Having had this past week off work, it was time to get into the forest and put some miles on my new sandals. I had dehydrated meat and fruit, and prepared enough dry sauce mixes for 9 days in the Olympics. Catching the bus in Aberdeen at 7:45 AM, July 17th, I knew I was on my own until Sunday afternoon on the 25th. This would be my third week-long trek thru the Oly’s, and my 2nd trip up over Low Divide and down the Elwha.Stepping off the bus at Amanda Park around 9:00 AM, I shouldered my 55 pound pack and struck off North along US101 for the North Shore Road. I know that it would have involved less miles and work to get off the bus at South Shore RS, but I wanted to experience the North Shore Road, which I had never been on. The walk along the hiway was boring, of course, but the first few miles along the North Shore Rd was nice, with lot’s of big trees, glimpses of the Lake, Colonel Bob, cute little cabins. I took a break at July Creek CG – it’s now a day use only area. Sitting along the lake shore was nice. I particularly enjoyed the road walk from July Creek to the North Fork of the river. Big Meadows. Washed out bridges. Huge trees. Lunch and a short cat-nap along Big Creek under the bridge was very nice, as was the quick dip in the pool under the bridge. The walk along the gravel section to the North Fork CG rather blistered my feet, tho, and would slow me down the next couple of days.I arrived at the North Fork CG around 6:00 PM. Boy oh boy, was I pooped. A couple of blisters had popped and felt somewhat better, but one hadn’t, and getting that lanced and drained was my top priority – after a dinner of parmesan beef.
(Pssst, SARBAR: thank you for your parmesan cheese sauce recipe. I used powdered whole milk and Kraft parmesan cheese. I then adapted that recipe to make a curry sauce with curry powder and coconut milk powder – both were scrumptious with your recipe for dehydrated ground beef, and the foil-paks of chicken I brought.)Dinner the first night was where the first glimmer that things might not all go according to plan. Digging thru my Garcia Bear Canister, then thru every nook and cranny of my pack, then all my pockets, I realized I had left my spoon behind. Dinner every night would involve a soupy type of dish, and me with no spoon. Fortunately, a family camped in the site next over were prepared to equip an infantry for a month, and had a plastic spoon to give me. I love those strangers, and sent prayers of thanks to the evening sky every night.
The flies and mosquitoes were a bother, but I slathered on the DEET, and made a decent evening for myself with my novel, a mug of hot chocolate, and a bandana for shooing flies away.
In the morning, which was greeted by the most intense chorus of birds I think I have ever heard, I rose, fixed a breakfast of chia seed hot glop and chai tea (chai, honey, powdered coconut milk), packed up my gear, and made to go, leaving my TP out for a quick trip to the crapper as I left.
I made it to Wolf Bar at 10:05, according to my journal, and was to Elip Creek by 1:45. My feet were trashed and I wasn’t making very good time. What was yesterday’s heavy pack had become today’s monstrous burden, and I decided that the best thing to do is recline against a rock alongside the creek and snooze in the sun for an hour. It restored my spirits, but not my speed.
I arrived at Trapper Shelter at 4:20 and figured I may as well stop for the day. I had only done 8 miles, and it took much of the day and all my stamina. I figured that pushing on to Twelve Mile shelter was probably unnecessarily foolish, so I pitched camp near a fire ring behind the shelter. I had stayed at Twelve Mile in ’06 and recalled it with fondness, and was really looking forward to spending another night there.
Altho the bugs were bad, I had an enjoyable evening at Trapper, hobbling to the tiny little creek to fetch pot after pot of water to boil, reading my book, giving my feet a little TLC, and enjoying a dinner of beef curry. I slept really good that night (maybe the percoset helped?), and I can’t really say I recall it getting dark, so I must have fallen asleep around 9:00 PM.
