Playing in Snow

Heather Meadows 1/21/07

If you ever ask me where my favorite place to snowshoe or hike is I usually answer quickly with the last place I adventured. I will expound on how wonderful the scenery/flora/trail was and recommend to whoever is listening that they have got to go. One stalwart holdout that brings me back any season is Mt Baker. Whether I’m kayaking on Baker Lake, hiking up the valleys, snowshoeing the meadows, or sitting in awe at Artist’s Point I’m always happy when I return and will often start planning another trip up.

This weekend, after several weeks of watching the mountains gather winter coats, friends & I threw out snowshoes in the back of the Subaru and drove off to Heather Meadows on the northwest side of Mt Baker. Heather Meadows is fabulous any time of year: spring and summer wildflowers dot the landscape, autumn burnishes the blueberry leaves, winter is thick with snow piled high. The forest leases out ski slopes in the area and there is quite a bit of groomed and backcountry terrain reached with chairlifts. There are also other slopes in the area accessible only by the hearty few who will climb with their skis and shush back down again. The meadows and valleys are perfect for cross-country skiers and snowshoers.

For several years, I had been trying to reach Artist’s Point from Heather Meadows and had convinced my friends that this would be a good destination for us. However, after only a half hour, we realized that not only was the snow extremely powdery (and hindering our momentum) but the wind was torturous. Each blast picked up tiny snow crystal from the surface and splashed it into our faces, feeling as if our faces were stabbed by a series of tiny pins. We finally took refuge underneath the boarded up visitor’s center in the meadows, had lunch and planned out the rest of our afternoon.

Our best bet would be to make our way into the valley holding Bagley Lakes – frozen over for winter and covered with snow. I had hiked around the lakes several times and am often intrigued by their utter disappearance during the winter. Where ferns and flowers grow during the summer only smooth snow banks exist after the first heavy snowfall. Even the shed-sized boulder where boys full of adventure jump into the lake is camouflaged as drifted snow. Here we were, our little band of friends, looking over the edge of the hill to the valley bottom and hidden lakes below trying to find the safest route to windless freedom, but the illusions of snow can be disastrous. One wrong step and we could be sliding out for control or even worse, start a small avalanche.

The slope seemed sturdy enough, so Grant started a traversing descent on our first steep incline. Kristi, Christine & I all had a different idea. The snow was soft, we had thick layers on and the slope looked too sweet to pass up. We stood side by side at the edge of the hill, sat down, and pushed off. If you haven’t got a sled, the next best thing is your own rump. But, the snow was soft and within a few yards, our butts were deep in snow with snow pile between our legs. We weren’t going any further. Nor did it seem were we getting up without a struggle. Giggling, twisting, turning, pushing and finally just rolling over, we got on our feet to walk and run the rest of the way to Grant. The next hill wouldn’t be as steep for us, so we just ran down the hill, at times sinking to our knees, if not face-planting. It took us some time to re-group (stop giggling) and shake out the more excess snow from our clothes. During this exercise, a group of free-heelers met up with us and we chatted about their sport and their dogs as they waited for a few friends. We soon met up with our car, finished shaking out the excess snow, and discussed how we need to get back out real soon and maybe next time, make it all the way to Artist’s Point.

What a Bust!

Snowshoeing Blewett Pass? 3/17/07

The weekend's weather prediction was rain, rain, and more rain with a touch of rain. But I wanted to go snowshoeing, and I wanted to go bad. After I had fallen while walking the washed out Carbon River Road, Michael & I took the dogs on a little road trip to Eastern Washington. We hopped over the mountains on I-90, bopped up to Wenatchee over Blewett Pass, swung down the Columbia River to Yakima before heading back over the mountains at White Pass. What stood out in our minds, other than the speeding ticket near Yakima, was the beauty of snow and ice along highway 97 over Blewett. This we had to come explore again. So we did, this last weekend. However, where there were feet of snow just a month before, there was only patches. I was disheartened.

As Michael wasn't feeling in top condition, we decided just to explore the area around the Teanaway River, a valley we had never explored before. As you drive up to Blewett, you drive around the edge of the valley, a beautiful valley full of farms and ranches, pick-up trucks and barns. Neither of us had explored this valley, so as we drove back to Cle Elum we turned onto the Teanaway River Rd. We saw beautiful expanses of land with fancy houses, horse barns, and geese swimming in ponds. Out each stretch of road were places we chattered about exploring later in the spring. Places that we had talked about visiting but had yet to do. This year, with so much damage to our favorite haunts after the November storm, we'd be able to fit a few of these in. The day wasn't completely lost then.

One other thing we stopped to enjoy, a beaver pond along Hwy 97 - just off the road in Liberty Creek. I was startled when I realized that the girdling I saw on fully grown trees was the work of our little flat-tailed friends. Until then I had thought beavers only gnawed on saplings and small trees, not these adult-sized pines. Then, to have built his pond right next to the road. Sometimes nature really does surprise us by defying civilization.

