Glacier Peak Wilderness

GLACIER PEAK WILDERNESS BACKPACKING TRIP
JULY 2010

Kevin and I bolted off the bus on King Street with our packs slung over our shoulders walking briskly across the street to the transit station. Kevin realized with some regret that he had left his trac phone and boonie hat on the bus. I felt bad as it was a recent purchase when he stopped in Chicago, but it was quickly swept aside in both our minds as we rounded the intersections of Seattle.

After a few calls from my phone and some rerouting we were able to find Pig Monkey and load our gear in the trunk and backseat of his small sedan. I was surprised that even by car Pig Monkey was able to navigate and drive briskly through the city streets, his primary transport was usually foot or bike - with a pack slung over his shoulders.

We promptly headed North on I-5 and then East, quickly stopping at Darrington for snacks and to use the bathroom. Pig Monkey and I both remarked that cellular service had already cut out by that time, so it was best to turn our phones off. Long distance communications would be out for the duration of the trip. I repeatedly feel humbled when out of contact, only relying on good friends and passers-by for aid and comfort.

While loading our snacks up in the car I was reminded of the previous day we spent on a grassy lawn in Seattle going over our backpacking equipment, stopping a few blocks away at REI to pick up denatured alcohol, solid fuel tablets, matches and a few other odds and ends - all the things the FAA had forbidden in checked baggage on our recent flight.

Pig Monkey was adept and quick at changing CDs with appropriate music for the drive, rock and blues - some popular, some obscure - but all with lyrics peppered with references to travel, putting caution to the wind, and tramp life. Later that week Pig Monkey would clarify with his usual discernment - “Hobos travel for work, Tramps travel for fun, Bums don’t travel.”

In short time we were craning our heads towards the mountains, which to all appearances we were driving straight into. All of them tall and steep, with innumerable evergreen trees and some frosted with feet of snow. Pig Monkey consulted some written directions as we approached the National Forest boundary, I felt the familiar bump and heard the crunch of a gravel road.

Pig Monkey and I exchanged remarks about traveling on forest roads, we agreed that this one was actually in better shape than some, it was riddled with small potholes but entirely passable - not like the rocky dirt roads near Mount Rainier that had shredded a tire of our friend Hatterofmaddnesz’ truck while he was on a solo camping trip the previous year.

After passing a few campers along the Sauk river we stopped the car at the “..North Fork” trailhead and started unloading our gear and preparing for the trip ahead. We exchanged a few items that Pig Monkey had brought to add to our packs to ensure they were waterproof in case we had to cross a deep river.

The mosquitoes were already starting to swarm on us while I dumped some extraneous gear like my wallet and phone into the trunk of the sedan - half wondering if I was ever going to see it again, the other half realizing it had no importance and no use in the mountain wilderness we were about to enter.

After leaving the pit toilet, I remarked that it was sufferable, but rather unusual that there was no water tap to fill our bottles and hydration reservoirs before heading on the trail, but Pig Monkey’s assurance that there was river water we could filter not more than three miles down the trail was sufficient enough for me.

I snapped a group photo and several more while we tromped along at pace along the trail, Pig Monkey pointing out native plants, especially ones that were useful as medicine or tinder. My familiarity with the cedar tree came back as I remember using the bark to light several fires with my firesteel when camping with Hatterofmaddnesz at Rainier. [I was able to repeat this a few days later on this excursion.]

The elevation was mild at this first stretch of the hike, the only thing of note was the rocks and boulders that littered the trail - this was not a well groomed path littered with pine needles that could be traveled by dog walkers and morning runners as had been my first backpacking trip with Pig Monkey and Hatterofmaddnesz a few years ago. This was not bothersome, only a notation of similarity between other trails I had just traveled in redwood groves - days before.

We reached our first river crossing that would take us over to Pilot Ridge trail. Several logs across the river made passing over relatively easy with good balance and a hiking pole. At that time we were probably overly cautious, choosing the thicker log that was naturally trimmed of its branches in order to cross. [Little did we know that hiking the sheer, snow covered ridge in a few hours would give us more than enough bravery to cross at either place.]

Shortly after the river the switchbacks up to Pilot Ridge began. This were some of the most intensive exercise I’ve ever had, pounding your calves with every step. It was expected though, Pig Monkey had clearly explained the 3,000 foot climb within two miles. I had become familiar with this style of hike a few days before in Sugarloaf, and in years prior when we traveled the Chuckanut Mountain trail.

