Charlie Calvert's Community Blog : The Back Country

Tough Scramble to Marten Lake

Charlie Calvert — Mon, 07 May 2007 09:30:40 GMT

Margie and I went for a hike up the Taylor River in the Cascades on Saturday, May 5. The Taylor River joins the Middle Fork of the Snoqualmie River a few miles east of North Bend, WA.

Figure 1: The Taylor River. (Click on this or the other images in this story to see a larger view.)

We started hiking out of the The first three miles of the Taylor River trail, which is really a deserted road. A little before the 1/2 mile point Quartz Trail splits off to the left. We kept to the right, by the river. The trail was washed out in a few places near the start, but overall it was a pleasant ramble through beautiful shady, second growth forest.

Figure 2: A typically pleasant stretch of the Taylor River trail as it heads up to Snoqualmie Lake.

At about the three mile point we hit Marten Creek, which fell tumbling down a mountain side in a series of waterfalls before joining the Taylor River.

Figure 3: This picture was a taken from a bridge over Marten Creek.

Our guide book, "55 Hikes around Snoqualmie Pass," talked of an old trail which followed the creek up to Marten Lake. The author, the inimitable curmudgeon Harvey Manning, said that the lake was "considered by fans of holes in the ground filled with water and trout to be one of the finest." We didn't care much about the trout, and we hadn't seen any bicycles, but still this description caught our fancy.

So we found the half abandoned trail to Marten Lake and started climbing steeply up the mountain side. Almost immediately we entered an old growth forest consisting mostly of huge old snags. The forest was nevertheless dark and green and lovely.

We soon realized that no work had been done on the trail in many years. We kept losing the trail, and then bushwhacking back and forth across the hill side to pick it up once more. We passed several amazing waterfalls that we usually could only glimpse through the trees. The path was frequently studded with trillium, more than I had ever seen in one place.

Figure 4: We saw dozens of trillium as hiked up to Marten Lake.

Glancing back over our shoulders as we struggled up the steep trail, we caught majestic views of Treen Peak and Garfield Mountain.

Figure 5: It had snowed recently, and the ancient crags of the surrounding mountains were limned in white.

As we neared the top of the pass where the lake lay, we could look behind us to see Cascade Mountain vistas as clear and fresh as the crisp May air.

Figure 6: I took this picture on our way back down from the lake. By then it was starting to clear, and the sun gleamed off the white peaks.

The ascent along the battered trail was not only tough, and not only required frequent forays into bushwhacking, but was also considerably further and much steeper than we had supposed. It wasn't long before we were wandering through snow drifts that were four and five feet deep in places. I have some pictures of these stretches of the trail, but unfortunately I was a bit giddy by then, and all of them feature my lovely Margie stumbling along in a gallant but most unflattering manner in disheveled muddy clothes, her hair akimbo. In the interest of domestic harmony, I'm going to omit them.

The lake itself, when we finally reached it, was still covered in snow. The frozen waters sat in a lovely, rugged bowl of dark gray rock and gray/green firs. One could easily imagine the tumbled glacier that must of created such a stark and majestic site. I would have to stitch several pictures together to give you a full panorama of the majestic bowl in which the lake stood, and I don't have time for that now. Nevertheless, the picture below should give you a feeling for the scene.

Figure 7: To our surprise, we found Marten Lake was covered in snow and ice.

The route up the mountain had been muddy in places, and we could see that two other people had come up the trail recently. In one of those odd twists of fate, they reached the lake about the same time we did. It would not surprise me if we were among the very first people who had made the ascent in 2007. Someone else had passed through with snow shoes, but those prints could have been several days old.

I suppose it was shame that our solitude was interrupted by these two young strangers. But we shared several good natured laughs with them about the haphazard condition of the trail, and about the wild final scramble over the last half mile in the deep snow which obscured any signs of a path. We talked about the many beautiful and majestic waterfalls we had seen, and then found our own protected view points from which to admire the lake.

The trip back down was much easier than the trip up. For some reason, I found it much easier to follow the trail, and only lost it in a few places where felled trees from the winter storms had completely hidden the original route. I suppose that my eyes were opening up, my senses unfolding, as the cares of daily life melted away under the benign influence of the wild and untamed back country.

