Boundary Trail #1 and Truman Trail
Mount Saint Helens
08/13/2006

8 Miles

Since the kids were in California, I had a rare weekend to myself and planned to go backpacking. But plans change. Myola just got a new job with the Department of Ecology, moved to Kelso, and needed some help painting the new house she and Josh bought, so she threw a "painting party." Jes told me how important it was to her to go, and I told her how much I was looking forward to hiking, so we compromised.

Saturday morning we made the drive to Kelso and began painting and drinking cheap beer. The walls had been brightly painted with primary colors, so we took on the task of taming them with white paint. After the day's painting, we sat around Myola and Josh's new fire pit, ate some awesome food, and were bit by mosquitoes. Myola, Josh, and their friends Erika, Bob, and baby Stuart sat around the campfire telling stories and drinking beer (Stuart especially). Jes and I set up my tent in the back yard, and enjoyed the stars through the mesh ceiling when we went to bed. Fire, bugs, tent, stars. Backyard camping wasn't too bad.

Camping at Myola and Josh's new house

At around 4:00, I awoke to the sound of water running. As I tried to figure out where the sound came from, we were hit suddenly by a blast of water, then another and another. Sprinklers! I ran out and tossed the rain fly on top of the tent. We laughed good-naturedly and tried to find the dry parts of our wet sleeping bags, but then another stream of water hit us from the front of the tent. A sprinkler had come on a couple of feet from us and was spraying water at full force against the unprotected door. Rain flies aren't meant for water at that angle and I said "we have to move!" I opened the front door, grabbed the fly, and threw it on top of the sprinkler like a good soldier diving on a grenade to protect his squad. We picked up the tent, carried it to the protection of the deck and tried to go back to sleep.

Welcome to Mt. St. Helens

The adventure of camping in a back yard was too much for me, so I decided to get up. I packed my pack and hit the road before 7:00. Jes let me use her Escape to drive to Mt. St. Helens for a quick hike. I didn't have a map (TOPO doesn't work unless you have a printer or carry a laptop with you), or a guidebook (I gave one to Myola and Josh as a present, though), and was hoping one of the visitor centers had some sort of hikes detailed or trail maps or something. Four official visitor centers welcome tourists on the 50-mile stretch of road known as SR 504. An additional one claimed to link the effects of the eruption to Jesus or religion or something. None of them open until 10 and none of them have outdoor bathrooms or garbage cans. I needed to use one of these, badly.

Steam eruptions from the lava dome and vent

Finally I reached the Johnston Ridge Observatory, not having seen a single car on the road. Two cars were parked there and I saw two other people hanging around as I searched the grounds for a restroom or map. I decided to hike the Boundary Trail #1 after locating its location on a display. One other problem remained. My bladder. It would have to wait until I got a bit further from civilization. The cement trail turned into well-worn ash, and the number of footprints lessened the farther I walked from the parking lot. I still had to pee. I couldn't go in the woods, because there were no woods. A sign explained the proper Leave No Trace method of going 200 feet from a water source and off-trail, but another sign threatened me with a fine if I did. What to do? I found a mound to hide behind and tried to pee as far as I could off the trail while standing on the trail. I kicked some ash from the trail on top of it and went on my way.

Western Mantled Ground Squirrel stuffing his face

Three things were pretty constant: uninterrupted views of Mt. St. Helens, ash, and signs directing me to stay on the trail. The flora consisted mainly of Pearly Everlasting, two species of lupine, and Red Paintbrush. Gold-Mantled Ground Squirrels darted across the trail, as did the thousands of grasshoppers that warned as I approached. The little pests would click rapidly and throw their bodies in random places, sometimes under my shoes or against my legs.

Pearly Everlasting

The crater of St. Helens steamed and the shape of her flanks suggested her massive former self. In the valley between the volcano and the ridge I was on, the pyroclastic flow and debris field suggested another planet. Deep valleys had been carved in the ash and mud in the 26 years since the eruption and formed hummocks. Everything was gray and foreign. The area is called the Pumice Plain.

Pumice Plain

In the few instances where the trail passed onto the lee side of the ridge, isolated blow downs and twisted wood showed evidence of the forests that had been destroyed in the blast. Small alders and a couple of baby Douglas Firs, Pacific Silver Firs, and Hemlocks tried to take hold on the sterilized hillside. Only small alpine wildflowers proliferated.

