became tiresome by the end of the second day, and I began to yearn for a bit of quiet. Two or three hikers were slow enough that they lagged well behind the others, so I stopped keeping up with Kelly and started hiking between the two groups, which was much quieter, and I was able to escape the noise in camp by walking out into the open meadow on the first day and sitting next to the river later. I enjoyed the other guests, but the talkative two were so loud that it was often impossible to have much of a conversation with anyone else. Abby hiked behind me for a while and engaged me in conversation at a normal speaking voice; with the amplitude turned down she was interesting to talk with. Wish she’d turned it down sooner! The experience confirmed my prejudice against hiking with groups of more than four hikers, although admittedly a larger group is safer in grizzly country. Just because REI builds it up so much I found the Bechler River trail disappointing – only a few thermal features, and otherwise just an ordinary high country trail, with no mountain peaks or grand vistas, part of a national park only because it’s easier to draw a straight line on the map than to follow the contour of the caldera. Aside from the risk of bears I’d enjoy doing it again, but it isn’t worth the travel and the cost, and I’d be reluctant to do it solo. I’ve gone on three other REI-sponsored trips and enjoyed all of them; this one is my least favorite. I think I enjoyed the others more because it was easier to break into smaller sub-groups or even be alone, there were no ultra-loud talkers, and the backdrops were more spectacular (the Belize barrier reef, Death Valley, the Grand Tetons). When I wrote my review I noticed that most of the previous reviews are five-star, almost all of them written by first-time back-packers. To be sure, this would provide an excellent introduction to back-packing for any moderately-fit person with no previous wilderness experience.

Eagle Creek Trail work Aug. 26-28 2020

I began volunteering with Pacific Crest Trail Association and Trailkeepers of Oregon after the Eagle Creek fire. I didn’t keep journals on all the crews, but this is typical of the experience. Because of COVID, this was only my second work crew this year. For the same reason it was limited to volunteers with at least 100 hours of experience (need little supervision or instruction). We camped 3 miles down the trail from the trailhead at Wahtum Lake, then hiked on down 3 more miles where we did brush clearing and tread repair. The next morning we hiked a mile beyond that site to an area in much worse shape, so overgrown in places that it was impossible to see the trail. The picture to the right shows a particularly bad spot In the morning we did both brush clearing and tread repair; in the afternoon I and several others focused on brush clearing to try to make the trail at least passable. From the photos you can see why the trail is still closed to the public – the terrain is very steep, and the trail is pretty dangerous in spots. We made a lot of progress but there’s still another couple days work in my view. Another section, not quite as bad, to the left. Note we are all wearing hard hats – required at all times while in the burn area (risk of falling branches and falling rocks). They’d help against a small branch or small rock, not a lot of good if a big rock or branch (or tree) comes down. Constant alertness is required. When they open it to the public, maybe this year but more likely next year, the falling branch / rock risk will still be there, but I hope they’ll get another crew or two in to finish tread repair and brush clearing. To the left: Shedding my pack, about to start work on a section. The leader marked off 50 foot sections so we could work without violating distancing regulations; when we were about done she would mark off another 9 sections and we all moved down. You see the mask I’m wearing – if another worker came within 10 feet we were supposed to put it on. Notice the “green grubber” tool beside me – weighs about 10 pounds, good for some brush removal as well as for getting the trail in reasonable shape. Below you see the finished section; I’m taking a granola bar break, waiting for the others to finish their sections so we can move down. Notice that we try to leave the trail sloping outward so rain will drain off and not form a stream that erodes our work. Before and after.

