By 1994 I had come to feel as if I had entered into a period of personal stagnation and grueling routine…as by then I had pretty much given up on finding a means to support our modest household through Arts and/or Music. Instead, out of desperation I’d fallen back on my tradesman skillset, where I regularly found employment (although not necessarily steady pay) as an independent contractor for any number of different construction projects. While some jobs were at least conceptually engaging (such as the expansion/remodel of the OK Hotel), many were generally unfulfilling efforts of sheer willpower. Regardless, in most cases I found myself philosophically at odds with such ‘seniority structured’ systems after working under (and getting paid significantly less than) individuals with decades of experience yet seemingly still lacking any real aptitude for the work. I had also begun to increasingly fear that my expected “purpose” (likely facilitated by a steadily growing “chip on my shoulder”) was to be only that of mere “provider;” a role I never desired, nor felt suited to…add to this our daughter having reached a stage which begged broader socialization, and my naturally introverted (sensitive), creative spirit began feeling as if it were continually under siege.

It was around this time that I became involved in the Native American Church, and It granted my rather tortured soul a bit of a respite. As well as both reinvigorating my spirit and offering an alternative perspective which complimented my own self-identity, it introduced me to a hands-on indigenous experience regarding spirituality, perception of ill-ness, and traditional medicine. Although (technically) far removed from my ongoing studies of more “traditional” NW Coastal cultural expressions (the Lummi in particular), I was very much affected by my participation in the ceremonies: to date they had been the most profound religious experiences I ever had. So, when a local friend (who made his living -in part- by picking mushrooms) gave me my first ever dose of Cubensis as a birthday gift, my newly influenced state of mind concocted a rather bold plan: I would utilize this medicine to endeavor my own (solo) variation of a “Spirit Quest.”

What follows is a near-complete transcription from the journal that I kept during that trip, edited in places out of respect to those discussed, circumstances that need not bear mention here, and/or where my tendency for digression resulted in flagrant meanderings into minutia.

-Planned Route: Mon (15th) - Mon (22nd): From the trailhead, ascend Tubal Cain Trail, at Marmot Pass break from trail and ascend the ridgeline, eventually dropping down into Charlia Lake basin (set up base camp and linger a couple days); leave via Charlia Lakes pass, descend back to main trail and follow to Home lake, ascend to Constance Pass then descend down to Dosewallips trail and follow to trailhead (AKA “Happy Camp” Ranger Station)…

…and most importantly: ”walk in a sacred manner”

“…well, everything running smoothly so far; left Bainbridge (crossing the bridge at Agate Pass) at 9:15. Along the way we all talked about various current life-topics: the developmental needs of children, parental responsibility, roles, individuality (specifically one’s self-responsibility), and all the trials and tribulations one encounters therein. Felt as if we all once again connected pretty well on these issues, and managed to reach a sort of mutual acceptance/agreement that reestablishes the foundation of our shared beliefs moving forward…and it’s always good to hear a recapitulation and mutual acceptance of those things we still need to work on.

Started up the Tubal Cain trail around noon after registering (right on schedule). Was a little psyched out at first by the volume of vehicles at the trail head; but figured most would be weeded out after the first night, and the rest once I left the main trail and ascended the ridgeline. Imagine my pleasure when (as I signed the register) I was informed that most of those registered planned on coming out on the 15th! After I had made my farewells and officially began my adventure into the Buckhorn Widerness, I passed five groups of people already on their way out -which left only one other group of three individuals [as indicated by the entries] staying at Buckhorn Lake through the 18th. Odds are looking quite promising for it to be a true ‘solitary quest’ as intended.

Very nice trail, seemingly effortless. When I got to the first mine -a trailside portal to the unknown- I immediately fell prey to its Syren call. It was only a short (30’ maybe?) test shaft…but this taste was more than enough for temptation: something akin to ye olde “cave fever” overtook me and I was now hungry for more. “The main mine is about a 1/2 mile away…” a friendly (although thankfully descending) fellow hiker informed me. Only a 1/2 mile? that’s not too bad…so, with nary a clue as to whether or I was anywhere near onto the right path, I impulsively cursed, sweated and groaned my way up the nearest available route in search of the Main Prize; even though it seemed, at best, only a good imitation of a goat trail (albeit both established and well trodden) “…surely it must lead to the main mine…” I thought as I stubbornly pushed myself onward, increasingly thankful to have such a workhorse for a hiking staff..

Well, after an exhausting mile (or so) later I finally found the actual source of intrigue…the remains of a large (cargo?) plane strewn haphazardly across an alpine meadow! Some distant time ago it had (obviously) flown just a bit too low while navigating the mountainous peninsula and was interrupted in its course by a treetop, a bluff, or some other obstacle and brought to a hard stop: it had been rendered largely unidentifiable as momentum scattered its remains across what was now a lush meadowland/swamp. A portion of wing poking out of the underbrush here…a mostly-flattened strip of fuselage there…strut assemblies, aluminum channel, I-beam, conduit…all distributed roughly around a small pond that likely formed within the original impact-crater…

[…later research revealed the “goat trail” is known as Tull Canyon Trail and the plane wreckage that of a B-17 which crashed there in 1952]

…so [after stowing the pack] I wandered around there awhile, becoming quite exited to find a wheel strut/hydraulic assembly mostly intact, and coveting from afar one of the rather large cart-sized fuel tanks (that is, until I saw the numerous bullet holes in it). Walking further up the trail I came across a run-down miner’s cabin, ‘fixed up’ like we used to do with the packer’s cabin near the Marble Mnt caves: although they had “one-upped” us by using a sheet of aluminum (from the fuselage, likely) as a roof…a superior solution to that of a mere blue tarp, for sure. Definitely worth bringing my fellow adventurers [referring to my old hiking companions Tom and Bill] here: its like something directly out of “Gamma World”…anyway, decided NOT to camp there [in the vicinity of the mines] as originally planned (although it would be a pretty cool place to do so) for numerous reasons, but I will condense it to…It just didn’t ‘feel’ right. Too early in the day? Too misused? Too freakish? I don’t rightly know, but my restless feet led me onward, regardless.

So, I continued to push on up the trail…slowly walking my way into the clouds. A mile or so up trail I met up with a ‘groove couple’ (seemed early 20s) who told me where the big mine ACTUALLY was: “…up the trail a ways…then up a steep scree [tailing] slope.” I asked them the time “…five till three.” Great! Making good time! I thanked them, continuing on until I came, quite literally, to a cluster f#ck of rat-like trails all over the place: in/around the trees, loose garbage, and rusting equipment. “Must be the main mine” I thought, and then almost immediately lost the main trail within the maze, although I did finally manage to pick it up again after fording the [likely tailing-tainted] creek. My only clue: a sign posted at one of the numerous trail selections that stated, “Stoves only beyond this point” …surely this one must lead to the high country?

Sure enough it did; a steady 2+ mile climb along steep slopes scattered with stunted sub-alpine firs, and thick with Lupine, Indian Paintbrush and [what appeared to be] Sage. Eventually came to the Buckhorn Lake fork and after a little bodily inquiry decided my feet and hips had had enough for one day. Descended the rough 1/2 mile to a quaint cirque all but obscured from view by low-hanging clouds. At first I wanted to camp on the lake shore, but with it being easily 10 degrees cooler down there, decided (with a little helpful advice/likely selfish suggestion from a fellow camper) to camp higher upslope, but still near the feeder creek.

There’s some really nice campsites hereabouts -my favorite choice was taken during my little lakeside detour (“oh, well”)- although they all show signs of heavy use: one can see the tell tale tufts of toilet paper strewn willy-nilly throughout the underbrush…sigh. I have also spotted some absolutely beautiful dew-clad spiderwebs hereabouts…kinda wish I had brought a camera after all? The clouds seem to be lifting now…hope this is a trend that occurs throughout the week (won’t depend on it though-especially in the high country). Have a couple of hours of passive light yet…I should explore around for a bit [looking at the map] …all told, gained about 5000’ of elevation in around 7 miles today; a goodly amount, but I think now that most of the initial climb is out of the way, I can slack. Here’s how the coming days look (barring unanticipated complication and/or injury):

  • Tues: From Buckhorn Lake up Buckhorn Mnt to Marmot Pass (+1000’), then a compass bearing up/over ridge (SxSE) to Charlia Lakes Basin

  • Wed: Rest, explore, draw, muse, carbo-load…etc

  • Thurs: Shroom vroom!

  • Fri: Late start, climb Charlia Lakes Pass/camp…summit Warrior Peaks (?)

  • Sat: Compass bearing (SW), descend ridge to main trail then follow to Home Lake/camp

  • Sun: Ascend to Constance Pass, descend into Dosewallips Valley, camp on the riverbank (wish for fishing pole).

  • Mon: Kick the last short stretch to Happy Camp Ranger Station, locate ‘welcome committee’…head to the nearest restaurant and consume bovine(?)

(…just checking my remaining food inventory: polenta-1lg/2sm, pasta-2med, spuds-3med, mueslix-6med, plus a motley selection of trail bars, my “custom” trail mix, plus ample portions of coffee, Ovaltine, SportTea…BTW: I love my antique stove!)

Its morning now, slept pretty well. Of course as soon as the sun went down, the clouds blew off, revealing a fiery splendor of stars.Woke up 3 or 4 times to (I swear) something zooming across my bivy sack…I theorized it to be a mouse, but the lil’ sucker must have been a bionic mouse-60mph, easy! [“…better than he was before; better, stronger, faster…”] Awoke at daybreak all warm and snug in my bivy-sac to a totally different worldview! The trail I had come in [on the previous day obscured by clouds] is at the base of a huge bluff; which, even as I write this, is radiating the warmth of the morning sun across its broad face. The entire lake basin (small though it is) is 3/4 surrounded by these craggy basaltic bluffs. Am waiting patiently now for the sun to reach this little sheltered camp-space, as it’s still kinda chilly [and I habitually wait to dry out my damp gear before packing it all up]. Feeling hungry now. Time to get up, prep the first day’s morning ration of coffee, mueslix and SportTea, stow the gear, and then its off to Marmot Pass!

