(no subject)
This weekend's adventure took place in Mount Rainier National Park, where my friends and I have fought many a weekend war. Kelsey and Louie were along for this tour of duty. We collected our gear into the truck, the usual stuff- backpacks, cameras, rations, gaiters, some poles. The previous evening I'd packed my camelback full of chocolate covered peanut butter granola bars, which have the advantages of being both tasty and too heavy for looting birds to snatch. They're also a good security measure, as I doubt there's a carnivore in existence that would prefer human over chocolatey peanut butter. Mmmm...peanut butter.
We approached the mountain from the northwest, passing through Wilkeson and Carbonado. Travel by internal combustion was a new concept to the locals, as was clothing, personal hygene, and their newly developed practice of speech. Ok, maybe Wilkeson wasn't that primitive, but I reserve the right to roll up my windows when driving through any town containing more area of cemetery than actual town. I noted the second largest feature of Wilkeson was its saloon.
A sneeze mercifully prevented me from noticing Carbonado.
Arrival at the national park cannot go unnoticed. After winding through countless miles of the lunar landscape of Weyerhauser's butchery, we found the road suddenly entombed in curtains of moss and trees of larger girth than mankind's mightiest burrito. A small ranger station of logs greeted us at the entrance, and from then on we bounced and rolled up a dirt road in varying states of disrepair. Green, green everywhere. I hadn't seen as much green since my parents renovated their '70s shag carpetry. The moss blankets tree, stump, and earth in mounds of vivid emerald fluff that might have looked inviting if I wasn't aware of its crawly inhabitants.
Kelsey's truck lurched to a stop. We'd arrived at the trailhead.
We trudged up a fairly steep incline, shivering in the morning cold until the climbing effort took effect. I didn't see anything remarkable about this trail until I noticed the number of large firs. While other trails might have a handful per mile, here there were dozens within sight, all of them around eight feet wide and 250+ feet tall. This had been a sheltered area for a very long time. The trail was mostly clear, though in one spot I took it upon myself to toss some wind fallen debris out of the way.
An offshoot of the trail led to Ranger Falls. Not the biggest waterfall I've seen but still impressive when you're up close. The picture doesn't do it justice. Here I wrestled with my collapseable tripod a while, gave up, and steadied my camera against a much friendlier tree instead. Two granola bars were eaten.
Clouds were brewing when we arrived at the lake, an undisturbed sheet of blue green glass bordered by criscrossing snags. The lure of a blank canvas was too much for all of us to resist, and it was only a matter of seconds before a rock was thrown, followed by circular waves slowly radiating out to the shores. Here the trail ended in a clearing of mud and sand, the kind of place where frequent hikers of this easy trail ate frequent lunches. Bluejays and several camp robbers kept what appeared to be permanent begging posts.
Itching to go further, we left the clearing and walked westward near the lake edge. We inched carefully across some slippery logs over a slow moving creek, and afterward found ourselves battling brush, soft snow pack, and the dreaded devil's club (try to imagine a plant designed solely for inflicting human misery). A half hour later we returned to the trailhead defeated, soaking, and filthy. Adding insult to injury, we found that a relatively easy eastern route had already been blazed where no devil's club grew.
This eastern path around the lake was not without its share of problems. The hillside rose steeply out of the water such that any fallen trees blocking the small trail sloped sharply into the lake, and sat at a height that was as awkward to climb over as under. As I scrambled over these slippery logs I imagined more than once my taking a quick ride into a 33 degree lake, hindered only by a few nad pulverizing knots.
The valley above the lake held very little worth mentioning, aside from a noble fir that must be close to the world's largest. It was at least as large as the Ipsut Creek Colossus (don't blame me, I didn't name it) and looked much healthier. We paused atop a boulder for lunch, munching and glancing here and there at the scenery. Five more granola bars were eaten. Louie ate his typical PB&J and Kelsey chugged Mentos and rice cakes before finally revealing his mystery food item of the day- Pixie Stix, the true breakfast of champions. Perhaps modern science will someday discover the health benefits of the mento/rice cake/pixie stick lunch, or perhaps the bad candy particles annihilate the good healthfood particles in an energy releasing stomach reaction. He certainly seemed no worse for wear the rest of the day.
The hike back to the truck was not eventful, but if you insist the details they can be had by speaking the entire contents of this journal entry backwards. Any hidden satanic messages are purely coinsidental.
All in all, this hike was a satisfying trek, if pathetically easy at a mere five miles round trip. Whenever I see several of Pierce County's portlier residents waddling along a trail I can't help but feel like I'm aiming low. I didn't even get any blisters. Take it from me, if you can't handle this trail you need to put down the remote. And then lift it. And then put it down. And then lift it again...
