Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles

by Chris Townsend

  Initially the rough, steep, decaying old trail was worth taking for the views back to massive Mac Peak above Deceptions Lakes. The real reward came at Surprise Gap though with a superb view over Glacier Lake to the distant white cone of 10,525 foot Glacier Peak, the next stratovolcano. However unlike the range to the south the Cascades here were not wooded hills only occasionally rising above timberline with the giant stratovolcanoes widely spaced in a line amongst them but a rugged alpine mountain range with glaciers, cliffs and rock peaks amongst which there were also occasional volcanoes. For the first time since the High Sierra I felt as though I was walking day after day in real mountain country. This continued for the remainder of the walk, making the last fortnight wonderful. Here in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness the final glory of the PCT was beginning.

  From Surprise Gap I descended the steep boulder strewn trail to Glacier Lake where I camped. I’d walked 22 miles and climbed 4,000 feet and felt fine. The day had been splendid and my gear was dry. The walk felt like it was properly back under way after the disturbance of the storm.

  September 14th dawned beautifully clear. I was delighted as it was my 33rd birthday. I’d have hated spending it in a storm seeing nothing (that has happened!) or even worse in an ugly despoiled area. On this day both weather and scenery were splendid. The clarity of the views was superb as a cold dry east wind blew all day preventing any heat haze from forming and keeping the humidity low. Trap Pass gave a good view of the rock towers of Thunder Mountain after which there was a long gentle descent through slowly declining hills to ski lifts at Stevens Pass where, unusually, there was no ski resort or store, just the highway. Across the pass the trail soon disappeared back into the forest where it stayed, with just one good view of the rock peak of Lichtenburg Mountain across Valhalla Lake, all the way to Janus Lake where there was a rather decrepit open-fronted log shelter called Janice Cabin. Here I found Jay and Ron Ellis and, as I soon discovered, many cheeky mice that scurried over the floor and tried to get into our packs. Jay and Ron had bagged the small sleeping platform so I set up my bed on the floor. I did have a comfortable self-inflating mat though whilst Ron only had a thin piece of closed cell foam and Jay nothing at all. We hung our food from nails in the cabin walls to keep it safe from the rodents. I lay in my sleeping bag looking out at a brilliant clear starry sky. There’ll be a frost tonight, I thought, before I fell asleep. It had been a good birthday.

  Sure enough the ground outside the cabin was white at dawn. The sun soon rose though and a warm day followed. The changing colours gave the lie to the illusion that it was still summer though; reds and browns were beginning to predominate amongst the undergrowth and along creek banks. It was an up and down sort of day over pleasant rocky hills with good views of distant mountains, especially, again, Glacier Peak which had a large cloud curving dramatically over the summit. Ron had set off before me (and Jay before him) but I caught up with him sitting on a hillside admiring the splendid view. Close by was impressive 9415 foot Mount Stuart while to the south could be seen the peaks around Snoqualmie Pass and big, white Mount Rainier which seemed to be floating above the forests. Ron and I then hiked together for the rest of the day past pleasant lakes and through wooded cirques and up steep slopes to a shoulder of Skykomish Peak where we stopped to eat some delicious blueberries before traversing below the summit in soft evening light and then descending to pretty Lake Sally Ann where we found Jay already camped. The view over the lake was lovely and I noted in my journal ‘this is the best site in quite a while’. Mostly I was camping in forests with no views as the steep terrain of the mountains here didn’t lend themselves to high camps.

  I woke to a beautiful soft dawn. To the south the dark-edged peaks were rose-tinted. The day was magnificent. Again a cold wind, this time from the northeast, kept the air clear, giving a sharp-etched look to the mountains. I thought it the best light since the High Sierra. The trail led under Skykomish Peak and then around treeless slopes covered with red and purple berry bushes to White Pass and Red Pass. Ahead was the glaring almost painful white of Glacier Peak. From Red Pass we had a stupendous view of a vast array of rugged glacier-covered peaks. The 756 glaciers of the North Cascades make up nearly half the glaciers in the USA outside of Alaska. From Red Pass it looked like it with big glaciers and snowfields visible on almost every mountain.

