PCT: Little Crater Lake

Dege Peak

This week’s hike was finally a win. I hiked with my family, and I think we got to the point where we can hike together. For me, it’s always a challenge to hike with other people:

I’m slow (as in 1 mile per hour on a modest incline)

I can’t really keep a conversation while hiking

It took us a few tries to find a balance between hiking together and not ruining each other’s experience. My son hikes fast and doesn’t break a sweat, my wife hikes slower but still pretty fast, and I hike the slowest. So we let each other hike our own hikes, and it’s working really well.

I almost forgot how rewarding and refreshing it is to just walk through the forest for a few hours while being left alone with my thoughts. There’s always something to do at home and at work, but here in the “wild”, there’s nothing else to do. Just keep walking. Just keep thinking. 

 and I concur. It’s not especially beautiful or rewarding but it’s good enough when you get to the top of the Oyster Dome.

If you hike counter-clockwise, you get a steeper incline for about 2 1⁄2 miles, after which you mostly go down for roughly 3 1⁄2 miles. The Dome is the only worthy feature of the trail — feel free to skip Lily lake (it’s more of a pond really).

One of the best features I want to mention is the parking lot. It has a fantastic view and you could spot some paragliders.

All in all, nice and slightly challenging trail.

Another week, another hike. I almost forgot how rewarding it is to spend a few hours just walking through a forest, alone with my own thoughts!

Oyster Dome and Lily Lake Hike

Oyster Dome and Lily Lake

Time for my weekly hiking report. For further accountability, I'm planning a week-long PCT hike from Stevens Pass to Snoqualmie Pass in early September, and that's a big reason why I'm trying to stick to this weekly training schedule. The hike I'll attempt is a 63-mile stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail with a total elevation gain of over 15,000 ft, so it makes sense to give my best shot at shorter and easier hikes at first, and gradually increase difficulty. Unsurprisingly, ever hike is much easier to hike than the one a week earlier: it's like my body really missed this kind of thing, and soaks it all in. Also, there's certainly a kind of low base effect: my fitness level is barely above zero, so it's fairly easy to make progress :)

This week I hit a trail that was marked as 

. It was one of the most enjoyable hikes I had so far, and while I wouldn't consider it "easy", it's probably on the easier side of "moderate".

 ancestral land — it's basically next door (right across the ridge) to the Monte Cristo trail I hiked last week. It gently eases you into gradual ascent, offering some truly stunning views along the Elliot Creek. The creeks flow out of the Goat Lake, originally called Sweetleehachu by Sauk-Suiattle people. As soon as you get to the top of the waterfall, you've reached your destination.

There's a section of the trail where you can choose your own adventure: hike like a normal person on a bunch of switchbacks but miss the bottom of the waterfall, or go straight to the bottom of the waterfall.

If you choose to check out the falls, you'll have to then climb (and I mean 

) about 150 feet, pretty much vertically, over about 130 yards of distance. It's fun, a change of pace and it was a bit of a challenge for me. Just a couple of switchbacks later you get a first glimpse of the lake:

The lake is absolutely gorgeous. It's quiet, serene, clear, and ice-cold. Although the trail is marked as heavily trafficked, I only met, like, 5 other parties along the trail, one other group at the lake, and when the left, I got the whole lake to myself.

My lunch spot this time was right on the lake shore, but I was not hungry enough to cook. I munched a few strips of bacon jerky, refilled my hydration pack with filtered lake water, chilled for a bit and headed back, leaving this view behind.

On my way back with about 1.7 miles left to the trailhead, I had my first wild bear encounter. We didn't exchange pleasantries but gave each other a nod: two apex predators, one — stinky, grumpy and dangerously hungry, and the other one — a friendly American black bear.

Encountering a bear was a fresh experience. Throughout this hike, I heard weird noises more than a few times. Snapping branches, strange grumbling sounds, random tree shaking and such. So I was well aware that there's wildlife around me and was actively scanning and making occasional noises to make sure I don't startle an animal. As a result, this little fella knew I was nearby when our eyes met. The bear had a look of something between mild curiosity and indifference, so I braved taking this grainy picture from about 30-40-yard distance and was on my way back to the trailhead.

A perfect hike featuring creeks, streams, waterfalls, all kinds of forests, from birch to brush to old growth, and the payoff is one of the most beautiful lakes out there.

