A stroll through the Olympics

Distance: 14 miles

Elevation gain: 2,300 feet

Location: The Olympics

Getting up to the Olympic Peninsula is tough because it’s at least a two hour drive and most of the worthwhile hikes are near the top of the peninsula, tacking another few hours on. Exploring Duckabush River, however, seemed more than feasible.

The first two miles were a breeze, keeping us close to the churning water as it tumbled over boulders and crashed through clefts. The path jutted through second-growth fir and led us into the Brothers Wilderness area that looked like a mossy wonderland.

The elevation all seemed to happen at once in a series of tight switchbacks that took us under giant cedars and firs and brought us, at 3.5 miles, to a ledge with the first broad view of the valley. We could see clear over to the Cascades and spotted St. Peters Dome.

We continued on to Big Hump, which was far more fun in name than in reality. Still feeling energetic, my hiking partners and I continued on to Five Mile Camp for lunch and a refreshing rest beside the rapids. Then we kept pushing on through old growth until we hit the boundary for the Olympic National Park, which had to be quitting time for us because dogs are not allowed and we had a four-legged friend in the pack.

Saddling up Eagle Peak

Distance: 7 miles

Elevation gain: 2,950 feet

Location: Mount Rainier National Park

Snow still blanketed the majority of paths in the Puget Sound region but I thought I might luck out with Eagle Peak & Saddle. It was a fool’s errand.

The hike starts in the Longmire area of the park, just behind the employee’s headquarters and over the Nisqually River bridge. The scenery is fairly standard for a forest but the huge patches of snow on the ground brought a sense of trepidation.

Route-finding in snow is always a challenge and I wasn’t feeling up to par today. We kept walking though, shoving markers in the compacted snow so we could find our way back to the trailhead.

It wasn’t long before we lost any sense of the trail and scoured the hillside for any clue as to which direction to head. There was a mini debate over where to cross the creek and I almost had him convinced to just leap over the frigid water when he spotted a small board crossing.

Our elation at rediscovering the path was short-lived. We made another mile or so before throwing our hands up and deciding to retreat without seeing the saddle.

It helped when a ranger told us only two people had made it to the saddle this winter… but only a little.

Attempting Mount Adams

There was not a good forecast for Mount Adams but we packed high hopes with our gear and set off for the long drive to the state’s third highest mountain at 12,276 feet.

A never-ending snow season meant the white powder had yet to melt and we had to add an additional four miles onto our approach. We parked the Range Rover on the side of the road and began pulling our stuff together. This was by far the heaviest pack I’d attempted to break my back but even the instant pain couldn’t damper my excitement.

The first four miles were relatively flat, winding through the forest and a meadow before we turned a corner and gasped at the massive snow-capped peak. The sky was a brilliant blue, the snow was crystal white and the air was crisp. We kept our fingers crossed that the weather would remain and kept pushing uphill on the South Spur route (the most common climbing route).

It was slow going since many members of our party kept different paces. Our goal was to reach the Lunch Counter to camp that night in a walled-off area of rock so we wouldn’t be as exposed to the whipping winds. But after about seven miles or so, democracy took over and all but two voted to stop early for the night rather than press on.

We threw up our tents just below the false summit and started melting water to replenish our dehydrated systems. Even from this lower elevation, the views were lovely. Several other famous peaks in the Cascades were easily spotted and Adams itself stood tall and proud.

The sun set early, stealing the brightness from the sky but adding pink and bluish hues on the horizon.

When our alarms beeped at 3 a.m., the winds had picked up significantly and a storm had settled squarely above us. To my great disappointment, the team leader’s sensibility reigned and we trudged back toward the car with our noses freezing, snow hiding our tracks and our pride just a little bruised.

Granite Mountain in all its glory

Distance: 8 miles

Elevation gain: 3,800 feet

Location: Snoqualmie

Guide books billed Granite Mountain as one of the most heavily traveled paths in the corridor, but that must be in warmer weather because there weren’t many others today crazy enough to trudge up a thigh-burning trail still covered in snow.

The trail climbs 3,800 feet in just over four miles, starting out in a lush forest that wastes no time ascending 800 feet in the first mile. It was pretty soon after we went right at a fork (the other direction goes to Pratt Lake) that we found the first snow field. We dug out our axes and crossed with no problem. The switchbacks made the trek a tad steeper, we traversed an avalanche chute and it wasn’t long before we stopped to put on crampons.

A heavy fog rolled in as we slowly moved up the snowfield, eying the gullies and trying to determine the best direction to head. We chose to hang right – until we found ourselves standing atop a cornice. We quickly backed away and snaked our way across the ridge and through a bowl until we spotted the old fire lookout in the distance.

After a quick debate as to how long it would take us to climb the remaining half mile or so (I was already running late for work), we pulled out our poles and carefully made our way up yet another avalanche chute. It was less than 15 minutes before we found ourselves at the base of the lookout, though it was locked and we couldn’t get in to enjoy the 360-degree views others boast about seeing.

The hike down was much quicker (yay for glissading!) and we descended in about two hours – just enough to enjoy a panoramic view of the valleys before hurrying back to Tacoma.

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.