Wallowas 2020

Stats: 6 days, 56 miles, 11,400 total elevation gain and loss, average moving speed 2.0 mph. overall (that included some well under 1 mph, uphill picking my way through or around snowfields, and some 3 mph, good trail, not too steep up or down). My initial idea was to enter at West Eagle (bottom on the map), climb over to the pass to Tombstone Lake, (left on the map) descend to the Minam River, cross and hike up to Minam Lake, day-trip to Eagle Cap then return halfway, cross again and hike up Lowrey Gulch and back over the pass (Half of the branch to the right), down past Traverse Lake and Echo Lake (planned campsites underlined; possible additional site halfway to Minam Lake). As often happens with my wilderness plans it didn’t turn out totally as planned. Wednesday I got up at 4 am., breakfast, left at 5:40, arrived at the trail-head at 10:40. By the time I ate lunch, changed clothes, registered, I actually started hiking at 11:40. The lower part of the trail is good, but it crosses Eagle Creek twice, and both are wet-foot wades; I had to change into water shoes each time. The second time, I don’t think I dried my feet well enough or tightened my boot laces enough, because my left heel started feeling like a blister forming. I stopped to look at it – sensitive and red, no blister yet, but I put on a Duck Tape and gauze bandage. Too late; the damage was done and when I checked it that night it was a blister. Another hiker, a woman from LaGrande, was also at Tombstone. She hikes these mountains all the time with her two little dogs. She said there had been a bridge over the Minam but it washed away and she didn’t know if it had been replaced. I thought of the Wallowa River as it flows into Wallowa Lake and realized there was a good chance the Minam would be too dangerous to cross. If so, I would carry my 50 pound pack over 3000 feet down then have to carry it back up again – and the gradient lines on the map were not reassuring about finding campsites there, or for that matter along the stretch of the Minam between there and the lake. That plus the blister on my heel decided me to give up on the Minam, spend two nights at Tombstone, and day-hike as far as my feet seemed happy with. I also felt more beat-up from the 9 mile hike up to the lake than I expected, which left me uncertain about the possibility of a 15 mile day. To be fair to myself, I got less than 6 hours sleep Tuesday night. All of this precipitated thoughts about haste. The forecast predicted 30% chance of thunder-showers, and the clouds provided some spectacular cloud formations and sunsets. Thursday I awoke a little before 5; as I was stretching and thinking about coffee and a granola bar, I heard a few rattles on the tent fly. With a sigh I closed the rain fly and lay back to wait out the “30% showers.” For a few minutes it didn’t sound like much, then it started really raining and kept at it for close to an hour. When it stopped, I had breakfast, put together my lunch etc., and set out. The blister looked ugly but it hadn’t broken. I put together another make-shift bandage with gauze tape and Duck Tape, and when I put it into my hiking boot it didn’t immediately complain. I took that as acquiescence, and went out for another long hike (9.5 miles)with a light pack (lunch and water), down into Elk Creek valley then up to Burger Meadows – the route the LaGrande woman took in, from Catherine Creek Trailhead. I turned around at a tangle of blowdown, where two versions of the trail meet, the one on the map and another – I don’t know which is the current “official” trail; the one I took was pretty good. It led by a spectacular fan-shaped waterfall and underneath a mountain with coronet-like top. As long as I took short, careful steps my heel seemed pretty forgiving. So I decided to hike back over to Echo Lake and spend 2 nights there, with a day hike between; how long a day hike depended on how my heel felt when I got there. The LaGrande lady had made a point of how many fewer people there have been in the area this year; after I returned from my hike three other groups came in looking for a camp-site. When I can find a comfortable place to sit, if my campsite is at or near a really good view, I enjoy just gazing at the view and reflecting, or better yet, letting my mind wander and go almost blank. Mainly because of the humidity, mosquitoes were another problem at Tombstone Lake; I had to spray myself 2 or 3 times in order to make it to sunset. Sunset was worth it – both nights the clouds provided a really good show. The first night the clouds cleared after sunset and I got up again about 10:30 and used the flashlight to walk out to an open area where I could see the comet – surprisingly, I saw it no better, even with binoculars, than in the city. Still, I was glad I had brought the binoculars, even though I only used them for a few minutes (and again to look at Venus a few nights later). I slept better Thursday night, but it still took a couple of hours for my legs to quit cramping and feeling “restless.” Possibly insufficient salt to replace the sweat, although my meal tasted salty enough. Although it threatened a little rain, it never did actually rain after that early morning thundershower (exactly one thunder-clap to make it official). Friday started cloudy, quickly cleared. The hike back up to the pass was uneventful; the snow drifts across the path were hard, not icy, so they didn’t feel dangerous. It was breezy on the pass so I only lingered a short while looking at the view. I was walking with short steps (hence slowly) to keep from making my