Goat Lake Hike

Goat Lake

Mirror Lake

, we've managed to get one recorded yesterday. 

My previous successful hike was in 2020 on 

. Due to many things that happened last year, I didn't hike at all, not even once. So, this hike yesterday was my first in almost two years. 

As last week, we were late to leave the house, which yet again doomed this enterprise from the beginning. We were hoping to hike at least half of the trail, and we got exactly that.

Boulder river trail is one of dozens of trails along the WA-530 highway, and as most of the hikes along this road, the approach road is abysmally terrible. It's covered in deep potholes, I haven't seen anything like this before. I mean, I'm used to driving on the Mountain Loop highway which is known for being really bad, but nothing compares to this road. 

Anyway, it took us about 30 minutes to cover roughly 4 miles of this road, and we arrived at the trailhead right around 3 pm. The trail itself is officially 8 miles out-and-back with about 1600 ft of elevation gain. In my shape, it's a `hard` kind of trail, but for normal people it's just `moderate`. 

The trail itself is really well-maintained. It goes along the Boulder river, dipping down to the river shore, and soaring hundreds of feet above it. 

The main features of this trail are waterfalls. The two we've managed to get to were absolutely gorgeous. 

Boulder river

There was a single tree on the trail that we had to really crawl under (not this one), otherwise it was pretty easy to track. 

All in all, we covered about 6 miles out-and-back, making only about 700 ft of elevation gain. We got back to the parking lot just after 7 pm, and went home to watch the new season of the Stranger Things :)   

It's official: the Hiking Season 2022 is now open! First hike of the year is in the books, time to reflect on what went wrong :)

Boulder river hike

Boulder River

This hike report is long overdue. I've taken a whole week off work to do this hike and apparently it took me over a week to come up with a sensible story about it. This is a long one, so bear with me. Or don't.

The idea to hike the Loowit Trail came to me way back, probably, around 2013, when my family and I visited the Johnston Ridge Observatory.

I learned that there was a hiking trail right at the bottom of the breached side of the volcano, and I had this trail in mind ever since.

Throughout this post, sometimes I will refer to Mt. St. Helens by its native name, Loowit (Lawetlat'la, Loowit or Louwala-Clough to be precise). For centuries, the mountain had its name, but colonizers in their infinite arrogance decided to give it a new name. In 1792 Commander George Vancouver named this landmark after his friend British diplomat Alleyne Fitzherbert, 1st Baron St Helens.

Mt. Loowit is the youngest volcano in the Cascades. It is located on the indigenous lands of 

 and Klickitat native people (now part of 

). The slopes of the mountain above the treeline are a Traditional Cultural Property of Cowlitz and Yakama tribal groups. For thousands of years, the mountain has been a central place in the culture and mythology of the tribes, where resources were gathered and young people were sent to test themselves.

Although I only ventured above the "treeline" once or twice along the Loowit trail, I can clearly see why this incredible place is at the center of indigenous cultures. I encourage you to take a look at some of the legends collected and passed down through generations.

Prior to May 18, 1980, Mt. St. Helens was a beautiful cone-shaped peak, sometimes referred to as Mt. Fuji of the Pacific Northwest. It all changed early on that day. There are a few fantastic documentaries about the infamous eruption and the subsequent largest landslide in recorded history.

Ever since the eruption, Mt. St. Helens fascinated scientists, hikers, photographers, writers and became a preserved natural treasure.

Of course, there's a hiking trail around the volcano, it's PNW, what did you expect?! :)

The Loowit Trail circles the mountain at about 4400 ft of elevation, sometimes dipping as low as 2900 ft and soaring to over 4800 ft. Its length depends a lot on the approach, but generally, it's considered to be between 30 and 35 miles, with a total elevation gain of around 9000 ft.

 level, and for a good reason: it throws every possible terrain and challenge at you, all the time! I don't know what I was thinking when I decided that I should totally hike it: I'm not in great physical shape and my backpacking experience prior to this hike was limited to 2-nighters. Anyway, I was set on hiking it during my time off, and when I'm set on an adventure, nothing can stop me (except for a broken leg, evidently)

For this hike, I went all-in on ultralight gear. Ultralight tent, ultralight quilt, ultralight sleeping pad, ultralight backpack, the list goes on. I trimmed my base weight to about 12 pounds, which is quite fascinating if you ask me. I also had 2 65 oz bottles for water and another 2-liter water bag.

