Tag: wilderness

Begin where Forest Road 63 ends. Step around the barrier and immediately enter the Wild Sky Wilderness. Parallel the north fork of the Skykomish River along the old road, watching as the road slowly changes into trail. Shortly, enter the Henry M. Jackson Wilderness. Pass a junction with the Pass Creek Trail.

Continue along the north fork of the Sky, as the trail slowly gains elevation. Enter into meadows with views of Long John Mountain and June Mountain to the north and Skykomish Peak to the south. Climb still further, and reach Dishpan Gap.

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The Spider Gap – Buck Creek loop is one of the most popular trips in the north Cascades. For 40 miles the trail winds through the Glacier Peak Wilderness. It takes the traveler through low, emerald valleys and atop high alpine ridges.

Spider Gap

The trail along Phelps Creek is well used by hikers and hunters. It is a wide horse road, leading through thick woods. When I arrive in the middle of the week there are three different groups heading out, but no one else going in. It looks as if I have hit a lull in the summer crowds.

At the head of the valley the forest thins, giving way to wide meadows, good camps, and the remnants of avalanche slides. Two grouse hunters were tramping through the meadows, and one person hunting the opening of archery season for deer. None of them had so far had any luck.

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Continuing with my recent theme of short, low-mileage trips I ventured back into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness last weekend. After hitting snow at low elevations at the Foss Lakes the previous week, I decided this time to head east of the crest.

Whitepine Creek runs just west of Leavenworth and provides a lesser known and lesser used route onto Icicle Ridge and the surrounding area, compared to the popular Icicle Creek Road. I reached the nearest trailhead at midmorning on Friday. As I pulled my pack out of the car, I realized something was missing. Whoops, no trekking pole! I only ever carry one pole anymore, and don’t find it to be required gear for walking. Its import lies in the fact that I use it to set up my tarp. The pole isn’t needed when I string up the tarp between two trees — which I prefer to do whenever two conveniently placed trees present themselves at my intended camp — but I would be getting high on this trip and thought it likely that I would be spending a night or two above tree line.

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A 4 gram highlighter makes route planning much easier. Carry one.

Mountains lie all about, with many difficult turns leading here and there. The trails run up and down; we are martyred with obstructing rocks. No matter how well we keep the path, if we miss one single step, we shall never know safe return. But whoever has the good fortune to penetrate that wilderness, for his labors will gain a beatific reward, for he shall find there his heart’s delight. The wilderness abounds in whatsoever the ears desire to hear, whatsoever would please the eye: so that no one could possible wish to be anywhere else. And this I well know; for I have been there.

Gottfried von Strassburg, Tristan and Isolde

Day One

Up the Foss River. Trout Lake to Copper Lake to Big Heart.

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I gained the pass just before noon. On the other side, the ridge fell to reveal Jack Creek, Mount Stuart and the other paths I had traveled the year before. It’s pleasing to see that country again, and I gaze off into the Wilderness as I recall some of the moments of that past trip. I’m also satisfied that my route finding had gone perfectly to plan.

Last night, camped back beyond Lake Anne, I had taken out map and compass and, while dinner sat in the cozy, planned today’s route. The cross country section was only a couple miles, but I find it useful to plan carefully, whether the route is two miles or 20.

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On our last morning in the Red Buttes Wilderness, Avagdu and I woke up to a very wet camp. We wanted fire, but neither of us had brought any dry wood into our shelters the night before. Everything was soaked.

We gathered what we could — branches from dead fall that were up off the ground, as well as dead lower branches from standing trees — but the trees were so sparse in the area that, even after splitting, much of this wood was still wet. (I should mention that we wanted a fire, but did not need one. I, at least, was not hugely motivated to put a large amount of energy into batoning. So a small amount of our failure ought to be attributed to laziness.)

After failing to get a blaze going with the wet wood, even after using a bit of inner tube to extend the flame, I hit on the idea of using the Inferno.

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Avagdu and I pulled into the trailhead around 7 PM. After getting our gear together, we decided to take advantage of the long summer evening to log a few miles. The trail into the Red Buttes Wilderness climbs steadily through pine woods. It’s dry and dusty with the lack of rain. But that’s to be expected. We’re back in California, after all.

Occasional glimpses of large slides and the valley below can be had through the trees. Soon enough, the sun sets behind the hills. I remove the headlamp from my pack and throw it around my neck. Avagdu stops a minute later to do the same. There’s another hour or so of good hiking to be got yet.