Stump and Sitka Alder

Common Paintbrush and Prarie Lupine

The trail cut into the steep mountainside on one portion was narrow and dropped off hundreds of vertical feet. I spied fireweed new plant. As I bent down to photograph this plant for identification, my pack hit the face above and uphill from me, causing me to fall a bit toward the abyss. I pondered falling face-first down the hill and wondered if my camera would be a sufficient replacement for an ice axe for self-arrest.

Exposed Trail

The photo that almost killed me. What are these?

I rounded the western flank and Spirit Lake came into view. Now that was my new destination. I'd heard all about Mount Saint Helens, the Toutle River, and Spirit Lake ever since the eruption, and knew I wanted to see it close-up. With no trees to break them up, the morning winds rippled the water and the water shot back the reflection of the sun in little stars jumping around on its surface. The trail seemed to be heading in that direction and it seemed like a natural terminus.

Spirit Lake

Finally, a fork in the trail. Descending into the valley, I followed the Truman Trail, named after the famous stubborn old man who wouldn't leave when the mountain threatened his home and his life. Plants began to bloom, even crowding the trails in places. As I bent down to study the elk tracks and scat, a couple of White-Crowned Sparrows played in the bushes. Small creeks did their part in restoring life to the desolation, cutting into the mounds of ash and providing life to alders and other plants. The ravens, like the grasshoppers, announced my visit, and small animals in the brush ran and hid when I'd inadvertently approached them too closely. The variance in life from here to the exposed ridge was pronounced.

A trespasser from Mt. St. Helens

Dusty trail

Now I hiked north, straight toward the mountain. I climbed up and down over canyons of ash. My shoes kicked the white dust into the air, into my face, and into my hair. Problem was, I wasn't going toward Spirit Lake at all. In fact, I started hiking away from it as I passed some little ponds. I kept hiking east and north, but gave up when I realized the trail I was on was just heading back toward the observatory in a loop. I turned around and headed back the way I came.

Ponds in valley floor

A large "CRACK" sounded as I neared the junction with the Boundary Trail. Rocks dropped from the ridge and fell to the valley floor, knocking down more rocks on the way. It was probably loosened by the 3.1 earthquake earlier that morning.

Oregon Stonecrop

I only had 16 ounces of water with me, having not found a water spigot at the visitor center, and was exerting myself quite heavily. My filter was safe at home, and I didn’t want to drink right from the stream. Climbing in elevation and walking in the soft ash and sand were taking their toll. Usually when I hike by myself, I push harder than when I'm with my kids, and had to remind myself to slow down a bit. The hot sun was burning my neck and face, and I hadn't eaten anything.

Ash canyons

After 10:30, I heard my first sign of "technological progress" of the whole morning. A helicopter flew above the crater, making it available to those who don't deserve to see it, but have big wallets. In my book, you should have to hike your way in to get that close. Damn cheaters and weaklings. Where's Darwin anymore? Then, shortly after, I saw the first "hikers" of the day. A family of four was turning around about a mile from the trailhead. They wore purple wristbands and visors and carried souvenirs. As I hiked back, their clones lined the trail like a shopping mall on the day after Thanksgiving. Tennis shoes, flip-flops, cameras, and walking sticks. IPods, Hawaiian shirts, ice cream, and a lack of etiquette. They dropped Goldfish crackers and M&Ms on the trail, and walked in herds. One guy, supposedly the "outdoorsman" of his little group, was trying to impress the women he was with by explaining that they would have to hike back up the hill they just came down. I needed out, and fast.

Twisted log on lee side of Johnston Ridge

One guy, complete with do rag, baggy jeans, and sideways hat was yelling at his girlfriend. They were arguing about who was going to ask me something. Damn! I didn't want to talk to them at all and hoped they wouldn’t bother me. As I rounded the switchback, the guy stared ahead, blocking the trail and I asked him to "excuse me" so I could pass. Perhaps he was intimidated by my huge, 5'6" stature, but he didn't say a word or make eye contact. He might have piddled a little though. His brash, loud girlfriend asked me the question they were arguing about: "Where does this path go?" To which I replied, "Well, you go around this ridge here, have some nice views of Spirit Lake and Mount Adams, and finally descend down to there." Then, get this. She asked me "Is there any food or drinks down there?" I didn't know if I should laugh or get pissed. I told her there wasn’t and she yelled at her kids to get back to the car.

Surreptitious photo of tourist seeking concessions in valley floor

The couple who had been lingering at the parking lot when I first arrived greeted me at the trailhead like we were old friends. I’d thought they were a couple of overweight obnoxious tourists, but they surprised me. Supposedly they’d gone to the Coldwater trailhead, found it too busy and filled with loud children, and decided on the Hummocks Trail, a 2.5 mile loop that came close to the Toutle River. They highly recommended it, calling it “an excellent example of rebirth” and spoke with an evident love of the wilderness.