heel worse, and I enjoyed that pace as much as the more rapid pace I usually use. (Is that a sign of getting old?) I also discovered another difference: When walking fast, I tend to start wondering how much farther it is a mile or more before I actually reach the destination. Walking slower, a couple of times I was surprised to realize I was already there. Interestingly, going slower mitigates the impatience. There’s a moral in there somewhere if I can only find it. I reached Echo lake – Friday night, lots of weekenders had hiked in, none of them at all conscientious about masks or distancing. I managed to find a pleasant campsite well away from the family crowds, and found a bit of water about 2 feet deep with sand instead of mud bottom, where I could take a quick rinsing dip. The weather had turned completely mild; it was a pleasant evening. The sky was totally clear; it was obvious there would be no sunset, and I was still tired, so I crawled into bed as soon as the last light was off the peaks across the lake. I slept reasonably well, somewhat disturbed by dreams precipitated by the blister and how tired I got on the first two days (even though the third day’s hike went well and did not leave me particularly tired), dreams about losing energy and stamina, all that stuff. Saturday. I awoke in a depressive funk, visions of a defeated old age, I should probably just hike out this morning, but maybe a day hike then leave Sunday morning: a downward spiral. Before I even had my coffee made, I caught myself up, and realized I was way over-reacting to my gradual slowing down. I remembered the Clint Eastwood song: “Don’t let the old man in.” Here was the old man, battering at my door like an invading army, and I was about to throw the doors wide open! So – like reversing one of those optical illusions (rabbit – or duck?) – I took a completely different perspective. Life is change, life is endless surprises: some of the surprises are ugly, some are wonderful. Some just are. Blisters and other set-backs happen, and I know how to deal with them. So I decided if my heel would tolerate the hiking boots I would hike over to Bench Canyon pass, where brother Dean and I once camped just below the pass (I think about 15 years ago). There, I would see how my heel feels about it and either hike back to Echo lake, or hike down Bench Canyon and out to Main Eagle – which would leave me the problem of either hitching a ride or walking 2 hours to Two Color Campground, camp over night and another hour or two hike back to my car. I had coffee for only one more morning (having allowed myself 2 cups each of the first two mornings, in the morose belief that I would be out only 4 nights) but otherwise plenty of food. So I firmly told “the old man” to go to hell; he may break in eventually but I’m not going to surrender or go quietly. I put my boots on; my heel didn’t complain. So I packed up tent and gear (now 8 or 10 pounds lighter after eating half of my food) and set off up the mountain – still short steps, not favoring my foot (that always causes other problems) but careful not to aggravate it. Halfway up the pass I started encountering snowdrifts across the trail – still hard and icy. I was able to go around the first couple, then came to one that stretched from way above to way below, only a few yards wide but very steep, ending in a jumble of rocks at the bottom: in brief, very dangerous, a good place to break a leg – or worse. People had made a little trail of footprints across it, ten feet below the trail, but they weren’t nearly deep enough to look safe in the icy conditions. So I decided to scramble up the steep slope to the switchback above – steep, but no worse than bushwhacks I’ve done many times before. My blistered heel wouldn’t like it but the only alternative was to turn back and give up. I was halfway up the scramble when another hiker arrived at the icy snowfield. We exchanged greetings; he agreed with me that it looked dicey, but he chose a slightly different route around the snow patch, just to the top of the snow then across the face of the rock cliff above and on the far side of it. He was younger and faster, and reached the pass ahead of me. We chatted a while – he was pretty sure he and half his family had had Covid (“the worst flu I have ever had” – but it was early in the pandemic and they weren’t able to be tested). His dad is in his 60s and feels like his hiking days are over. I told him my age; he was suitably impressed. He used to be a personal trainer, so knew what I was talking about when I told him about the Tabata exercises I do (during the winter off-season for hiking). He is about to turn 40 and worried about losing his ability to do this stuff and I assured him there is no reason why a man in his shape shouldn’t still be going strong into his 70s or later. As a former personal trainer, surely he knew that already! Below us, we could see snow patches across half the switchbacks all the way down, but this side faces east, and the snow was already soft enough to dig heels into, so pretty safe. He planned to clamber around in the rocks and try to reach the peak, so we parted. I cut the switchback, avoiding the first, steepest, part of the snow field, and started down. I glissaded down several of the less steep snow patches, half gliding (ski-less skiing) and half long steps, then continued along the trail at the end of the snow patches. I had been over this trail with my brother maybe 15 years ago; it did not appear to have been maintained at all since, and I began to wonder if the forest service had abandoned it. After