Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles

by Chris Townsend

  In total contrast to the previous day the weather was fine and there were superb views all day. The trail wound along ridges, across meadows and below crags. Much of the time it followed a narrow crest with only a few trees so there were constant views. Those back to Goat Rocks and Mount Adams were excellent, those of Mount Rainier breath-taking. There were many attractive timberline lakes too, all of them surrounded by tents. By Sheep Lake I met a backpacker walking from Snoqualmie Pass, my next supply point, to White Pass who had hiked the whole PCT in 1975. There was no snow in the High Sierra in May that year he told me. He’d met Scott, Dave and Mark and said they were going to have a rest day at Snoqualmie. That meant they’d be leaving the day before I planned on getting there. Maybe I will catch up with them I thought. I wasn’t going to hike faster to do so but it would be nice to meet them again before the end of the trail.

  From Sheep Lake the steepest climb of the day led up to a notch called Sourdough Gap from where another narrow trail undulated along the crest of the hills to Big Crow Basin. There was a shelter half a mile off the trail here but I didn’t visit it as I could see smoke rising and hear horses and thought it might well be full. Instead I camped in the woods by the trail.

  The hills became more rounded and wooded as I left Rainier and its environs behind and the next day was mostly a lengthy descent on the dwindling Cascade crest down to Government Meadows where there was a good cabin at Camp Ulrich. In stormy weather I’d probably have taken advantage of the shelter but it was sunny and still early so I continued the descent. Then, just when I thought I’d be descending right out of the mountains, the trail turned uphill for a 900 foot climb that led up 5754 foot Blowout Mountain, passing about 100 feet below the summit. Succulent sweet huckleberries grew beside the trail and I ate handfuls of these as I climbed. The above timberline trail led to Arch Rock Shelter, which I thought could be useful in a storm (it no longer exists), and had excellent views back to cloud-swathed Mount Rainier. More exciting though was the sight of the rough, jagged peaks beyond Snoqualmie Pass amongst which I would soon be hiking in the enticingly named Alpine Lakes Wilderness. A final descent down steep slopes led to a camp on a flat bench on the steep slopes of Blowout Mountain. A shallow muddy pond full of tadpoles and little frogs looked to be the only water but a search in the undergrowth revealed the outlet stream, which was clear of mud and amphibians.

  I was now 35 miles from Snoqualmie Pass, which should have been an easy two-day pleasant walk in the forest. This wasn’t to be however. Firstly I lengthened the distance by 4 miles by taking the wrong trail from my camp in thick mist, flurries of rain and a gusty wind. Only when I came on a sign did I realise I was on the Blowout Mountain Trail and not the PCT. So back up I went to start again. Much worse however was what was to follow when I finally escaped from Blowout Mountain - a horrible day of clear-cuts and logging, a day that was probably the worst of the whole walk. Not that it was hard or exhausting or dangerous. It wasn’t. It was soul-destroying, which was much worse. There were roads everywhere and I could hear chainsaws and bulldozers echoing across the devastated forest. Virtually the whole area had been clear-cut for many miles. The trail was a muddy mess as it wound through the tree stumps and debris. This was a huge tree slaughterhouse. Just wanting to escape this blasted terrain I walked as fast as I could, sweating heavily in the hot sun. Why was I here? Because I wanted to hike all of the PCT of course. It certainly wasn’t for enjoyment. I didn’t expect to see anyone else and so was surprised when I saw a backpacker coming towards me. We stopped in the midst of the devastation for a chat. Paul was a PCT hiker naturally – no-one else would walk here. He wasn’t a thru-hiker though but was walking a week long section each summer. It had taken him four years to reach this point. At that rate it would take another 28 years to reach Mexico! He told me that an Australian PCT hiker called Ron Ellis was about a day ahead and just a few hours away was Greg Poirier, a hiker I’d last heard of in Weldon where I’d been told he’d set off solo into the High Sierra.