So on the gear front, I was well-prepared and ready to go. Some things that I've taken with me I hadn't used a lot or even at all, but those were minor and inconsequential.

I was not as prepared physically as I thought I was but will get to it.

On Sunday, I arrived at Climbers Bivouac, set up my tent, quickly drove to Portland to pay my respects to the folks protesting in front of the Injustice Center. I got back to the camp after dark and went straight to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

I got up pretty late — most climbers were long gone. The weather was perfect for me: low overcast, fairly chilly, and quiet.

The first segment of the hike is the approach to the Loowit Trail. To get to the trail from the camp, you need to hike up Ptarmigan trail for about two miles and something like 700 ft of elevation, until you hit an intersection with Loowit trail. There, I took a right turn and proceeded counter-clockwise.

The trail was fairly light for the first few miles. It mostly went downhill, and the climbing segments were fairly light. The views were already quite impressive, especially if you consider that there's a looming volcano behind the clouds!

This first part of the trail, approximately between Climbers to Windy Pass has quite a few water sources, and it gave me a false impression that water is not going to be a problem. Yes, this water was silty and muddy, but it's water so who cares, right?!

I topped up my water containers here at the Chocolate falls and hit my first challenging segment: Worm Flows. This is basically a giant lava boulder field you need to cross. The trail is non-existent, and you hop from boulder to boulder navigating to the next white stake in the distance.

The day was going towards sunset at this point, so I pushed forward to hit my Day One target (about 7 miles) and set up camp for the night before dark.

And there you have it. Day one was in the books, I felt pretty good about my progress and the fact that I hit my first target. There were some wild animals sniffing around the tent all night, but nothing interesting happened, and I didn't find any interesting footprints in the morning.

When you backpack for days, at some point it's easy to sync with the sun. You wake up around sunrise and normally settle down for the night right after sunset. At least that's my experience.

Day two began early: I had about 6-8 miles to hike through pretty rugged terrain and under full sun and clear skies. My goal was to push all the way to Windy Pass — the edge of the Restricted zone in front of the Breach — the part of the mountain that got destroyed during the eruption.

As mentioned before, the terrain on this stretch of the trail is pretty rough. Looking back, it's not 

 rough, especially compared to some later segments.

The views were breathtaking. I paused every now and again just to stare in the distance, taking it in as much as I can.

Rugged boulder fields turned into a huge stretch of huckleberry fields. Quite literally, you're making your way on a narrow trail slicing an endless huckleberry field! The berries were ripe, juicy and so very tasty!

I was getting pretty tired. All these uphills, boulders, lack of shade began to take tall. I refilled my water at Muddy River, and realized that I'm probably not going to make it to my target area before sunset.

I pushed forward for as long as I could. The problem was that since I was tired, hot, and pushing, I drank a lot of water. And I was running out fairly quickly. I decided that I'll go until I find a water source and will break camp somewhere nearby.

 as my primary navigation app, and I truly love it. Aside from providing 100s of map layers (including cell coverage, air quality, and more), it has some unique data I relied on in this trip: campsites.

I was lucky enough to chat with a fellow hiker who let me know that the creek that looks to be running by the campsite here, in fact, changed and is now running quite a bit to the West. This spot became my new goal for the day.

I arrived at the campsite right before sunset, set up a tent, enjoyed the view for a bit, and went to sleep.

When this is what you wake up to, the day just can't be bad!

I think now is a good time to mention a few things that very clearly went wrong by this point:

I was running out of water much faster than I could find water sources.

I somehow punctured my inflatable sleeping pad and despite my repair efforts, it was deflating almost completely within 1-2 hours. My back wasn't happy about this, and sleep quality got pretty low.

The food I brought with me was either dehydrated or too sweet for me to hold. By this point in time, I haven't eaten much in the past 2 days, yet it didn't bother me yet

I was running ~3 miles behind schedule. With a Restricted Zone looming ahead — you must cross it's ~9 miles in one go, no camping allowed — I will have to cover these 3 miles and 9 miles of the Restricted zone today in order to camp legally. 12 miles is ok on easier trails, but by this time I realized that 12 miles in one day on this trail is probably beyond my abilities.