Elk tracks in ash

I got in line at the observatory, showed my Golden Eagle pass, and got a special pink wristband instead of the purple ones they handed out to the tourists. I stank, having not showered, and was completely covered in ash. I enjoyed the offended looks I received from the RVers and Californians as I nosed in close to see the exhibits. That finally lost its novelty and I left after a couple minutes.

The drive back was completely different from the drive up. Cars filled the lots at all the visitor centers and caused heavy traffic along the road. I left just in time. Just in time to finish some painting.

Dock Butte and Blue Lake
08/05/2006

4.5 Miles
1500 Feet Elevation Gain

We got a late start this morning, leaving the house after noon. Callie and Scott were both tired (Scott was up until 5 am reading) and it made for a quiet drive until we almost got into an accident north of Marysville. Three cars just in front of us slammed into each other. I swerved out of the way and avoided it, but my hands and legs shook from the scare.

Our intent this weekend was to take a short hike and soak in the Baker Hot Springs to relax afterward. I stopped off at the ranger station in Sedro Woolley to gather current trail and road conditions where I ran into Dermot, my ex-coach from my hurling team. He said he was camping for the first time. Now, he’s in charge of some committee for the Sierra Club and Scott asked why it would be his first time camping. Maybe it was his first trip of the year. Gotta give the Sierra Clubbers the benefit of the doubt.

Birdsview Brewing Company

Along SR 20, I wanted to stop at the Eagle Haven Winery, having fallen in love with their Madeleine Angevine and Siegerrebe, but I resisted in the interest of expediency. Unfortunately, I noticed that the Birdsview Brewing Company had recently opened and wasn’t able to restrain myself. I stopped in and bought a 64 ounce “growler” of their amber ale, which I am enjoying at the time of this writing. I highly recommend anyone that is in the area to try it.

We took the Baker Lake Road from SR 20 and headed north for about 12 miles before taking a left on the well-maintained Forest Service Road 12. 12 branched into 13, and finally into 1230. 1230 was a much different story. My Dodge pickup, despite its new tires, was having a tough time holding traction on the washboard road up the switchbacks. Callie was nervous, but I took my time and enjoyed the Fireweed that lined the road (from my peripheral vision of course).

Fireweed

Finally, about 9 miles from Baker Lake Road, we reached the trailhead. Only a couple other cars were parked there and we all stepped out into a barrage of biting black flies. They covered my exposed legs immediately and felt like I ran into a patch of nettles. The only thing that kept them away was to keep moving, so I used that as a motivator for the kids to head out.

Five-Stamened Mitrewort?

The trail dropped at first, surprising Callie who pointed out that almost every hike we go on is headed immediately uphill. She wasn't wrong, though, because shortly after registering, we headed upward. Up and up and up. Upon reaching the first vista, Callie and Scott gladly took a break to allow me to take some more photos, but the flies persisted and we had to keep moving. The image of Mount Baker filled most of the horizon, but the kids hadn’t noticed since they were just staring at the trail in front of them. It was a nice, warm day, and I enjoyed the exertion. Callie and Scott didn’t and started arguing about who got to be in front, how fast we should go, and other silly stuff, so I let Scott take off ahead on his own. He likes to feel like a big boy. Hey, why is it that when you call someone a “big boy,” they always take it to mean the opposite?

A break...but not from the flies

Callie was tired and thirsty, but didn’t want a drink of water. Poor thing, she didn’t seem to be having the best time. I felt guilty for it, but if the kids had their way, they might never leave the house or have any sort of exercise. They always really enjoy the experience (the destination, not the journey) and love to talk about it afterward, and this time, it was much the same.

"We're not going up that, are we Daddy?"

Finally, we reached some meadows and spotted a large rock formation (butte) ahead. “We’re not going up that, are we daddy?” Callie asked. “Not sure,” I said, but I thought we probably were. She whined a little, but upon seeing the first patch of snow, her attitude completely changed. She ran uphill, now demonstrating that she wasn’t as tired as she’d led me to believe, and stomped in the little piles of snow. She grabbed a handful of it and pressed it to her forehead until it went numb. Then she tried it on her chin, and it went numb too. We hiked up a higher grade than before, but she was distracted by the joys of snow and didn’t seem to notice. Every once in a while, I would get a face full of snow when she tossed it up behind her, but she was happy and it didn’t bother me. Now, she enjoyed the tarns, the snow, the flowers, and commented on the erosion caused by a road carved into Mount Baker. Now that’s my girl

Snow...

