As expected, the beginning of fall brought gray days and drizzly skies. Undaunted, I packed up my gear for a 3 day weekend in the woods. I headed east, to the other side of the Cascades, where life tends to be a bit drier. One and a half hours later, around noon, I found myself at the Salmon La Sac trailhead and hoisted my pack.
I'd played hockey the night before and my hip was really sore. I began the hike with a definite limp -- which probably isn't the smartest state to be in at the start of a 25-mile walk. Fortunately, my hip held out fine. I'd done a great job of packing this time around and my pack felt very light -- mostly due to the fact that my SLR camera was getting repaired so I didn't have 10 pounds of camera gear attached to my body. This time around I had just my small point and shoot camera and it was very convenient. Unfortunately, the picture quality suffered...
A few minutes down the trail I encountered a fork and a decision. My planned route was a loop, but I hadn't decided which direction. My first idea was to take the left fork, which headed up along a ridge. I figured the views would make a nice start. I took a few steps in that direction, then changed my mind and took the right fork, along the river. The next day I realized the wisdom of that decision: camping on the ridge would have put me above the snow line -- something I wasn't quite prepared for. However, a quick scan of the map found yet another parallel route on the other side of the ridge -- meaning my loop would remain intact, if significantly altered.
I proceeded along the trail, enjoying the peacefulness of the woods. The path was designated for horses, meaning it was wide, flat, and well-maintained. Red and yellow fall colors were just starting to emerge among the trees and bushes.
As usual, I was slightly nervous as I walked through the wilderness. Actually, "nervous" is probably too strong a word. "Very aware" is probably more accurate. My hearing seems to come alive in the woods, and every sound becomes magnified and strange -- making my heart occasionally beat a bit faster. In reality, the noise is inevitably being generated by me and what I'm hearing is a funny echo off a nearby rock face or the brim of my hat.
After a mile or so the trail joined up with the river and I was treated to some great views. I stopped for a break, ate some sausage and cheese, and took some photos. Everything was going great so far. The skies were raining very lightly but with my wide-brimmed hat on I hardly noticed.
I continued on and a few miles later I encountered some horses and riders returning from the lake. I asked how far it was to the lake and was told I was still many miles. I'd started my hike pretty late, and it looked like I was going to make it to the lake today. No big deal -- there were plenty of great spots to camp along the river.
Around 4:30 I stopped and had dinner -- my own special dehydrated soup recipe. Very yummy. I then hoisted my pack again and hiked for another hour before finding a great spot to camp along the river.
I put up my tent in the shade of a big tree in the hope that things would stay drier. The rain was continuing to come down -- light and steady -- and my tent had shown signs of leaking the last time I'd taken it into the rain. With my new home erected, I stuffed all my food into the detachable top of my pack, grabbed some rope, and headed off to make a bear bag.
The theory is that you should take all your smelly stuff (lotions, toothpaste, food, etc.) and keep it away from your campsite so that bears don't find your gear (or you) and destroy it (or you). You should take all your gear about 100 feet from your campsite and hang it up in a tree somewhere. This also (in theory) keeps the rodents from chewing holes in your pack although in practice the rodents turn out to be pretty good tightrope walkers.
I wandered off into the woods in search of some good trees. Unfortunately all the trees in the forest had lots of little short branches -- meaning that anything that could climb a tree could get at a bag hung from a branch. That meant I would need to suspend my bag between two trees.
My first attempt at stringing my bag between two trees was a failure -- I didn't get the bag up high enough. The second attempt was between two trees that were too close together. My third attempt was a success, although probably not as high up as it should have been. But, I'd spent a good forty-five minutes slinging rocks around trees and I figured it was good enough. Bears don't walk around in the rain, do they?
With my camp chores done I crawled into my tent, into my sleeping bag, and the night began.
I read for a while -- probably until 7 or 8 -- and then tried to get some sleep. It started to rain, and I started hearing noises. Big drops of water from the branches overhead would hit nearby leaves and the resulting noise would send my pulse racing. The combined muffling layers of tent and sleeping bag changed the most innocent drop into the approaching step of some menacing wilderness animal. My heart was racing and I could feel the fear deep, deep down in my stomach, making me nauseous.
At that moment I completely, totally regretted going for a hike. Instead of being tied up in paralysing knots of fear in the middle of the wilderness, I could be somewhere warm and comfortable, watching bad friday night TV. The burbling river and fat drops of rain had my imagination going into overdrive.
I'm not sure quite what I was afraid of. Bears and cougars are residents of the forest in which I had chosen to camp but they are not that common and tend to avoid human contact. I'd done a good job of bagging my food and not eating near my tent (unlike previous hikes) so I probably didn't have to worry about attracting animals to my tent. I suppose the biggest problem was proximity -- it was a four-hour hike back to car if something terrible happened in the night, and there probably wasn't another human being within miles of me. Exactly what terrible thing I was expecting to happen, I can't tell you.