With all this in mind, I embarked on this most exciting part of the trail — the one that crosses the Breach and pumice fields left in front of the mountain by the 1980 blast and subsequent landslide.

The first few miles from my camp to Windy Pass were a breeze. The mostly flat prairie-like trail all the way to the pass. I enjoyed my walk a lot, and was wondering for a while whether I could've made it the day before. I probably could have pushed for a few more miles, break camp after dark beside the Windy Pass and shave these extra miles off of my Restricted Zone day.

Going over the pass look intimidating at first, but was in fact fairly easy. The trail there goes along the hillside and is not very stable and has a few really sketchy spots, but overall it was easier than I expected.

The following few miles go over the side of the mountain slowly introducing the Breach — the side of the volcano destroyed by the blast in 1980. For me, this was the most exciting part of the journey. Walking on top of many feet of fairly new volcanic ash, seeing the destruction side of the volcano myself, and traversing many canyons, streams, and erosion areas while seeing the mountain at a very unusual angle.

It's been 40+ years since the eruption, yet the mountain is still settling in. Constant rock fall noise, steam, and ash floating in the air, ever-changing streams and riverbeds — it will likely take hundreds of years for all this stuff to calm down. Geologically speaking, 40 years is nothing, a blink of an eye, so from the volcano's perspective, it just erupted moments ago and the process of healing hasn't even started yet. Biologically, though, even in the blast zone, life is everywhere. From grass and weeds to all sorts of shrubs and sub-alpine flowers and native trees, it's all here. Chipmunks, coyotes, birds of every color, elk, and deer, it's all here.

To say that this is an active and dangerous volcano would be an understatement. In the past 30 days, there were close to a dozen earthquakes under Mt St Helens, and every year there periods of swarm earthquakes: dozens of magnitude 1-3 shakes that happen within days and weeks. Something is still going on down there, and at any point, the mountain can start erupting again (the same way it happened twice in 2006 and then in 2008).

This is the heart of the blast zone. Behind me is the gaping wound left by the eruption. You can't hear rocks falling, but you can see clouds of ash they send up in the air.

By this point, I'm exhausted. A few miles back, I hit an oasis: a little stream, ice-cold and absolutely clear, surrounded by some trees and bushes. I refilled all my water containers, relaxed in the shade for a bit, and pushed forward through the blast zone.

My goal for the day was to get to the South Fork Toutle River — the next water source and the place where the restricted zone ends and camping is allowed again.

By the time I left the breach area, I was at the end of my rope: I was tired, I practically ran out of water, and I still had about 4 miles ahead of me to get to Toutle River. There was no way I'd make it there, and it was time to admit it and plan accordingly.

I decided to push as far as I humanly can, again. With canyons turning deeper and deeper, and hiking mostly uphill at this point, this "as far as humanly possible" turned out to be about 2 miles or so. I found a spot (still in the restricted area) and pitched my tent — there was no way I'd cross this canyon today. I fell asleep almost immediately.

By this time, I had exactly two sips of water left and 2 miles to hike up and down to the next water source. I was in trouble.

This was one of those days when you think: "Ok, how can I quit this now?" And the answer is, basically, you can't. At this point, there's no exit from the trail that would take you to people faster. There's no way around the upcoming Toutle Drop (I'll get to it in a minute). There's no quitting, only pushing ahead and hoping you can make it, which at this point was not a sure thing.

I had my sip of water for breakfast and hit the trail. Since I haven't eaten much and started to get fairly dehydrated, I got to the point of being slightly delirious. I had to take breaks every few hundred yards — taking my pack off, spreading my sleeping pad, and just laying down for a few minutes. The next 2 miles were the longest two miles in my life.

Luckily, I met another hiker, who was generous enough to share half a bottle of water with me. I've taken a picture of him on his phone in return, and was incredibly grateful for the water and some tips on what awaits me ahead.

Ahead was the Toutle Drop. I don't think it's an official name of this feature, but every hiker I've met referred to it like this.

Right there, at the very bottom of this by far the deepest canyon on the trail, there is a tiny stream. It's Toutle River, and in fact, it's not so tiny, it's just very far below.

The Drop is a sharp descent over a slope of the canyon. You go down on loose pomace and volcanic ash. One sloppy or unsteady step, and you will lose your footing and tumble hundreds of feet down to the bottom of the canyon.