I had spent part of the evening trying to figure out what I was going to do with my tomorrow. I had written in my journal that I could do a dayhike to Low Divide, then turn around and make my slow way out, catch the bus home and call it a wash. I had also contemplated simply stashing my heavy bear cansister, and coming back for a hike to Low Divide in a couple of weeks when my feet had healed.
The morning brought with it an urge to use the very exposed pit toilet, and a dawning horror: I had left my ziploc of double-ply quilted, lovely TP at the NF CG, in the toilet. OMIGOD! How could I do that? Fortunately, I was able to pick a number of nice large leaves along the way to the crapper, and that leaf picking became a morning ritual.
Later that morning, I had thrown all that wussie foolishness about heading home aside and figured I had a week. Even at 8 miles a day, I’d make it to the Elwha RS by the 26th, and could enjoy the scenery along the way. Low Divide was only 8 miles, altho I knew that I would start gaining some elevation once I crossed the river at Sixteen Mile, and it would be a harder day than I had just finished. It was nice to lay around in my sack all morning, not really caring if I went up the trail or down, or anywhere at all, but in the end, my old swede stubbornness set in and I set off up the trail for Low Divide around 12:30 PM.
At 3:30 PM, I stopped to take a break across the river from Sixteen Mile. I simply had to stop and record in my journal my heartbreak over the loss of the Twelve Mile Shelter and camp. Oh, there’s still a camp there, but I didn’t even recognize it! The only way I knew I had arrived there was when I had passed it up and started up the short hill that led away from the shelter. The shelter used to stand just a few feet from the start of the uphill there, but now all I saw was river bar, trees in 4-6′ of gravel, and open forest. What was once a dark and protected little space over the river, full of damp and green and large close trees was now a disaster zone, in comparison. The river had completely removed the shelter. The little spot under the trees I had camped in before was now a rapids. I will always remember that night in 2006 I spent there with fondness.
The river at the Sixteen Mile ford was running in a waist-deep channel, and the ranger I had encountered at Elip, and again at Trapper, had already crossed, and using hand signs and mouthing directions, he sent me back up the trail a few dozen yards, to an old channel the river had carved thru the woods long ago. I followed this in an upstream direction for a few yards, and came upon a much easier ford. If you go, you’ll see a developing bootpath. If I’d had ribbon, I’d have flagged it, but the river will probably drop enough soon to make it unnecessary.
My break over, I slung my pack on my back, and pushed up the hill. I found my energy was improving, despite the increased grade of the trail, and I was surprised by how quickly I made it to the Low Divide Ranger Station. I shrugged my pack off at what I think might be the location of the old chalet, and explored the camping areas a bit, but then decided to head to the last crossing of the Quinault for a campsite I had been to before, right alongside the stream. I was surprised by how much the willow had grown in just four years. In a couple of years, we won’t be enjoying that end of Low Divide as meadow, and many of the views will disappear. The area needs a good strong fire, IMHO.
The sunny warm day retreated to alpenglow on Mt Christie while I heated water for tea and dinner, and took a bath in the creek. The NFQ chattered it’s way into my dreams all night, and the stars were exquisite in their crispness and multitude. I had a wonderful sleep, and awoke the next morning refreshed and in a very chipper mood.
It was a lovely morning in every respect. The morning chorus brought me to conciousness, my bag was warm and toasty, and I was actually comfortable. All was good until I opened my eyes. I have never experienced such blinding pain in my eyes. I could not hold them open. I could not look at anything bright for more than about a quarter second. I couldn’t focus on anything without my eyes involuntarily rolling around in agony. WTF???I pawed my way thru my toiletries bag and found some alcohol swabs to clean my fingers with, and tore the contacts out of my eyes. When that helped only in the most slightly marginal way, I began to feel the first stirrings of panic. What could possibly be wrong with my eyes? I rested my eyes for a couple of hours, just trying very hard to not move them around under their lids, and trying to remain content to just hang out in camp for however long it would take to restore my vision to the point where I could safely make my way down the mountain.
