I have heard it said, “Where we place a period, God places a comma.” Solid redemption theology. But this morning it sure seemed that God was placing periods on my best efforts to commune with Him.
My guide on Hiking the North Cascades described Hidden Lake Lookout Trail as “simply spectacular.” “One of the finest hikes on the face of the planet.” Enough said. I ventured out early to beat the heat and quickly located Sibley Creek Road obliquely departing Cascade River Road exactly 9.7 miles from my motel. Another 5 miles up (and I do mean “up”) this
road, which the guide described as “rough at times,” would place me at the trailhead. Right. I’ve never before had an automobile’s anti-lock brakes engage while going up a hill! This rutted out, washboarded, God-forsaken road was all my rented Subaru could handle. In all wheel drive I inched over logs that lay across the road, silently (and not so silently) praying that I had enough clearance not to become suspended there. After crawling 3 of the 5 miles I arrived at a portion of the road that was simply impassable, covered by four fallen aspen trees. And so I negotiated my first U-turn of the morning, a four-point turnaround on the edge of a fairly impressive cliff.
“Plan B” was to explore the South Fork Trail of the Cascade River, just another 7 miles up Cascade River Road. After locating the trailhead I loaded my pack for the
second time of the morning (water, camera, extra battery, sunscreen, sunglasses, band-aids, etc.) and ventured out up an old road that the forest service had reopened for fire crews. Barely a mile into the hike I slogged into Pincer Creek which, due to the torrential runoff from the extraordinarily heavy snowfall in the Cascades this spring, had turned into Pincer Rapids. There was no crossing on the trail. I climbed higher to see if there was any better navigating there. No luck. I admired the beauty of these thundering waters and then cursed them as I made my second U-turn of the morning.
We’re up to “Plan C” by now and the temperature is already rising into upper 80’s. Another 10 miles east at the terminus of Cascade River Road is Cascade Pass Trail. There can only be one “finest hike on the face of the planet,” but perhaps this trail could run a close second. My mood has been a bit redeemed as I drive once again and see before me the glaciers of the eastern ridge of these majestic mountains. I reached a parking area and a gate sporting a “road closed” sign. It seems odd to me that there is a privy here and a number of other cars, but no trailhead. I geared up again and began hiking past the gate and towards what I hoped would be the end of the road and the beginning of the trail and, finally, some serious hiking. About half a mile up the mountain I discover the reason for the closed road....a bridge is under repair. Some makeshift foo
tbridges have been constructed out of wooden beams and are obviously there, I assume, for hikers. I continue to climb. The view to the south is spectacular! There are snow capped mountain peaks with myriad waterfalls cascading down into the swollen Cascade River. Another two miles and I encounter my third trail block of the morning, a 60-75 foot section of the road covered in 3 feet of snow and piles of brush and tree limbs, apparently the result of some sort of avalanche or slide. U-turn #3 comes only after about 4 miles of hiking.
By the time I return to the car the Cascades are scorching under the full brunt of the midday heat as we are well into the 90’s. Tired, and a little bitter, I return to the hotel for lunch and some siesta time. By mid-afternoon I have decided that the Forest Service needs to know about my morning’s mis-adventures so I pay a visit to the local station just a few miles west of the Buffalo Run Inn. Five rangers are present to listen to my tales and to respond, “Yes, we know” following each report. I just stare. “So,” I finally reply, “I was thinking about trying Sauk Mountain this afternoon.” “Nope,” they retort. “It’s blocked off as well.” I’m still staring. Ranger Patricia pulled out a map and proceeded to suggest Thunder Creed Trail and The Fourth of July Pass about 22 miles back into the heart of the national park. I’m game. “If you’re a fast hiker you have time to make this before dark.” This is my last opportunity before leaving this wonderland tomorrow. I veritably run to the car.