It was a terrible mistake and I shouldn't have done this trail. Sheer luck and generosity of other hikers are the only two reasons I'm not a hero of an article about local Search and Rescue trying to airlift a hiker from Mt. St. Helens.

Loowit Trail

Trillium Lake

Mount Hamilton

Pilot Butte

The Heather Lake trail is located in the North Cascades' 

, one of the most visited forests in the country. The trail itself goes over ancestral lands of the 

 people, and climbs along and across the hill, mostly along the Heather creek. The trail features old-growth forest, waterfalls, a few streams along, across, and on the trail, and finally a fairly nice lake in a quite spectacular setting.

Heather Lake — Washington Trails Association

Another beautiful hike in the mountains. A painful ascent but spectacular payoff.

Heather Lake Hike

Heather Lake

Silver Star

This week my report comes a bit late but for a good reason. I just returned from my 2-night hike to White Pass, and jeesh was it rough! Now I'm thinking it would be madness to attempt the 

 of the PCT this year. Hell, I'm not even sure I can do my 

 anymore! But hey, let me decompress a little, think, plan some more, and see how it goes.

The plan was simple: arrive at Sloan Creek campground on Thursday, camp for the night. On Friday hike to White Pass. On Saturday hike back. Simple enough.

As always, I had a plan B: hike to Mackinaw shelter, camp there, and hike back on Saturday. This would be a chill and relaxed 12 miles over two days.

North Fork Sauk River — Washington Trails Association

 trail, and I didn't expect it to be any less than a painful struggle with a payoff in a form of a spectacular overview of Washington's Cascade peaks and chill evenings in my tent.

Of course, nothing went according to plan.

I arrived at the parking lot later than planned. I knew that Mountain Loop highway was pretty bad, and indeed 16 miles from Darrington down to Forest Service road 49 (it's actually marked as NF-49, National Forest road) and then about 7 miles to the trailhead took me over an hour. The road is rough but passable, even for someone in a Civic Coupe.

Anyway, Thursday night was pretty empty at the campground, and I had no issue setting up my tent in a secluded area not too far from the river.

It was raining a little bit, and setting up a new tent for the first time 

 was not too fun. Moreover, apparently, I didn't bring enough ground stakes. As a result, I didn't get proper ventilation inside the tent overnight and I woke up all damp and wet: condensation is a bitch.

After breakfast, I hit the trail towards Mackinaw Shelter, a known landmark at the end of the North Fork Saul trail right before it climbs uphill to White Pass. Unfortunately, the shelter collapsed a few years ago. Now it's just a bunch of rubble :(

Still, there's a nice campground area around with river access, and it's perfectly suited for a nice and chill overnight or a relaxing lunch break.

The trail all the way to the shelter goes relatively flat along the North Fork Sauk river through 

 native land. It's mostly shaded and crosses a bunch of tiny streams. There's only one place on the trail that requires some scrambling due to a downed tree.

Quiet, chill stroll among the old-growth forest. A lot of moss, green, shade, a lot of little critters running around. Mosquitos are a concern.

Anyway, after a quick lunch at Mackinaw Shelter campground, I made an executive decision to proceed all the way to White Pass, 3,000 ft ascent over ~3 miles. It was around 4 pm and I figured I'd be there before dark. Boy, was I wrong.

The trail starts at around 3,000 ft of elevation, and for the next 3 miles, it goes straight up. Yes, there are switchbacks, but it's for real, a full-on ascent non-stop. There are no flat segments. The trail itself is much different from a soft forest trail. It's very rocky in places, there are a few spots where the trail becomes a stream for a few yards; on my way back, I slipped and fell flat on my butt in one of these streams 😂

I was moving very slowly. I was taking short breaks every few hundred yards, long breaks every 500 ft of elevation gain. Yes, my pace was at about 2 hours/mile, but I'm absolutely convinced that this approach is the only reason I was able to make it all the way to the top. But you know what they say: 

The weather was fairly clear, but the ascent was so strenuous that I took only a few pictures. "After I get to the top, tomorrow, I'll make all the pictures in the world, from a better position!", I thought.

