All you could want in Leavenworth

Leavenworth is an adorable Bavarian town that attracts thousands upon thousands of tourists in the warmer months. People flock for the festivals, the authentic food and the quaint structures that are reminiscent of another time and place. I, however, bypass all this without blinking an eye and head for the crags just outside of town.

The rock climbing here is boulders, and that means crack climbing. I spent several hours belaying and shimmying up the granite before calling it quits and heading for Eight Mile Camp just up the road. From there, we threw up the tent next to the river and went in search of a decent hike. After picking our way over mud pits and boulders the size of small cars (a mudslide closed the road somewhat recently), we found a dirt road that angled left into the hills.

Since we had no idea where we were, it’s hard to say how far or high we climbed but the roundtrip was probably just over eight miles. It climbed at a decent rate, bringing us closer to the mountains where fog was settling in. We decided to push on a few more miles in hopes of reaching a nearby lake, but we made it maybe halfway before the sky opened up and instantly drenched us. That’s all we needed to hightail it back to camp.

Nothing to Squak about

This trail didn't look exciting from the get-go but it met the basic requirements for a before-work jaunt: less than an hour drive, at least eight miles and minimal elevation gain to ensure I make it back with time to spare.

Squak Mountain is a state park in Issaquah and has a network of trails that can add up to eight miles. There was no one else in the parking lot when I set out at 6 a.m. but the babbling brooks kept me company. It was a pleasant enough hike through a tidy forest.

After a few miles and about 1,000 gain, I stumbled over the one interesting sight: an abandoned fireplace. There were no other clues about what building had once been there but it's clear the fireplace still saw some use as it had fresh ash and broken beer bottles at its base.

The trail swooped upward a little more before I found myself hugely disappointed and staring at an electrical substation. Chain link and metal towers took over the trees and brush that had drawn me out in the first place. So I turned around and lost myself in the maze a bit longer before hightailing it out of the park.

Note to self: stay away from parks!

Peaceful pillars

This is my own heaven on earth.

Vantage is in Eastern Washington, set along the Columbia River in the middle of an expansive desert. It's the most popular rock climbing spot in the state, for good reason. The basalt pillars offer easy grips and breathtaking scenery. There are 700 routes spread out over miles and you can climb for hours without seeing another soul. Even the clouds are more majestic here. Here are a few shots:


LEFT: It's a pretty good mix of sport and traditional routes in Frenchman Coulee. The climber on the left is reaching into a chalk bag mid-climb.

RIGHT: This was one of the first sport climbs I did. For those of you who think climbing is dangerous, proof is to your right that all precautions are taken. This is the anchor I used so I could hang upside and take pictures before rappelling down.


LEFT: A view of the campsite from atop a pillar.

RIGHT:Getting from climb spot to spot sometimes means navigating between rock walls. Think 127 Hours...



LEFT: Peace settling in for the eve.

RIGHT:Looking out from the bottom
of the valley.

Steepest summit yet

Distance: Unknown. Somewhere between 5-8 miles

Elevation gain: About 3,700 feet

Even for those who regularly climb, Mount Teneriffe isn’t well-known because it is overshadowed by nearby Mount Si. But Mount Teneriffe - which tops out at 4,800 feet - is higher, steeper, more treacherous and offers a chance at solitude that few peaks can.

There’s no parking lot, no signage, just a locked gate at the start of a dirt road in a North Bend neighborhood. The climb is slow and gradual over a network of dirt roads and into a shadowy forest. It isn’t long before the terrain becomes overrun with slick boulders that cut into a series of switchbacks. Once I huffed and puffed my way back into the trees, pausing periodically to peer through the fog at the town below, the narrow path shot upward as rain began to fall.

In a mile or so, I reached Teneriffe Falls and carefully picked my way over a small hill to catch a glimpse of the thundering falls. It was too steep and slippery for me to get right next to the waterfall but even through the branches, the tumbling water looked magnificent. After another few hundred feet of elevation gain, the rain transformed into snow and the temperature noticeably dropped.

It was about then that the trail disappeared into the snow and I began climbing straight up, navigating over a knifepoint and shooting up the mountain. Slowly. There were several feet of snow on the ground and when I’d lose my footing every once in a while, I’d end up thigh-deep in white powder. Within 500 feet of the summit, we began postholing to the point where we considered turning around. But we just couldn’t do it, knowing we were so close.

