Fear Doesn't Live Here

I have this fantasy of myself. I like to pull it out once in a while and play with the fantasy, but really the reality of chasing my fantasy frightens me. I like to think sometimes that I am a mountain climber, scrambling up rock and ice to stand on a great pinnacle of the earth. I will view imaginary images of myself in glacier glasses and parka, skin weathered by the elements smiling for the camera. But I have this slight fear of stumbling and falling to my death or a rock slipping from under me and I fall to my death.

It's a fear that sometimes stops me from going further up the mountain.

It's a fear that keeps me from standing on a pinnacle, smiling for the camera.

Several years ago, I decided to do something that frightened me every year. Generally "the event" takes place on near my birthday. Several years ago I crossed a crevasse on my way to spend the night at Muir Camp on Mt Rainier. The next year I scrambled up loose dinner-plate sized shale to a view, just short of the top, of the Goat Rocks Wilderness. After that, my non-competitive self decided to run my 1st triathlon.

Through all I realized my fears were nothing to be afraid of.

Then I found myself hiking up to Tooth Saddle on my way to scramble Bean Peak. The final scramble was an option. I didn't have to go and thought that I wouldn't. I even voiced that I might just stop at the saddle. I'd have great views.

But then something inside me said why not?

Each step, each climb got me closer to the top. I stopped once & thought "I still have to come down this." A fleeting thought that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Then it was one last wedge of the foot into a crack, one last handhold, one last movement - my arms, legs and body moving in unison to gain the summit.

The summit. I stood on a pinnacle of the earth enjoying the view, but oops, forgot the picture. Did get a pic of Trail Turtle though.

A Guidebook Complaint?

Pete Lake, 6/7/09, 9 miles, 400 elevation

When I read a guidebook, I expect just a few things. Accuracy in mileage and elevation; a detailed description are basically what I want. Over the years I have been able to decipher the author and that they may be leaving out information. If an author glosses over a section of a trail then they either don't want to tell you something or they have never been there. I often wonder about this last. I know that with the older books by Ira Spring, he leaves out details because he didn't find them necessary - other things were important. But a few of the newer authors I'm wondering if they are leaving information out because they are writing the trail description from a map.

Take a recent hike to Pete Lake in Eastern Washington. The author of the guidebook tells you of all the animals you could see while hiking, but never really talks about the trail. The hiker will pass a swampy area (that can be seen on a map) and hike through trees (no duh, since we are in the mountains of Washington then you come out into a mountain bowl with a lake (well since we are in the mountains hiking to a lake I would think so.

What was left out were the 6 major stream crossings without bridges. Were there bridges and they washed away? Just mentioning bridges and stream crossings would tell us. The forest here does have a habit of taking out bridges on some stream crossings so they won't be washed away - if they do that wouldn't it be a good idea to mention that in the guidebook? To me a guidebook is there to give you as much necessary information to stay found and unhurt. leaving information out does the hiking community a dis-service.

Oh, and the hike to Pete Lake? A lovely stretch of the legs through the woods along a river. And you should go if you get the chance.

Sure Sign of Winter

Phelps Creek Trail, 11/16/08, 7 miles, 1000 elevation

Brrrr! We went east today. East of the mountains to the Chiwawa River near Lake Wenatchee. Neither of us had done much hiking here and since it wasn't a brilliant day on the west-side of the mountains, we figured it would be a perfect day to explore over there. Let me tell you though, we hit snow before we even got to the trail-head.

Snowshoes had been left behind since our elevation last week had been higher with no snow - who'd have believed we'd run into snow here? We decided to see how far we could get without snowshoes. I really had hoped we could get all the way to Spider Meadow but no such luck.

It was a pleasant hike and we got as far as Leroy Creek before needing to turn around. We were hiking in six inches of snow and the bridge over the creek had been pulled out. If we crossed in our regular hiking boots we might have a problem keeping my feet warm. Michael thought he might have a problem staying warm too. And we knew Zillah would be shivering all over the place. So we decided to head back to the car after a quick lunch under a large tree dripping melting snow onto our heads.

I had really wanted to see the valley and snow-covered meadows, but there's always next year.

Two Dogs and a Snow Drift

North Fork Teanaway River 1/6/08 3 miles

It looked like rain on the wet side of the mountains. Go figure as the northwest winter has rooted into place for January. The dry side of the mountains had higher hopes with less clouds. Sometimes you just gotta get away from the rain. I was joined by my Sister and her husband their dachshund Joey and my lab Olympia. The drive over to the Teanaway can seem long especially with Snoqualmie Pass and the trails there so close. But the trip can be worth it if you want to see more wildlife and less people - on the way to the end of the Teanaway Rd, we spotted several wild turkeys but only one other car.

