Perpetual Motion

Plan A fell through for the weekend, as did plan B, plan C and a few subsequent plans after that. But our adventurous spirits would not be squelched, so we packed up the puppies and drove north. Our 1st roadtrip right after we 1st met was along the cascades loop. Head north on I-5 to highway 20, turn east up over the mountains through the North Cascades National Park, when you reach the eastside head south on highway 97 until you get to Wenatchee where you turn west and head back over the mountains through Stevens Pass. We left late so weren't able to stop too often - our agenda was to continue on until we made it home again.

The snow is still melting from the high country - in fact snow still lingered along the highway at Rainy and Washington Passes obscuring the meadows that in a few weeks would be alive with flowers and critters. The run-off cascaded down the hills at every turn. Large vertigo inducing falls across the valleys to the small trickles running through the rocks at road side. They blurred by us as we sped along the highway. I wanted to get out and photograph every one I saw, but we had so many miles to go.

We finally stopped in Winthrop for dinner. Sitting on the deck of the restaurant, I sat mesmerized at the cottonwood tree on the river bank. The wind blowing down the river flipped and flickered the leaves of the cottonwood in an hypnotic dance.

All too soon, we were back on the road. With necessary breaks and dinner, we made it home 12 hours after leaving. Too bad we couldn't stop for real sight-seeing.

Tree Hugger

I admit it. I am a tree hugger. There's something rather comforting about putting your arms around the trunk of a big sturdy Douglas-Fir and inhaling deeply the (forgive me) woodsy and earth filled air. I know, this admission ranks me up there with the wacko environmentalists, but I can't help myself. OK, once in a while you get sap on your shirt or a splinter in your cheek - I generally see these as little kisses from nature.

However, hugging trees isn't just the strange desire to grab onto something strong. There have been several instances in my life where hugging a tree has eased my passage through the woods or flat out saved my from serious damage.

I often reminisce of the hike along the northern part of Mt Rainier Park's wonderland trail when a tree came in very handy for our progress. We came across one of the many washouts along the way. the trail cut uphill through the trees on a trail that mountain goats must have built. Our downhill descent wasn't any easier and at one point the trail made a sharp drop about 5 feet down. With a full pack and a steep downhill, I was a little hesitant on jumping. But was able to grab hold of the tree next to the trail. I hugged that tree as it helped me safely descend the cliff and was able to continue after a gentle pat at the base of the trunk.

Another trip on the wonderland trail found me crossing a steep snowfield. I lost my footing, but was able to reach out and grab a branch from a nearby sub-Alpine Fir. I hugged that branch with all my strength to save myself from a slippery descent into its brethren far below.

Yeah, I'm a tree hugger, but I think in my case it's quite justified.

Hiking with Olympia

Her dewy brown eyes stared at me from the computer screen. A face so sweet, I couldn’t resist. This was the one: the puppy who would be my companion through city walks and forest trails. She had been aptly named Goldie by the shelter that had placed the photo so prominently on the web, but I would later name her Olympia – my little regal goddess. And she would become my constant companion on my travels. They would be as much her travels as they were mine.

She’s now 8 years old and has started to become lame. Far too young for my precious friend to stay locked away at home while I enjoy my hikes. But all too often, I must leave her behind for the hike is too long or too strenuous for her poor ailing legs to handle. It kills me to again look into her brown eyes now puddles of sorrow and tell her she has to stay home. She’ll sit by the door as I leave hoping I’ll remember that I had forgotten to take her.

A lot can be said about the will of a dog. Dogs have traveled cross-country to rejoin owners they had been separated from. They have stayed by owners who have been injured or killed in the wild and leave only as rescuers drag them away. Recently I had the opportunity to hike; a quiet trail surrounded by vine maples and hemlock. So as not to leave her at home mourning my disappearance, I brought her along with me thinking I’d leave her in the car – she’d have a ride at least. But after I reached the trailhead I let her out of the car, thinking I could loop her leash under her haunches for some extra support.

We hiked up hills, over streams, around rocks and logs, and down through forest. We stopped often to rest, relaxing in the tranquility. By the end of our 4 miles, I had yet to give her extra support. She limped a little, but as I looked into her eyes I knew. Taking her on this hike had made her happy. Her dewy brown eyes smiled up at me as she asked for help back into the car.

Soft Memories

Several years ago (I'd rather not think how long exactly) I lived in Denver. It was great time for me - I was out of school and starting my life on my own. It seemed like an easier time in my life. I really liked living in Denver and often fantasize about heading back, but life is a little more burdensome now.

To get a little of the sweet sense of those easier times, I'll take a walk through the woods and meadows of the Weyerhaueser property in Federal Way. You see, one of the activities cheap enough for my minimal income was to walk through the greenways and parks of Denver. I would stroll through the trees, amongst the flower, and with others out for the afternoon. They were good times, when I was stretching out to find who I was and who I would become. During these walks, I would dream about the things I wanted to do and how I could accomplish them.

Today, I am a different person, but I still have dreams - a bit different than those I had coming out of college. Walking around the Weyerhaueser property helps to remind me of those days in Denver - it allows me to think about my ideas, figure out who I am and who I can become.

I think I've been here before . . .