I took it deliberately slow, I had no interest in racing or injuring myself on the first leg of our trip. I put one leg in front of the other in a slow pace up the hill, stopping occasionally to adjust my pack over my shoulders or the sun flap of my hat to allow for more ventilation. Most notably I zipped off the legs of my pants and went back to hiking in shorts which I have come to prefer.

We ended up being about five minutes behind each other - first Pig Monkey, then Kevin, then I.
Pig Monkey would leapfrog between us to make sure we were making it OK. Later on the trip he would become more assured of our physicality.

After the switchbacks there were several beautiful short creeks and waterfalls where we could refill on water - against our advice, Kevin once filled up his water bottle directly from the stream. We shall see if this causes him to be ill in the next few days. We all filtered our water from this point on.

The snow we hit at 4,200 feet slowly began to obscure the trail. We relied on Pig Monkey’s navigation skills, especially path finding in order to hike again. We would all stop and usually doff our packs while Pig Monkey scouted around for a few minutes and then pointed us in the right direction.

At 5,200 feet the trees cleared and the sun started to beat down on our packs - donning our hiking gaiters, we climbed over innumerable snow fields - thankfully at this time it was still relatively flat, but both Kevin and I quickly realized that our boots were not waterproof and were quickly soaked in the snow. I post holed only a few times, but it was the slipping and primarily Kevin falling down many times that led to our soaked boots.

We started to realize that our hiking poles (my monopod) were not quite up to this terrain, a fact that would become cemented in our minds when we reached the steep ridge. I took it slow and snapped as many photos as I could of the beautiful mountains we saw before us, the primary ones being Glacier Peak and Sloan Peak.

It was late afternoon, and after those earlier switchbacks I was losing energy fast. At this point we only had cold food, primarily whatever snacks or energy bars we had immediately on hand. When Pig Monkey was adamant about heading over the ridge and finding Blue Lake, I donned my iPod and headphones with some electronic beats in order to sustain our march.

As we approached the ridge the trees cleared on the trail into a steep mountain pass covered in yellow wild flowers intermittently covered with large fields of snow. Quite often this fields were too steep to go directly across. When there was no clear patch of brush beneath the snow field, it was deemed unsafe to cross and we could have to go even further up the steep hill around the snow field to one of these brush patches in order to go further. This took a tremendous amount of time and energy which sapped the will of Kevin and I to go on.

It was gradually becoming clear that we would not reach our intended destination of Blue Lake before night fall. The sun had started to fall and we were still almost two miles away, not counting the continual ups and downs to pass the snow fields. Kevin’s hiking pole had developed a sharp bend in it and I was worried that it would snap apart. My own pole was bent enough that I could not retract it, and traction wise I was in worse shape without a sharp point to drive into the slopes.

All of us had run out of water and Kevin and I were worried about our chances up on this ridge at night. We stopped as Pig Monkey climbed up once again to scout ahead. When returning Pig Monkey said we could make the decision to stay on the ridge, but that if we wanted water we would have to find the scarce dry wood, make a fire and melt snow. I was not worried about drinking water or cooking food as much as huddling in the cold on top of that mountain.

We headed slowly up the ridge, clinging to branches and patches of brush. I was hiking behind Pig Monkey when I noticed something strange - he stopped and called out, facing to the right of our position. Out of the fog I could make out the figure of a man standing there on a tree covered patch which was clear of snow but surrounded by it on all sides.

Pig Monkey crossed the snow field to talk to this man as I tried to quickly scramble up to find out more. I shouted back down to Kevin - “We found people!”. This is how we met a hunter, named Shane, who was on a scout for game up on the ridge. He had followed an old hunting trail up to the ridge and this was his own secret spot where he camped with hunting friends. Shane had pitched a yellow and orange MSR tent behind a grove of trees on the patch. He wore shorts, a ball cap and a mossy oak shirt with a handgun holstered to his hip.

Shane was incredibly friendly, especially considering it was probably quite a surprise to see anybody else on this ridge, not to mention his own camp site. We introduced ourselves as Kevin made it up to us on the site. Shane quickly made a small fire with a lighter and a scrap of paper with only the sparse wood laying around in the immediate area. Shane mentioned some pools of water just over the next hill, and Pig Monkey quickly grabbed my water filter and hydration bag to go fill up. Donning my water shoes, I knelt down next to the fire and spread out my clothes and boots to dry.

When Pig Monkey returned he divvied up camp sites for us to pitch our tarps and I slowly started grabbing food to munch on, first throwing down my sleeping bag and bivy sack, debating whether I had the energy to pitch the tarp. It turns out that the most ideal place to place my bivy sack also happened to be the entrance to Kevin’s tarp, so my bivy and tarp location changed to a more sloped area.