a long stretch that curves along the base of a vertical cliff, I came to a steep slope of packed sand; the trail was apparent only as a faint line across the sand. (It was like this 15 years ago, too. From my own trail work I know that, even if I had a good benching tool and spent 2 hours digging out a new trail, it wouldn’t take a week for the sand to fill it back in.) I wasn’t any too happy about it – if the sand slid under my feet I could end up sliding 25 or 30 feet down into the brush and trees at the bottom; probably wouldn’t get injured… The rule here is to avoid a mini-avalanche – step carefully but lightly; do not hesitate or stop. So I quickly crossed; the sand held firmly, I breathed easily – until I came to a second, similar patch, and crossed it the same way. The photo above shows the sand crossing on the way back, after I and a forest ranger had both crossed once – it looks a little less forbidding with the footsteps across it. Other signs of neglect: many blow-down trees, some quite large. Some are low enough to step over, a few high enough to duck and half-crawl under (allowing for the extra height of the back-pack. Fortunately I never had to take off the pack, slide it under in front as I crawled through, which I’ve had to do before.) Many of the logs were so large that I had to clamber over or, in several cases, climb up around the root-ball to get around them. There were several piles of logs, two or three atop each other; getting over these was like playing on one of those playground jungle gyms – carrying a 45 pound pack (right). In a couple of places, the trail disappeared into tall grass or brush; here my trail-finding skills were called into play. In both cases I correctly guessed the trail must continue in a straight line. (I think all of this is part of what is meant by the word “adventure.”) The most difficult trail-finding adventure happened in the little meadow at the bottom of the first long slope. First, there is lush grass (on soggy marsh). I had crossed this 15 years before, but even without that memory, it was fairly obvious that the trail down must be at the bottom of the slope opposite. But when I reached the creek at the bottom of that slope I found another tangle of blow-down trees; after I had picked my way through, there was no sign of a trail. Here, I supplemented my trail-finding skills with the gps program on my iPhone (cheating – but who’s keeping score?) – it showed the trail 10 yards uphill from me, and there I found it, and headed on down-slope. This part of the trail had more blow-downs, but none of the stacked-up tangles. At the bottom I had to cross another creek, but there are some logs across the creek, which gave me the opportunity to practice my balance (fortunately, there were places to plant my trekking poles on either end; I only had to take two steps without that bit of extra security). The trail up the other side was in a bit better shape, although a combination of horse-shoes (with the weight of a mule or horse on them) and water erosion had created several really unpleasant scrambles, often inside ditches as deep as two feet. Three or four really ugly situations had developed where winter snows bent living firs so the tops cross – and block – the trail (sorry – neglected to take a photo). Two of them I was able to bull my way past (getting pitch all over everything) but one was so dense I had to scramble upslope to get around it. As I had experienced before, walking a bit slower had the effect that I reached the trail up to the pass before I expected and didn’t see it, on the far side of a little creek (I felt pretty silly when I realized that). I kept on walking another mile or so before I checked my gps and realized my mistake. I later realized I was halfway to the next pass, and could easily have gone on, and explored a completely new area. But I turned around and found the trail I wanted. It was built and maintained by an outfitter, a mule-packing outfit, for use by pack strings. It is very steep and really ugly, with lots of sections where the trail is down to bare rock, inside a 2 foot trench (steeper and much worse than the photo above). Fortunately it’s less than a thousand feet up to the pass. Fifteen years ago Dean and I camped in a little meadow below the pass, with a spring-fed brook running through it. This year, the spring was dry; the only water a little melt from the small snow patches. I recalled a nice little lake on the far side of the pass called Arrow Lake, so I hiked the 200 yards over the pass to the lake, where I found a really pleasant little camp site that shows signs of only very occasional use. The lake itself is small and shallow – a large pond, really – but I found a spot a little ways from the level tent site where I could get in and back out from a rock (avoiding the mud) and rinse off the dust and sweat of the trail. On the other side is a beautiful view out across the upper Eagle Creek valley to Jackson Peak and, barely visible, Eagle Lake. Had I chosen to continue to the other pass, I would have been in a good position to drop on down, stay another night at Eagle Lake, then head down to Main Eagle and find my way back to my car as well as I could. I’d say “missed opportunity” except I had such a lovely evening that the alternative couldn’t have been much better. Including the extra mile or two, this day’s hike was 11.5 miles, but I was finally getting my trail legs – I wasn’t particularly tired, and I was able to enjoy the view of the lake, the view of the valley and mountains beyond, and the total solitude. It was totally clear, very