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.