  Ron and I parted on Red Pass as he was leaving the PCT to meet some friends for an ascent of Glacier Peak. I’d enjoyed hiking with him but was, as usual, quite happy to be on my own. Saying farewell to Ron I left the pass for a descent down a wide glaciated scenic valley. The day ended with a somewhat reluctant entry into some really dense almost claustrophobic feeling woods by White Chuck Creek. I wanted to be in the sunshine and to see the mountains! After crossing many creeks I found a campsite by one of them, Glacier Creek, that did have a good view.

  I was now in the Glacier Peak Wilderness and approaching the magnificent mountain itself, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful on the PCT, and also one of the most remote of the stratovolcanoes. Of all the regions of the PCT this was one I immediately wanted to return to and spend more time in (as I did many years later when I made an autumn circuit of Glacier Peak). From the Glacier Creek camp I climbed up to Fire Creek Pass, a tremendous viewpoint for Glacier Peak and for the vast spread of the North Cascades. Below the pass I reached a fine cirque that held lovely partially frozen Mica Lake. There followed a leg-pounding, steep, long switchback descent through the forest to glacial, avalanche prone Milk Creek. As I descended I could see the trail switchbacking straight back up the other side of the canyon for 1900 feet. The straight line distance to the other side of the narrow canyon was short but the trail distance was long. Beautiful this wilderness might be, it was also rugged and tough. The bridge over Milk Creek had been wrecked, by flood or avalanche, but the water was shallow so fording it was no problem. (In 2003 more serious flooding destroyed a long section of the trail in this area and the PCT had to be rerouted. The trail wasn’t repaired until 2011). The 21/2 mile long ascent began straight after the crossing. It only took an hour and a quarter but it seemed longer as I was getting tired and it was very hot. From the top of the climb there were more good views including to the northwest where I could see what could only be distant Mount Baker, the last stratovolcano before Canada. 10,778 foot Mount Baker lies well to the west of the PCT and isn’t visible from many places along it so I was pleased at this view. I was to see it much more closely when I hiked the Pacific Northwest Trail in 2010 as this crosses its slopes.

  Camp was down in the forest by the Suiattle River after another steep switchbacking descent. I was deep in the forest here, surrounded by huge and impressive Douglas firs. After all this time the forests could still surprise and delight me. Here these ancient old growth trees, some of which could be over a thousand years old, thrived on the damp climate and grew to massive size. Moss and lichen hung from the branches and there was rich undergrowth below the trees even though the sun rarely reached the forest floor for long due to the thick high canopy. There were many fallen trees, also covered with moss and lichen. There was an air of timelessness in the quiet sombre forest, a feeling of slowness and stillness.

  Before I camped I passed a group of cheerful hunters and their horses. I went on until I could no longer here them then camped just off the trail. Later in the evening I was sitting in the tent after dark reading by candlelight when I was startled by a rifle barrel poking through the open tent door. The hunter waving it just wanted to know the time and whether I’d seen any other hunters. I was happy to direct him to the party I’d passed but I did wonder how the jumpy hiker who’d displayed his gun to me on the slopes of Mount Hood would have reacted to having a rifle pointed at him. I was initially too startled to be alarmed and the hunter did quickly speak so I knew he was friendly. Unsure where he was in the dark I don’t think he even realised he’d pointed his rifle at me or intended to do so. It just happened to be in his hand.

  This was a well
-used site and the local mice were obviously used to campers as they were very bold. One of them ran all over my shoes, garbage, pans and pack, examining each closely and coming within a few inches of me completely unbothered by my presence or the light from my torch. It seemed to have an unhealthy fascination for my sweaty socks and spent rather a long time sniffing them. Remembering the trail mix that had been nibbled at a previous camp I hung my food bag, which was fairly empty now, from a tree branch. As usual since the mosquitoes had stopped being a problem I slept with the tent door wide open. I woke suddenly in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in my head. A mouse was tugging at a strand of my hair! I sat up and it raced away. Not wanting such a shock again I zipped the door shut. I’d survived rattlesnake country and had no problems with bears. I wasn’t expecting to be molested by a mouse.