We got back to the car well before dark. The trip had taken us nearly six hours, and we were feeling deliciously tired and achingly ready for the soft comforts of our little Subaru. Nevertheless, it was hard to part from the mountains. They had taken us out of the quotidian world filled with trivial troubles and needless stresses. It was hard to leave the sanity of the wilderness and head back into our complicated, 21st Century lives filled with computers, cell phones and monthly bills. But as often happens after a good hike in the back country, I found that the spirit of the wilderness lingered with me for some time. In fact, it still has not totally disappeared.

Resources: A 1998 article in the PI

Route: Exit #34 from I-90. Drive north on 468th Avenue. In 0.6 miles, turn right onto SE Middle Fork Road (FS Road #56). The parking lot for Taylor River is at a little less than 12 miles.

Warnings: The say there are bycicles on the Taylor River trail in the warmer months. Of course Harvey was right, there aren't likely to be any bicycles at Marten Lake!

Quilcene

Charlie Calvert — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 09:07:02 GMT

We hiked a river on the eastern slopes of the Olympic Range. Loggers have had their way with the lower stretches of the Big Quilcene river; only a few patches of old growth remain. Throughout most of its length, small Douglas Firs stand by the side of the trail, their light green needles shimmering in the sun or dark green in the mist.

Video: Quilcene

On this trail Hikers never travel far from the sound of the river, though the path runs a good mile before finally taking you down to the water's side. The river runs west to east, toward Hood Canal; the trail starts to the north of the river and several hundred yards above it. Hiking west into the mountains, the trail descends gently, while the river rises to meet it.

When Margie and I hiked it yesterday the big hills and snow capped mountains that stand over the river valley were hidden in the mist, their peaks visible only briefly when the rain shadow tore through the clouds to reveal the blue sky.

The mist and the rain suits the Quilcene, though on the protected eastern slopes of the Olympics the habitat can no longer be called a rain forest. The trees are rarely more than four or five feet across -- small by the standards of the great Hoh Rain forest on the western slopes of the range.

Throughout most of the year the rain here is not heavy, but it is constant in the winter months. There is enough water to ensure that Greens and grays predominate, and the rocks in the clear black river are an iridescent lime hue.

When the trail reaches the river, the small 15 or 20 year old Douglas Firs yield to old growth. The change is dramatic, the big Douglas Firs and the occasional Cedar towering above us, the lower canopy transformed by their deep shade.

Wooden bridges cross the river in several places, giving us unobstructed views of the water as we stand above the rushing flood and contemplate the river's might. The rushing water is at once powerful and restful. The big firs know the same secret. One leans against their bulk knowing that there are more rings in their trunks than there are years since Columbus landed in the New World.

The trail itself is easy to navigate. There are no switchbacks, no steep climbs. In places slides from the heavy winter storms block the trail, and trees blown down by the fierce winter winds lay across our path.

Spring opened the buds on the trees and bushes we passed when driving to the trail head. But at this elevation the new season is still dormant. We pass rhododendron bushes, but their buds are still closed tight.

We turned around about three miles in, just as the old growth gave way two a twenty year old clear cut. Our guide book, written in the early eighties, described the area as desolate, but now firm young trees stand by the river, ready to take their turn at nurturing the soil and protecting wild life.

On the way back home we had one last visual treat. A lake stood by the side of the road, the foothills of the Olympics behind it. The farmland around the lake lay quiet in the evening mist, but very different from the wild rough and tumble of the old growth forest.

The sun set, and the wind and rain whipped across Puget Sound as we took the ferry back to Seattle. Only a few of us stood up on the bow, watching the lights of the city shine like bright stars against the black hills. The Space Needle stood tall and straight, and the harbor sparkled in the wet night air.

Surprise Lake

Charlie Calvert — Tue, 28 Nov 2006 11:05:37 GMT

In early October of this year (2006), Margie and I took a hike to Surprise Lake in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness near Steven's Pass.

Figure 1: The Alpine Lakes sign on the Surprise Creek Trail.