  Sure enough I soon caught up with Greg and hiked with him for the rest of the day. For once I was very glad of company as conversation was a distraction from the appalling mess around us. Greg had started the trail on March 12, three weeks before me, and had indeed set off into the High Sierra. However he’d soon retreated on discovering how much snow there was. Determined to do a continuous hike and not wanting to trudge up the road in Owens Valley he’d headed east across that valley and then hiked along the White Mountains that paralleled the Sierra Nevada. He’d been inspired to do this by Colin Fletcher’s The Thousand-Mile Summer as that was the route Fletcher had taken. This was the book that inspired my walk too of course and we enjoyed discussing it. I thought heading for the White Mountains had been imaginative and adventurous and felt that Greg was a backpacker after my own heart. Meeting him restored my morale on a day when it was declining rapidly.

  Finding a campsite in this trashed land proved difficult. There was nowhere clear enough of tangled branches to pitch a tent. We thought Stirrup Lake might have space on its shores but the trail there had been destroyed and a giant latticework of felled trees waiting to be removed blocked our way. Eventually, just as dark was falling, we found two bumpy but bare spots either side of the trail. Mosquitoes and midges ended the unpleasant day.

  The sound of heavy logging operations starting up near camp woke us early the next morning. ‘It’ll be a relief to get to Snoqualmie and out of this mess’, I wrote in my journal over breakfast. I was not happy. This was the only section of trail I wanted to run away from. The situation has only worsened since then according to recent hikers as more areas have been clear-but. It’s arguable that the 40 miles south of Snoqualmie Pass is the worst section of the whole PCT.

  The vandalised forest continued much of the way to Snoqualmie Pass and again we tried to distract ourselves with conversation and fast walking. By 1.30 p.m. we were looking down on Interstate 90 roaring across the Cascades as we descended past ski tows to the pass. Snoqualmie had the usual collection of ski lodge, café, store and post office that were found at most high road crossings in the Cascades. I collected my penultimate food parcel and did the usual chores. Would I really only do this once more? I was pleased that the store had paperback books and camera film as I was running short of both and especially pleased that amongst the books was mountaineer Fred Beckey’s classic The Challenge of the North Cascades about his vast number of ascents in the range, and Stephen Arno’s Northwest Trees, which would tell me more about the wonderful trees of the Cascades. I’d read both over the next few weeks. In the trail register I found a message from Scott and Dave saying they planned on reaching Canada on the 24th. That was my finish date too so seeing them again was becoming more and more likely.

  On the Commonwealth Campground in Snoqualmie Pass I found Ron Ellis, the Australian hiker, who said he was glad to finally meet me as he was getting fed up with people asking him if he was the English PCT hiker. I’d been asked if I was the Australian or English hiker quite a few times in recent weeks by people who assured me our accents were identical, something that puzzled us both. Ron was a section hiker, that is someone who was doing the PCT in bits. He hadn’t started until May 13th and had then done Campo to Acton before travelling up to Belden and heading north. He hoped to hike the High Sierra and the Mohave Desert after he reached Canada though he knew the first winter snow might prevent him going through the former. He told he me he’d been distracted by the volcanoes and had climbed every one of them since Lassen Peak, taking many days off the trail to do so. I was impressed.

  So far I hadn’t lost a single day due to the weather. This changed at Snoqualmie Pass. I woke to heavy rain and thick mist. The forecast was for snow above 6,500 feet. Weekenders retreating from the north confirmed this. With steep ascents and narrow trails in big mountains to come sitting out the storm seemed wise. Beyond the pass the trail climbed up into the North Cascades, the most alpine, steep and mountainous section of the whole PCT
and which stretched all the way to Canada. The bad weather continued all day with sheets of rain and swirling clouds sweeping through the pass. My retreat was to the café where I spent the day writing letters and talking to PCT hikers as they drifted in during the day. As at the start of the trail the finish was bringing thru-hikers together and by the end of the day seven of us were there. Of the others I was most surprised to meet Ron DiBaccio, who I’d last seen in Cabazon with his girlfriend Cheryl nearly five months ago. Ron wasn’t surprised to see me as he’d been following me since Northern California determined to catch me up. He’d managed to do so now only because of an unfortunate injury. A few days earlier he’d hurt his ankle badly and been rescued and brought down on horseback from Arch Rock Shelter. He’d come here to recuperate for a few days. Not wanting to tackle the snow in the High Sierra he and Cheryl had gone to the coast but he’d returned later to start the hike again further north. Ron had turned up with Robert, who I’d met in Cascade Locks with Jay who himself arrived not long afterwards.