  The following day saw the start of my last week on the PCT. I didn’t want to think about finishing yet though. I still had over 100 miles of challenging high mountain wilderness to enjoy. I also had one more supply point, at Stehekin on Lake Chelan, which was ten miles off the trail but could be reached by a shuttle bus provided by the North Cascades National Park, which I would enter very soon. As I was running low on food I was keen to reach Stehekin as soon as possible. From the Suiattle River I climbed to Suiattle Pass and superb views of aptly named Fortress Mountain and Glacier Peak where Ron should be making his ascent. The crystalline and metamorphic rocks of the North Cascades give them a distinctive very different to the mountains further south and Fortress Mountain typified this. The mountainsides along the trail were beautiful with bright autumn tints of red, brown and yellow. I knew that soon they would be covered with snow.

  Twice during the day I came on brand new sections of trail that weren’t in the guidebook or on Warren’s maps. Signs pointed along these as now being the PCT. The first led more directly to Suiattle Pass than the old route, the second went up and around two superb rock-girt cirques below Plummer and Sitting Bull Mountains before descending to the South Fork of Agnes Creek. Here the old and new PCTs reconnected and there was a long gentle descent beside the creek in its deepening canyon. There was just one view down into the gorge through which the big creek crashed but otherwise the ravine was hidden. The South Fork joined the West Fork down in the forest and here I met a porcupine which tried without success to climb a tree when it saw me but failed to get any grip on the bark. I watched it a short while then walked on, leaving the creature in peace.

  Late in the day I arrived at a backcountry campsite called Five Mile Camp, deep in majestic forest. As I approached I could see figures and heard voices that soon became very familiar. On hearing me approach they turned towards me and we all let out whoops of glee. After 12 weeks and 1400 miles I’d finally met up with Scott and Dave, just 100 miles from the Canadian border, along with Mark, who’d been with them for several weeks. We had a grand reunion, all trying to tell our tales at once. I was delighted to see them as I’d just about given up hope of doing so. Too tired to pitch the tent I slept outside only to be disturbed several times by a deer that kept approaching me noisily then backing off when I shone a light at it.

  The next morning it was just a short walk down to the roadhead to catch the shuttle bus to Stehekin. We were in the little settlement which is strung out along Lake Chelan before noon. Stehekin is unusual as there is no road access. It can only be reached by hiking, horseback, boat or plane. The shuttle bus runs 10 miles to the trailhead but that’s it for road transport. Stehekin has a post office, store, cafe and the Purple Point Campground where we stayed. As it was a Sunday we couldn’t collect our mail so we sat round eating and talking. There were many stories to tell, especially when Jay arrived and joined us. A last gathering of PCT hikers, I thought.

  The next morning I collected my last food parcel, my last set of maps and a mass of birthday cards and then sat on the dock watching float planes fly in and out along with the ferry that plies the lake and planning my supplies for the last days of the walk. It really was nearly over. I chatted to the park ranger who told me the forecast for the next few days was mixed. Late in the afternoon I caught the bus back up to the roadhead at High Bridge where there was a good shelter that I shared with Scott, Dave and Mark. Canada was 88 miles away. Mexico around 2,400. It was hard to believe. I really had walked all that way.

  From High Bridge the first fifteen miles of the trail were in the North Cascades National Park. The PCT only cuts across a small corner of this magnificent park but its tangled alpine peaks are in view from it for much of the last 100 miles. Most of the park is managed as wilderness and much is pretty inaccessible due to the extremely steep and rugged terrain, the dense old growth forests and the more than 300 glaciers.