Hiked up into the beautiful blue skies: the heavy clouds fringing the basin (Buckhorn Lake and the Iron Mnts) below. Ascended alpine slopes ablaze with color: and as if purely for diversity-sake, the trail wove in/out of the alpine timber, before reaching its apex on the slopes of Buckhorn Mnt to a view breathtaking on all sides…Buckhorn Basin to the Northeast and Buckhorn summit rising yet further to the East… Graywolf ridge can be seen running along the deep valley to the West, and yet further Southwest, Mnt Deception can be seen defiantly rising above the clouds there (yes, the clear weather passed away with the morning, but the clouds have risen some and breaks still allow the sun to shine through at times)…I spoke with some people camping the pass and felt kind of jealous-although I’m sure such ‘open exposure’ would prove a much different experience without the aid of a tent.

Right now I’m just South of Buckhorn Mnt taking a slight rest break while I await for the clouds to clear up a bit more-kind of hard taking a compass bearing with no visibility! Really hoping the cloud cover starts breaking up tomorrow as forecast. Hmmm…just heard a hawk in the greyness above…and if that didn’t seem enough prompting to leave, the flies have finally found me…

[I followed the trail down to, and then across, Marmot Pass. Taking the first of many compass bearings, I began clambering my way up the ridge-line, being cautious to double-check my footing and using my trusty staff to maintain a stable “tri-ped” whenever it got sketchy...this sort of traverse on crumbling basalt isn’t easy at the best of times- and is especially tricky when carrying 50-60 lbs of gear and supplies. After a mindful struggle, I began descending to where I thought I might gain access the Charlia Lakes basin, when I quite literally encountered a wall: not arising in front of me as one might expect, but rather one I found myself atop. I skirted this intimidating drop (hundreds of feet down) tentatively, as my route placed me along the fin-back of a ridge; sheer on one side, and at least 45 degrees on the other. Eventually I found a place where the ridge dropped enough to reach the lowest extent of the wall, where at its base it was broken up into a series of “steps” or “shelves” which I could gain access to and then descend by…relieved to have that arduous test behind me at last, I stopped for a brief rest and entered the following passage in my journal]

“…here I sit upon my rocky seat…” (quite literally). Well, this has proven to be a tad insane, even for me. NOTE TO SELF: when the topo lines get “itsy bitsy teeny weeny” close together it means the topography is really friggin steep! Ach. Its begun to rain. But all I’ve left is the descent…straight down a scree slope in thick, obscuring clouds…but “oh well-let the spirit guide” I say. [much inter-personal introspection occurred here, followed by the following personal observation]…I need to become more patient (even when I think I have been). I need to spend more time sharing, and making myself emotionally available. This is something that still frightens me -I just expect to be shut out- perhaps old conditioning dies the hardest, eh? I need to resolve my own internal issues so that I might be able to actually have an occupation that makes decent money AND I enjoy. I think its time to stop acting like the hurt little child I was apparently conditioned to become. Perhaps I need to feel like I’m on the “winning side” for once? Maybe the biggest problem currently is forcing an environment that I am simply not adapted to exist within? My weary spirit tells me the latter to be the truest answer, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bring a change to fruition…all I can say at this point is: “spend one’s time more wisely.”

After the previous rest-stop, I managed to scramble down the 1000’ of scree slope/bluffs and when I got within 300’ of the bottom the clouds cleared out where I got an incredibly beautiful view of Charlia Lakes: fringed by thick trees on the North side, shore to cliff on the Southern, and surrounded by basalt bluffs on all but the East side [where the spillway from the lake basin resides]. One can spot veins of crystal and what resemble pillow-blocks like one might find on the seafloor (a crystal collectors paradise, I’m sure). Coming from the ridge I saw a marmot (down from 3 at the pass that bears their name) and followed the cries of my hawk-friend (a manifestation of the spirit, perhaps?) all the way down, although I never caught a glimpse of it, finally coming upon level ground.

At first I traveled westerly in order to:

  1. find the other, smaller lake, and

  2. see (as I had presumed) that there actually WAS a trail out of the basin…

I was quite relieved to confirm the latter, as it would take one hellishly long day to free-climb ones way out with a full pack, and THEN you would have to continue to pick one’s way down to the main trail (and I certainly wouldn’t want retrace my “pucker filled” route in). So, after finding its smaller sibling and the rather STEEP (as the crow flies?) trail out, I picked my way down to the main lake. The “crow-trail” ended abruptly at what looked like the only camp spot -just a stretch of dusty, bare earth next to the lake. Its only positive features seemed to be a good view of the lake and easy access to water. It did make me immediately miss my fishing pole, however, as I saw the head of a 10” Brown Trout poke the surface in the shallows nearby “…well, I guess any camp’s a good camp…” I mumbled to myself as I unpacked, laid out the bedroll on barren ground, and fixed myself a celebratory cup of SportTea…

…the fog blew in thick, obscuring all: visibility came down to 50’ and there was nothing to hear but the creek’s distant rush and the steady drip-drip of condensation. I started to get really depressed [lost in deep thought, mostly] and began debating the pros/cons of ‘packing out’ immediately, but then I thought: “What the hell am I feeling trapped here for? Just gotta get off my butt and look around…” So I roused myself (still in my funk) and tried to follow my “intuition.” At first I didn’t see any obvious alternatives to an exposed and sodden night lakeside, but then I started, quite impulsively, to ‘boulder’ around a nearby rock formation. Once I got to the ‘top’ I spied a little hidden opening in the scrub behind it. Traversing through I found a perfect [sheltered] enclosure: 4 or 5 pillow blocks (the biggest over 20’ tall) all arranged haphazardly in a rough circle (even making little caves) amid a grove of fir and cedar! A rain-sheltered alternative for bivouac with at least a foot of spongy forest-floor! Now, if I can stand my pesky little hosts (or, am I their delicious lean host?) I have the perfect base camp for my plans. Occasionally the cloud cover will break, sunlight streams in, and I get a breathtaking view of the crags that surround the lake…tempting for sure.

Woman’s virtue is man’s greatest invention -my tea horrorscope

I dunno…these skeeters are really starting to f#ck up my now marginally mellow mood. I don’t get it-they weren’t this bad at Buckhorn? They flock out of the woodwork, droning on in small squadrons, dive-bombing the face: eyes, ears, and yes…mouth.

Perhaps I might [contrary to plan] fill up the water bladder and cruise up to the pass tomorrow before afternoon, find a sight and settle in there after all. Then, depending on weather, ridge-hop over to warrior peak to camp (from the looks of it, there should be snow patches around to melt for water) or alternatively, descend due South along the moraine (keeping out of the treeline) until I hit the main trail and camping west of Warrior, once I reach the feeder-stream from Home Lake? A bit concerned about trying to traverse the ridge to Warrior Peak: today’s trek was pretty grueling (of course I’d already hiked the 3-odd miles from Buckhorn Lake). I should be OK as long as I’m ‘fresh’ and take it slow and steady…?

Was just settling in to sleep, thankful that the blanket of darkness had culled the mosquito feasting at long last [I likely had killed hundreds], when lo and behold I feel something crawling on my leg and “Hey! Biting!” So I reluctantly drag myself out of my cozy cocoon, retrieve my headlamp and what do I see? ANTS. Not a swarm, or invasion (whatever a full “ant encounter” might be properly called), but a size-able enough amount all the same: it seemed to me at very least an “assault.” ARRRGH. Quickly checking around I found the forest floor just teeming with them…no other known flat spots nearby…no other clear patches…”TO HELL WITH IT!” I gathered up everything, shoved it all into the backpack and hauled it all back down to the original spot (which, to its credit appeared to have neither mosquitoes nor ants). I lay it all out in like 5 seconds flat (tomorrow I will see if I got everything from the grove before I sketch the lake), kicked off my shoes, and crawled back into my still warm bag. If I had brought an actual tent, then maybe I’d have just risked an intrusion- but with a Bivy-sac one would have had ants crawling over your face all night. Ech. Oh…wow. I just glanced up to see a bright, open, patch of stars…maybe this spot was always the better one, eh?

I watched the stars for a bit before falling into a heavy sleep broken occasionally by the need to pee, turn over, or “zip up” tighter (as it became significantly colder exposed as I was on the lake shore). I dreamt of a reunion of old friends, cousins, family. My brother showed up in the ‘Crusher’ [our name for dad’s old FJ60 Landcruiser], and we all eventually ended up at a riverside park just hanging out and being mellow. 4 ‘hipsters’ then show up and try ‘picking a fight’ (even after we helped fix one of their motorcycles)…I finally grew tired of all the posing and posturing, called out the rowdiest (kicked his butt), but then they all decide to gang up on me (much to everyone’s outrage). Awoke in time to see clear blue skies and the sun just begin to illuminate the bluff above: am now waiting patiently until it reaches the basin before I get up…its still quite chilly!

A little later…I finally got up [mainly due to muscle soreness/stiffness], made coffee, and now am waiting patiently for the sun to finally reach me…20’ and closing…10’…and now its here and I’m too hot! Drying out all my dew-soaked gear now- me and all my current possessions [it was around this time I’d coined the phrase “you do not own what you cannot carry” which has obvious literal, as well as more abstract meaning] are now sunning on the rocks. I should clamber over to the eastern lake edge to see whats-what with the clouds: they are blowing in much as they did yesterday. Graywolf ridge had stayed mostly clear during my “hike” (scramble is a more apt term) along the ridge. So, if the clouds start to thicken again, I think I WILL ascend to the ridge-if nothing else, I will at least get the scramble out over (and think of that potential view tomorrow…wow). Just heard the hawk again…it seems like I’m to head to Warrior Peak for my date with destiny? I did kind of make a deal…a promise of spirit…I should hold to my “warrior code” if I wish an encounter…

…I’ve come to realize that it is mainly stress which stoppers my creative flow. If I can unwind the spool of tension, relax, then drawing, performing come easily: I have inspiration, patience, and even spontaneity…however, I cannot seem function creatively if my daily life so fills me with such negative energies that I cannot release them, cannot move past it, cannot catch my breath. I already knew that construction trades have this effect on me: I cannot seem to separate my ‘self’ from considering both consequence and quality. Combine this with the fact that most people (even those established in the trades) do not have a mechanical or constructivist aptitude makes it all that much more unbearable for those of us who do…and, an ignorant person is especially ignorant of their own state. Experience will only take one so far: there are times when only one’s capacity to improvise beyond the scope of personal experience can save the day (or some day to come, even). Furthermore, to base (even praise) ability solely upon the amount of time it has taken one to achieve the rudimentary knowledge of any given field is to ignore and discourage the ability of those who, if freed of such limits, could excel far beyond their designated ‘superiors’. Alas, in the end, it all seems to (as in all machinations: human) aggregate into mere manifestations of ego. People’s fear of inferiority oft times is the root of great injustice…

…and I am just as guilty of this failing.