  Rain poured down all night and into the next morning. I delayed departure and spent a few hours chatting to Ron DiBaccio and the other hikers. Ron Ellis was the only one to set off in the rain. By the afternoon the rain had stopped though the cloud was still low. Not wanting to delay any longer I started out. The others were going to wait a little longer. Two hikers who were descending told me there was snow on the trail not far above. I encountered the first of it at 5,000 feet – a couple of inches of wet snow sitting on top of mud and making the trail very slippery. Care was needed to negotiate the narrow trail safely as it wound round steep slopes above deep valleys. This was not a place to fall off the trail. My load didn’t help. I was carrying 11 days supplies, the last time I would carry this much, and my pack was top heavy and a little unstable. The landscape was really dramatic even though I couldn’t see the summits and I very quickly felt as though I was back in big mountains. With such a late start and much ascent to do I only made seven and a half miles before camping beside Gravel Lake. This wasn’t the weather for walking in the dark. I fell asleep hoping it wouldn’t freeze as ice would make the trail really treacherous. For the first time I realised that the weather could stop me finishing the trail. Summer was over, autumn was here and winter was on the way. In my journal I wrote ‘every good day now I’m going to do 20+ miles. I want to reach Canada before the winter really sets in’.

  Thankfully there was no frost overnight. However I did wake to rain and an inch of soft wet snow covering the tent and the ground. This snow was thawing rapidly and I was soon camped in a rapidly spreading puddle. A very wet day followed. I wore all my clothes and got soaked to the skin, my well-worn waterproof clothing no longer coping with the weather. It was so wet I doubt anything would have kept me dry. The air was harshly cold and I felt chilled. In the heavy rain there were no views. From the steepness of the terrain I guessed the scenery was spectacular. As I climbed the snow on the trail grew deeper and I was glad I still had my ice axe as in places the trail was again narrow and often above steep drops. Carrying the ice axe through the gentle snow free terrain of Northern California and Oregon had seemed foolish but luckily something had stopped me sending it home.

  I left the snow for a descent into the Park Lakes Basin and then down 66 switchbacks (according to the guidebook, I didn’t count them – they did seem endless) to a torrent called Lemah Creek by which I camped. The rain had continued pouring down and streams had burst their banks in many places. At times the trail became a stream itself. My feet were sodden, there now being several holes in the tattered uppers of my shoes, not that I thought they’d have kept me dry in this even when new. Inside the tent it was damp and steamy but still quite cosy compared with outside. I wondered though how many days I’d be able to cope with such wet conditions before my gear was just too damp for me to stay warm and dry enough not to risk hypothermia. The storm had lasted for three days now with barely a let-up in the rain. I was glad I had a waterproof bivi bag to pull over my down sleeping bag. I hadn’t used this much but now it was essential for keeping my sleeping bag reasonably dry.

  At 3 a.m. in the morning I woke briefly and looked out. The rain had stopped and I could see a few stars through the trees. Hopeful the storm was over I drifted back to sleep, waking at dawn to silence. No rain was falling on the tent. There was a pool of water at one end of the tent though, caused by condensation running down the walls, and the foot of my sleeping bag was damp even though it was inside the bivi bag – I guess the pressure had forced water through the latter or the waterproofing was punctured, even a tiny pinhole could let water in. I needed to dry out my gear soon or life would become very uncomfortable.

  In the tent porch I discovered a hole in a bag of trail mix. Some small creature had crept in and had a snack. I ate my own breakfast from inside the sleeping bag then donned my wet clothes, at which point the rain started again. Reluctant to leave the shelter of the tent I decided a second breakfast was a good idea and passed the morning reading The Challenge of the North Cascades – an apt title – and smearing glue on the tears in my shoes in the hope this would at least slow down the deterioration. As I sat there Jay and Robert turned up. They’d been camped just a quarter of a mile away. After they left I finally packed up as the sky was starting to clear and the rain had stopped. The damp air was chilly but I soon warmed up on the long slow climb up the side of Escondido Ridge. As the weather improved so the views opened up and I could finally see I really was in the middle of some spectacular and rugged mountain country. Across the deep Lemah Valley the hanging glaciers of Lemah Peak glistened in the sunshine. During the ascent I heard a couple of gunshots and shortly afterwards met two hunters with rifles who told me the autumn hunting season had opened the previous day. This was something I would now have to take into account. My clothing was mostly dark and sombre and designed to blend in. Only my blue pack stood out. I wished I had something red or orange to wear. I didn’t want to be mistaken for a deer.