Our destination this night is Echo Lake. I don’t think it’s too much further down the trail. After I wet my feet in a stream crossing, I figure we must be close, but the sun is down, the moon not yet risen, and I’m worried I’ll miss the spur trail that goes off to the lake. Shortly after the crossing we’re surprised by a small wilderness camp: a shelter made of 4 upright posts and a few pine boughs for a roof, a table, a bit of firewood, and what is either an attempt at a chair or a Nessmuk-style fire. I can’t tell which. It’s an impressive setup. “Someone Ray Mears-ed it up,” Avagdu says. The only thing we can’t figure out is why the shelter is lashed together with duct tape rather than cordage. Or why the bundle of firewood is wrapped in duct tape.

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The snow is still sitting at 4,000 feet. This weekend I stayed low and enjoyed sleeping on bare ground.

I have a feeling that an ice axe and pair of microspikes will be fairly permanent additions to my pack this summer.

Arriving at Rialto Beach just past 1:00 PM, I took a few minutes to stuff my food into the bear can I had borrowed from the Ranger Station on my way out. The cans are required to keep food secure not from bears, but from marauding raccoons. This was to be the third year I had hiked the Olympic Coast in Winter and, outside of the Sierra Nevada, these have been the only times I’ve carried a bear can. Still, thanks to the warmer temperatures along the coast, even with the can my pack feels light compared to what I must carry this time of year when high in the mountains.

High tide had been at 11:30 AM. It is still high enough to make beach-walking difficult. I opt to make my way through the thick trees and marsh instead of braving the beach. There are no cars in the parking lot when I leave, but I surprise two people panning for gold along a small creek. Neither are talkative. When I ask if they had found anything, the one only replies “a little”. I don’t know if that is the truth, or if he was just anxious to get me gone.

I spend an hour in the woods. The tide is low enough now that I can make my way down to the beach, exchanging thick trees for wet sand. Occasionally I have to run up the beach and jump on top of driftwood to escape from the occasional wave, but for the most part the way is easy going between Rialto and Hole-in-the-Wall.

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I can’t think of a better way to spend the winter solstice than breaking trail in fresh powder.

Days and months are the travelers of eternity. So are the years that pass by… I myself have been tempted for a long time by the cloud-moving wind — filled with a strong desire to wander… I walked through mists and clouds, breathing the thin air of high altitudes and stepping on slippery ice and snow, till at last through a gateway of clouds, as it seemed, to the very paths of the sun and moon, I reached the summit, completely our of breath and nearly frozen to death. Presently the sun went down and the moon rose glistening in the sky.

• Basho

As the light increased, I discovered around me an ocean of mist, which by chance reached up exactly to the base of the tower, and shut out every vestige of the earth, while I was left floating on this fragment of the wreck of a world, on my carved plank, in cloudland…

All around beneath me was spread for a hundred miles on every side, as far as the eye could reach, an undulating country of clouds, answering in the varied swell of its surface to the terrestrial world it veiled. It was such a country as we might see in dreams, with all the delights of paradise.

• Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

The Alpine Lakes Wilderness is located east of the Cascade crest, over by the town of Leavenworth. A small section of the area, called The Enchantments, became a popular tourist destination a few decades ago, resulting in much overuse. To address the damage the Forest Service instituted a restrictive permit system. To access a normal wilderness area, you generally just fill out a free permit at the trailhead. For the Enchantments, similar free permits are available at trailheads for day use only. To sleep there, you must apply for a permit the previous winter, send in a little cash to grease the wheels, and then hope for the best. Permits are rewarded on a lottery system.

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“Anyhow, let’s get down to it, Hig,” Mack went on. “I don’t understand. What is it that really tempts you? What’s the trouble with there?”

“There? Well, I figure this way. There is there all right, until a man gets to it. Then it ain’t there. It’s here, and here is what you wanted to get away from in the first place.”

Mack shook his head. “The only way out that I can see for you is for you to shoot yourself.”

“Not as long as there’s trails I never took. Not while there be yonders and yonders.”

• A.B. Guthrie, Jr., Fair Land, Fair Land

The Goat Rocks are an alpine wonderland situated between Mount Adams and Mount Rainier. The result of volcanic explosions and glacial carving, the area is high and rugged; the way mountains are supposed to be.

My entry into the area was via the Packwood Lake Trailhead. It’s a popular trailhead, leading to the equally popular day-hiking destination of Packwood Lake. The hike is about 4.5 miles to the lake along flat and well maintained trail.