It seems I will need to be a bit more thrifty with my fuel now…some leaked from my new bottle: only around a ‘meals worth’ but every little bit is important, especially when I need the fuel to purify my drinking water. Here’s a perfect example of how a filter (although an additional expense) really makes sense…especially on long trips. The clouds are rolling in, just as they did yesterday. Guess I’m gonna load up (after I eat, of course) and head on up the pass…need to be able to actually see to ridge hop? Maybe today will be like yesterday; the fog clearing just far enough for a pocket of visibility around me (had to be experienced to be believed perhaps), and whenever it did get too “misty” I just stopped for a bit and ‘viola’ visibility again! I just heard my bird friend, prompting me. I need to eat and get on with it, the clouds are really coming in thick now and I’m quickly losing the sun…

…I climbed out of the lakes basin accompanied [and encouraged] by the regular cries of my bird-friend. It wasn’t easy: the grade here was also (not unlike the route in) at least 45 degrees, and composed of mostly loose scree. Decided to ‘bail’ on the unforgiving excuse for a trail and switchback up the rock and snow terraces of the closest bluff instead. Think I’m gonna continue due South in an attempt to try and beat the fog!

Well, the plan changed again. From the last entry I started along the West slope of the spur that connects Charlia Lakes pass with Warrior Peak (which links to Mnt Constance further South). Got a hundred or so steps along the scree there and very nearly lost it more than once: a couple hundred foot scree-slide might be fine unladen (in past experience has been kind of fun) but damn dangerous with all the weight I am carrying. Far too easy to break an ankle, a hip, wrench a knee (or worse), so I debated the issue awhile on a relatively flat and stable spur “…should I pick my way from here to the trail, or descend down via the lake-trail to the shelter…?” SQUEE I heard my bird friend call (close-by), SQUEE! “So…should I head down slope toward Home Lake?” Nothing. “Should I go to the shelter?” Pause…SQUEE! So [accepting this unsolicited avian advice against my seemingly questionable own] down the trail I went.

I initially headed straight down the slope, digging in my heels [and hiking staff] so as to not lose my footing as I slowly worked my way back toward the pass. [Having reached this goal] As I began to descend down the trail and came to a grassy shelf in the hillside (my eyes ever intent on looking for elk tracks but only seeing deer prints) I saw something swoop in front of my vision from left to right. I looked up and lo and behold there was a hawk (although its markings appeared more like that of a falcon somehow?) now perched [at eye level directly in front of me] on a snag that bordered a small meadow to the Northwest.

I froze in place.

We stared at each other for 3-4 minutes (at least), a mere 30’ separating us. It was around this time that I tried to make a hawk’s call: it looked at me funny as if to say “…what the hell was THAT supposed to be?” Cocked its head a couple times, and then flew off due West in a series of graceful ‘swoops’ descending further into the canyon. I took it as a sign: I am to camp here. However, I still continued on down the trail [seeking a suitable spot in a cirque just below], again feeling the weariness of the past 3 days acutely. Within a short distance I came within view of a tarn and thoughtlessly steered my steps toward it, not even considering it was likely a well frequented watering hole for local wildlife. Saw something marmot-like (it had markings more like those of a badger) as I entered the basin, and continued on until coming to the most obvious stopping point, where I unceremoniously dropped my pack before looking around for a suitable bivy-spot.

Discouraged after seeing the ground was generally rough, dusty and rocky [as it had been at Charlia lakeside], I walked over to a South viewpoint of the valley and sketched Constance Pass. I lazed about for awhile, again feeling kinda glum [It seemed to occur once left to my own thoughts]. At some point I chanced to look up and see a marmot sitting there, watching me (with what seemed at the time idle amusement) swat at all the deer flies that had begun swarming me and impulsively decided “…to hell with it! I’m going back upslope to where I saw the hawk!”

[After donning my pack again] I wandered back up the rough trail checking in/out of the brush along the way for a good spot, when due North of the hawk encounter I found a beautiful spot in a little meadow [obscured from trail-view by a grove of trees], with a small [breeze-blocking] shelter of sub alpine fir for the stove, and perfect view West by Northwest. Two trees align my bivy-sac perfectly Northwest by Southeast (very significant) and then to clinch it all with a good omen; two ravens [not crows: ravens] flew overhead at that very moment croaking and doing those peculiar little folded-wing 1/2 turn dives -as crows do at the beach- what other signs does one need? The flies don’t even ‘bug’ me up here [yes, that was a bad pun]…they can be heard buzzing about, but keep to themselves.

[Feeling re-energized now] I decided to burn the rest of the afternoon by going on a short hike along the slope running along the base of Warrior Peaks and connecting to Mnt Constance. I had sat on this ridge [earlier] looking down into the stream basin (“Home Creek” the map says) trying to discern where the main trail actually is. I will need to find it on the way out-and I need to see -or at least roughly determine where it is- so that I might bisect it as I descend from this ridge [technically: from the slope below the ridge]. I decided to retrace my previous steps a little way to see where I should begin to lose elevation, walking a ways upslope and then following a deer trail which led past numerous marmot holes (only occasionally seeing them on lookout but ever hearing their warning cries). Went for between 3/4 to a full mile and was approaching a rather impressive bluff-base when I saw something ahead on the trail and froze: it was a doe. I sat down and we had a ‘stare off’ for awhile until my butt got sore, I stood up then, cautiously approached: suddenly a fawn shot out of the brush and mama followed quickly behind, snorting her indignation.

Pretty cool [I had come within about 20’ of mama].

Then, after finding some quartz crystals, I saw my hawk friend again circling overhead: it did so four or five times, then flew off again to the Southwest. Finally, to top the day’s sightings off, after arriving back at my grove and checking to see if the marmots had gotten ‘frisky’ with my stuff, I went back to sit upon Vista Point. I was just gazing off once again trying to pinpoint a potential route, when something caught the corner of my eye…a form moving along the ridge: I turned myself fully to look and “WOW” something canine-like! I [stayed very still and] watched it approach: “Is it a coyote? No, not that small or angular. Could it be a wolf? Stocky…tan and dirty whitish coat…hmmm.” I observed it cautiously continue on its way South, come down-ridge, then follow the exact same deer trail I had just been on! Saw it pounce a Douglas squirrel exactly where I had seen them! Finally after easily ten minutes of continuous viewing it dropped over a hilloc and I could see it no more. It was incredible. We made eye contact and held it (it was no more than 50 yards away) a number of times as if it were thinking “…hmmm…thats odd…whats HE doing up here? Oh well…good day, and good hunting.” It felt, oddly enough, as if I’ve gained ‘acceptance’ now, somehow?

Ahhh, nothing like pasta, pesto and mozzarella to end the day (and another marmot sighting, “ho-hum”…I feel almost ‘flushed with victory’ now). Am currently watching the sun set directly behind Mnt Olympus, illuminating its mantle of clouds to one of golden fleece…the “Needles” living up to their namesake by cutting a jagged silhouette against the sky, which currently appears to have mysteriously turned a distinctive greenish tint. Now in its final curtain-call, the sun casts the clouds into a copper-ish hue, the same tone being reflected by Mnt Constance [to my left] now rid of her shroud of cumulus. An awe inspiring hunk of basalt she is too, a vision only truly experienced with the naked eye: a camera could never do her justice (she is 360 degrees of reality…fully of 3 dimensions, not 2). I’m only sitting at 6700’ of elevation but feel like I’m on top of the world! Four more days to go!

(…its amazing -btw- that every night as if by magic the clouds recede and the skies become bright and clear, even though one can still see the clouds lurking the fringes of the range…?)

OH BOY! Here I am, sitting at Vista Point when I hear something behind me, turn around, and there’s mama and her baby, not 40 feet away! She’s just standing there, head lowered, looking at me…now she is wandering over to the bluff, while baby is going around the other way, toward the camp. Hmmm. Maybe I should stop that. I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE THIS! Lil’ junior was in “camp” sniffin around -probably smelled my markings [I always “mark” around my tent/camp area so as to establish my “territory:” it seems to work, as we shall soon see]- ran away when I approached, but then came back and circled the camp at most 15’ away from me…close enough to determine junior is male. After he scoped me out (staying outside my marking spots) he sauntered off down the hill, probably to meet mama at the watering hole (hmph). And “omens be praised” the full moon rises dead above Warrior Peak (…although brrrr… kinda chilly now).

Stayed up awhile past the last entry, watching the moon rise and softly singing “Moonshadow” to myself. After lingering well into the night, I finally decided to go to bed. Slept relatively well, dreaming of both my brother and my significant: I was out and about shopping at Sun Birds [Centralia/Chehalis] surplus/Goodwill/Sporting Goods store…when I left I went to her friend’s parents “new house” (tucked into the original old growth forest). I got the cold shoulder from everyone present (something involving “wisdom teeth”). Growing increasingly upset, I then left the way I had come just in time for a powerful wind to arise, knocking down all the trees. I ran (as did a lot of others-some fleeing rather pitifully in cars) into the outskirts of what seemed to be Suquamish (although now having become an actual ‘city’). I got onto a trolley running down the center of the broad street, then had second thoughts and asked to be let off. Went back up the trail (the wind had died down by then) and surveyed the damage (the forest was a total loss), before walking back downhill into the “old sector” of Suquamish (it looked alot like Poulsbo does now: a bunch of newer buildings with "retro” facades), and continued down through an avenue lined with totem poles, past Sealth’s presumed grave-site…and then I woke.