In a couple of hours, things had improved enough that I felt I could move on. It was difficult. Every time I would get into the sun, I would squint and feel like I might lose my balance. I stepped carefully, relied on my walking stick, and made my way past Lakes Margaret and Mary (how gorgeous they are!), and down the Low Divide trail to the Chicago Camp ford. A small troop of boyscouts passed me up – many minutes ahead of their very pooped leaders. They were very excited to get to those very loud Elizabeth Falls. I was sad to disappoint them when they asked if the trail would be going by the falls. I let them know they were just about to a very good viewpoint, but that’s all they were getting.
I forded the knee-deep Elwha @ Chicago just at noon, and enjoyed an hour alongside the river having my lunch of sardines, almonds, dried strawberries, and coconut shreds – the same lunch as every day on this hike. By 7:30 I was at the Hayes River RS, which was shut up tight, the campsites all unoccupied. I chose a spot right next to the river, and set up camp. What a magical area! The big tall trees, the green carpet, the chattering river.
I had injured my foot again, and was a little worried about it as I washed up for the night. I had stubbed my left foot against a root that stuck out into the trail, and my little toe took the brunt of the impact. Hours later, as I am preparing for bed, it is swollen, in pain, and has a very large hematoma forming on top of it. It is very difficult to move or to put weight on. I worry that it’s broken, but I’d been walking on it for hours now and hadn’t died or anything, so I filed it away as a non-show-stopper, and went to bed.
The next morning was sublime. I so enjoyed laying in my bag, listening to the river, sipping chai, soaking up the green surroundings, reading my book, journalling, and basically doing nothing. I was the only soul in the whole forest, as far as I could tell. At one point, I notice that my little Ti pot has about 1/2 cup of cooled, boiled river water in it, and nothing had settled to the bottom yet, so it must’ve been rather silt-free. An idea occurred to me, and upended that pot of water slowly over my eyeball. The relief was immediate! Whatever speck of dust was in my eye had been washed out, and while it still hurt, I felt it might start healing now.
I hit the trail at 10 or so, eyeball washed, feet taped up, pack on the back, and spirits in good, high places. Sunday, I had done 8 miles, yesterday 12… could I do the 16 to Lillian River? It’s all downriver, right? How hard can it be?
Well, let me tell you. The Elwha is magical in more than one way. Did you know it flows [i]uphill[/i]? True fact, that – look it up :clown: . Those of you who have hiked out the Elwha know that it is twice as much climbing as it is dropping. I don’t begin to understand the physics of it, but I could feel the truthiness of it.
I was very thankful to reach the top of the grade leading downstream toward Lillian River, and was eager to get out of the sun and matchstick timber into the Lillian River canyon where it was darker and cooler and sheltered by big timber. My eye was improving, but still very light sensitive.
I love Lillian. The huge trees. The huge cedar stumps (logging happened there, obviously, but who did it? when? for what?, I see no remains of structures), the courting ouzels on the rock in front of me, the cool breeze wafting down the canyon.
In my journal, while reclined against a log just a couple of feet from the river’s edge, I wrote, “When things started to go south, , and I realized I wasn’t going to make my full itinerary, I was a bit disappointed. But I’ve enjoyed this. Taking it slow and sleeping in – that’s what vacation is supposed to be.
Now only 8 miles from the Elwha RS, and a telephone (I thought), I made plans to spend the next day exploring the Humes’ Ranch and Goblin Gate, which I had not been to before.
The next day, Thursday, saw me breaking camp around 11:00 and making the climb up out of the Lillian canyon. It didn’t take long to make it to Michael’s cabin and down to Humes’ Ranch. I was in dayhike territory here, and I encountered plenty of people, but not enough to feel crowded. My feet were much improved, even my toe, and I was much more confident about my speed and gait. I arrived at the Goblin Gate around 2:15 and was floored by the sight in front of me. The river literally stops dead, backs up a few feet, and makes a mad dash thru a most narrow defile, roaring and hissing the entire time.