  At the top of the climb was a pleasant rocky cirque with a small pool at its heart. Here I found Jay and Robert having a break. Jay had spread his damp gear over the sun warmed rocks to dry, a great idea I immediately copied. The sun was hot and everything was soon steaming merrily. Once his gear was dry Jay strode off leaving Robert and me to follow soon afterwards. The trail continued across the upper part of Escondido Ridge with views of over Escondido and Waptus Lakes to magnificent snow-capped peaks. On one a huge easy angled rock slab that I estimated was at least a 1000 feet long reached almost to the summit, a dramatic feature that drew the eye. Finally I was seeing the magnificent peaks of the North Cascades. The day ended with a long, easy angled descent down what seemed interminable switchbacks to the Waptus River by which we camped. This was to be the pattern through the North Cascades – long climbs to ridges and high passes followed by long descents into deep forested valleys followed almost immediately by the next climb. Along with the section in Yosemite the North Cascades had the most ascent and descent per mile on the PCT. I realised too that the steep slopes meant I had to think in advance about camp sites. There were rarely any flat areas during the ascents or descents so starting one late in the day was unwise.

  Talking to Robert that evening I learned that he and Jay were having worse problems with the rain than me. Jay, said Robert, had a non-waterproof single-skin tent so to keep the rain out he had to throw his plastic groundsheet over it which then meant ground water would soak through the tent’s porous floor. Jay’s pack was leaking too and he didn’t have a waterproof cover or liner for it. Used to the damp British climate I was using a waterproof cover over my pack along with water-resistant stuffsacks inside so my gear stayed reasonably dry. Robert’s problem was the size of his tent rather than its performance. With tiny hoops at each end it only rose a foot above the ground, which meant that whilst he could stay dry lying inside he couldn’t do anything such as cook or sit up. To try and overcome this he rigged the space blanket he’d brought for em
ergencies over the front to make a porch. It didn’t look very effective. My tent was roomy and waterproof and had a large porch in which I could store wet gear and cook. Robert’s mini-tent was undoubtedly much lighter but in stormy weather I’d much rather have the extra weight. Sitting in the tent in the rain I was warm and comfortable and didn’t feel restricted or claustrophobic.

  Robert was still sitting in his hooped mini-tent/tarp rig when I left early the next morning, keen to get going as the sun was shining. Slowly the forest opened out to give views of the rock tower of Cathedral Peak. I met some hikers and horse riders descending the trail who gave me news of PCT hikers ahead including Larry who’d been at Stevens Pass, the next road crossing, looking ill from a stomach upset several days earlier. I hope it was nothing serious. (I never heard of Larry again on the trail but later I found out that he had completed the PCT).

  A climb led to Cathedral Pass after which there was a dipping and rising traverse across the steep glaciated slopes of 7899 foot Mount Daniel to Deception Pass. A notice beside the trail advised following a detour as a glacial stream up ahead was dangerous to ford. The hikers I’d met earlier had told me to ignore this as the creek was easily crossed on logs. I did and it was. Throughout the day there many views of the waterfalls, cliffs and hanging valleys on the steep mountainsides, a wonderful vertical world. Steep, there was a word that summed up the North Cascades. Beyond Deception Pass I had the best view of long glacier clad 7,960 foot Mount Daniel, the highest peak in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, looking very dramatic with big cumulus clouds towering up behind it. From Deception Lakes I took the old abandoned Cascade Crest Trail over Surprise Gap to Glacier Lake as it was almost 2 miles and a few hundred feet of ascent shorter than the PCT and I could see no reason to prefer the latter. Why the two trails diverge here for a short while I couldn’t imagine. From the bootprints in the mud it looked as though all the hikers in front of me had gone this way too.