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Dick Summers thought lazily that these were different from mountain men. These couldn’t enjoy life as it rolled by; they wanted to make something out of it, as if they could take it and shape it to their way if only they worked and figured hard enough. They didn’t talk beaver and whiskey and squaws or let themselves soak in the weather; they talked crops and water power and business and maybe didn’t even notice the sun or the pale green of new leaves except as something along the way to whatever it was they wanted to be and to have. Later they might look back, some of them might, and wonder how it happened that things had slid by them. They would remember, maybe, a morning and the camp smoke rising and the sun rolling up in the early mist and the air sharp and heady as a drink, and they would hanker back for the day and wish they had got the good out of it. But, hell, a man looking back felt the same, regardless. There wasn’t any way to whip time.

• A.B. Guthrie, Jr., The Way West

Having been back from the Glacier Peak Wilderness for near a week, I felt a need to return to the mountains. The maps suggested a few possibilities, but one didn’t commend itself to me over the others. I thought to contact Avagdu, who was still in Washington, to see if he had time for another walk before returning to California. He did, so I gave him the options I had come up with and asked what he would prefer.

We settled on heading into the Wild Sky Wilderness. I would lead him back to Eagle Lake, where we would spend the first night. The next day we would climb the ridge of Townsend Mountain, descend down the opposite side, and make our way to Sunset Lake for our second night. From there, we would hike out on the third day.

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Indian hellebore is one of the most violently poisonous plants on the Northwest Coat, a fact recognized by all indigenous groups. This plant was, and still is, highly respected, for even to eat a small portion of it would result in loss of consciousness, followed by death. It is sometimes known as ‘skookum’ root, the Chinook jargon for ‘strong, powerful.’ This plant was an important and respected medicine, used by most northwest coast groups. The Tlingit used an Indian-hellebore medicine for colds. The Nisga’a used small quantities of the root for toothache. There is one report of a Haisla who was cured of tuberculosis by placing a lozenge of dried Indian-hellebore root under his tongue for a day. It is said that his face went numb, but he recovered. The Haida made a poultice for sprains, bruises, and rashes, and a medicine for colds. It was believed almost any disease could be cured with Indian hellebore. The Haida also treated kidney and bladder troubles and acute fevers with this plant. The Nuxalk made preparations for chronic coughs, gonorrhea, constipation, stomach pains, chest pains, heart trouble and for toothache or rotting teeth. The Kwakwak’wakw made medicinal preparations for constipation, internal back and chest pains, colds and to abort pregnancy. The Nuu-chah-nulth rubbed the mashed root on sores or rheumatic areas to stop pain, and as a general liniment. Among the Coast Salish this plant was utilized by the Quinalt, Squamish, Sechelt, Mainland Comox, Southern Vancouver Island Salish and other groups for similar cures.

Some species of this genus are powdered to form the garden insecticide ‘hellebore.’ People who drink water in which hellebore is growing have reported stomach cramps. Other symptoms of hellebore poisoning include frothing at the mouth, blurred vision, ‘lockjaw,’ vomiting and diarrhea.

• Jim Pojar, Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast

This past week, Kevin arrived in Seattle for the last leg of his America trip. I couldn’t let him come all the way from Scotland without seeing a few mountains, so we had planned a four day trip into the Glacier Peak Wilderness. Avagdu‘s schedule had recently opened up, allowing him to come up from California to join us. I had planned a loop of about 47 miles around the ridges just southwest of Glacier Peak.

We arrived at the North Fork Sauk River trailhead late in the morning and, after quickly adjusting gear, hit the trail at 11:30 AM.

The trail paralleled the north fork of the Sauk and led into forests of old-growth cedar, with forest floor covered in Skunk Cabbage and Devil’s Club.

We quickly reached the junction with the Pilot Ridge trail, which heads south, cuts over the river, and begins to climb the ridge. Originally I had thought we would have to ford the river at this point, but there were a few logs laying across that allowed us to easily avoid getting wet.

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Needs? I guess that is what bothers so many folks. They keep expanding their needs until they are dependent on too many things and too many other people. I don’t understand economics, and I suppose the country would be in a real mess if people suddenly cut out a lot of things they don’t need. I wonder how many things in the average American home could be eliminated if the question were asked, “Must I really have this?” I guess most of the extras are chalked up to comfort or saving time.

Funny thing about comfort — one man’s comfort is another man’s misery. Most people don’t work hard enough physically anymore, and comfort is not easy to find. It is surprising how comfortable a hard bunk can be after you come down off a mountain.