I ended up traveling the last mile and a half in complete darkness. My headlamp died on me, it started drizzling, and a thick fog settled around. So here I am, in the dark, on a narrow trail on a mountainside with about 3000-feet drop on the right and a vertical hill on the left; by this time, I ran out of water and illuminated my way with my iPhone flashlight. After a Fucking Fuck creek (yes, I named a dried out creek, sue me!), I finally came across a stream and refilled my water bottle. I successfully made it to the intersection of my trail with the PCT, and from there it was a fairly easy hike to the White Pass camp area.

When my iPhone died, I found another, dimmer flashlight and used it to navigate the camp area. In the fog, at night, and through the drizzle, it was not easy. So much so that as soon as I saw a lit tent in the distance, I started to look for any flat surface to pitch my tent. While stumbling around a meadow, I startled a bunch of deer, who didn't expect me there at that hour, I guess.

Now, I'm in some meadow, exhausted, wet, aching all over, my backup flashlight is about to die, and I need to pitch a tent that is still very new to me. It took me about 20 minutes to complete this task, and by the time I got inside and set my sleeping system, it was close to midnight. I sent a check-in message to the family and dropped asleep.

Yeah, the morning was refreshing. It was cloudy and foggy, and you couldn't see anything anywhere. Which is a pity; one of the points of hiking this high and seeing all the peaks and volcanoes... Oh, well.

Here's a picture of gorgeous 10,500-feet Glacier Peak, known in the Sauk-Suiattle dialect of the 

 language as "Tda-ko-buh-ba" or "Takobia". It is the most isolated stratovolcano in the Cascade Range. Beautiful, isn't it? It's the 4th highest point in Washington after Tahoma, Pahto, and Kulshan (Rainier, Adams, and Baker)

After breakfast, I refilled all my water containers and headed back to the parking lot. White Pass is a pretty busy area at this time of year with a lot of hikers and climbers arriving on Saturday morning. By this time I looked dirty, wet, and tired enough for incoming hikers to ask me where the nearest water source is, how to get to the camp or this other trail, where toilets are and so on. On my long and fairly slow descent, I met a lot of people (mostly climbers) and we had a few brief conversations. A bunch of people who overtook me were in my camp of disappointed by the weather.

A quick peek-a-boo of Mt. Jackson is all I've got on my way back. I can only imagine how fantastically beautiful the scenery is on a clear day!..

I wanted to stop at Mackinaw Shelter again on my way back for a break and water refill, but I missed it. I was looking for a creek crossing first, never crossed this creek, and when I finally got to it, well, Mackinaw Shelter was like 2 miles back.

The creek I was looking for was Red Creek; it has a nice camping area with a ton of spacious dispersed tent spots, firepits and such. But for me, it was all about the creek at that point. I just laid on my back beside roaring water before refilling my water bottle and heading straight back to the parking lot.

About a mile away from the trailhead, another peek-a-boo happened, that I didn't really expect. It was just after sunset, and it was a nice (if a bit ironic) closure to my peak-watching hike.

I forgot my hat and had to fashion headgear out of a face mask (?)

Looks like, as always, I carried 70% more food than needed. I literally only had 2 breakfasts and 2 snacks. I brought 4 full meals and most snacks back.

After my hectic night arrival at White Pass, my pack got disorganized beyond repair. By morning, I was unable to organize it back to the proper state. Need to learn this skill.

My hiking shoes are .5 size too small. I mean, they are half a size larger than I'd normally wear, but it's still too small. Will try to exchange them for a bigger pair at REI 🤞

I ran out of bug spray. There must be some other way to repel mosquitos without bathing in bug spray 🤔

Never ever under any circumstances cut costs on your headlamp. Buy the best and most reliable one, it could save you not only a ton of comfort at night but also a leg or your life.

I love using a hydration bladder, it's so convenient. But it's such a hassle to refill it (take it out of the pack, wash it, fill it, put it back, connect a filter). Not sure what to do about it.

I can hike 3,000 feet up over 3 miles and not die.

I can set up an unfamiliar tent in total darkness in the rain with only a phone's flashlight.

Going down is easier, but it will still fuck you up in the end, although not as much as going up.

When I'm exhausted I turn numb: I no longer feel pain in my muscles or remember to drink or eat. This is a blessing and a curse: I can go farther and longer as a result without much pain or suffering, but I also get dehydrated, could injure myself mildly without realizing it for a while, become less aware of my surroundings, and get generally sluggish and a bit wobbly.