[I opened my eyes] to see an incredible sky: the moon had gone down and the sky was as full of stars as any I’ve seen [in the PNW]…it seemed even clearer than those on the Wallowa trip! Slept again on/off and at the very break of dawn heard a noise and turning on my side then spotted Junior trudging his way back uphill, right past camp again. I wonder if this is their daily routine? Forage the slopes then return to the waterhole at nightfall? Would certainly help explain all the flies lower down…brrrr its cold. Suns almost here (but not soon enough): coffee! Must have coffee (…thankfully, I’ve brought plenty of that)!

After my daily coffee and mueslix, I picked my way South along the slope again, this time marking the [largely hypothetical] route with cairns. When I got to the “crystal bluff” (at the base of Warrior Peaks) I started picking my way along the cliff looking for a route down. It looked pretty treacherous: straight down a a 45 degree dirt scree slope…? So, I climbed up atop a small crag for a better view. From this angle, I could’t even see where I’d seen the trail previously. Discouraged, I scanned the area carefully and lo, right below me I spotted a thin dirt colored line -and as I debated the 1000’ descent [still unsure of its potential] I saw something moving far below…white…right where I assumed the trail to be…the tiny figure paused, seemed to be contemplating the slope I resided upon; then moved some 20’ up from the trail, donned some dark colored over-garment, and sat down. I am kind of fixated here now (slightly chilled), waiting to see, if indeed, “IT” continues onto what I believe to be the main trail (I’m about 90% sure it is)…I think they are resting/taking lunch…maybe just sunning…resting and snacking…?

Well, I tell you, the Tubal Cain Trail to Charlia Lakes would make for an excellent 4-5 day trip: hike the first day to Marmot Pass and camp. Then, continue on (along the actual trail perhaps) to my groovy little site-or just continue on into the lakes (bring DEET). Stay that afternoon, next day, swim/fish/laze about (through possibly a second day), then hike out the full distance the last (should be ‘cake’ as the majority -except the hike out of Charlia Lakes- is downhill). Speed off to Fat Smitty’s for rootbeer floats, greasy meats, and maybe even a sunday. “Day-oh…what you say-ay-ay-oh…adventures waitin’ at the Tubal-Cain trail.” Buckhorn Lake would even make for a good 3-day weekend for the “Man Planners” [the name given Bill, Tom and myself by friends of a more feminine persuasion]: hike up to Marmot Pass with fanny packs and do lunch whilst exposing them to the temptation of Constance? Anyway, a worthy thought.

Clouds have broken up more, [and are] coming in from almost due South -much whiter and fluffier now- does that mean its going to clear as was promised? Hope so. The “weatherpeople” said it would…OOP! My distant trail marker has stood up! seems to be…peeing? Wondering what the hell I am doing up here? Lots of stooping and bending over now-taking off outer layer…packing up to leave? Much easier to see him/her now (think its a ‘him’ due to body proportions and movements)…aha! Pack on! Working way downslope…ok, I think its official now: that is definitely the trail. Now to return to camp and (hopefully) catch a glimpse of my trail indicator further along (Is he/she wearing a “you are here” or “trail is here” t-shirt I wonder) before they are completely lost from view…

…HA HA! Well forget that! I am now sitting atop (or, astride if you prefer) Warrior Peaks. Directly below me (North by Northeast) is upper Charlia Lake. To my right [East] I can see the entire inland sound, with the exception of Olympia, which is blocked by the sibling peaks of Warrior (it is plural after all)…from South to North I see Tacoma, Bremerton, Seattle (plus Bainbridge Island, Silverdale, Poulsbo, even Bangor sub base), Everette, Port Townsend, Anacortes, the San Juan Islands, Bellingham [not to mention the backdrop of the Cascades, and the full extent of the Olympics to the West, including Mnt Deception, Mystery/Little Mystery, Graywolf Ridge extending Northward, and Mnt Olympus lurking further Westerly]…WOW.

So, what the hell brought me all the way up here? A promise I made to myself-and one only I (and, perhaps my father or brother) would truly understand. As I was walking back I remembered this promise made, and decided to christened my new chalk-bag and La Sportiva hybrid ‘approach’ shoes on the crystal bluff, “just for kicks.” After scouting around, I finally found a wall that wasn’t “past vert” and started up. The first 30’ went pretty smoothly -as the face was less than vertical [and the rock pretty stable]- but then found myself in an area without any shelf holds nor wedging cracks, and I began to feel a rising panic (not as adept as I once was, perhaps). A few semi-frantic minutes later and I had somehow managed to retrace my route back to a safe “breather” spot. Feeling like I had 'dodged a bullet, I decided not to worry about ‘scaling’ and switched over to ‘bouldering’ mode instead (mainly for practice). Made my way horizontally about 20’ off the scree slope and managed to work myself past my earlier jitters. Did some laybacking up some long cracks, and regained confidence in my hand strength…began feeling pretty good “…ahhh, what the hell…” I thought when I came across an easier route leading upward, and set myself again to the task. Saw many crystal veins throughout as I ascended, and managed to collect some decent loose specimens as I came to ledges and utilized them as rest-stops. As I neared the top, however [as is common with most basaltic formations it seems], the rock quality deteriorated considerably: at times I found it easiest to “crab crawl” on all fours so as to not slide down the slope, over the edge and end up where I started, now far, far below me…(EEEP).

Once the rock face had given way to something more akin to an eroded summit, I heard rocks tumbling down toward me (I dodged them, of course) and upon looking up to determine their source: two deer just 40’ upslope, leisurely strolling on the side of the near-cliff [perhaps they had been adopted by goats when fauns]?!? I followed up after them for awhile before they turned South: likely feeling harassed, but still far more nimble than I, regardless. It’s probably [according to “Kirk’s semi-accurate sun angle method”] around 3:00…mebbe as late as 4:00…when does the sun go down now? 8:30? 9:00? Southeast, [Behind me] toward Constance, I can hear a likely impressive cascade of water (likely fed by glacier or snowmelt…yes, there are both up here): the torrential type that you can identify by that low thunderous undertone. Would really like to further explore these ridges…once on top, the routes look pretty simple, elementary even, you know? Next time, I think climbing the trail up to Charlia Lakes Pass, and then heading S straight along the ridge would [most certainly] make it less intensive and more accessible to more normal types (yeah, I’m kind of a freak)… Well, time to rest/relax a bit longer, bask in the sunshine (which remains ‘spotty’ but is better than previous days), then head on back.

I’ve an evening tea to attend.

Amazing! I just got back to camp and heard crows. Looking up, I saw the first approaching due Northwest. lost sight of them as they played the “swoop game” but then they reappeared right over Vista…they rode the wind, circled the camp then flew over to the ridge Id just descended and landed right atop it. I waited there awhile watching them, gave them a couple return caws [my “crowspeak” is actually pretty good] then returned to camp to cook. Then, I heard them again, chattering amiably, making peculiar croaks-so I went back out to watch them again-and now there were three! Higher and higher they flew, and suddenly I realized that one was much bigger-at least twice of its cousin’s size. At first it almost looked like the smaller two might have been attacking, but they never did “dive bomb it” (like one can see them do to unwelcome eagles)…their actions seemed more playful than aggressive…then they all flew off North together until they were too far to see anymore (but you could still just make out their chattering until it too faded away). Now I know the concept of “OMENS” are a bit far fetched for some to accept, but for me this experience offers no better assurance that the time is ripe for a visit with “the Hatter” tonight.

Whilst I boiled my water for cooking, I realized that I had [inadvertently] trapped a squirrel in my “cooking tree”…he chittered at me [reading to me in full the Rodentia riot act] and then, in a final desperate act of defiance leapt from it to a snag easily 5’ away (it was pretty cute actually, watching his little squirrel head twitch to and fro debating the distance…watching his little legs coil up, a little cat-like butt wiggle and then ‘SPROING’ barely clearing the distance to safety).

What an awesome trip this has been…

Just had a visit from some “non-wildlife”…they walked right up almost into camp. We chatted a bit: ‘tween-age’ son came up first and asked “…is this where the lake is…? (uhh…what?) “Well, no. See that rock up there? that’s where the pass is…the lakes are below that, about 750 feet…” I responded, watching his face slowly register disappointment. “Oh. When did you get here?” I reply: “I came in on Monday…walked the ridge above Marmot Pass, hung out at the lakes Tuesday-but bugs forced me out-beautiful lakes though, gorgeous scenery.” About then dad saunters up, asks all the same questions (which I patiently answer again) and then he asks “…seen any wildlife?” I relay all I’ve dictated here, add a few embellishments regarding the view from Warrior Peaks and then ask “Where are you all staying?” “Oh, down at the shelter…there’s another couple down there -flies about drove us nuts setting up- we had to put on bug juice.” I then offer “Yeah bring it with you to the lakes…you’ll need it.” He looked at his son [for what seemed an uncomfortable length of time] and responded “Ah…don’t know if the fishing’s worth it…” and then after [rather randomly] mentioning that they had seen bear tracks earlier, they just…left. Kinda weird.

The undersides of the clouds have now turned a vibrant red…the wind (as has now come to be per usual) is sweeping clear the clouds for this night’s “festivities”…(you know, it would be somewhat ironic if I’m already in such a “heightened state” that the ‘shrooms have no effect)…hmmm likely not. The wind is coming in quite brisk tonight…It’s BEGINNING…

Oh, wow. Cant be much clearer about it…although I should have known when I first dropped the pack on Wednesday: after I had finished the “pass drawing” and just lazily gazed off (tired of drawing, tired of thinking, tired of everything-just TIRED) a ways down the bluff I saw a whirlwind spontaneously appear…then it encompassed a shrub and sent a funnel of leaves high up into the air, as if announcing its presence. The event had completely escaped my mind until I was confronted by another such presence (and again reminded death eagerly awaits just over one’s shoulder)…

I resorted to taking my medicine dry, for no matter how hard I tried, I simply could not get the stove to re-light. So, they became ‘supplements’ between bites of spuds and sips of Ovaltine (…mmm sounds good right now…) Once finished, I went over to sit on Vista Point again to watch the sunset reflect off the Northwest face of Constance. After this lightshow, I returned to camp in order to more comfortably sit idle and watch the view to the Northwest. While there, I watched some peculiar clouds frolic in the valley-they never dissipated, but rather stayed in the same spot-undulating, changing from dragons to skulls to… Anyway, sat there until the clouds began taking more forbidding guises and my focus upon the “crack in the horizon” brought no result.