Already, before we even started up the snow-mobile tracked road, the sun was gleaming down on us warming at least our faces from the sharp chill in the air. The dogs raced up and down the groomed road as the humans strapped on out packs and shoes. Olympia, used to playing in the snow, led the way beyond the groomed road along the snow-mobile track. Joey, always happy to follow Olympia around trotted easily behind her. It would be later when we left the snow-mobile tracks that Joey would become the source of our amusement.

Have you ever seen a 5-inch tall dog leap through 8-inch tall drifts? Joey had two distinct tactics for making his way through the snow. The first was the straight-forward snow-plow method. He'd head off in the direction he wanted to go, head held high, using his broad chest and wide feet to advance his position. The other method is what I like to call the slinky method. Joey would leap up with his front half arching over the obstructing pile of snow and then his back half would follow the same arch. Nothing seemed to deter the little guy.

We stopped at the top of a hill for a rest and some cider, soaking in the sunshine reflecting off the snowy trees. Olympia curled up next to me, hoping I'd have one more dog snack in my pocket. Joey curled up with my sister, the cold finally effecting his little body. We left the same way we came in but the trail by now was well worn and Joey had little trouble navigating through.

Near the end of our trip, we came across a group of snow-mobilers we had heard on and off during our trip back. All graciously slowing down to share the trail with us except one. She had to be stopped by her friends and even then glared at us. I've said this many times - I don't mind sharing the trail with others and whatever mode of transport they choose. BUT, lets be respectful of nature and the others around you. This one woman gives a bad name to snow-mobilers and no wonder people don't want to be near them.

Autumn Hiking

Sourdough Gap 10/13/07 5 miles

Autumn days like today don't happen very often in the Northwest. So when the morning sun streams through my bedroom window, I hit the road with hiking boots on. I had hoped for morning clouds for a remarkable sunrise - like those I admire from the train window on the way to work. No luck with that this morning, the sky was perfectly clear and the autumn colors high in the mountains called to me.

Olympia would accompany me today, so the short hike to Sheep Lake was perfect. A bit of frost and snow greeted us at the trailhead just east of Chinook Pass, but the trail looked as clear as the sky. Olympia, who seemed ecstatic about going for a hike lead the way up the trail stopping every now and then to look for "wobblies" - chipmunks and squirrels - but was eager to reach our destination. It didn't take too long before I could smell the crisp scent of a campfire near the lake and then wee broke out from the forest to look at the smooth lake surface and perfect reflections of the hills surrounding.

We walked around the lake, allowing Olympia the chance to play in the lake and chase the fishes. But my thought of break, sitting next to the lake with my dog at my feet relaxing, soaking in the scenery, meditating would remain a dream. Olympia was raring to continue up the hill. But never having hiked beyond Sheep Lake, I was unsure how she would be able to handle the terrain and distance. But, I didn't want to return either, the day too perfect to waste.

I slowly climbed the hill behind Sheep Lake hoping to slow Olympia down and preserve her legs. We met a hunter who asked if we had seen the mountain goats in the rocks above the lake. I couldn't say positively whether I had or not - I thought I had, but couldn't say for sure. I saw something like a goat high above the lake but when I looked again either it was gone or just a patch of snow. Soon we were high enough to see Mt Adams and Mt St Helens off to the south. Olympia didn't seem to care, she just kept heading up hill.

Another hiker greeted us as we came to Sourdough Pass and she pointed out my options after I mentioned that I had never hiked beyond the lake. She told me that there was another pass just off in the distance, where I could see Crystal Lakes and it's a nice hike down to them for Olympia to play in or continue following the Pacific Crest Trail to Bear Pass. I looked at the snow-covered traverse of the north facing slope, looked at Olympia looking eagerly up at me and thought it couldn't hurt to at least go to the other gap and get a view of Crystal Lakes.

A quarter of the way across the traverse, I looked up to see Olympia trotting easily through the snow almost to the other side. Then all of a sudden the other pass seemed to only be further away then I first thought and the snow seemed far dangerous than it really was. I called Olympia back, but she only looked at me as if I had just asked her to perform brain surgery. The look of disbelief on her face was as plain to me from several yards away. After much coaxing, she rejoined me at Sourdough Gap where we had a snack and chatted with other hikers passing through before heading back down to the lake and the car beyond.

By the time we made back to the trailhead, Olympia's legs were about to give out but she got into the car to pass out for the ride home. I may not have realized my dream of resting next to the lake with my dog at my feet, but she is resting there now as I write this - tired but restful.