I need to fit my pack better. Something happened to it along the way, and it really did a number on my shoulders and upper back.

60,000+ steps, 20 miles round trip, 600 floors climbed. What doesn't kill you makes you back hurt. Also, I've got blisters on my thumbs 🤦‍♂️

White Pass Hike

White Pass

PCT: Backpack shake-down

I took a week off from hiking and planned to resume my adventures last Wednesday after work. I've got two days off (Thursday and Friday) and decided it's a great opportunity to try and go on a 3-night & 23-mile backpacking trip near Glacier Peak. Let me just say that it ended up being a 12-mile 2-night trip... 20 miles away from the trail I've initially planned to hike. It's a funny story, actually.

Let me back up a little. I plan my hikes in advance, and I put quite a bit of work into this planning. I want to know what to expect, what to prepare for, what to look forward to. Before I arrive at the trailhead, I usually have a map, a backup map, a plan, a route, planned campsites, 

 campsites, water sources, sketchy river crossings, and more. I also try to tailor the gear and supplies I take with me to the specifics of the trail I'm about to spend a few days on.

This trip was no exception. I planned to hike a 23-mile loop, starting at North Fork Skykomish river trailhead and going counter-clockwise via Cady Ridge towards Dishpan Gap and back along the river. It supposed to take me 3 full days (allowing for unexpected) and included climbing Benchmark Mountain and hiking about 6 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail.

I planned to arrive at the trailhead before dark on Wednesday; it sounded like a sure thing. The road to the trailhead was a fairly straight line from Index, WA which is fairly close to my house. With offline maps in hand, I packed my pack, got into my car, and took off.

Now. When you turn a corner and see an old mossy sign saying that the road is closed ahead, don't disregard it. Maybe the sign is there for a reason, and Google Maps, Apple Maps, and some other maps just don't know better. This was my first mistake — trusting technologies instead of a road sign. Anywho, about 13 miles from the trailhead I stopped at a road barricade saying "Road Closed". I was in such a shock that I didn't even take a photo, but here's the exact spot of the barricade.

Anyway, suffice to say, the "Road Closed" sing was ironically redundant. Apparently, this section of the road washed away in 2006 and is now North Fork Skykomish river 🤷‍♂️

Picture this: 30 minutes before sunset, you're in the middle of nowhere. Your GPS tells you to take the riverbed for another 30 minutes, and you have no 

 for this type of situation. What to do? Go home, admit defeat, regroup, and try again tomorrow? But then a 3-night hike would turn into a 2-night hike, and also it's just lame. Try to find a different road? Perhaps, but who knows how long it would take, and also what if there is no other road?!

Well, regroup and adapt is basically my life motto. So I regrouped. And adapted. What other trails I know in the vicinity that would guarantee at least 3 days' worth of backpacking, have campsites and I know something about the trail itself? Bingo! There's a spot where PCT crosses Highway 2 just 30 minutes east of Index. I know PCT. I know there are campsites, water sources, and attractions, and boy does PCT guarantee 3 days' worth of hiking!.. Onward!

At sunset, I arrived at Stevens Pass. I decided to take the northbound trail; I parked my car, geared up, and stepped on the trail. It's going to be an adventure!

About half a mile in, I realized that I forgot my hiking poles in the trunk. It wouldn't be a problem if my tent didn't require these poles. Alas, I went all the way back to the parking lot, mumbling quite elaborate curses under my breath. By the time I stepped on the trail 

, it was dark. I already made the decision to attempt my first actual night hike (disregard forced night hike at White Pass!), so I strapped on my headlamp, turned it on, and went ahead.

This section of the trail goes through ancestral land of Skokomish Nation. This particular section is on the very outskirts of their lands since the tribe historically lives along the Skykomish river, still this is 

The new plan was to reach Valhalla Lake. Ironically, it's one of the super-popular hiking destinations in the area — I try really hard to avoid popular hikes at all costs. But remember? Regroup and adapt! So the new plan was to attempt this 6+ mile hike (~1,800 feet of elevation gain) and set up camp at the lake. The next day, hike along the PCT as far as I can, and the day after, push to get back in one go. Plan B was to hike right now as far as I can or until I find a suitable place to pitch up my tent. This Plan B very soon turned into Plan A. Hiking at night in the relative wilderness on an unfamiliar trail is very exciting, but since my ultimate goal was to get back home in one piece, I decided that I'll stop as soon as I find a good place for a tent.