Damaging Storms

Carbon River Road 1/28/07 & 3/10/07

After two months of watching and listening to the reports out of Mt Rainier, Michael & I decided to walk up the Carbon River Road to survey the damage ourselves. The damage begins 1 1/2 miles beyond the park entrance, wiping out the road to the point where rangers built trails around the damage. In January we had just reached the damaged section of road. I hopped up on the side of the road to snap a picture and hopped back to the road. However, my toe caught the lip of the road and I went down, hard. Rolling on the ice-cold road, my hopes of hiking this summer started to fade. What if I had really screwed up my knee? It took us two hours to find our way back to the car, hobbling along using Michael as a crutch. How could I have done this - on a road? I could have taken the pain if i wasn't so humiliated by my clumsiness. Luckily, no permanently serious damage happened to my knee. I'm not too sure I can say that about the Carbon River Road.

After several weeks of recuperation, Michael & I hit the road again. We passed the spot where I had fallen and just beyond that the stunning remnants of nature at her wildest. Rocks, trees, mud strewn about where the road we had just driven on a few months meandered through the trees. Now the road was itself a creek bed, water streaming through the rocks and around culverts that had once allowed the water under the road. They were now useless, some filled with mud, others yards from where they originally laid.

Sections of the road are still in good working condition, but others were ripped apart, showing the same signs of the storms that hit Mt Rainier in November. Trees, rocks, & mud lay across the road or a stream ran down the middle. By the time we reached Ipsut Creek Campground, we had crawled over logs, around root balls ripped from the ground, boulder hopped up the creek, slid through mud and marveled at the destructive force of nature. But we also knew that nature will be able to rebuild herself. How humanity can rebuild access to her beauty is another question. The road will not be open this year. The superintendent has promised Carbon River Road will re-open.

At this point, Michael & I are planning other hikes for the summer beyond Mt Rainier. Our quest to finish the Wonderland Trail will need to be put on hold - the park is not issuing back country permits for the wonderland this year. But there is hope; both the WTA & SCA will be coordinating volunteers to help rebuild the mountain and the other areas hit by the November storm. I plan on volunteering along with hundreds of other from around the world who have already promised their time and money.

MusselFest 2007

Coupeville, WA 3/3/07

Mussels, Mussels everywhere. Each March Coupeville which sits on beautiful Whidbey Island plays host to the Penn Cove Mussel Festival. Penn Cove lies on the eastern side of Whidbey Island which seems to be a perfect place to cultivate mussels, clams, and oysters. So each year Coupeville celebrates the wonderful shellfish that come from Penn Cove. And each year Michael & I with my sister and friends attend the festival. The biggest attraction of the festival is the taste test of the local restaurants' chowders. For just a few dollars, each visitor gets a ballot with a list of participating restaurants and travels from tasting to tasting throughout town.

We usually meet about mid-morning and taste our way to fullness through many little cups of mussel chowder by mid-afternoon. An average of 12 restaurants participate each year, so 12 small cups of chowder have an ability to fill you up. We get a taste of traditional chowders, specialty chowders, bisques and soups. All with (hopefully) several little mussels strewn about the bottom. At the end of the day, we part ways satisfied and happy from good food and good company.

But a visit to Whidbey isn't complete without a visit to one of the numerous parks. This year Michael & I stopped by Ft Ebey State Park to walk the dogs and show our friend Michelle the place special enough to hold our wedding. After playing with the puppies a while we head back to the ferry, still full from our extended lunch.

Grayland Beach

2/24-25

Rain, Rain, go away. Come again another day. This childhood rhyme rattled itself through my thoughts Saturday morning as our romantic get way to the beach was washed away with the sand on my sneakers, which were outside getting soggier by the hour. I realize that some of my friends would think that being cooped up in a small beach cabin on a rainy day is entirely romantic. Not for me. Sitting there hour after hour watching the rain splatter against the windows, I began to stagnate. Frustration welled up inside me, as I knew the ocean and miles of beach were just over that ridge and me with no fisherman's rain gear to protect myself from the deluge. Michael sat over at the kitchen table quietly reading - he has no problem spending a day doing "nothing." I read a bit, wrote a bit, played some Sudoku, and finally put a puzzle together (except for one extra piece that didn't fit into the remaining two spots. To think I could have been snowshoeing.

Now, don't get me wrong. I did appreciate the time alone without distractions, the time spent with Michael, just being at the beach. But when Michael told me he had gotten the keys to his boss' cabin, i started imagining a wonderful late winter afternoon - mostly cloudy with a few showers. I imagined we'd arrive and stroll on the beach, then imagined waking up the next morning for a stroll on the beach followed by lunch and stroll on the beach. After dinner I thought we could take a stroll on the beach and then wildly though we could take a stroll on the beach the next morning before leaving.

What I got what a brisk walk with the dogs when we arrived, cut short when I got hit by a wave while kneeling to take a picture. A downpour on Saturday, that kept me in the car that morning as we explored our surroundings. A restless Saturday afternoon and hints of blue skies Sunday morning as we left for home. No, i didn't feel rested - i felt lethargic unable to think and not caring if i did.

I found out this weekend, that a sedentary weekend will not revitalize me or activate my mind. I fell most alive with my thoughts clear and cohesive as I'm out hiking in the woods, along the beach, or above treeline. As I'm out exerting myself to view the beauty surrounding me, my mind is exploring thoughts and ideas, but there is a connectedness between them, me, and my environs. I feel more centered in my world when I'm walking in my world not sitting away somewhere behind four walls and a roof (although very comforting during the storms).

But then, winter storm warnings were given throughout the Washington mountains that weekend and I wouldn't have been able to go snowshoeing. Might as well spend it in a little cabin at the beach.