Rampart Ridge Loop 6/3/07 5 miles

Last year, Michael & I made yet another attempt at the westside section of the Wonderland Trail. We started out at Longmire and made our way up Rampart Ridge, slowly climbing through the trees with gravity and the extra weight of our packs pulling us back down the hill. Once we made it to the top of the ridge, we knew we were well on our way into our trip.

As the Nisqually entrance opened the previous month, I thought it might be a good trip to head back to the Rampart Ridge and continue on through the loop as it traveled the ridge and back down to the Longmire meadows.

Once we hit the trail, the feel of our previous trip flooded back into my mind - the slow pace up the hill, the gravity pulling us back, the trees stretching above our heads, the breeze slipping through the branches. I could also remember the sense of excitement of starting out on a new adventure. And here we were, at the top of the ridge. Instead of heading north, this time we turned west and sauntered along the ridgeline to fabulous views of Mt Rainier and Longmire Village with the Nisqually River, that was a raging torrent in November now a sliver through the rock connecting the two views.

I love hiking at Mt Rainier and look forward to a summer filled with mountain hikes.

Crossing Streams

Big Creek Loop 5/28/07 4.5 miles

The new Mountaineer's day hiking trail guides hit our desks this week and I couldn't wait to test one out. Of course I borrowed the Olympic Peninsula guide by Craig Romano and flipped through to the Big Creek Loop trail near Lake Cushman - a 4 1/2 mile trail with an elevation gain of just 900 feet. I thought it would a wonderful hike to stretch our legs a bit. And in fact, it was not only a perfect hike for us but also a perfect hike for our dogs.

Big Creek Loop trail, as Craig put it, is the newest trail in the Olympic National Forest. I must say it is an extremely well-maintained trail. All junctions were well signed as well as mile markers along the way. The trail was wide and clean of all blowdowns - something that can't be said of many other trails in western Washington this year. The trail was originally built using abandoned forest service roads and interconnected by trails. The volunteer crews that built it did an amazing job.

We hiked through hemlock forests peppered with big leaf and vine maples. At one point we walked through bracken ferns chest high. After climbing through the forest for a while, the trail meets up with Big Creek and follows it upstream for a fraction of a mile before leveling out and crossing the 1st of the tributaries into Big Creek. We stopped at the convergence of one of these tributaries for lunch. The dogs laid at our feet hoping for a dropped cracker or cheese while wee listened to the tumbling and crashing water as it fell over rocks and swirled around boulders.

After our break, our way downhill was decorated by springtime flowers including beargrass, bleeding hearts and vanilla leaf. And then I saw it, curving over the trail ahead, a beautiful pacific rhododendron - its pink flowers brightening the cloud-covered forest. I love to see these northwest wildflowers; they line the highways of the peninsula but I especially enjoy them in wilds. I think, because they have been domesticated so well, it's a bit refreshing to see them where the originated - under a forest canopy and amongst ferns.

In all, we had 6 stream crossings on this fine hike. Check it out for yourself. Even better, pick up one of the new day hiking guides from the Mountaineers - 1% of sales will be returned to trail maintenance.

500 feet and a half mile

Mt St Helens 5/12/07 11 miles

There we were at the crest of the last big climb up Mt St Helens, Michael’s leg had just given out on him as well as his will to continue. It had been pure will on his part to get him up the last 1500 vertical feet: 20 steps and stop, 20 steps and stop. We had left our packs down around 6000 feet about 2000 feet from the top of the 8300 foot volcano. But that didn’t seem to help Michael’s pace. I knew there was something wrong, but he wasn’t letting on and he had a plan on how to make it to the top – leave our packs and continue on. Once we had crested the hill however, Michael stopped and couldn’t move on.

He finally told me what had been bothering him for the last 2000 feet or so – he had pulled a muscle behind his knee and every step was misery for him. No wonder he could only go a few steps before stopping. I stood at the crest of this last very steep slope listening to Michael as he outlined our options, not really paying too much attention. I already knew what we would have to do. We would need to turn back. I couldn’t ask him to go on and I wasn’t about to finish without him although the crater rim was just up there. I knew I could make it, but why go on without the person who had gotten me this far?

Turning back, however was fear inducing for me. I had hoped for a “practice” glissade before attempting to slide down this oh so steep hill. We started to sidestep down the hill but every muscle in my body tensed up with fear. If I did fall, I would be in a world of hurt and that is what I was most fearful of, falling. I had never trusted the snow – it is a devious substance hiding dangers underneath its apparent solid surface. To this day, I don’t understand how people can be so cavalier on the snow, traipsing along without a seeming care in the world. Me? No, I have to wonder if my next step is a step to disaster. Which is part of the reason I wanted to go on this adventure, to work on my self-confidence in the snow. I love to snowshoe. Skiing still needs work. But to walk in the snow, I would need some practice.

We finally sat down to take off our crampons (one of the best investments we’ve made – my new snow security blankets) and scuttled over to the glissade track. If you’ve never glissaded before, let me tell you. Sliding down a snowy mountain on your butt is probably the second best thing to mountain climbing after the wonderfully unobstructed views. OK, then there’s the absolute thrill that you just did something adventurous, something fun, something crazy.