As I lay there in my sleeping bag, trembling, a new thought occurred to me. What if a bear got into my food bag and carried it away? My concern wasn't so much for the food -- I'd pretty much resolved not to spend another terrified night in the woods -- but for the car keys that were in there with the food. The idea of being stranded at the trailhead turned yet another knot in my already clenched stomach.
After an hour or so of tossing and turning and sweating in the darkness (my sleeping bag and sleeping pad were very comfortable, by the way -- my anguish was purely mental) I climbed back out of the tent to pee. The night was calm and silent -- except for the burbling river and the dull pop of raindrops on leaves. I walked around a bit, trying to calm my nerves, then crawled back into the tent. I read a bit more, hoping that if I kept awake long enough (with my mind on other things) that I'd eventually drop into sleep from pure exhaustion. That strategy eventually paid off and I awoke the next morning to find all my limbs where I'd left them.
I crawled out of my tent and surveyed the landscape. The peacefully burbling river was still there, and the sun was already well above the mountains on the east side of the valley. The air was fairly cool and the light rain clouds from the day before were slowly settling back in. I walked into the forest to where I'd hung my bear bag, and found it still there and completely intact -- although very, very wet.
Breakfast consisted of many packets of instant oatmeal (or, half of a ziplock bag's worth) and was fairly yummy if a little on the sweet side. After breakfast I tended to my feet.
I had two blisters, one on each heel, and they'd both broken open during the previous day's hike. I initially blamed my new "superfeet" boot inserts. Not that the inserts were bad -- it's just that they caused my feet to be in a new position inside the boot, where I hadn't built up calluses. In actuality, though, I think I just have blister-prone feet (or maybe badly fitting boots) and I really should learn to take care of the blisters before they turn into big gaping holes.
I lay down a few layers or moleskin and a big ol' bandage on each foot and then packed up camp. My tent had put up a good fight against the rain but I put out a lot of moisture when I sleep and there were a few wet spots on the sleeping bag. Fortunately, I hadn't noticed until the drops started dripping on my head in the morning.
As I said earlier, I'd decided during my anguish the previous night to not spend another night in the woods. Fortunately, the peaceful morning light put an end to such foolish ideas and I set my feet on the path towards Waptus Lake.
After an hour of pleasant hiking along the river I arrived at a large horse camp. Several tarps and camping gear was strewn about but I didn't see any people or horses. A few minutes later I arrived at Waptus Lake. I took a break (and plenty of photos) and then had lunch -- several packages of instant veggie chili mixed with instant refried beans. Not bad, but next time I'll give it a pass. For dessert, I enjoyed some summit chocolate. "Summit chocolate" is a chocolate bar (or other similar reward) that is packed for the sole purpose of enjoying at the top of the mountain you're planning to climb. I wasn't planning to climb any mountains on this trip but I figured that enduring a hellish night like the previous one was a worthy accomplishment.
My moleskin patches hadn't stayed attached very long inside my sweaty boots so I applied some fresh bandages in a new configuration that I hoped would last. I then hoisted my pack and headed away from the lake towards Waptus Pass. My destination was Pete Lake, on the other side of the pass.
The trail meandered its way inland for a while before beginning the task of climbing up to the pass. The path wound up the hillside, giving occasional great views of the Waptus River valley. Eventually the trail flattened out into some gorgeous high country meadows. They probably make for some great camping in the summer. The colors were a bit more intense up at the pass and occasionally the trail would wind through some brilliant yellow and red patches, or alongside glowing mossy rocks.
After a few miles I reached a fork in the path and took a break. Once again I was thankful for my good fortune: the route I'd originally chosen, and which I'd actually taken a few steps along, was along a ridge which was still much higher up. After a few minutes a chill started to settle in and, glad I wasn't camping up at even chillier altitudes, I began my descent down to Pete Lake.
The trail from Waptus Lake to Pete Lake was still an equestrian trail so it was well maintained. Equestrians have an advantage when it comes to trail maintenance because their companions can carry several hundred pounds' worth of gravel or lumber to areas that need maintenance. See a problem? Build over it. For hikers, trail maintenance is a slightly more complicated task.
I'm not complaining, though -- the trail was wide so I didn't get wet legs from the undergrowth. The gravel made for a nice, soft, bed upon which to tread. It didn't help my blisters any, but the rest of my feet didn't get sore.