Thunder Creek Trail is a rather wide, tame path that leaves Colonial Creek Campground through a magnificent grove of stately firs that surely predate common sense and then winds along the riverside for a mile or so before crossing the water on a footbridge and gently climbing towards Thunder Point. The Fourth of July Pass Trail branches off to the left, beckons me, and immediately begins climbing in a manner that is anything but tame. For the next 4 miles I experienced the most rigorous, demanding, calorie-expending, heart pounding climb that I have ever undertaken, save the ascent on Long’s Peak. By the time I reached the campground at the summit I could wring sweat from both the t-shirts that I had worn and am almost too tired to take in the glacial views before me. By the time I returned to the car I estimated a total of 16 miles of hiking for today. None of it came about as I would have predicted. All was, in the end, a blessing.
There is a routine that results each time I decide to take a photograph. Loosen and unbuckle the waist belt on my camera pack…unbuckle chest strap…loosen shoulder straps…unzip bag…remove camera…compose and take shot…reload camera in bag…reverse process to situate the bag on my shoulders again. I am surprised that I have not worn my buckles out in these days. God has placed before me such tremendous beauty that no camera could begin to capture it. Neither can my descriptions. But perhaps both will encourage you to visit this area in person if you have not.
If I can muster the strength I will venture deeper into “Velvet Elvis” tonight before turning in. My 10-day course in “tree hugging” wraps up tomorrow as I check out of the Buffalo Run Inn (“Luxurious accommodations at an affordable price,” claims the sign outside) and head west towards Anacortes on Puget Sound. I plan to visit and share supper with my cousin, Clay, and his family before heading to the airport in Seattle to catch the red-eye home. Surely, somewhere en route I will find a little café that serves up just what the body is craving the day after it has been abused by such hiking. And if this little café has wi-fi then you will have these words to peruse. I know that I have neither the gumption nor strength to venture out to Gus’ tonight. Besides that, I hear the rumbling of thunder outside, a cause for prayers among the folks here who know one bolt of lightening can change the face of this landscape quickly.
God’s blessings to you all.
My guide on Hiking the North Cascades described Hidden Lake Lookout Trail as “simply spectacular.” “One of the finest hikes on the face of the planet.” Enough said. I ventured out early to beat the heat and quickly located Sibley Creek Road obliquely departing Cascade River Road exactly 9.7 miles from my motel. Another 5 miles up (and I do mean “up”) this
road, which the guide described as “rough at times,” would place me at the trailhead. Right. I’ve never before had an automobile’s anti-lock brakes engage while going up a hill! This rutted out, washboarded, God-forsaken road was all my rented Subaru could handle. In all wheel drive I inched over logs that lay across the road, silently (and not so silently) praying that I had enough clearance not to become suspended there. After crawling 3 of the 5 miles I arrived at a portion of the road that was simply impassable, covered by four fallen aspen trees. And so I negotiated my first U-turn of the morning, a four-point turnaround on the edge of a fairly impressive cliff.“Plan B” was to explore the South Fork Trail of the Cascade River, just another 7 miles up Cascade River Road. After locating the trailhead I loaded my pack for the
second time of the morning (water, camera, extra battery, sunscreen, sunglasses, band-aids, etc.) and ventured out up an old road that the forest service had reopened for fire crews. Barely a mile into the hike I slogged into Pincer Creek which, due to the torrential runoff from the extraordinarily heavy snowfall in the Cascades this spring, had turned into Pincer Rapids. There was no crossing on the trail. I climbed higher to see if there was any better navigating there. No luck. I admired the beauty of these thundering waters and then cursed them as I made my second U-turn of the morning.We’re up to “Plan C” by now and the temperature is already rising into upper 80’s. Another 10 miles east at the terminus of Cascade River Road is Cascade Pass Trail. There can only be one “finest hike on the face of the planet,” but perhaps this trail could run a close second. My mood has been a bit redeemed as I drive once again and see before me the glaciers of the eastern ridge of these majestic mountains. I reached a parking area and a gate sporting a “road closed” sign. It seems odd to me that there is a privy here and a number of other cars, but no trailhead. I geared up again and began hiking past the gate and towards what I hoped would be the end of the road and the beginning of the trail and, finally, some serious hiking. About half a mile up the mountain I discover the reason for the closed road....a bridge is under repair. Some makeshift foo