Remembering a grouse (and other wildlife) I’d seen on Charlia Pass earlier, I decided to return to Vista. Sat there a long, long spell (the moon had long since come up over Warrior) when I began to hear the LAND speak of our need to walk in a way sacred: that is, the lack of such being precisely the root of disquiet that has come to influence our modern lives. Was assured that “Yes, you are of the blood” …that I am… “As one with the land” (it raised me, surely)…that indeed “my destiny lay Northwest.” I was also told that many of these places I had visited (but most especially this place) were sacred places, and I was welcome to return as long as it was in a “sacred manner” [then the mood began to shift]…

…I was next told that the land, our Mother Earth was sorely hurt, now angry, and won’t be satisfied until all the ‘conquerors’ are vanquished (also: reference the “Beetle God” as ‘adversary’). And then, as if on cue the winds came…and boy, what an impression they made! At first I withstood them [I felt it was my duty to be ‘stoic’ -a ‘brave warrior- as I had been raised to be] but then the sheer, unbridled brutality frightened me deeply. I soon fled the gusts seeing (no lie) the Northern skies flash with lightning. I stumbled to my sheltered grove- the winds nearly knocking me over repeatedly- and [within my cocoon of protection] I crouched in a near fetal position watching the bolts light up Graywolf Ridge in a steady onslaught…and still it continued to worsen. The winds started gusting well in excess of 60 mph-knocking me prone anytime I tried moving around anywhere but the immediate camp and the shelter of my little grove. INSANE. [After over an hour of this escalation and then hearing the stunted sub-alpine fir’s roots creaking and groaning from the strain] Finally I began to truly fear for my life, so I made the executive decision: “BAIL!”

I packed in a military “bug-out” fashion [fast but efficient] and began making my way with both caution and due haste down-trail (a trail mind you, that until that very moment I had never seen before) amid creaking conversations of sub-alpine Ents and Elven glades strobing with sporadic moonlight. As I made my way the gusting wind was an ever present reminder of the close brush I had just experienced “…but not today.” At one point in my descent, as I gazed lovingly upon the moon [while taking a momentary rest/reconnoiter] a falling star blazed a trail beneath it as if to underline its emphasis…

[…the preceding 2 paragraphs were written in haste-wind at my heels-at a resting point as I retreated down from the pass…]

I continued hiking on through the night in a quasi-blissful state. When I came to what I believed to be the main trail (and tried to read the posted signage for confirmation) I had to lean in close and peer somewhat blindly at it until my eyes shifted and I could see. That moment, and the unseen, enshadowed, nasty little holes that conspired to hyper-extend knees/turn ankles were the only real “bummer” of the whole experience: it was actually breathtakingly beautiful and certainly awe-inspiring hiking throughout the night in the moonlight. The going, at first, was generally easy; downhill through olden-growth [mostly conifer] forest, which would then break into the open slope, affording incredible views of the illuminated valley. Within the sylvan thickets it was gloomy, eerie (like Mirkwood, perhaps), with slivers of moonlight radiating through the hanging moss and skeletal silhouettes, the forest ever voicing its opinion regarding the advancing force of the wind. In some places, grand, primordial trees would rise out of the gloom before me, all the more awesome in profile: gnarled and ancient visages.

Eventually I passed the point where I had seen my ‘diminutive trail marker’ earlier in the day, and realized the reason why he/she had stopped: the view was indeed grand, a creek feeding through a jumble of 20’ boulders…quite impressive close up. I continued to push on into the night, sneaking a few bites from what remained of my coveted custom trail mix [mixed nuts, yogurt raisins, and banana chips] and trying to spare the water, but soon was sweating out with such over-exertion that my drinking supply was rendered mostly done. Just about the time it was getting truly desperate my hyper-attuned perception began to sense (quite literally) the flow of a creek ahead. Eventually I came around a blind bend (Past 3 Immense old-growth trees) to see a cascading waterfall glimmering in the moonlight. “…to hell with it.” This gift was simply too generous, too timely to refuse and so I drank deeply and filled my bottle, giving the most humblest of thanks…”I know, I know, Giardia, Giardia, blah blah blah…” under such circumstances I’ll simply take it on faith [one perhaps need also realize the stream was coming straight off glacial melt from nearly 3000’ vertical feet above].

I stumbled my way onward in the waning moonlight, still preferring its soothing diffuse illumination to the “night-blind spot vision” of my headlamp. When I stopped to rest I could still hear the winds howling through the passes above and watch the peaks illuminated by near constant lightning flashes. I also witnessed three other impressive falling stars: one while I was staring at the “Seven Sisters” nestled in the cleft between Warrior and Constance (the two others I saw after I had reached Camp 2 for the night). Originally, my intent was to hike as long as the moon shone- this I managed (and a little bit beyond). On the final leg, I had to scramble through the boulder fields immediately at the base of Constance, and this all but used up the last of my energy reserves. It was all I could do to plod along, “one step after another.” But I was driven to find 2 things before I could stop to camp: a flat spot [quite rare in midst boulders] and water [although a snow patch would suffice, too].

Up, up, up I continued to doggedly climb (I had by then left the moonlight in my wake), until the narrow path opened up at last to a rock-field upslope from the trail. “This is it, come hell or high water…” I swore to myself, now too bone tired to continue. Far below me in the scree basin snow patches could be seen shining white-so all that was needed was a patch of level ground…clambering up/around/over I was finally able to find a large flat rock “…good enough.” I quickly stripped it of annoying shrubbery and loose stones, built a small rock wall windbreak and unloaded the sleeping bag, pad, and bivy-sac. That first recline was simply heaven, let me tell you! As I conducted my pre-sleep markings, a bright falling star blazed a trail Northwest. The last thing I remember is a sky brimming with stars and one last shooter heading West. After that, I slept like the dead.

I’m now waiting for the sun to rise and warm my rock-perch. Its close: I can see the first rays peeking over the ridge…after a quick meal and coffee, I’ll pack up and leisurely head up to Home Lake (or thereabouts -I’m worried it might be camper laden- only one way to tell)…?

There’s no one here?!? Its pretty funny: I barely had to hike another 1/2 mile to get to the lake. Could have made it last night (but “oh well”-I slept very soundly upon my boulder, thank you very much). After consulting the map I decided to hike here straightaway, scope it out, eat and then lounge about. Perhaps today I will also do some mild clambering and nap in the sunshine (saw a flat topped boulder nearby that would be ideal). Later, thinking I might take a dip to wash up and refresh. This place is kinda exposed, but very picturesque. I’m not sure exactly where the feeder stream comes from but I might see it if I trace my way out? Feel numb…washed out…drained.

It will be a blessing to see Em and Aub again…during dark times of late I have pondered what my life would be like without them…but was so caught up in all the day to day stress that couldn’t really gain perspective. Now I can say with assurance that I would always feel a deep loss-a hollow place inside if we became separated. I could perhaps learn to live with it, but it would be difficult (at best). I would likely always feel guilt- a guilt perhaps similar to what mom felt (and still feels) when she left. I think the most important thing for us is to allow each other personal space while also being attentive to the others particular needs…I have certain “needs” that I’m sure Em really can’t comprehend, just as she has ones that I cannot (in such situations perhaps thinking isn’t whats required, but rather empathy). I think a good start would be for us to put all the cards on the table -honestly- and come to a mutual understanding moving forward…

…my brother and I were raised to be independent, to take care of ourselves (“come what may”): we were given alot of free rein, while also being saddled with extensive responsibilities. We grew up inquisitive, daring, independent…very much like Aubrey. She will need good outlet for her energy and desire to DO and EXPERIENCE. Perhaps an answer lay in one theme from last night: Northwest. I do not wholly trust the “Urban Man” -never have- for he seems unable to truly distinguish visceral reality anymore, and has lost conception of ‘quality’ even, as the collective perception is now so distracted by product placement, sales figures, media spin, TV drama, all pre-packaged for consumption by machinations of the body politic. ALL OF US are rendered susceptible to these trappings, for they are so appealing -specifically designed to attract us- like bees to a flower, moths to a flame…and let us not forget the wheels of society [specifically: the status quo] generally crush any revolutionary who try block its rolling mass…and as I’ve already found: “social activism” is the “bug zapper” of happiness, contentment (and even personal expression). Perhaps its come time to rethink the whole damn thing…START THAT PROCESS NOW.

[next followed a literal ’laundry list’ of preparatory steps and hypothetical’s concluding with the following]

…develop a working model for an original self-sufficient community: minimized environmental footprint with a means of outreach that can act to propagate the working model. Time to get cracking! No time for slacking! The wind is ever an impatient ally…

Early afternoon came and suddenly my idyllic setting is invaded by a loud, resounding “YEE-HAW!” followed by “RIGHT ON!” and a cavalcade of other yells, Tarzan calls, and bad attempts at yodelling. Yay. The kids have arrived. At first I only saw 4, then it became 7, then 9, and by the end there was a loud and obnoxious baker’s dozen ranging in age from ‘tween to adult. They seemed completely lacking self control; hollering across the lake to one another, arguing loudly, hurling stones into the lake, little respect or appreciation for where they were (a place of spiritual grandeur and tranquility) they might as well have been at a carnival-or Disneyland.