  We left High Bridge together but I soon pulled ahead. The others were planning on 61/2 days to the finish, I hoped to do it in 4. Whilst it had been very enjoyable meeting up with the others and I’d been especially glad to see Scott and Dave again I wanted to finish on my own. As at the start of this great adventure I wanted to feel the PCT was mine. And I wanted to relish these last few days in the wilderness and experience them as deeply as I could. I was restless too. The realisation that I was almost certainly going to make it to Canada suddenly became very real and I was urged on by excitement and the nagging fear that something might go wrong at the last minute.

  The day was spent mainly in forest, with some views of rocky peaks, on a long very gradual ascent by Bridge Creek to Rainy Pass and the North Cascades Highway, the last road I would cross. The trees and the rich vegetation were lovely. The highlight of the day though was a close encounter with a black bear. I rounded a bend in the trail and there it was about thirty feet away and walking towards me. For a second or two we both froze and then the bear ran off, uphill, rippling through the undergrowth and brushing aside bushes as though they did not exist. I was surprised by the fluidity and grace of movement of such an apparently bulky and ponderous animal. I realised too why the advice given by bear experts is never to run away. There was no way I could have outrun it. This was the closest I’d come to one of these prime symbols of wilderness and I was glad to have had such a close encounter.

  At Rainy Pass I left the North Cascades National Park and climbed through the forest to camp by Porcupine Creek. The ascent continued the next morning up out of the trees and through meadows and rock fields to the narrow notch of Cutthroat Pass and a sweeping view of the North Cascades. The splendid vistas continued all day. From the pass a long traverse took me past arid-looking rock peaks across several scree and talus slopes. I was on the east side of the Cascades here and in the rain shadow of the big mountains to the west so it was much drier than most of the region. Of the many soaring peaks I could see from the pass the rock pyramids of Tower Mountain and Mount Hardy stood out. The bushes beside the trail were red and yellow, their colours amplified by the bright yellow needles of the alpine larches (a final new tree!) and the yellowish Golden Horn granodiorite rock. It was all wonderful and my heart sang. I felt I could walk through such country forever. Another traverse round the glacial Swamp Creek valley with yet more superb views, especially to Methow Pass, led to a long descent to the West Fork of the Methow River. The day ended with a steep 2,600 foot climb that climaxed with a set of very steep switchbacks that went straight up the canyon wall from Glacier Pass. Once the terrain eased off I searched for a camp site, finding one beside a tiny trickling creeklet amongst alpine larch and subalpine fir. Up here at 6,600 feet the air was chilly. A crescent moon appeared in the sky. I wasn’t surprised to find a frost on the ground the next morning.

  My penultimate day on the trail was another wonderful timberline walk through a spectacular landscape that took me into the huge (531,539 acres) and magnificent Pasayten Wilderness, (which I was to cross from east to west on the Pacific Northwest Trail many years later). The PCT stayed high on a traverse between several passes with views that included ones west to the vast array of peaks of the North Cascades National Park and b
eyond them the big white snow cone of Mount Baker. In this dry terrain there was a noticeable lack of creeks. The alpine larch I’d been enjoying the last few days gave way to subalpine fir and Engelmann spruce, tall spire-like conifers with short curved branches that shed snow easily. The autumn colours of red and yellow were vivid now, making the mountainsides beautiful and bright. Just once I dipped down into deeper forest to Holman Pass before climbing back up 1200 feet for my last wilderness camp by a barely flowing spring on a small flat area on the mountainside. I sat in the tent watching the trees and the sky and thinking about my long journey. I knew it had to end. I knew too that I wanted to do more walks like this. The satisfaction had been intense. The pleasure enormous. Some may concentrate on the heavy loads, difficult terrain and aching feet and think that long distance walking couldn’t be really enjoyable. I couldn’t imagine anything I could enjoy more. This, for me, was what life was all about. I thought back over the walk, back to the Mohave Desert and the heat, the High Sierra and the snow, Yosemite and the snowmelt creeks, marvellous Crater Lake, the endless rich forests, the beautiful mountains – Shasta, Jefferson, Glacier Peak -, the wildlife, the flowers, the narrow trail winding ever onwards through the wilderness, and shivered with delight. I would be back. On the trail anyway if not the PCT.