tbridges have been constructed out of wooden beams and are obviously there, I assume, for hikers. I continue to climb. The view to the south is spectacular! There are snow capped mountain peaks with myriad waterfalls cascading down into the swollen Cascade River. Another two miles and I encounter my third trail block of the morning, a 60-75 foot section of the road covered in 3 feet of snow and piles of brush and tree limbs, apparently the result of some sort of avalanche or slide. U-turn #3 comes only after about 4 miles of hiking.By the time I return to the car the Cascades are scorching under the full brunt of the midday heat as we are well into the 90’s. Tired, and a little bitter, I return to the hotel for lunch and some siesta time. By mid-afternoon I have decided that the Forest Service needs to know about my morning’s mis-adventures so I pay a visit to the local station just a few miles west of the Buffalo Run Inn. Five rangers are present to listen to my tales and to respond, “Yes, we know” following each report. I just stare. “So,” I finally reply, “I was thinking about trying Sauk Mountain this afternoon.” “Nope,” they retort. “It’s blocked off as well.” I’m still staring. Ranger Patricia pulled out a map and proceeded to suggest Thunder Creed Trail and The Fourth of July Pass about 22 miles back into the heart of the national park. I’m game. “If you’re a fast hiker you have time to make this before dark.” This is my last opportunity before leaving this wonderland tomorrow. I veritably run to the car.
Thunder Creek Trail is a rather wide, tame path that leaves Colonial Creek Campground through a magnificent grove of stately firs that surely predate common sense and then winds along the riverside for a mile or so before crossing the water on a footbridge and gently climbing towards Thunder Point. The Fourth of July Pass Trail branches off to the left, beckons me, and immediately begins climbing in a manner that is anything but tame. For the next 4 miles I experienced the most rigorous, demanding, calorie-expending, heart pounding climb that I have ever undertaken, save the ascent on Long’s Peak. By the time I reached the campground at the summit I could wring sweat from both the t-shirts that I had worn and am almost too tired to take in the glacial views before me. By the time I returned to the car I estimated a total of 16 miles of hiking for today. None of it came about as I would have predicted. All was, in the end, a blessing.
There is a routine that results each time I decide to take a photograph. Loosen and unbuckle the waist belt on my camera pack…unbuckle chest strap…loosen shoulder straps…unzip bag…remove camera…compose and take shot…reload camera in bag…reverse process to situate the bag on my shoulders again. I am surprised that I have not worn my buckles out in these days. God has placed before me such tremendous beauty that no camera could begin to capture it. Neither can my descriptions. But perhaps both will encourage you to visit this area in person if you have not.
If I can muster the strength I will venture deeper into “Velvet Elvis” tonight before turning in. My 10-day course in “tree hugging” wraps up tomorrow as I check out of the Buffalo Run Inn (“Luxurious accommodations at an affordable price,” claims the sign outside) and head west towards Anacortes on Puget Sound. I plan to visit and share supper with my cousin, Clay, and his family before heading to the airport in Seattle to catch the red-eye home. Surely, somewhere en route I will find a little café that serves up just what the body is craving the day after it has been abused by such hiking. And if this little café has wi-fi then you will have these words to peruse. I know that I have neither the gumption nor strength to venture out to Gus’ tonight. Besides that, I hear the rumbling of thunder outside, a cause for prayers among the folks here who know one bolt of lightening can change the face of this landscape quickly.God’s blessings to you all.
(Note that I have added a few more pic's to yesterday's posting.)
1 comment:
I am worn out just reading about your hike! Those U turns in the mountains are precarious. I remember on one vacation, we came across a fallen tree on our way driving up a mountain road with a huge drop-off (I think it was in Wyoming) and not that I wasn't trusting, but when my husband attempted the U turn, I and the children got out of the car and I also took my purse. Always practical, even in the face of possible disaster.
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