Crossing streams in the dark with only a headlamp illuminating the way is such a surreal experience! The shimmering water, sparkling rocks, and complete darkness. A thrill!

About 3 miles in, I found a spot by a creek and decided to spend the night there. Since setting up my tent in the dark is now my second nature, it only took me about 10 minutes to get all set for the night.

I didn't get much sleep. Not sure if it was the excitement of an adventure, anxiety about ruined plans, or something else entirely, but I woke up groggy and sore. I refilled my water, had breakfast, and spent probably an hour just relaxing, enjoying nature, and not doing jack squat. At this point, I made an executive decision to hike to lake Valhalla and reassess my options. Should I hike further? Or should I spend the night at the lake and go back? 🤔

The hike was beautiful, as expected. Pretty easy, gentle incline, lots of shade and places to pause and breath.

The views are stunning, and I got really lucky considering a bunch of rain in the forecast.

Around 2 in the afternoon, I arrived at Lake Valhalla. It's a regular lake. Just a lake. Like, just like any other lake. It's pretty, but it's not a gem or something.

Whatever. By the time I got there, it was clear that my sleepless night left me no choice but to set up camp and take a nap. Which I did.

I napped for a few hours with bees buzzing in the background and hungry mosquitoes staring at me through the net side of my tent. When I woke up, I decided that I'm not going anywhere today. I'll stay here, make dinner, get some good night's sleep and see how it goes. Do I hike further? Do I turn back? I'll think about it tomorrow.

When tomorrow came, I was conflicted about my immediate future. On one hand, I came here to hike, and turning back is admitting defeat. On the other hand, I have nowhere to hike, really; I don't know if there are significant features further down the trail, I don't have a mile count in place to make sure I can return in time. I already wasted almost a day at the lake napping. Well, I guess it only makes sense to cut this short, return to the trailhead, and go back home. Breakfast, water refill, packing — and off I go.

It was raining half of my way back, and I was too lazy to put on my raincoat. What's the point? I'll be in my car in, like, an hour, and will dry out within minutes. Also, who doesn't love rain? What's wrong with you?! :)

On my way back home, I thought I'd get some closure and find the road to my originally planned trailhead. Before doing so, I stopped for a quick minute in a tiny town of Skykomish (~200 residents) and went to their world-famous 

 museum. It's tiny but welcoming and cute, and if you ask nicely, they'll show you their collection of telegraph keys and tell a story about 20,000 telegraph operators who were serving the road in the past and refused to teach their trade to anyone outside of their immediate families.

And after some more research, I figured out the road to the trailhead I was originally planning to go to. It took me over an hour to cover something around 20 miles from Skykomish to the trailhead, but I did it.

At the end of the day, I got to hike for a bit, spend two lazy days in nature, spooked a marmot, and found a way to the trailhead. Good times!

Next week is my vacation week, and I'm doing the 

 — a 33-mile loop around Mt. St. Helens.

A story about a washed away road, how I couldn't find a trail, night hike on the Pacific Crest Trail, and killer-mosquitoes 🦟

Lake Valhalla Hike

Lake Valhalla

A few years ago, I broke my leg. It happened just a few months before my wife and I were supposed to hike to the rim of Mt. St. Helens (originally known as Loowit by the 

 people). I haven't hiked ever since. I'd even go as far as to say that I haven't hiked since we moved from Portland area to Seattle.

Anyway, last week I decided that it's time to get back in the game. I plan to do one hike every week, and do an overnight hike somewhere in the North Cascades by the end of summer.

There are different reasons for hiking. Some hike because it's a workout, some tend to go on a hike to hunt for Instagram photos. For some it's a conquest: to claim, to get to the top, to finish a 50-mile loop in a day. For me personally it's an adventure. I walk, through woods, rivers and mountains, I explore this "wilderness", I make some camping food for lunch making it with the river water. I don't care about elevation gain or distance (other than in practical terms: can I make it?); I don't care about the scenery per se, although I like when I can bring back some pictures. I don't care if I finish the trail. I don't care if I overcome something, "survive" or whatever. I only care about the adventure, exploration and lunch.

Hiking Map

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