... in August!

Views of Loomis Mountain, Twin Sisters, and Mounts Baker and Shuksan were incredible and huge. Luckily, I didn’t trip when my eyes were fixed upward. When they weren’t pointing up, they were pointing down at the White Mountain Heather, Lupine, and other wonderful alpine plants that were making their summer appearance.

Arctic Lupine

A couple from Vancouver passed us up. They weren’t breathing hard or sweating, and the woman was much too pretty to be hiking in the mountains. Actually, there are quite a few beautiful women on the trails. More so than most places. Scott even made an observation to that effect. While hiking up the talus slope on the final climb to the top, the pretty couple passed us on their way back down again too. “It’s totally worth it,” they said.

Loomis Mountain and tarn

Beautiful Mount Baker

Mount Shuksan behind the trees

A family came running down the slope just before we hit the top, followed by their dog (unleashed, of course). They had never heard of yielding to those climbing uphill, and it was too bad that they didn’t run a little faster and farther.

White Mountain Heather

We made one last, scary maneuver of climbing up a tree root and a banked rock with a few-hundred foot drop behind us and reached the summit. Scott and Callie both had huge smiles and a beaming sense of accomplishment. Scott pointed out the USGS survey marker to Callie and they were so proud of themselves. Scott even gave Callie one of his Cliff Bars. We hung out, ate, looked at the beautiful, 360 degree views, and inspected the last remnants of the lookout that was burned down. I tried lying down to take a photo, but glass shards were everywhere. If you’ve packed a beverage all the way up here and drank it, why can’t you pack it down? It’s lighter, and gravity helps you the whole way! Inconsiderate a-holes.

Scott on the last part of the climb

Callie making the final approach

Dammit, is this a krummholz?

Callie's first summit!

USGS Reference Mark on Dock Butte

We had complete solitude all the way back. Callie, of course, picked up some more snow and a couple of little rocks. She likes to pick up rocks on every hike we go on, despite Forest Service regs and Leave No Trace tactics. Thoreau did it, so it can’t be too bad, plus, these places probably won’t exist in the same form they are today when she gets older.

Scott trading Callie a Cliff Bar for future favors

The summit of Mount Baker

Meadows on hill south of Dock Butte

Juvenille Western Toad

Scott took off again, this time without waiting for us at regular intervals. Upon reaching the fork in the trail that headed toward Blue Lake, he wasn’t there and I figured that he'd headed all the way back to the truck. I tightened up my shoulder straps on my pack and ran back to the trailhead. Scott was there feeding Gray Jays (I told him he shouldn’t be doing that and threw a little crumb to them when he wasn’t looking). He put his pack back on and we ran back to the fork. Callie’s feet were starting to blister and I told her we could just turn in, but she wanted to keep pressing on to see the lake. We were so close after all. We’d seen Blue Lake from the trail to Dock Butte, and it looked worth the extra mile-and-a-half. The flora started changing as we neared the lake, and some large, gray chunks of fur sat in the middle of the trail. I wonder what battle took place here.

Blue Lake from Dock Butte trail

Scott, again, went ahead and said “here it is!” Callie ran ahead and I followed. With the light, glacial flour, and deepness of the lake shone a wonderful, artificial aqua-turquoise blue. The cliff overhead reflected perfectly in the lake in the calm afternoon and protected the snow patches on the steep bank. Fish rose to eat their dinner, and some jumped all the way out of the water for the bouncing insects. As the kids filtered some water, we heard a “woo hoo!” from across the water. I investigated and a woman was camping out on a little peninsula. We left her alone and hiked back toward the truck.

Hiking to Blue Lake with blisters

By the time we got to the trailhead, it was after 7:00 and too late to go to Baker Hot Springs. I'd neglected to bring my headlamp, and Callie and Scott were pooped. We thought it would be safer to just declare the day over and go home.

The drive back down was even more nerve-racking for Callie. Wary of the steep drop-offs, the glare on the windshield made me slow down and have to look out the side window to see where we were going. I stopped to identify some Goat’s Beard and I told Scott about the “leaves of three” guideline about poisonous plants as I handed him a specimen of it. He stopped to notice the 3 times compound leaves and threw it to the ground. Sick humor.

We got home after nine and lined up for the showers. I love taking a shower and being able to see the dirt that washed off of me!

Blue Lake, how apropos!