This turned out to be a complete nightmare where I was sliding off my inflatable sleeping pad, all the items in my bivy were sliding under me, and the bivy itself was gradually sliding down the slope with me in it! Suffice to say it became the worst sleep (what sleep?) I’ve ever had in the woods.

I made flavored rice and huddled near the camp fire for as long as I could, when in my bivy sack trying to sleep I employed Pig Monkey’s tip of drying socks and items of clothing against my skin underneath the base layer of clothing. This turned out to work pretty well, but my damp feet were still cold even in dry, ‘sacred socks’ that are only meant for sleeping. [I remember early in the AM huddling there shivering with all my cold weather clothing and dry layers on.]

I would later lament to Pig Monkey that I should have brought my heavier wool socks for sleeping, but this turned out to be a non-issue the next few nights we spent at a different camp site.

Early that morning, Shane the hunter packed up his camp and headed down the mountain with his backpack on, binoculars around his neck, and an ice axe in one hand. With the fog at his back he looked like some mythical ancient god and I was in total awe of his presence. At the time, it felt like he had saved our lives on that ridge, or at least made our time spent much more pleasant by making that camp fire and pointing our way to water, thus quite worthy of our respect and admiration.

A few hours later after breakfast and filtering more water, we broke camp and started making our way down the mountain, trying to find the trail again to follow to Blue Lake. Clouds slowly crept us the mountain, creating an impenetrable hazy fog which made it impossible for any of us to navigate, even Pig Monkey who was our expert path finder.

Pig Monkey tried once more to find the trail, we signalled back and forth with our headlamps and whistles to note our location in the fog. We decided to sit on a patch of brush and wait for the fog to burn off as we ate snacks and had a squat in the bushes.

Our path finder went ahead to check our route to the trail at the end of the ridge, but the snow got even worse. We were making incredibly slow time because of the effort and caution it took to cross the snow fields or to go around them with our less than ideal equipment. We discussed our options - trying to make it to the Lake, camping again on the ridge, or going back to the river.

I did not want to camp again on that ridge, but I had no problem with either of the other two options provided we could actually get there. Kevin made the decision to go back to the river, and at the time we headed that way and reflecting back on the trip, it was probably the right thing to do. It turned what was so far a stressful, uncomfortable and dangerous trip into something much more relaxed and safe where we could enjoy each other’s company and camp life.

Trying to navigate the ridge was a blood pumping, thrilling ride and I would definitely like to return another time, hopefully with better equipment.

We retraced our route from the previous day, and it was a lot easier going since we knew the way and distance, starting on a fresh day. Here and before on the ridge, there were several opportunities to sit and slide down the snow using our hiking poles to control our descent. But unlike the ridge, it was much safer here.

We stopped again near the creeks and cooked lunch, I tried in vain to dry out my boots and socks but the sun dropped below the trees too quickly. Wincing, I donned my wet socks and boots and we headed back down the trail. Amazingly the heat from my feet soon dried out the inside of the boots and the trip became tolerable.

Surprisingly, when we reached the switchbacks on the way down I headed in front of Kevin and matched Pig Monkey’s pace for awhile before he sped past me to find a dead cedar tree to collect thin plank like shards of wood which he strapped on his backpack and held on the way down to the river. This proved invaluable, having dry wood to make a fire quickly.

At the bottom of the hill we met another older hiker who made camp on the opposite side of the river from our intended spot. We talked to him about our trip so far and he was lamenting that there wasn’t enough snow and he talked about bushwhacking his way up there.

I thought this old hiker must be totally crazy, and even later the next day when we saw him with his backpack I didn’t notice any snow equipment. He looked like a guy that would be into lightweight backpacking, even though he did carry a tent.

We crossed the logs again with more gusto and that night we pitched our tarps on very flat ground only a few yards away from the river. I borrowed Pig Monkey’s firesteel and struck the cedar bark I had collected into a flame and with all the dry wood and tinder we had it was an easy fire to start. We started gathering around the fire cooking our food and drying out our socks and boots. Incredibly, it was the first real campfire I’ve had in at least 8 months.

That night was probably the best night I ever slept in the woods, I crawled into the bivy early after dark and the white noise of the river made it easy and the temperature was perfect. I slept barefoot which proved even better than trying to wear socks. Lazily I slept in the pants and shirt I had hiked in but at this temperature and elevation it was no problem. [Doing that on the ridge would have been seriously deadly.]