Considering my preceding days of contemplation and solitude, it was simply too much of a shock -I just couldn’t bear it- so I quickly packed and headed out on legs still overly fatigued by the previous nights adventure. One new arrival (likely in his early twenties) said “Hi.” He seemed nice enough, contentedly sunning on a rock and resting (not so ironically as I had just been doing not a 1/2 hour previous)… I smirked [scowled? hard to say] and replied, “Goodbye.” Passed some others and said to them [rather rudely I must now admit] “…enjoy what’s left of the tranquility, its all yours now…” Just before I got to the trail, I encountered the ‘Elder’ of the group (probably around 50-ish). He asked “Headed out?” I replied, “Yeah- I just can’t handle all this any more…its just too much after being alone in the high country all week. I guess I will camp at the pass or something…” All he said was “Oh.” I continued, with seasoned grace: “…you can have my spot if you like-its back in the trees over there…its well sheltered and quite beautiful…”

I hiked on up the pass -it was quite grueling for my already overtaxed body- stopping at the top to search for a campsite and draw Warrior peaks. After a rest and contemplation, decided that it would be best to head down the trail some: best not be trapped on an exposed ridge again like last night, as the clouds are still trending North, and the wind holding steady. Low clouds began blowing in, and soon a fog socked in the entire ridge. So, I continued the gradual descent all the way to Sunnybrook Meadows. It has now cleared enough hereabouts to actually see down into the Dosewallips Valley…BEAUTIFUL. There’s a mountain just to the South that is pretty damn impressive [Mnt Anderson perhaps]. This is a nice place to camp-protected by a little rise to the South [and tucked into the Southern flank of the ridge]. The sun is gleaming golden-white magnificence through the cloudbank. Nearing sunset…about time to cook again.

I might move camp: think I found a better spot…am just worried about rain-wind-storm, ya know? I’m on a direct-exposure ridge right now [there was nothing to block weather coming in down the length of the Dosewallips valley before it reached me. As a basis for comparison: the previous night’s storm was actually partly blocked by Constance Pass: the very pass I was camped upon], if it starts raging again I AM VERY VULNERABLE…and TIRED. Probably only slept 3-4 hrs in the previous 38…bivy is going to feel very good. Just wish I hadn’t been driven out of Home Lake…people…WTF?!?

I ate last night in a kind of stupor: seemingly having only enough energy left to chew and swallow. It started clearing, which prompted me to debate moving my camp to a more open ‘pristine viewing’ spot (I had set up tucked down into a pretty dense subalpine tree grove for protection-I even erected a roof-cover using my poncho in case it rained) but decided instead that I was simply too tired to bother and just needed to sleep. Woke up a few times feeling kinda feverish (probably due to over-exertion) but other than that, slept heavily. Had a weird dream of a Marine who kept shooting a bazooka at me: finally, it was as if he just gave up. He got this weird ‘dying animal’ look in his eyes and just stood up where after I managed to dispatch him with my “gun” (remember that old raski video game “Red Baron?” THAT’S HOW MY GUN SHOT). Aaaaah. The sun. FINALLY! Its easily 10 degrees colder here.

Upon waking, I was granted undeniable evidence that my nightly habit of ‘territory marking’ indeed has an effect: after finishing my morning bladder-relief, I turned and noticed fresh scratch-markings on one of the stunted trees of my grove (they were fresh enough to still be oozing pitch). “Hmmm… that must have happened last night…” I mumbled to myself “…interesting.” Following a hunch, I walked around the little grove, circumnavigating my campsite (outside my relative ‘markings’ the night before) and witnessing consistent claw marks on the backside of ALL the trees of my modest perimeter! It appears as if my request for an ‘officially sanctioned’ campsite was granted? Anyway, there are birds here that are very unusual: they fly about in little packs and are very bold…they will get up within 3’ away squawking and looking you up and down…as if sizing you up. They look alot like Jays [size and shape] but are grey/white and ‘fluffy’. Also: when I went down to the pond last night for water, I thought there were little black pebbles littering the bottom-that is, until I scooped in, when they all fled! It took my fatigued mind a minute to register that there were a couple thousand polliwogs in a pool about 15x30’. Imagine the croaking chorus that will become later in the fall!

Today (after things dry out and I’ve had a bite to eat), I will pack up, then hike back up the trail to the ridge for one last lingering look before I descend. Once I’ve made it downtrail to the river, I’ll look for a tranquil, comfy spot. Try to get some recovery lounging in before hiking the rest of the way to the trailhead Sunday. This will ensure I’m safely at the pick up the afternoon before the “Welcoming Committee” arrives. Can’t wait to see my family again.

A NEW AGE IS COMING. Many statisticians say that, based on current growth rates, population will likely outgrow food supply (even accounting for hypothetical advances) sometime around 2030…the social breakdown: people’s disillusionment with the doublespeak and subsequent lies they are forced to live under, has already begun. With food as the most obvious renewable resource -what you sow, you reap- what of those we consume (at equal or even greater rates) which have a renewal cycle that require untold millennia? And what of those things we consume that can only be artificially renewed? What happens when consumers, having been coerced into dependency, can no longer acquire the material goods which sustain their lifestyle? CHAOS. And, what of the toxins -the byproducts of this lifestyle- which every citizen contributes to the ecosphere? Without systemic change, without changes in habit as well as advances in technology, they are, at very least, bound to keep pace with increases in population.

However… I believe Nature has already begun to “fight back.” All these things we habitually do without considering consequence (especially long term impact) still influence the environment in a direct cause-effect relationship. Deforestation causes weather patterns to shift, become unstable, causing both floods and drought. The Earth’s mantle becomes unstable with everything we pump, mine and/or strip from it: Earthquakes (for instance) are easily twice as devastating without groundwater to help absorb/diffuse the energy. Ice packs melt, desalinating the oceans which can stall equatorial current circulation [this means Northern Europe becoming as frigid as its location warrants]. The earth is fighting back, and those who cannot, will not see it are merely finding comfort in falsehood. Even the ignorant shall have their eyes opened to the truth, and for many it will be the last thing they experience before their lives are taken and their bodies offered back to the mother.

The big cities will fare worst of all: the economic systems will collapse, distribution systems will break down…even the rich will eventually be relieved of their riches: they will all become the victims of a vast majority of desperate, unsympathetic (more adaptable out of necessity), poor. This process has already begun: the social degeneration has increased with industrialization, as it afforded the under-privileged with both access to education and a taste for the higher life -as a result “true craftsmen” have become superfluous as production is no longer a matter of quality, but rather quantity (thus the “means of production” will likely become that of automation) -as it’s all now all a matter of “market gains through convenience.” Industry now undeniably caters to base indulgence. This seems a very important lesson of my vision: to work toward a lifestyle that is more in tune with what it actually means to be “alive” …

…that is: more attuned to the cycles of life itself.

Incredible! the spirit (it seems) works in mysterious ways. I just crossed Sunnybrook (there’s a particularly cool camp site along the trail there) and was really tempted to drink from it (very low on boiled drinking water)…[but] decided not to risk it as I’m generally downhill from ‘official’ campsites (you know what that means), continued on to the next crossing and “Lo!” Right there, tucked in the cool stream was an unopened can of Pepsi! I am currently enjoying it before packing out the empty. Imagine packing in then leaving something like that? How many have passed by without picking it up [and late apologies to any one who left it for their return]?

Suddenly it feels like I’m in Southern Oregon again [specifically the Siskiyous Mnts]…this portion of trail is exactly as I remember the Rogue Valley of my youth: the sights, the smells… I suddenly feel kind of homesick, as I experience a profound full-sensory deja’-vu. I wish I was there right now hiking the Rogue River Canyon, Big Pine, camping at an Illinois River swimming hole…I sincerely wish to venture into the Marble Mnt caves again, before they are at long last laid waste by stupid, ignorant, short sighted people (just as the cabin -and specifically- the pack trail Bill and I discovered, will deteriorate from neglect and fall to ruin, given time). If I had the means, I’d buy the whole damn mountain-quarry and all-and build my house upon the foundation of the “Dynamite Shed” [the ore hoppers used to crush/transport rock down the tramway] in an act of sheer defiance…alas, I’m just another piss-poor dreamer. I’m barely able to keep afloat in the increasingly turbulent waters of my life. Maybe after I get the truck back on the road [“the Magic Schoolbus” a yellow 1966 Dodge Panel truck I’d literally saved from the wreckers] we could travel down at the end of the month and see the famdamnily…before winter closes the passes, that is...

Too bad Grants Pass has become such a retirement mecca…I’d love to live down there for a few years, just to say “goodby” before it becomes largely unrecognizable. Will probably just have to settle on a couple extensive visits, instead (but it would be nice to share with Em/Aub the magical places of my childhood). I do wonder sometimes, if I would have been happier if I’d just stayed, working at R.C.C. remaining in close contact with the Larsons, assisting with Eric’s “International Studies” curriculum…remaining a family friend (regardless of Solbritt and my status)…but the wanderlust has never allowed me to settle anywhere for long.

Made it to the Dosewallips River, having passed 4 groups of “weekend warriors” heading uptrail. Decided, when I got to the fork [at Soda Spring which leads up the way I’d come or follows the river upstream to Dose Meadow] to head uptrail so as to minimize the chances of being overun come evening. Followed the main trail until I came to Lower Twin Creek-and saw that there was a trail leading to a camp below the main. Continued past until I came to a bank (more like a cliff) a mere 30’ from the river, wandered around until I found a bush-wack way down and (with the help of my trusty staff-just call me a 3 legged goat) finally touched down in the boulder strewn streambed. Picking my way along the bank, I found a sheltered sandy alcove nestled in the rocks and called it a day. I estimate I got here between 2-3:00, and I’ve been here at least a couple hours now…its likely I’ve successfully found another ‘privacy’ spot. No one is likely to scramble down that cliff, I assure you!

The first thing I did after pitching the bedroll was washing my gamey socks and body. BRRRR! Friggin’ cold it is! Didn’t get much more than a quick dunk before I was out again! It did feel good, though…and the flies aren’t bugging me anymore either. I guess I don’t smell quite so tasty (you mean like horseflesh? A wet dog? A dumpster? Yeah, I mean like ALL of those…COMBINED). Sat there naked and tranquil drying, sketching, and now with my rank clothes back on, have brewed some coffee in order to warm up. Definitely going to need a new butt pack-I think this one’s shot [I had made it when I was still living in Grants Pass, by modifying an REI accessory bag…I still have it BTW: I use it to haul tools when pulling parts at wrecking yards]: the zippers only zip in a rather cryptic order, BTW...