few mosquitoes, so I decided to sleep out under the stars. I set up my tent a little ways away in case that a thunderstorm brewed up (very unlikely, but at this altitude – 8200 feet – it is always possible) or in case I got really cold. I crawled into my sleeping bag again at sunset; for some time some frogs kept me awake. One was hoarse and grating, one higher pitched but also grating, and a third one higher pitched and more musical. I’ve never heard any of these sounds before – I am assuming they are different species, although I don’t know for sure. They carried on half the night, but I managed to get to sleep not long after dark (and seeing one shooting star). Every time I awoke during the night, they were still going, though they did slow down as it got colder. It got quite cold; my sleeping bag was barely warm enough, zipped completely up. However, the occasional chill breeze felt very good on my face. My legs were completely over the fatigue-induced twitching and cramping of the first two nights, and I slept well. Sunday. I awoke, as usual, in the early pre-dawn light, happy with my decision to come here but facing a conundrum. I had coffee – and toilet paper – for just this one morning. That argued for walking on down to Main Eagle – only 6 or 8 miles, I could easily be there by noon or earlier, and possibly catch a ride at least to Two Color campground. When Dean and I did this loop, we had to walk back from West Eagle to Two Color, and I don’t think it took more than an hour, so I knew I could do that. But I wasn’t ready to quit yet – I had slept well, was enjoying the high country, wanted to go back for a final night at Echo Lake. So I lay there, waiting for it to warm up enough to get out of my sleeping bag, inventorying in my mind everything in my pack. Food packages: metallized plastic. Everything metal or plastic. Then the (should have been) obvious struck me: my coffee filters are paper. One problem solved. As for a morning without coffee – I could break camp early, hike out, and stop in Union on the way home for a cup of coffee. The other problem solved: I would spend another night in the high country. A word about my current choices of back-packing food. I use some Mountain House freeze-dried food, but most of their best stuff has some wheat in it. Recently I’ve discovered a new brand, Backpacker’s Pantry, that has some really good Asian fusion style food. Both brands come in foil packs: You add a couple of cups of boiling water, stir, let it sit for 20 minutes (30 minutes at 7-8000 feet), eat from the package. I use my pocket knife to cut the package down so I can eat out of it more easily. For breakfast and lunch: some dried fruit and a couple of granola bars. I used to take oatmeal, nuts, and dried cranberries for breakfast but the oatmeal pan and bowl require dishwashing, which requires a second pan to wash dishes in – more weight, and more bulk. I currently use a lightweight internal frame pack that will barely hold the needed clothing plus 6 days’ food as it is. I carry a small light-weight titanium pot, a can of gas and a “pocket rocket” burner that screws onto the top of the gas. I also carry a small grill to cook over a wood fire. I find two rocks shaped so they can sit 5-6 inches apart, with surfaces sufficiently level that the grill can sit squarely on them. I build a small fire between them, using twigs ideally no larger than ¾ inch, most of them more like ¼ to ½ inch. If I have dried moss or pine needles available that makes good kindling; if not I use my pocket knife to make shavings, then build a small, well-ventilated tent of twigs above the kindling. Most of the water out there is probably safe, but there is enough giardia scattered here and there (carried by beaver and other wild mammals as well as by humans – it’s also called “beaver fever”) that I filter it, even the lake water (the top 6-10 inches have been thoroughly sterilized by the UV from the sun – but I worry that the breeze might have stirred up some tainted water from below. I wish someone would develop a light weight test for giardia.) On one of my guided trips they provided a device that really works well, a squeeze bag, holds a pint of water; you squeeze the water through a small, very light filter either into a canteen or suck it directly. Very handy for a quick drink as you pass a small stream, and I discovered it’s no slower for filling a canteen than the bulkier and heavier pumps. I will start carrying another as a backup, in case one of the bags bursts a seam, and that will be my future water treatment plan. By the time I reached the meadow on the way back up toward the Traverse Lake pass, it was getting quite warm and dry, and I knew I’d better have a couple of quarts of water for the long stretch of trail with no springs or creeks. There was a nice dry bit of higher ground next to the creek where I stopped to filter water and have a granola bar. Then I headed back up the hill, past all the tangled piles of blow-down, taking my time, enjoying the woods and the hike. Halfway up I met the only other human I saw since the guy I met at the pass on the way in, a young forest ranger named Ashley, who said she was scouting the trail down to the creek for future maintenance parties. We chatted a while, I told her about the nasty bent firs and suggested sending a small work party up there with hand saws. When I reached the switchbacks 900 feet below the pass it was quite warm and the snow was soft. (The pass is in the center of the photo.) In spite of my efforts, and the mountain goat tracks crossing one of the snow fields I