That morning I stayed near my tarp, reorganizing my pack, consolidating garbage from camp food and cooking the morning meal and tea for myself. I donned my cold weather clothing for comfort even though I could have gone without it. Around 8 AM Pig Monkey relit our campfire with a cotton ball and I headed over. I had debated doing it myself but decided I would wait until the others were awake on account that we were trying to conserve fuel.

When I came back from the river from cleaning some cloth I saw a guy running into our camp wearing nothing but boxers with a camp towel around his neck. I turned out it was Pig Monkey, who had just jumped into the frigid river for a bath of sorts. He dried off and stood by the fire, putting his clothes back on. We talked about how his idea was crazy but kind of clever considering all the sweat that we had built up at that point.

I decided to strip down to my shorts and wade into the river myself, ducking down into the water up to my neck. Despite what the others say, I was in the river for at least 13 seconds! I ran out after that because of the sheer cold, but thinking back I probably could had stayed in awhile after my body had gone numb. There was really no need to sit in a cold river to impress these guys, especially since Kevin jeered me but wouldn’t go in himself.

Pig Monkey started sawing off limbs of a downed tree and splitting them with his small mora knife. I wanted to help and also to put the mora to the test also, so I sat down using Kevin’s mora and started splitting the wood too. After twenty minutes or so we had a huge pile of split wood, the dry inside making it perfect for an instant, hot campfire.

When we eventually stacked the wood next to the campfire, Pig Monkey had intended to just dry the wood out more but it caught on fire so a lot of the wood was consumed quickly. [But that was OK at this leisurely camp we had set up, we just didn’t put forth as much effort collecting wood the next time.]

Knowing his experience, I mentioned something to Pig Monkey about making a bow drill and after thinking about it I saw him scamper off around camp looking discerningly at each tree. Eventually I figured out that he was indeed collecting the pieces to make a bow drill. He split a branch of cedar for the fire board and carved a spindle from a straight piece. He found a slightly curved branch for the bow which he notched and then tied a piece of lace from Kevin’s boot which had broken off earlier and he had replaced with para-cord.

Pig Monkey was able to burn-in the fire board with ease as I watched with my jaw dropped. We later replaced the lace with real para-cord which was notably easier to use. Kevin had obviously practiced the bow drill before as he had the stance correct and was able to work the bow pretty well. I had much more trouble with the bow and even just standing in the ‘correct’ posture.

I was able to work the bow better while sitting rather than kneeling and produced smoke and a hot spindle. When the bearing block slipped I burned the meaty part of my hand just below the joint of my thumb. [This was my second injury of the trip, the first was a shallow cut to my left index finger from when the saw slipped while cutting up branches into small logs for the fire. I should have been wearing gloves as I usually do when working with blades and sometimes fire.]

After Kevin instructed me several times, I had more luck Cobra stitching myself an OD green para-cord bracelet. This was my first ‘real’ para-cord bracelet since it was the thick Cobra stitched variety donned by the R4nger5, EDCers, survivalists, and outdoorsman of all stripes. I had a sense of pride and accomplishment, I’m glad that I didn’t have to buy mine off the Internet!! I plan on making a matching one in black in the near future.

Even though it was late afternoon I was anxious about the fact that we had not hit any more trails, even for a short day hike and after all the adrenaline fueled backpacking we had already done I was practically expecting it at any moment. [Later the next morning I was reminded that if Pig Monkey wants to roll he packs his tarp up early, if it’s still up, we’re staying at camp.]

We lazed about the rest of the day, eating liberally, cooking and tending the fire when it suited us. That afternoon we saw another ultralight hiker with no shirt on, as well as many groups of horse riders with saddle bags and some backpackers. We spent the night talking around the campfire with Kevin retreating early and Pig Monkey and I bantering on about our lives.

I got up alittle bit earlier than morning, digging through the campfire to find some hot coals left to blow into flame. After hearing the snapping of twigs Pig Monkey joined me by the campfire that was now burning easily. Quicker than I expected the other guys already started to break camp, I ate cold food while I cooked and decided to throw it in my freezer bag cooking cozy setup to eat later.

I gingerly took down my tarp, a part of me wishing we could stay much longer. Repacking has always been a hassle so I was trying to do things in a slow and orderly fashion, trying hard not to forget anything or have something slip my mind.

After what seemed like a much shorter hike, we reached the trailhead and the car. Everything was as we left it, and we saw two guys heading out on a week long fishing trip with huge backpacks taller than they were. I hope they were taking it slow.

We drove back through Darrington listening to techno remixes with samples from Tales from the Afternow and acoustic music from Vavrek. I sat in the car looking at the light peer from the trees remembering our time in the wilderness as the highway wound into the cities once again.

-- avagdu

PS. Photos to come..