We reached the mountaintop after a little more than two hours. It was the most anticlimactic climbing moment I’ve had. There was nothing to see but white in every direction and I couldn’t even shimmy to the edge and look over due to the possible cornice danger. So I skirted to a ridge and looked down a few feet before chalking the day up to a summit rather than scenery and heading back to warmth.

Wallace Falls, Lake kept going and going...

Location: Wallace Falls State Park
Distance: 12 miles

Any hike that starts off with the words of William Wordsworth is up my alley. The trek to Wallace Falls and Lake did not disappoint – even if I was a little uneasy as we approached the trailhead with the high-voltage power lines buzzing loudly above. The path is a popular one, located at a state park in the hamlet of Gold Bar, and is incredibly well-maintained.

The Woody Trail leads through a dank forest with the rushing of the nearby river almost immediately audible. A series of pretty cascades to the left tempt passersby away from the main attraction, the first of which is 1.5 miles up the easy grade. The lower falls offers the closest exposure and it was fascinating to see the water tumble into the pool below and then further narrow through a chasm into the roiling river.

We left the river behind as we began climbing to the middle falls, a mere half mile ahead. The ground was covered with boughs of ferns and moss-shrouded trees towered overhead, keeping the mist and small raindrops to a minimum. The middle falls was by far the best show. At 265 feet, it could be seen even from the parking lot and beckons to those who might contemplate stopping at the lower cascade. The overlook was drenched but provided spectacular views.

After the impressive show put on by the middle falls, reaching the lower falls was a bit anti-climatic. The last 500 feet became steeper as we climbed but the upper falls was even less impressive than the lower. We headed back down the muddy path, veering slightly to the left at a junction to pick up the Railroad Grade for a change of scenery.

I shouldn’t have looked at the map. It told me that Wallace Lake was a mere 2.5 miles beyond that. And with little hesitation, we turned back up the slope and wound our way through an increasingly damp forest, crossed a DNR road and carefully picked our way across deep mud puddles before reaching the still lake.

It was hard to get a good glimpse of at first. Soggy logs and leaves blocked my view as I stood on the bridge craning my neck. But a quick walk along the gravel path led me to a clearing where I could stand in the goop and see the raindrops hitting the water, disturbing the previous stillness. Well worth an extra five miles, if you ask me.

All lakes in winter are the same

I selected Talapus Lake because my guide book dubbed it “most difficult.” I anticipated a thigh-burning trek uphill where I could enjoy a snowy forest and challenging workout. The difficult I hadn’t intended (or desired) was another go at route-finding.

The forest road leading to the trailhead hadn’t been plowed so we parked on the side and walked the last two miles to a wooden board displaying a map of the area. Since the trail to Talapus Lake is only 7 miles roundtrip (including the hike from our car), I held out hope that we could push on and check out Ollalie Lake as well. Several feet of pristine powder covered the trail but we followed the creek and gazed at how much snow had accumulated on the branches. It doesn’t appear many people wander this route in the winter.

Since a storm was predicted to roll in this afternoon, and with the whiteout at Muir fresh in our minds, we tied markers to tree limbs and trunks to ensure we could find our way back if the weather turned. Before long, the trail was invisible and we were guessing which direction to go. Remembering the guide description, I led us into a valley, quickly past several avalanche slopes and tried to stick to the icy creek’s side as we navigated.

When the snow hit thigh-level, I slapped on my snowshoes and pitied my friend’s chocolate Labrador Retriever that was practically buried as he struggled to keep up. It was a relief when we came across a sign nailed to a tree, urging us on to the lake. Within a quarter mile, we found ourselves staring out at the iced over lake nestled in the valley. All lakes look the same in the winter, and this trip reminded me of why I turned from hiking to climbing this season: better scenery.

Placid beach

State parks in Washington provide little opportunity for serious hiking or climbing, but they’re just right for leisurely strolls. I was on the Key Peninsula for a story and had some time to kill while waiting for a woman to return to her Lakebay home (futilely, as it turned out) so I moseyed down to Joemma Beach, which was within a block of the waterfront house.

It was a rare sunny day and the water was cool and calm, disturbed only by an occasional ripple from a pair of brown geese paddling by. The 122-acre marine park features big, eroding hillsides, a thin swath of both pebble and sand shoreline and hazy views of peaks in the distance. Standing on the pier – where many apparently come for crabbing – was an awfully pleasant way to pass the time.