And then put it down.
Next weekend I have absolutely no idea what I'll be doing. But this I am sure of- I will not be at work, I will NOT be in Wilkeson, and I will have a new box of chocolate peanut butter granola bars. Maybe two.
We approached the mountain from the northwest, passing through Wilkeson and Carbonado. Travel by internal combustion was a new concept to the locals, as was clothing, personal hygene, and their newly developed practice of speech. Ok, maybe Wilkeson wasn't that primitive, but I reserve the right to roll up my windows when driving through any town containing more area of cemetery than actual town. I noted the second largest feature of Wilkeson was its saloon.
A sneeze mercifully prevented me from noticing Carbonado.
Arrival at the national park cannot go unnoticed. After winding through countless miles of the lunar landscape of Weyerhauser's butchery, we found the road suddenly entombed in curtains of moss and trees of larger girth than mankind's mightiest burrito. A small ranger station of logs greeted us at the entrance, and from then on we bounced and rolled up a dirt road in varying states of disrepair. Green, green everywhere. I hadn't seen as much green since my parents renovated their '70s shag carpetry. The moss blankets tree, stump, and earth in mounds of vivid emerald fluff that might have looked inviting if I wasn't aware of its crawly inhabitants.
Kelsey's truck lurched to a stop. We'd arrived at the trailhead.
We trudged up a fairly steep incline, shivering in the morning cold until the climbing effort took effect. I didn't see anything remarkable about this trail until I noticed the number of large firs. While other trails might have a handful per mile, here there were dozens within sight, all of them around eight feet wide and 250+ feet tall. This had been a sheltered area for a very long time. The trail was mostly clear, though in one spot I took it upon myself to toss some wind fallen debris out of the way.
An offshoot of the trail led to Ranger Falls. Not the biggest waterfall I've seen but still impressive when you're up close. The picture doesn't do it justice. Here I wrestled with my collapseable tripod a while, gave up, and steadied my camera against a much friendlier tree instead. Two granola bars were eaten.
Clouds were brewing when we arrived at the lake, an undisturbed sheet of blue green glass bordered by criscrossing snags. The lure of a blank canvas was too much for all of us to resist, and it was only a matter of seconds before a rock was thrown, followed by circular waves slowly radiating out to the shores. Here the trail ended in a clearing of mud and sand, the kind of place where frequent hikers of this easy trail ate frequent lunches. Bluejays and several camp robbers kept what appeared to be permanent begging posts.
Itching to go further, we left the clearing and walked westward near the lake edge. We inched carefully across some slippery logs over a slow moving creek, and afterward found ourselves battling brush, soft snow pack, and the dreaded devil's club (try to imagine a plant designed solely for inflicting human misery). A half hour later we returned to the trailhead defeated, soaking, and filthy. Adding insult to injury, we found that a relatively easy eastern route had already been blazed where no devil's club grew.
This eastern path around the lake was not without its share of problems. The hillside rose steeply out of the water such that any fallen trees blocking the small trail sloped sharply into the lake, and sat at a height that was as awkward to climb over as under. As I scrambled over these slippery logs I imagined more than once my taking a quick ride into a 33 degree lake, hindered only by a few nad pulverizing knots.
The valley above the lake held very little worth mentioning, aside from a noble fir that must be close to the world's largest. It was at least as large as the Ipsut Creek Colossus (don't blame me, I didn't name it) and looked much healthier. We paused atop a boulder for lunch, munching and glancing here and there at the scenery. Five more granola bars were eaten. Louie ate his typical PB&J and Kelsey chugged Mentos and rice cakes before finally revealing his mystery food item of the day- Pixie Stix, the true breakfast of champions. Perhaps modern science will someday discover the health benefits of the mento/rice cake/pixie stick lunch, or perhaps the bad candy particles annihilate the good healthfood particles in an energy releasing stomach reaction. He certainly seemed no worse for wear the rest of the day.
The hike back to the truck was not eventful, but if you insist the details they can be had by speaking the entire contents of this journal entry backwards. Any hidden satanic messages are purely coinsidental.
All in all, this hike was a satisfying trek, if pathetically easy at a mere five miles round trip. Whenever I see several of Pierce County's portlier residents waddling along a trail I can't help but feel like I'm aiming low. I didn't even get any blisters. Take it from me, if you can't handle this trail you need to put down the remote. And then lift it. And then put it down. And then lift it again...
And then put it down.
Next weekend I have absolutely no idea what I'll be doing. But this I am sure of- I will not be at work, I will NOT be in Wilkeson, and I will have a new box of chocolate peanut butter granola bars. Maybe two.