• Richard Proenneke, One Man’s Wilderness

Yesterday I headed out to Monte Cristo for a quick night out. I was in this area last fall when I visited Gothic Basin, but had not continued all the way down the main trail to the town site.

Monte Cristo is an old mining town that was founded in the 1890s and lasted until 1907. It’s now a ghost town, maintained by the Monte Cristo Preservation Association. The trail into town is an easy hike along the old railroad grade. Most of the buildings in the town itself have burned down or were long ago dismantled, leaving only a few remnants. More interesting than the buildings are the metal artifacts strewn about the site.

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If I could only carry one first aid specific item in the wilderness, it would be an irrigation syringe.

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The Wenaha-Tucannon Wilderness in the Umatilla National Forest is a remote section of the Blue Mountains located in southeastern Washington and northeastern Oregon. This past week I did a loop of about 60 miles in the Wilderness.

I arrived at the Panjab trailhead in the Tucannon canyon at around 3PM on Saturday. The plan for the day was to take a short walk and spend the night at Dunlap Spring, a distance of about 6 miles. The Panjab trail proved uneventful, with no interesting sightings. I reached the meadow above the spring at 6PM and was happy to see it free of snow. The meadow sits at 5,700 feet (around 2,500 feet higher than the trailhead) which was not the highest elevation I would be reaching during the loop, but close. It seemed a safe bet that I wouldn’t be post holing the whole trip, which is always good news.

As I walked down the meadow toward the spring, I ran into my first local. A black bear with a nice brown coat was having his supper about a hundred feet away. He had his butt toward me and his head down. I yelled a greeting. He didn’t budge. Not exactly the response I was hoping for. I yelled a bit more and he looked around but was either blind or uninterested in the biped waving frantically at him. After a minute, though, the wind shifted direction and brought my scent to him. He turned his head to look right at me, then ran off into the trees. Thanking him, I went on my way.

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Sealed in their metallic shells like molluscs on wheels, how can I pry the people free? The auto as tin can, the park ranger as opener. Look here, I want to say, for godsake folks get out of them there machines, take off those fucking sunglasses and unpeel both eyeballs, look around; throw away those god-damned idiotic cameras! For chrissake folks what is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare? eh? Take off your shoes for a while, unzip your fly, piss hearty, dig your toes in the hot sand, feel that raw and rugged earth, split a couple of big toenails, draw blood! Why not? Jesus Christ, lady, roll that window down! You can’t see the desert if you can’t smell it. Dusty? Of course it’s dusty — this is Utah! But it’s good dust, good red Utahn dust, rich in iron, rich in irony. Turn that motor off. Get out of that piece of iron and stretch your varicose veins, take off your brassiere and get some hot sun on your old wrinkled dugs! You sir, squinting at the map with your radiator boiling over and your fuel pump vapor-locked, crawl out of that shiny hunk of GM junk and take a walk — yes, leave the old lady and those squawling brats behind for a while, turn your back on them and take a long quiet walk straight into the canyons, get lost for a while, come back when you damn well fell like it, it’ll do you and her and them a world of good. Give the kids a break too, let them out of the car, let them go scrambling over the rocks hunting for rattlesnakes and scorpions and anthills — yes sir, let them out, turn them loose; how dare you imprison little children in your goddamned upholstered horseless hearse? Yes sir, yes madam, I entreat you, get out of those motorized wheelchairs , get off your foam rubber backsides, stand up straight like men! like women! like human beings! and walk — walk — WALK upon our sweet and blessed land! -Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

I was up around Lake Twenty Two yesterday, further exploring the area and testing small changes to my gear load out. I was surprised at the amount of snow I encountered. There was a good foot of it around the lake, whereas at the end of January there was only a dusting. Winter and Spring seem to have gotten themselves confused.

Remember Mailbox Peak? The mountain that was supposed to provide one of the most difficult, thigh-burning day hikes in the region? When I climbed it last October my reaction was a cocky “Psch. That ain’t no challenge! Maybe will a full pack it’d cause some pain.” Yesterday, I climbed it again. This time with a 60lb rucksack on my back.

Reaching the summit took three exhausting, slow hours. I allowed myself only one 10 minute break each hour. For the last quarter of the hike I was just stumbling along, slowly plodding my way up higher and higher (thinking “Whose bright idea was this?”). The trail near the top was too covered with snow and ice to make it smart to attempt without some sort of traction device, so I opted for the neighboring boulder field. Scrambling up that required more leg power, balance, and mental facilities than I had left at the time, but I managed to make it.