The lakes are part of the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. The forest contains 1,724,229 acres of land, of which 711,956 acres are Wilderness. There are just over 1500 miles of trails in the forest, of which 586 miles are in the Wilderness. In 2004 there were 64 wildfires in the Wilderness, which ended up burning 518 acres.

Wilderness is a legal designation. In 1964, Congress passed the Wilderness Act. An area is given Wilderness Designation by an act of Congress, and signed into law by the President. According to the act, wilderness is about freedom. Wilderness lands are "untrammeled." A trammel is a net or shackle. Lands that get Wilderness designation will not be "subject to human controls and manipulations that hamper the free play of natural forces."

The hike started out under two huge power lines that emitted a loud electronic buzz and sizzle as we passed under them. I assumed they came from one of the many dams on the Columbia River, and probably carried energy back to our home in Seattle where they helped provide us with light, warm food and hot water.

Figure 2: High Power Lines. Buzz! Crackle! Sizzle!

We were hiking on Trail 1060, called Surprise Creek Trail. The Surprise Creek Trail starts at 2200 feet, and climbs up to 4900 feet. It is four point seven miles one way, which means the round trip is just under ten miles. This route is available in the summer and the fall, and is designated for foot use only. Our journey started near Highway 2 just outside of Skykomish. The trail head is near a service center for the Burlington Northern Railroad. For the first 1/2 mile or so it is all clearcuts and high power wires. However, it is not long before the path enters the lush silence of a primeval forest. Other trails in the Skykomish area can be found on the Forest Service web site.

Surprise Creek Trail intersects with the Pacific Crest Trail. The Pacific Crest Trail is 2,650 miles long, and stretches from Canada to Mexico. It follows the arch of the Cascade and Sierra mountains. The section of the trail that runs through Washington State is 500 miles long.

Figure 3: This sign is found at the end point of the trail by Surprise Lake, but I put it here just to get us oriented.

Surprise Creek winds down a mountain valley. Hills rise up steeply on both sides of the trail, and there is a steep, bowl-like incline at the far end of the trail, near the lake. As shown in Figure 4, if you load the the 3-D view into local.live.com, you can get a pretty good view of the valley that leads to the lake.

Figure 4: The route from Highway 2 up to Surprise Creek as seen at this link on local.live.com in 3-D view. The trailhead is near the red flag numbered 1, and the lake near the red flag numbered 2.

Like so many of the trails in this area, the Surprise Lake trail is beautifully maintained. Throughout the first half mile of the hike, we were often walking on beautiful wooden scaffoldings, which may have been made of cedar. Such a luxury is a rarity in the back country. A wooden path like this is designed to keep your boots out of the mud in areas where the ground is more like a swamp than a trail.

Figure 5: The forest near the base of the trail is well tended, and contains many large cedars.

Take a moment to click on the above picture so that it appears full size in a separate window. The forest we walked through was "lovely, dark and deep." As we walked along we felt the cares of this busy world dissipate as our nervous systems attuned themselves to the ancient, silent ways of the wilderness.

The were many wondrous sites to view as we climbed higher up the trail. Huge multicolored fungus, bigger than the palm of my hand stood by the side of the path.

Figure 6: The mushrooms are interesting too look at, but only an expert should start nibbling at these tempting morsels.

Moss covered rocks surrounded Surprise Creek. Even in October it was full with crystal water that ran noisily beside the trail. Huge cedars, firs and boulders stood astride the creek, dwarfing our tiny lives. Millennia passed with little change to the ecosystem. A generation of trees would pass every few hundred years. The oldest living inhabitants were here before Columbus had discovered the New World.

Douglas Firs rarely reach 1000 years of age. Further south, in California, one can walk among Sequoia that were already old when Buddha first turned the Wheel of the Dharma in the Deer Park.

Figure 7: Moss covered rocks beside a stream.

As we climbed up higher clearings appeared beside the trail. The fall colors painted the hill side. Rocky fields plush with vine maple and brush glowed green, yellow, orange and red.