Been thinking further about my next hiking trip already. “Kerouac-ville” is a distinct possibility…likely less people…the Olympics are simply “too accessible:” Charlia Lakes was about the only place where I hadn’t fear of people’s intrusion (likely because the map doesn’t show a trail to them)? It was also a pretty grueling hike up from the shelter (hypothetically)…well worth it though. More picturesque than any other lake I’ve seen on this trip…Then again, Maybe a bike trip could be an alternative…problem is, “where?” Would likely also require an investment in a tune up and better panniers.

I tell you, this trip has certainly not been without its challenges! Now its the rain’s turn. Ironic that I prepped last night for rain that never came, and today it came with nary a warning (from blue sky to showers in a blink)! So, I had to bail on my quaint riverside camp retreat into the trees, and improvise a shelter. While endeavoring this, I realized that what I really need (besides a new pack poncho- I’ve had this one since High school) is a large space blanket: big (and quality) enough to use as an “A-frame” (pup) tent at times such as these. At this point in my trekking life improvising shelter, basic survival skills-even gathering food-have become routine…but it is nice to not have to work from the verge of desperation. Best to (as those damn boy leaders like to nag) “Be Prepared.” I take this to mean: “…anticipate what problems might arise and you can survive nearly anything (but knowing your limitations is the first step)” [yeah, my version isn’t nearly as catchy]. If I had let pride and stubborness lead on Thursday eve, I’m not sure if I would have made it: with the dropping temperatures combined with wind chill (lets not even factor in the potential for lightning strikes), its very likely I would have succumbed to exposure, especially in the early morn (around 3-4:00) when temperatures are at their lowest…I don’t think a modest 3-season tent would have survived the onslaught, and its unlikely a +20 sleeping bag and bivy-sac would suffice.

…I’ll take rain any day over that scenario…

After tomorrow’s morning meal and coffee, I’ll probably hang around for a bit, sketch, pack up later and head down trail at a more leisurely pace (hard to believe it will be my last day in the wilderness!) and spend the night the ranger station/campsite. Hopefully (if its still raining) they will have covered areas where I can crash out without much bother. You would at least think they would-it is supposed to be a campground? Worse to worse, I will see if they mind me sleeping on the porch…now, if these damn beetles would leave me alone (“Love, love me too” -I thought the righteous welcome the Apocalypse, so why would the Beetle God be my adversary? Am I not righteous?) I will prepare myself to sleep and dream.

Slept the latter 1/2 of the night alright, the first was riddled with cat-naps broken up by lengthy periods of trying to get comfy while not sliding downslope towards the river. Had weird dreams: in one, I consulted with BJ Honeycut (you know, MASH) about my weak left knee. He told me exactly what was wrong, and that he was amazed that it had held up so well, considering….he then went on to tell me all about his new movie. Some pretty dysfunctional logic, there. The other dream that I remember dealt with the “Patriot” guitar: it was fixed…someone was looking at it…playing it…but banging it around and being disrespectful. Awoke with “Following Fancy” [one of many songs I’ve written and put down on tape] running through my head. Lingered in my snug bag (I had finally managed to find a ‘ledge’ for my butt) and ran through all the songs of merit that I had created to date. Doing so had me realize that perhaps going into the studio “Solo” might have more merit than I originally thought (seems my biggest issue is fear of ridicule)…came up with a list of worthy contenders in no particular order…

[…next followed a list of songs and recording notes that will have no relevance to this story…]

I definitely think that for today, a leisurely pace is in order. Indulge in a couple cups of coffee, cook up the last of the polenta (help burn some of the reserve fuel…oh-forget about polenta next time. it requires too much fuel as prepped currently. Experiment… “Italian Rice” maybe? It at least will cook while steeping), draw for a bit, pack up then hike the rest of the way out. Am boiling up some extra water while Im at it. Decided to save the remaining mueslix for tonight, hoping that some food might be available for scavenge at the trailhead? If not, I can always wait the morning through with an empty belly-will make the post-camp burger ritual all the more memorable (If one cannot find “processed meat slabs” one must settle for “pre-hatched flightless fowl” and “starch thickened meat juice” over “baked flour lumps”).

Its kind of hard to believe that its been a full week since I’ve seen (let alone used) an electrical device, heard an automobile (although you never seem escape the jet traffic), or caught up on “the News.” Truth be told, I’ve missed little of it. Yes, it is always good to “return home” where one is again safe, secure, surrounded by books, tools, memorabilia, and not DIRECTLY EXPOSED TO THE ELEMENTS. But hopefully, “home” will one day be a place that encompasses all these elements that I crave-even those seeming contrary-a balance which modern lifestyle makes nigh impossible to attain. It seems even “simple success” brings with it responsibilities that keep one from “simply living”-perhaps it is the price we must pay for our indulgence? Regardless, it seems those with the most money appear to have the least freedom, as they sweat and fret and bother constantly trying to attain a better living standard -or become so driven to ‘succeed’ they simply haven’t the time for anything other than ‘more’. In the class divide, the working man trades life for bare subsistence and self sufficiency, while the upper crust fight for their chance to be “King of the Mountain.”

Why play the game even? What happiness can be gleaned from such skewed rules? Even the grandest trophies tarnish given time. Eventually, most all find themselves middle-aged, with nothing to show for our lives but the scars of struggle and deficits indicating the depth of indulgence. That’s what happened to dad. One can use materialism to attain a sense of ‘superiority’ but such overt competitiveness is really just compensation. This is certainly something I’ve struggled with-for me it is compensation for feeling worthless and unloved perhaps-often overcompensating to the extreme. I feel there are far too many things I have given up on, and such ‘failures’ then feed into my own lack of self-worth. The only thing going for me perhaps, is that I am at least semi-aware of it, and it helps me defy authority. It does make me very closed and guarded, as well as ever wary of commitment-not because of a lack of caring (or even desire) but more because I simply do not trust in things that require dependency…and for this reason I will rarely (willingly) push issues or force circumstances upon others: for I’ve found that an unwilling cohort is also an undependable one (who, at the first sign of real difficulty will likely bail out). On a positive note, “dealings with childhood” taught me to be strong, resilient and willful- I can succeed (excel even) at anything I set my will to (as long as there is a compelling desire and no one else involved to botch it up). This allows me to be independent, self-sufficient and able to do many things (regardless of whether this is hard for people with narrower skill-sets to grasp)

‘Tis a sad fact, but the closer you get to a trailhead, it seems the more obese people you see. Saw 2 extremely large children (one slightly over 3’ must have weighed #150, another around 5’ most likely in excess of #200), and can only imagine how challenging life must already be for them. Neither one of them were particularly ‘burdened’ (the first didn’t even have a pack, the other not much more than a daypack and camp-pad) and yet both were breathing hard and sweating profusely…just walking up the trail. “Modern Man”…well, at least they are present and making an effort. Have passed at least 60 people heading up trail to Honeymoon Meadows…and therefore, it’s a place I shall likely never see (well, perhaps on a winter snowshoe hike-its only 9 miles- but Id rather do Enchanted Valley or Royal Basin if given the option, or, better yet, do a loop that encompasses the hot springs). What could possibly draw people into the wilderness, then have them conclude to gather with a bunch of other people? the logic just escapes me…I guess I will just never understand the appeal.

Well, might as well do the final push to the trailhead and the ranger station known as Happy Camp- I still need to see what might be involved with acquiring a campspot there. The Dosewallips is certainly gorgeous…kind of reminds me of Upper Smith River…?

Well, finally made it to Happy Camp (still physically intact even) at the end of my 7th day. I just read on the official Trail Information Board that “…one may fish without a Washington State Fishing licence within the Olympic National Park Boundary…” News to Me! Would have been good to know before hand, but certainly will be relevant information when planning future trips here. Next time perhaps I will skip the Buckhorn Wilderness, and stay within the Olympic Park Boundary: Graywolf Ridge looks mighty tempting…a lightweight fly pole would probably work best-one that breaks down into no more than 30” sections but is no less than 6’ assembled. I can make a hard case for it out of PVC, use my [antique] “Featherlight” reel spooled with light monofiliment, and then pack a selection of dry flies, spinners, a selection of baithooks, and the usual swivels, weights and even a bobber or two. I will need to source a durable, yet packable lightweight skillet…something Svea stove sized? Mmmm…fried trout…Italian rice…what could be grander? My, god, I’m salivating at the thought! I need to find a phone an food, otherwise I will have to find a place to just wait it out.

Just went up to the ranger station to check on a phone, report the storm, and discard the garbage I had gathered/packed out (wow-there’s actually a cyclist here on a Raleigh “tour”…just came down trail with a bundle of sticks on his rack). The first guy I talked to had quite an impressive facial hair collection (as every self respecting ranger should) but hadn’t seen nor heard anything about a storm. As I relayed my encounter to him and mentioned not having a tent, he interrupted: “well, you could have stretched a tarp between two trees…” [well, duh] which prompted me to explain in greater detail how extreme the conditions actually were, and how exposed the ridge was. “Well, at least you had a good selection of warm clothes…” which prompted me again to detail how even with all my layers on I was still cold. “Well, I hope it didn’t ruin your trip…” And it was at this point I realized we were speaking an entirely different conceptual language. It wasn’t until I told him of the lightning over Graywolf ridge that he finally decided to introduce his partner into the conversation, and he turned out to be even more of a dismissive asshole. “Oh, yeah, we get storms all the time…happens alot.” Didn’t even acknowledge the possible consequence of lightning strikes which, where I grew up would have warranted immediate attention. Regardless, I was left wondering whether either should be attending rangers. Ironically, they probably just assumed that I was merely a greenhorn. With that as the baseline, both still came off as more than a little naive to THIS “greenhorn.”

