Backpacking Cherry
Several months ago, I bought a backpacking pack, despite never having been backpacking. Lee and I were eyeing a few weekends for a short trip, but the timing or weather just never worked out, so the pack sat in the closet for six months, unused.
I was stoked to finally get some backpacking in on this trip, and we got permits for Mt. Margaret wilderness for the week after we picked up the camper in early June. Sadly, like most of our other plans so far on this trip, snow got in the way, so we had to cancel the permits. Then, I thought maybe we could do something in Olympic National Park, but those routes, too, were buried under snow. We have sleeping bags rated for freezing temps, but our tent is not meant for snow camping, and our sleeping pads aren’t well insulated. Frankly, we don’t think we’ll do enough winter camping to justify spending hundreds of dollars on a new tent and sleeping pads, so we nixed our plans and set our sights on lower elevation.
The problem with lower elevations is that they’re often boring. I like taking a walk in the woods as much as the next person, but let’s be real - I’m mostly in it for the views. Lakes and rivers here are still too cold to swim, and the more varied terrain is all up high. The thought of trekking with 40 lbs strapped to my back just to look at miles and miles of trees wasn’t very appealing, and neither was postponing all backpacking plans until mid/late July when the snow finally melts. Frustrated, I began searching for recommended routes in northwestern Washington, where we’ve been stationed for the past couple weeks. I found one, Park Butte, that was nearby, only 8 miles round-trip, has 360-degree views of Mt. Baker, the Cascades, and Puget Sound, and if you got there early enough, you could nab a fire lookout at the top to sleep in, which solved our snow camping issues. It seemed doable, even under snow, so we decided to go for it.
We made it about a mile into the hike before the snow got to Lee; because of his SSCD, bone conduction noises that most of us don’t even notice are thunderously loud for him, so the crunching beneath our feet was murder on his ears. Rather than suffering through it, we both decided it would be better if he ducked out, which left me with a choice: I was carrying the bear can and he the tent; if I carried on, I’d have to take both, which I didn’t really have room for, and I was already pushing my weight capacity. But I had been looking forward to this and reasoned it was only four miles, so I said “fuck it” and rearranged my pack, strapping my sleeping back to the outside so I could fit everything. Lee and I bid farewell, and I carried on, solo. I tried not to overthink the fact that this was my first time backpacking and that I was alone, or that I’d have a good ~11 hours to entertain myself, alone, at the top of this hike before going to bed. I focused instead on my goal, and trudged on.
The first ~two miles of the hike were snowy and steep in parts with a difficult river crossing, but overall fine. The latter half of the hike was where things got tough. The trail opened up into giant, wide-open snow fields. The trail had been easy enough to follow in the snow before, since it was heavily trafficked and wound through trees that intuitively made a path. The snow fields, by contrast, were massive and aimless. Footprints led off in all directions, so the only way to navigate was by holding my phone out while slipping and sliding up steep, slushy inclines. More than once, I needed to put my phone away so I could have both hands on my poles, and this usually led me off trail and forced me to backtrack. I tried to anchor to distant objects, like a tree or peak, and use those to guide me in a straight line so I wouldn’t keep losing the trail, but this had mixed success.
At last, I emerged around a corner, and I saw my destination ahead of me: perched high up on a rocky butte was the fire lookout. I checked the map, and it didn’t look like I had that much farther to go, but looks can be deceiving. The final leg of the hike was an arduous climb, taking me nearly an hour to go a single mile. By now, the weight of my pack was taking its toll, and my calves and glutes seared as I jammed my toes into the incline, creating makeshift stairs out of the snow. I kept my eyes on the prize, willing myself forward.
Drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, I hauled myself up the final climb and got to the stairs of the lookout, where I was greeted by a couple, Charlotte and Taylor, who had arrived a few hours earlier. Fortunately for me, they invited me to share the lookout with them for the night, meaning I didn’t have to camp in the snow with my ill-equipped gear. I consider myself doubly lucky, because they proved to be great company. We spent the afternoon chatting, realizing we had a surprising amount in common. Charlotte and I grew up a few towns apart in Massachusetts, share the same birthday, and she worked at the same company at the same time as one of my dear friends. She and Taylor had recently transitioned out of full-time van life after maintenance issues slowed them down, so they had fantastic tips from the places they’ve been, many of which Lee and I will also be visiting. As we chatted, someone would say something trivial, like how we are currently rewatching every episode of Seinfeld or were at a specific concert, and the other would chime in with “us TOO!” I had been worried about boredom in the afternoon, but Charlotte and Taylor helped stave that off. The views didn’t hurt, either; the lookout, originally built for fire spotting, offered 360-degree views that included Puget Sound, Mt. Rainier, and close-ups of Mt. Baker where we could see skiers setting up camp to prepare for their 4am wakeup calls to summit at sunrise. This was probably the best bang-for-your-buck hike I’ve ever done; the snow made it a challenge, but in dry conditions it would have been a perfect, short, beginner backpacker route with some of the most beautiful vistas I have ever seen.
Shortly before sunset, three more hikers arrived to join us for the night. In my second bout of luck that day, they were from BC, where Lee and I are headed next, and provided stellar recommendations. I’m not usually one for chatting up strangers, but I envy people who manage to make connections with people, especially while traveling. I vowed to be friendlier on this trip, and to see new people as an opportunity, not a risk. When Charlotte and Taylor encouraged me to stay at the lookout with them, I almost said no; I didn’t want to impose on their time together, I worried that it might be awkward, and I feared that they only suggested it out of politeness, and would privately curse me for accepting. I said yes partially because I didn’t really have another good camping option, but another part of me reminded myself that this was an opportunity to be more open-minded.
The result? I met two awesome new people with similar interests, and spent an afternoon and evening laughing with them. I got insider tips not just from them, but also from the Canadian hikers, including some spots known only to locals. An overnight trip that could have been intimidating to do alone ended up being a rewarding and doable challenge that reinvigorated my confidence. This was timely; as I’ve gotten older, I notice that I’m slower to try new things and step outside my comfort zone. We’re heading up to BC next and beelining it to Whistler for world-class mountain biking, something that is definitively not in my comfort zone. This hike was what I needed to amp up my excitement to tackle bigger challenges these next few weeks.