Figure 8: With an eye made quiet by the power / Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, / We see into the life of things. - Wordsworth

As we walked deeper into the forest, we were surrounded by plants that seemed to come from some other, timeless age. The leaves of these plants (devil's club?) surrounding Margie were as big as two hands put side by side.

Figure 9: Margie climbing up the path behind me. The trail was so beautiful neither of us wanted it to end.

The valley we hiked up ended in a steep bowl like structure. We gained over 2000 feet tracing switchbacks through the primeval forest. At last, we gained the top of the trail and found ourselves by Surprise Lake.

Figure 10: The water in the lake was so clear you could easily see down ten or more feet.

The temperature seemed to drop a good ten degrees when we arrived at the lake. The wind up here cut through our sweat soaked tee shirts, and we quickly pulled on warmer clothes.

We walked out to the point visible on the top left of Figure 9. The big rock you can see by the point made an excellent place for us to rest and eat a snack. The wind looks calm in these pictures, but it picked up while we snacked. We were both soon snuggled into three or four layers of clothing.

Figure 11: The old first by the side of the lake were twisted by the wind. Their roots climbed over the rocks, forming soulful sculptures of entwined wood, rock and moss.

My Buddhist teacher in Santa Cruz more than once accused me of being too interested in attaining bliss, which is a rather serious insult in the Theravaden tradition in which we practiced. Here you can see the whole bliss bunny syndrome in unabashed display. If you can stand the quick change of traditions, here is Dogen (a Zen monk) on some of these issues: "Do not practice buddha-dharma for your own sake. Do not practice buddha-dharma for name and gain. Do not practice buddha-dharma to attain blissful reward. Do not practice buddha-dharma to attain miraculous effects. Practice buddha-dharma solely for the buddha-dharma. This is the way."

Figure 12: A happy hiker on the trail.

Despite these warnings, I suppose I'm still unrepentant. After all, who would not react strongly to explosions of color on the trail that ran beside the lake?

Figure 13: The trail by the side of the lake had bright fall colors on both sides.

As we headed back, we got a few last glimpses of the mountains that hovered over the lake before clouds moved in and shrouded them in fog.

Figure 14: Mountains to the north of Surprise Lake.

It was about 4 1/2 miles back to the car, but time passed quickly as we trod the dusty switchbacks through the green forest down to the creek. Dusk shrouded the details of the trail by the time we reached the wooden pathway near the high power wires. After a day of hiking, one gets tired, and both Margie and I tripped a few times over hidden roots or treacherous rocks that we had easily eluded on the way up.

Reluctantly we emerged from paradise and re-entered the complex world of cars, cell phones and computers which seems both so familiar and so strange. Now I have these pictures to remind me of the forest and blue skies that are now hidden behind the gray shroud of the Seattle winter. It's good to be safe and warm, looking at pictures, and dreaming of next years hikes in the sun.

Darkness Descends on Silver Peak

Charlie Calvert — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 04:20:00 GMT

We hiked this weekend in the Cascades, near Snoqualmie Pass. We were slow getting started, and didn’t roll out the drive until nearly noon. Given the late start, I wasn’t sure we had time for a decent hike, but the image in Figure 1 shows that we eventually did reach a worthwhile destination. Of course, when you hike the back country, getting to a destination is only one half of a complete trip. One also has to get back in one piece.

Figure 1: Rainier as seen from Silver Peak. (Click to enlarge)

The Camera

It was a day or two after the equinox. That meant we needed to start early to finish a long hike before dark.

We didn’t get leave the driveway until noon. I delayed our hike further by taking time to purchase a memory card for our new Powershot SD550. I bought a 2 GB card. That sounds expensive, but it cost less than 32 MB cards did back in the day.

When I booted up the camera, it told me I had over 1000 pictures available. This was an embarrassing degree of overkill, but it made me happy.

Choosing the Hike

The first hike we looked at fizzled when we arrived at the trailhead and saw well over a hundred cars in the parking lot. It is wonderful that Seattle is so near the mountains. Yet crowds are the price for proximity.

We dug a little deeper in our Harvey Manning trail book, and found a destination called Catherine Peak. We drove further up the road, traversing the pass and heading into eastern Washington.