Walked through the campsite a couple times and eventually settled on the most inconspicuous spot. I then brewed myself some coffee and “pitched the bivy.” However, as soon as I took my first sip of the hot brew, it started to rain-revealing how poorly I had chosen my “final place of rest” for the trip. So, I packed up again, made my way to a 4’ diameter cedar smack dab in the center of the roundabout (surrounded on all sides but the tree's by stinging nettles) whose overhanging canopy afforded some shelter from the drizzle. Once I had sufficiently settled in again, I found a trail that wandered down along the riverbank. I realized for the first time as I ‘refreshed’ myself exactly how wind-chapped my face and hands were… my skin is as taut as a drum.

Met a fisherman plunkin’ downriver: not a wannabe that wades between catalogue pages in the latest gear (uninspired reading the river, but perfectly content reading product reviews) retreating to their 12 person geo dome at night, sipping refreshments out of the double wide cooler in their brand new Eddie Bauer Suburban…anyway I digress. We talked for awhile-to be honest I kinda blurted my trip out to him [perhaps inspired by my lackluster response from the rangers]. Told him about Charlia Lakes: he seemed quite intrigued (as well he should) and said the Dosewallips was the only river he fished anymore “…still fine catching…” he assured me. We had kind of a “mutual gripe-fest” about the growing overuse of the Olympics. I offered the Northern Cascades as an area still relatively underwhelmed, but he didn’t seem too willing to bite at that allure. We parted ways for a while, and then I crossed paths with him again. He asked if I had been all the way to the falls yet…I responded “…I didn’t even know there were any falls…?” I did immediately wonder why any one in their right mind would fish ABOVE the falls he described? Perhaps the seeded the creeks with Brownies as they did the high country lakes? Anyway, gives me something to do tomorrow to keep my mind off my stomach.

One thing this trip has reminded me of is that I need to stop ignoring those parts of my personality that Urban life doesn’t offer: namely my “outdoorsiness.” To see a wild stream like this one, to be overwhelmed with such a desire to fish it; flooded by all those old memories, habits, instincts… Once upon a time I used to fish every weekend (rain or shine) and now…well, I just don’t. This is an example of changes that need to be made? Think about it- what more wholesome of a family outing could one want? It would help to more fully introduce Aubrey to the wonders of the wilderness…we could sleep in the panel now just as easily as we already have in the past. We just need to dedicate to making it a regular part of our lives, not just a mere novelty. It would certainly help blaze the way for my dreams of the future. Our current routine is an anchor, dragging us down…

Phew! I’m exhausted. Last night of the trip. I just realized that this is only the 3rd time I’ve had the opportunity to sleep on a (relatively) level surface? Yeah, I know: “believe it, or not.” Oh-and this is also the “53rd page” of the trip…!

Monday morning. I wake up, roll over, and immediately lay my peepers on a late 60’s Dodge van. “Eureka!” I exclaim to myself, immediately fantasizing of steaming hot plate of eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage, rye toast (knowing that my “pack pantry” was down to the last cup of Ovaltine and perhaps 2 cups of coffee)… I lounged there awhile, debating a rather rude awakening of my presumed “Welcoming Committee” [the friends who had volunteered to pick me up owned just such a vehicle] but decided to be patient and go get water for brewing myself a cup of coffee first. Still, I couldn’t help but walk past just in case there were signs of life from within. As I did so I realized “…hey-that van’s got side windows. It isn’t them at all!” My heart sank and my stomach started to grumble in protest. I decided then and there “…well, if they’re not here by noon, I will meet them on the road. Better than sitting here getting all bent from hunger…” I figure I might get lucky and find a store to make a phone call and chow down [I generally carry money and ID just in case similar events transpire]…I will burn the meantime packing up my kit and checking out the falls.

Oh-had a strange dream: was in a castle (imagine the one in Edward Scissorhands) and I was trapped, I think within its rambling Gothic structure. It was all quite disorienting. The only truly coherent thing I remember is a bunch of 1960’s adult comics (like the old “Tales of the Crypt” or “Creepy”) called, simply “CRYPT” (or something equally short and singularly descriptive). I also got the impression that they were left for me by Grandma Napier. WEIRD.

Well, walked to the falls…a “fall” of maybe 3 feet? I was disappointed to say the least. Not even worth the sketch I’d planned on doing. Picked up more trash along the way. What is it with people? Do they think the animals will pick up after them [maybe they think it is every mother’s job]? Is it too much to ask for people to look past their selfish human-ness? Is it simply too big of a request to be mindful?

I’ll tell you, there are some mighty big ravens around here: as big as eagles, seemingly (is that the meaning of what I saw earlier? 2 lesser guiding/accompanying the growth/transformation of a 3rd? Will require some deep contemplation). MAN SAKE’S ALIVE I’M HUNGRY. I’ve lost weight on this trip…my ‘feminine stomach’ (as Em calls it) is a phantom of its former self. Im telling you…however: if I were merely picking up a food cache, I could easily go for another week (after a mellow day or two of rest hereabouts, that is)…and that’s an interesting thought. Have timely food packages mailed to certain points along a route [like is done for those hiking significant portions of the Pacific Crest or Appalachian Trail(s)]. Then at times have people meet when the route coincides with a worthy campsite. In the Olympics this could be accomplished by criss-crossing back and forth across the range: come up through the Enchanted Valley, over Anderson Pass and the down the Dosewallips to this camp, then up over Cameron Pass, down Graywolf, ending at the hot springs…have “car-camp parties” at Quilcene Lake, Happy Camp, the Hot Springs. That way, it would allow hikers a 2-3 day respite from fuel/food miserliness, have a couple beers and a steak (or two) replenish and then head out on the next leg…interesting.

(Boy oh boy, the Ranger-dudes are working hard at planting…site markers. Who the f#ck cares what your ‘number’ is? That is…unless this is going to become another pay site? THAT WOULD SUCK.)

Hey…the doppelganger Dodge is leaving…ahhh, I see, they just moved to a ‘better’ site. Well, I think it time for me to move too-I’m tired of waiting. Its too cold, and I’m too hungry to sit around here any longer…I think I’m gonna head on down the long and dusty road (the raven just croaked its agreement). Smoked a little tobacco to take the bite off of the hunger. Hmmm…that totally helped. Looks like I’ve got about 8 miles before I completely “walk off the map?” Hope to see them before then!

Well, made it to Elkhorn with still no sign, although I have passed alot of cars (most seem friendly enough) heading into the trailhead…you know, it might just be frustration, the effect of my ravenous hunger or semi-delirious musing, but if I was intending to pick someone up after a week long hike, I’d plan on getting there early? It just seems like “common sense?” Well, worst comes to worst its something like 11 miles to 101 from the campsite, and I know there’s a market there…as well as a payphone…so far I’ve covered around 4.

Oh- actually saw the REAL Dosewallips Falls, about a 1/4 mile further from where I’d turned back before: its actually pretty impressive (even if it is RIGHT next to the road…if only the R.S. were a 1/2 mile further down river)! Somewhere around 9 “two-ish” story drops (didn’t bother to count them) in amongst jumbled boulders within a steep-walled canyon. I debated drawing it, but then decided to spend my time covering ground instead [not to mention-I might have gotten distracted and missed my ride-remember, this is back in the days when cell phones were still a rarity]. Well, time to go…the stomach calls!

Made it around 8 miles from Happy Camp (just past where the road turns to pavement) before someone in a pickup heading my way pulled off and asked “…hey, do you need a ride?” I replied with an enthusiastic “Hell yeah!” They then offered; “…well we are going to Duckabush would the highway do…?” Relieved I said, “…yeah Brinnon would be great.” I piled myself and my gear into the bed, and then of course within minutes saw my “Welcome Committee” Mopar hurtling towards us…I stood up and frantically waved them down while signaling for my current ride to stop. I grabbed my bag, gave heartfelt thanks to my “rescuers” and then piled myself/gear into “Flo” [our friend’s Dodge van]. Come to find out, they had been delayed due to a detour at Mnt Jupiter but had successfully made it at last, and seemingly just in time for my date with a large slab of bovine (so, “no harm, no foul” I guess). Let the post-hike ritual commence!

“Walking in a sacred way” is a spiritual attitude, as well as a tending to and caring for one’s physical body: maintain fitness, cut down on processed foods, and attune ones physical and mental “inter-connection.” It encourages a constant awareness and balance within the natural world, and (likely) a lessening of ones immersion/distraction within the “false society of man.” At its core is the “warriors path” -not as yet another rigid set of rules to follow, but rather, looser guidelines that reflect more upon one’s unique personality/perspective…such a balance requires near constant self moderation and often brutal self-honest. It means not taking life -nor the gifts of life- for granted: no more idle wastefulness, and no more overt self-indulgence. It means being thankful for “benefit”-and not only that which grants one pleasure/contentment but also (as those sly Buddhists revealed to me so long ago) such obstacles that create difficulty thus resulting in deeper personal growth. Do not allow ego to “rule the objective:” in fact, stop objectifying as a means of higher thinking/categorizing altogether…respect the individual, not the category, praise the wisdom of experience, not these props of intellect…and thus allow each the space they need to grow.

“Walking in a sacred way” also means being ever “mindful.” It means actively ridding oneself of preconditions, and any tendencies that might further such preconception: it means challenging ones temptation. This is of utmost importance, for all of us are weak (that is to say, NONE of us are perfect), but it is precisely the acknowledgement of our weakness and the subsequent strengthening of will and resolve that leads one down the path toward true self-honest. Ego, posturing, feelings of superiority, hierarchies, all render deaf, dumb, and blind any attempts at spiritual awakening. Inflation of the ego only stretches it thinner, and renders it more fragile…”

Inspired by the epic grandeur and profound insights generated by this trip (as well as a tempting, largely hypothetical high-country route I had both scouted and sketched previous-see above), the following Fall I returned for another (even longer) solo trip up the Dosewallips trail. Retracing my steps I climbed up to Constance Pass, then summited both Mnt Mystery and Mnt Deception before returning to Happy Camp via Cameron Pass…but that, I’m afraid, is another story altogether.

And, in retrospect, it also occurs to me:

Enlightenment comes from nothing one does, but will not come if one does nothing.

-Chuang Tzu

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Kirk Torren Smith
Real Tales and Tall Stories

A collection of first-person accounts that chronicle life changing and/or noteworthy events that helped influence the development of each author's unique identity.

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