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I took the day to climb to the top of Mount Pilchuck today. The road to the trail head is usually closed and impassable in the winter, but this year it was open and free of snow. From the trail head, it’s only about 3 miles and 2,500 feet to the 5,324 foot summit and the old fire lookout tower. This is the first day hike of the year that I took only a small day pack on, rather than loading up my large rucksack with weights, heavy books, and water. I practically flew up the mountain!

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I wandered into the Henry M. Jackson Wilderness this morning, taking a 10 mile walk with full pack to Goat Lake. The lake is a popular destination for day trippers in the summer, which has always caused me to avoid the place. I figured the warm winter might give me a chance to enjoy the area with a few less bipeds around.

The trail was deserted, making it an enjoyable jaunt. As per usual for this unusual year, no snow nor ice was encountered. There was quite a bit of blow-down and a few land slides, most likely from this year’s storms, which caused me to misplace the trail now and again, but it was otherwise uneventful.

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The ideal off-road journey? I’ll tell you: under water. I would like to see every four-by-four on earth, every three-wheeler, every dirt bike, trail bike and Big Foot truck driven straight into the Marianas Trench, three thousand feet below the surface of the Pacific Ocean, and parked there — left there — for the duration. For the duration of what? For the duration of this techno-industrial-commercial slime-mold that is transforming our planet into one vast battleground of Cretins against Nature. With the Cretins winning. What’s wrong with the horse? Or the burro? Or the bicycle? Or even, God help us, the human foot? Why should not Americans especially learn to walk again? There is this to be said for walking: it is the one method of human locomotion by which a man or woman proceeds erect, upright, proud and independent, not squatting on the haunches like a frog. Little boys love machines. Grown-up men and women like to walk. -Edward Abbey

I tossed another 10lb weight in my pack and headed out to the Mount Pilchuck area. I ended up walking out to (the creatively named) Lake Twenty Two at the base of Pilchuck and bushwhacked around the research natural area a bit.

There was very little snow. It’s going to be a dry summer.

I’ve been doing a few training hikes lately: loading the old rucksack up with 55-60lb, walking through forests and scrambling up peaks. The winter has been unusually warm, which has allowed me to access places that are usually off-limits this time of year without technical equipment. Yesterday I ventured out to Lake Serene, at the base of Mt. Index (just the other side of the Skykomish valley from Baring Mountain).

At a little over 7 miles (round trip) and only 2,000 feet elevation gain, this was a relaxing walk; a bit of an award to myself for completing the other, more difficult climbs.

The trail was snow free till about a mile or so before the lake. After that, there was a dusting of crusty snow — no more than an inch — and quite a bit of ice.

I ate lunch at the frozen lake, watched an avalanche on Index’s north peak, and raced the sun back home.

“…a well-lived life means striving for personal, moral, and physical autonomy: self-direction, intellectual and spiritual independence, self-control, self-responsibility — in sum, self-realization through self-determination. As a dues-paying member of this unintentionally masochistic minority, I can testify that the price of personal freedom and soulful individuality today — the cost of living a self-determined life — is often social, material, physical, and even geographical marginalization all of which can act themselves out in a big city as well as a small town or a rural homestead and must be construed as culture’s punishment for being different. Or perhaps, as some will say, such are the just deserts of freaks and other sinners. Humankind, said Henry through its own inventions and lust for comfort is invariably driven to desperation. Misery loves company and the dominant culture, jealous of those who evade desperate angst, is never happy with mavericks, those of us who, even in the most liberal social realms, are barely tolerated.” -David Peterson, On the Wild Edge: In Search of a Natural Life

I ventured into Gothic Basin today, an impressive glacier carved wilderness of the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. It lies near what was once a mining area.

The way to the basin begins on the old, fenced-off road into the ghost town of Monte Cristo. This bit of trail is littered with signs warning of extreme danger, proceed at your own risk, hazardous materials such as aresenic in the soil, balrogs, and other such frivolities. I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about: the trail was wide, level, and well-maintained.

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I hiked to the top of Mailbox Peak today, near Snoqualmie Pass. The trail has a reputation of being one of the toughest short day hikes in the Cascades: it’s only about 3 miles one way, but you gain 4,100 feet. That makes it a bit steep. The Mountaineers and the Washington Trail Association has this to say:

Wimpy hikers, turn the page. This trail offers nothing for you but pain and heartbreak. If you think you’ve got the goods to scramble up more than 1000 feet per mile, read on. Mailbox Peak brings a serious burn to the thighs of even the best-conditioned athletes, but the rewards make it all worthwhile.