I arrived at Pete Lake late in the afternoon. Two ladies had already set up camp and they had found a perfect campsite. They were in the shadow of a huge tree, in a nice, flat area. The whole area was completely dry despite the intermittent afternoon rains. The two ladies were congenial but not particularly friendly so I didn't stay to chat, and instead I set off to find my own little piece of paradise.
I did a loop around a rocky outcropping and found myself back on the shoreline. There was one decent spot there, and I made note of it then continued along the shore -- occasionally having to forge a new trail as I stumbed through the thick brush. I didn't find any better sites during that stretch but I eventually hooked up with the main trail and headed toward the north end of the lake. There were a few great candidate sites there -- flat, near the lake, in the shadow of trees. Unfortunately, someone had recently tied up horses there and the whole place was full of shit and flies. I actually don't mind the smell of horseshit that much, but it's not the most hygenic thing on which to lay your sleeping bag.
I gave up on the north end of the lake and hiked back to the other end. The map showed a trail heading around the south end but I could find neither it or any decent campsites so I headed back to my rocky outcropping and set up camp. I made dinner then headed back down to the ladies' campsite to pump some water for the next morning. I wasn't too keen on invading their privacy but they had the most convenient lake access.
From the state of their camp the two women seemed to know what they were doing, and they hadn't bear bagged their food -- instead, they'd strung it up on a line a few feet off the ground to keep it away from mice. Their lax attitude towards bear bagging was actually reassuring to me, and I followed suit -- hanging my food bag on a convenient nail on a tree near my tent.
I crawled into my tent and sleeping bag, read for an hour or so, and then tried to go asleep. This time around I was considerably more relaxed. I still got a little nervous, but the little noises of the night did considerably less damage on my psyche. Whether it was a new-found confidence based on the previous night or the reassurance of having some people within a few hundred feet, I'm not sure. In any event, I awoke the next morning to find my tent dripping on my head (again), and with all my limbs still where I'd left them.
The first fifteen minutes or so went by with no problems but eventually the bandages on my heels let go and every step became excrutiating. My stride became stunted as I tried to keep the back of my feet from rubbing against the back of my boot, but to no avail. After an hour I stopped on a convenient log to reassess the situation and have some sausage, cheese, carrots, and chocolate.
As I sat on the log, wallowing in my blister-filled misery, a couple on horses came up the trail. The man was in front and did all the talking. He was packing a rifle and asked if I'd seen any game. I joked that I'd seen some squirrels, but that was it. He asked, "Seen any sign?". That's hunter-speak for tracks, droppings, etc. I replied in the negative and they continued on their way.
With the hunters gone I set about to solve the problem of the blistered feet. The moleskin and bandages I'd been using couldn't hold up in the damp confines of my boots. I dug deep into my first aid kit and came up with some tape and gauze -- and a few ibuprofen for good measure. A wrapped the tape around my ankles and foot so that the gauze was held firmly in place. After a few minor adjustments, I was back in business.
The difference was amazing. My feet felt so much better I practically leapt down the trail. After a few more miles I came upon Cooper Lake, a popular camping destination with vehicle access. The place wasn't very busy but it felt crowded after my hike through the wilderness. The trail was no longer meant for horses and my legs quickly became soaked in the damp brush. After a few more miles I reached the start of the last leg for the day -- a three-mile hike along the Cooper River back to Salmon La Sac. I took a break, ate a Clif Bar, and then hit the trail.
According to the map and my watch, I'd been able to hike at around 2.5 miles per hour. For the last leg, I wanted to see how fast I could go. I figured it would be useful to know how fast I could go under ideal conditions, in case I was every pressed for time (or perhaps, daylight) while on a hike. Also, I wanted to be back at the car -- as usual, the last leg of the trip contained the least interest for me. The trail wasn't as flat as I thought and included a few inclines as it rolled around and over the terrain. It eventually met up with the trail I'd started on two days before and I arrived back at the car after about an hour (making my top speed about 3 miles per hour). I dumped my pack in the trunk and, with a sigh, lowered myself into the soft cradle of the driver's seat. What a great weekend!
This time I really learned my lesson about blisters, I promise. I couldn't wear shoes for two weeks after this hike because my heels were so badly destroyed. Next time, I'll stop and do the necessary repairs before the blisters appear, not after. The other lesson, the one about conquering my fear of the dark forest night, probably will take a while longer to master...
Despite the blisters and the anguishing first night, the trip was a definite thumbs-up for me. The light rain was great and made the forest's colors come to life. I'm glad I didn't give in to my fears on the first night and cut the trip short.
On the way back to the highway, I stopped for a buffalo burger at the "Cruise In" drive-through restaurant just outside Roslyn. I thought it was the best burger I'd had in a long time -- although that could have been 3 days' worth of dehydrated food talking.