lost the trail at one of the snow patches and ended up taking a long detour through the tumbled scree and snow patches, finally used the gps to find my way back to the actual trail. It slowed me up a bit – took 50 minutes to climb the 900 feet. The altitude – it tops out above 8400 feet – probably contributed to slowing me up. I stopped at the top to rest in the shade and enjoy the view of the lakes, Traverse and Echo, below, and spent a little time looking out toward Eagle Cap in the other direction – but it was too hot in the sun to spend much time on that side. Back down at Echo Lake (the lower of these two; the closer one is Traverse Lake), beginning to feel tired, I noticed the couple who had been camped at one lakeside camp site were gone so I staked that spot out, laid out my tarp and sleeping bag. Then I noticed ants all over the place and decided to put up the screen tent so I wouldn’t have ants crawling all over me at night, getting into my clothes and gear. Once I had camp set up I went down to the lake where a rock afforded easy access to a relatively deep part of the lake – deep enough that I could safely dive in for a quick rinse in the very cold water. I’ve always loved this – a dive in, the sudden shock of cold water on a hot day; as I usually do I swam out 15 or 20 yards, rolled over to get thoroughly wet and get as much as possible of the trail dirt off of me and out of my hair, swam back, toweled off and got into some clean underwear and a clean t-shirt. (I carried them explicitly for the last night or two.) The icy water makes my skin feel really alive, a feeling that lasts the rest of the afternoon. An hour or so later I came back from a short walk along the lake shore to be greeted by another forest ranger, who chatted a while then asked if I had read the back of the registration form – I was camped only about 40 or 50 feet from the water, and you’re supposed to be at least 100 feet back (not easy to do at most mountain lakes, where the ground usually rises quite steeply within much less than 100 feet, but of course I did not argue). He said he wouldn’t make me move and I thanked him. The reason he gave makes sense – campers disturb the surface of the ground, so in a heavy rain more sediment washes into the lake. (On the other hand, people who camp 100 feet back and walk down to look at and swim in the lake also disturb it almost as much. The real problem is: too many people.) I did find one site at the lower end of the lake, a flat bit of packed sand that did not have the usual fire ring, but is well over 100 feet back and would make an excellent site – during the week when all the crowds are absent. I’ll probably camp there if I’m back again during the week. The evening was very quiet and still; the lake totally flat, the mountains mirrored in the surface. I found a couple of different places that were very pleasant to sit on and gaze at the lake, the mountains, the forest. Most of the people had left – there were two other campers, I think two people in one camp, one in another, all of them quiet. Not quite solitude, but close enough. It was fabulous for my last night on the trail. I slept well, woke up about 4:30, got up at 4:45. With no coffee to sit and sip, I just had a granola bar and was on the trail by 5:30, earliest by far I’ve ever got started. If I wasn’t facing a 6 hour drive back home I would have lingered longer even without the coffee, enjoying my last bit of wilderness, but I knew the traffic would be heavy when I got back to Portland, as it turned out to be, and I was glad I had started early. In any event, the calm evening before, and the pleasant silence of the hike out, provided a very nice conclusion to the hike. On the way out, driving along Catherine Creek I saw a short drive into the shrubbery, and pulled into it, stopping a few feet short of the creek. I walked over and saw that a tree had fallen at an angle into the water and someone had built a kind of dam out of a like of rocks, creating a 3 foot deep mini-pool. So I stripped off my clothes, got in, and rinsed as much of the trail dirt as I could off me before drying off and getting into the clean clothes I had brought for the drive home. A cold water bath isn’t for everyday, but it has its charms – especially after a week in the wilderness. Then in Union I stopped at the grocery store for a banana, some cheese and an apple for lunch, and my promised cup of (slightly watery) coffee. Overall. I was pleased to note, after I’d cleaned up and put away some of my gear, that I had no residual muscle soreness or stiffness – as I’ve noticed before, it takes couple of days on the trail to get the body adapted to carrying the pack. I also think the deliberately slower pace, adopted for the sake of the blister on my heel, is better for the rest of my body. I have already faced and accepted that I’m slower than I was 15 years ago – 2 mph on trails I would once have hiked at 3 or 3.5, even slower (as slow as 1 mph) on a crappy trail or steep uphill. But the fact that I didn’t feel impatient to reach the destination on any of these hikes also contributes to my overall satisfaction. I don’t think I will ever plan another hike that includes any days over 12 miles, and I will try to keep each day around 10 miles or less. I also plan to carry at least 2 cups of coffee for each day, and spend a little more time enjoying the morning at each camp site before moving on. I don’t really mind hiking in the heat of the day, and mornings are not to be wasted. I have fended off the “old man” and all the worries about aging again… for now. I know he’ll be