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Hike to Grand Lake
Aug. 24th, 2010 08:35 pmI made it out of the wilderness in one piece. That was a crazy trail. I went with my dad and two of his old hiking buddies. (There's a bunch of them, collectively known as The Feet.) My dad initially objected when his friends suggested Badger Valley. Dad pointed out that we'd have to do the hard part (going uphill) last. As it turns out, it was more complicated than that. We had to drive up to Hurricane Ridge (over 5000 feet high) and then out to Obstruction Point. From there, we climbed Lillian Ridge, (note the going up to go down part) and then down a super steep, super annoying trail that went from traversing an incredibly fine talus slope (the trail wasn't flat side to side, either, it went with the slope) to a ridiculously narrow, rocky, winding thing that was probably the steepest trail I've ever been on. But finally we hit bottom, at Grand Lake. The lake was lovely, and not crowded at all. You have to register for one of the seven well-spaced campsites, so even though they were all full, it was like being alone.
The Feet were pooped, so I trekked the .6 miles up to Moose Lake by myself. That lake's a bit nicer, but the spaces filled up quickly. It was marshy and open, and had a hell of a lot of fearless marmots. I got back to camp at twilight, and was too tired to wait for the stars. When the moon rose, though, it made the tent glow like daytime.
We came out a different route, (via Badger Valley) which was longer, but supposedly more gentle. This required us to go DOWN to the creek. The trail was steep and narrow, and just went lower and lower. I was annoyed it didn't just go along the valley edge. At the bottom, Dad had to get down a slick, steep rock, and fell. (with a steep drop to a raging torrent at his head.) Nothing like watching your dad fall in slow motion and worry about how the hell they'll drag him out of this wilderness valley. But he suffered only a scrape, and we were off again. Once we crossed the creek, the climb really wasn't that bad, except for a few spots. We traversed a couple lovely meadows. Our hiking buddies, travelling a little ways behind us, saw a mama bear and her cubs. I saw a beautiful transparent butterfly which had the kindness to hold still while I fumbled with my stupid camera that's lousy at macro shots. The end of the trail, switchbacking up a talus slope up the valley headwall. It was short, but pretty darned steep and exposed. Thankfully, there was a bit of a breeze.
It was a lovely hike, but I didn't like the up and down-ness of it all. I probably wouldn't go back, except to climb to the top of Lililan Ridge, which had some astonishing views of Mount Olympus and the heart of the Olympics.
Once we got in the car and started driving off, I smelled the sea. Why was that, I wondered? Then I realized I wasn't smelling the salty sea air, I was smelling the salty sweat of four people who'd just climbed a mountain. Eventually, we forwent A/C in favor of fresh air.
We ran into my dad's neighbors at the Hurricane Ridge visitor center! (btw, there's something satisfying about milling around with the billions of tourists at the most popular spot in Olympic National park in hot, sweaty clothes you haven't changed in three days. I felt like I should have my own line at the cafe. "Emergency Cold Drinks For Hot Sweaty Backpackers Here." Seriously, we should have one. Those poor people had to stand in line with me and my ripe bouquet.)
On the way back, we stopped at the Hood Canal Brewery, which is a tradition for The Feet. It was a nice little place, right next to all the brewing equipment. Today, the big warehouse doors were wide open, and it was warm and pleasant. I ordered a water, and had a conversation with the owner about the tragedy that is the disparity between the amount of ciders and beer. The girl behind the counter shared my dislike of beer, and when she made a run to the store, she offered to pick up a soda for me.
I like hiking. You can't really think about anything but the trail when you're on it. If your mind strays, you might snap your ankle in a marmot hole. Most of my troubles are mostly evaporated, I hope, but it's still nice to be able to shove them that much farther away.
eventually, I'll get around to posting pictures, I swear. Especially of that butterfly.
The Feet were pooped, so I trekked the .6 miles up to Moose Lake by myself. That lake's a bit nicer, but the spaces filled up quickly. It was marshy and open, and had a hell of a lot of fearless marmots. I got back to camp at twilight, and was too tired to wait for the stars. When the moon rose, though, it made the tent glow like daytime.
We came out a different route, (via Badger Valley) which was longer, but supposedly more gentle. This required us to go DOWN to the creek. The trail was steep and narrow, and just went lower and lower. I was annoyed it didn't just go along the valley edge. At the bottom, Dad had to get down a slick, steep rock, and fell. (with a steep drop to a raging torrent at his head.) Nothing like watching your dad fall in slow motion and worry about how the hell they'll drag him out of this wilderness valley. But he suffered only a scrape, and we were off again. Once we crossed the creek, the climb really wasn't that bad, except for a few spots. We traversed a couple lovely meadows. Our hiking buddies, travelling a little ways behind us, saw a mama bear and her cubs. I saw a beautiful transparent butterfly which had the kindness to hold still while I fumbled with my stupid camera that's lousy at macro shots. The end of the trail, switchbacking up a talus slope up the valley headwall. It was short, but pretty darned steep and exposed. Thankfully, there was a bit of a breeze.
It was a lovely hike, but I didn't like the up and down-ness of it all. I probably wouldn't go back, except to climb to the top of Lililan Ridge, which had some astonishing views of Mount Olympus and the heart of the Olympics.
Once we got in the car and started driving off, I smelled the sea. Why was that, I wondered? Then I realized I wasn't smelling the salty sea air, I was smelling the salty sweat of four people who'd just climbed a mountain. Eventually, we forwent A/C in favor of fresh air.
We ran into my dad's neighbors at the Hurricane Ridge visitor center! (btw, there's something satisfying about milling around with the billions of tourists at the most popular spot in Olympic National park in hot, sweaty clothes you haven't changed in three days. I felt like I should have my own line at the cafe. "Emergency Cold Drinks For Hot Sweaty Backpackers Here." Seriously, we should have one. Those poor people had to stand in line with me and my ripe bouquet.)
On the way back, we stopped at the Hood Canal Brewery, which is a tradition for The Feet. It was a nice little place, right next to all the brewing equipment. Today, the big warehouse doors were wide open, and it was warm and pleasant. I ordered a water, and had a conversation with the owner about the tragedy that is the disparity between the amount of ciders and beer. The girl behind the counter shared my dislike of beer, and when she made a run to the store, she offered to pick up a soda for me.
I like hiking. You can't really think about anything but the trail when you're on it. If your mind strays, you might snap your ankle in a marmot hole. Most of my troubles are mostly evaporated, I hope, but it's still nice to be able to shove them that much farther away.
eventually, I'll get around to posting pictures, I swear. Especially of that butterfly.