This time, however, we had picked a trail that was a bit too obscure. Driving on narrow gravel roads, we fumbled the first attempt to find the trailhead. Rather than retrace our steps, we settled on another destination, which we thought to be Twin Lakes.

The hike started by leading us though a clear cut. The barren landscape soon yielded to a beautiful old growth forest. Stepping in under the trees I felt the soulful call of the woods, as if I were returning home after a long absence.

Figure 2: In the clear cut near where the trail began, we found a lake. (Click image to enlarge)

Figure 3: Forest abstract. Don’t stop too long by the side of the trail, it’s easy to get distracted. (Click image to enlarge)

We weren’t on the trail long, however, before we realized that we still weren’t properly located in time and space. A couple we met on the trail oriented us, and suddenly I saw that we had overshot Twin Lakes, and Catherine Lake, and that we were headed, whether we would or no, toward Silver Peak.

The Judgment Call

In our marriage, Margie is the practical one. She said it was now too late in the day for us to bag the peak and make it back to the car before dark.

I waved such arguments aside, and led us further into the wild. We came to a beautiful lake, and then headed straight up a steep slope to a saddle visible above us. The ascent went smoothly, except for one encounter with a fellow hiker coming down from the peak. “Oh yes, it’s beautiful up there, but it is a bit late in the day for you to do the whole hike.” I thanked him, and led us on up the trail.

The Power and the Glory

After reaching the saddle, we hiked out a ridge to the base of Silver Peak proper. From there we could see most of the route to the peak.

Figure 4: Silver Peak as seen from the saddle. (Click image to enlarge)

It was about five when we started to climb up through the brilliant sunshine. Behind us we kept catching wonderful views of Mount Rainier.

Figure 5: Rainier from the trail to Silver Peak.

The trail grew steep as we neared the peak. It seemed as if the whole world were opening up before us. To the west we could see past Seattle to Olympics, while the eastern view was clear all the way to the flat lands near Ellensburg.

The mountain top afforded us 360 degree views of the cascades. To the north we could see a large peak, probably either Baker or Glacier, more likely the former. To the south we saw Rainier, and off to its left another large peak, probably Adams.

Figure 6: The Cascades spread out before us in all their glory. (Click image to enlarge)

Figure 7: Margie and Charlie survey the wonders of world. (Click image to enlarge)

A Race against Time

When we finally tore ourselves away from the peak and started back down the trail to the mundane world, the sun was still fairly high in the sky. I was feeling confidant that all would work out for the best. Margie kept stealing looks at the back pack, and mumbling something about the extra batteries she had packed.

Coming back down along the ridge, we saw two deer, picking their way through the blueberry bushes. I leaned down and gathered berries, popping the delicious fruit into my mouth. “We probably ought to keep moving,” Margie said. I paused a moment longer, to get a picture of the deer. It was difficult, because the light was getting a bit dim.

By the time we had descended the ridge, it was becoming clear to me that darkness was only a few minutes away. It grew dark as we reached the point where the level trail clung to the top of a steep 1000 foot descent to Twin Lakes.

Margie paused to retrieve the flashlights from the back of the pack. Justice was not entirely absent from our venture, however, as I was to find out when the batteries on my flashlight began to run down. We located the back up batteries, only to find that they were dead. So I was forced to walk on through the darkness, doing my best to see by the flickering light of Margie’s flashlight. Fortunately, it was so dark that I could not properly appreciate the steepness of the descent to the right of the trail. If I missed the trail and veered to the right, someone could come by in the morning to pick up the remains.

Some very patient and forgiving angel must have guided my feet, however, for we did make it back to the car in one piece. It was just eight when I turned the key in the ignition. I tried to make a joke about the very faint glow visible on the horizon. “See, its not quite dark yet,” I said, and we both laughed. Not at the lame joke, of course, but out of relief that we had made it back in one piece.

As we drove back toward the city, we relived our adventure from beginning to end. I was looking forward to getting back to my computer so I could see if the pictures from our new camera captured the splendor of our hike.

Figure 8: Looking west from Silver Peak across the sensuous rolling mountains toward Puget Sound. (Click image to enlarge)