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The Wild Sky Wilderness of the Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest is the newest wilderness area in these parts. It received a lot of hullabaloo last year when it was officially designated. There aren’t many trails, but the area offers much to explore.

Towards the end of this spring, I took my first trip into the Wild Sky, choosing to visit Eagle Lake. The lake is only at about 4,000 feet, but winter seemed to cling to it despite the season and conditions not a thousand feet below. On this first visit, the edges of the lake were still frozen over and the surrounding meadow covered by four feet of snow. I had not learned much about the area before venturing into it and so was surprised to find an old cabin on the eastern side of the lake. It was apparently built sometime around the 1950s for the Forest Service. They’ve since abandoned it, leaving the cabin to be maintained by locals who visit the area frequently. It houses a couple beds, wood stove, cooking implements, wood working tools, warm clothing, a bit of food, and other odds and ends that people have supplied. I spent one comfortable night in the cabin on my first visit and decided that I would like to visit the area again sometime after snow melt.

Earlier this week I made a short trip to accomplish that, spending two nights in the area to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox and the equality of day and night. I had no particular goals in mind for the trip and did not intend to log much distance over the few days.

It was pleasantly uneventful.

The hike in started on a short, 2-mile trail to Barclay Lake. I was surprised at how dry the lake had become since my previous visit. The lake looked to hold only half as much water as before, exposing logs and boulders on one end and a grassy meadow on the other. Baring Mountain still towered above the area, sunning its harsh, 3,000 foot northern face.

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Last week I planned a loop through (and around) the Buckhorn Wilderness of Olympic National Forest. My previous visit had only provided a glimpse of the many mountains and valleys, all of which demanded further exploration. The loop was about 30 miles, which I thought I’d split into 3 or 4 leisurely days, allowing time for side trips and naps.

I entered the forest at the same trail head as before and climbed the same trail up to Marmot Pass.

I had arrived at the trail head later than intended, so it was already late-afternoon by the time I had made the climb to the top. My intended camp for the night, Home Lake, was another 5 miles (and 1,000 feet down, then 1,000 feet up) away, which I thought I could still easily make before dusk.

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I do not understand why so many outdoor-gear manufacturers insist on making gear in bright, unnatural colors. To me, it is a form of visual pollution. To be enjoying oneself in the wild and suddenly come upon a hiker in a bright red shirt, or a noisy yellow tent, is a rude shock. It seems to me an attempt to visually isolate humans from the non-human environment — something that we are exceedingly fond of, based on some flawed Abrahamic notion of everything non-human having been created for the entertainment of humans.

Earth-tones should be the order of the day. Here is a photo of my camp, taken from only a couple hundred feet away. It is exposed, out in the open. No attempt was made to camouflage it. Can you spot it? (Large version)

With such a simple setup — a brown tarp and a green pack — I can blend with the environment, not disturbing the other occupants of the area, human or otherwise.

You and I are part of that world — the world — and should not seek to create barriers or erect boundaries between us and it. Do not noisily advertise your presence, disturbing those who may be around you. Embrace the world, sink into it and wrap it around you. It’s not such a bad place.

I first heard of the hike to Marmot Pass through a report at the Washington Trails Association, which claimed that it was possible to see Seattle’s Fourth of July fireworks from the pass. I had been back from a week in the Wenaha-Tucannon Wilderness of the Umatilla National Forest for only a few days, but having had a shower, a shave, and done some laundry, I was ready to head back out again. I planned to go there on Saturday, when the rest of the country would be eating hot dogs and preparing to blow stuff up in celebration of the violent overthrow of a government (being too fat, no doubt, for a more fitting remembrance, such as staring a local militia movement.)

Assuming that the traffic would be poor and the ferry to the peninsula jammed because of the holiday, I awoke early and hit the road as the sun came up. As it turned out, there was almost no traffic and I only had a 5 or 10 minute wait for the ferry.

The ferry ride from Edmonds to Kingston on the Puyallup is a short, 25 minute cruise. I entertained myself by taking pictures from the bow as the mountains appeared.

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Norwegian Broadcasting has started to release high quality episodes of their show Nordkalotten 365 on bittorrent. As near as I can tell from the first episode, the show is of Lars Monsen, who seems to be some sort of Les Stroud type of fellow, filming himself during wilderness travels in Norway. Suffice to say, he punches a few fish. And the theme song seems to be a remix of the theme from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.

Any Norwegian speakers care to subtitle it?