My time here was shared by a family group of an older gentleman, his two sons, and their two boys. All of them seemed to be having a good time but one of the young boys. He looked more comfortable in front of a Wii than at the end of his walking stick. After a few family shots, he quietly announced to nobody in particular, that he was heading back. I don’t think anyone really noticed, as the picture snapping and posing continued for about another 5 minutes. As I’m heaving my pack up on my back to head up that brutal climb out of the Goblin Gate, Grandpa heads up the trail rapidly. I suspect they had discovered that one of their party had left. I can only imagine there was a moment of panic, what with the river and rocks and sheer drops of the vantage point.
I did my best to keep up with Grandpa up the trail. I thought that maybe his age would make up for my packweight, but he was a fit dude, and booked right up that trail, leaving me in his dust. I topped out about 10 minutes after he did, the rest of his unburdened, dayhiking family passing me up cheerfully and handily shortly before the top. We exchanged pleasantries again, and I continued down the Elwha trail as they rested at the junction. I felt so old and out of shape just then.
A short bit later, I headed down an overlook trail, but when I hit the 2nd switchback headed downhill, I gave up and decided to come back as a dayhiker on another day. I’d had enough climbing up this trip down the Elwha, and was eager to get to the RS and telephone to check in with home – I was two days late in checking in, after all.
I arrived at the Elwha RS at 6ish, and found that the road was torn up in front of the RS, and the telephone was no more. The camp hosts at Altair and Elwha CGs told me the phone company yanked it a couple of years ago due to lack of use. Thankfully, I had a cellphone on me, thrown in as an afterthought. Could I get bars? I did, and was happy to hear home on the other end of the line.
“How were the hot springs?”
“I dunno, I haven’t made it there yet. I don’t think I will. Don’t think I’ll be making it up Hurricane Ridge, either.”
“Oh. I had imagined you sitting in the hot pools these last two days”
“Yeah, me too, among other things, among so many other things. Are you still picking me up in PA on Sunday afternoon?”
“If you want.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I want, I want you to pick me up right now, but can you come get me tomorrow? I think I am done hiking.”
And at that moment, I realized I was done. My 8 day trip was supposed to have involved a full day of rest at the hot springs, and a trip up Wolf Creek Trail, across Klahane Ridge to Lake Angeles, and down to PA. I could still do one or the other – either the hot springs or Klahane Ridge, but I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do anymore climbing.
The campground hosts were still at the RS when I got off the phone. Is there a site open at one of their campgrounds? (yes, of course.) Do I have to pay if I am a hiker? (yes, of course. $12!) Oh, do I have enough money? No, I see I don’t… will you take my $8 I had saved for my post hike cheeseburger, and call it good for one night? (Yes, of course!)
Alright, I said, and heaved my pack up on my back once more, headed down the pavement for Elwha CG. When I arrive, I hear children yelling, screaming, and babies bawling. Adults are making even more foul noise with radios and generators. I can smell the perfume, Irish Spring soap and Tide detergent, and pasta boiling from the road.
Not for me, so very not for me. Deciding to continue down the road until I find a nice place along the river, I am just about past the exit of the CG, when the host drives back by in his little Cushman go-getter. “Not staying with us tonight?” he asks. “No”, I reply, “It’s a little too crowded for my blood. I’m gonna find a spot down by the river.” He then informs me very seriously that overnight camping along the river in the front-country is prohibited. My mind spins. Of course it is, I thought to myself.
Well, I didn’t find a fishing trail just down the road, and I didn’t explore it. Nor did I find a suitable place to roll out my groundcloth and bag, and fix a dinner, and spend a sleepless night right at the river’s edge. I didn’t wake at first light, heat some water for a sponge bath, pack up without breakfast, and hit the road before 6:00 AM. If anyone had been around, they wouldn’t have had any cause to think I illegally occupied a 4’x8′ space of front-country for 10 hours – because I didn’t, of course.
The meadow at Madison Falls Trailhead (where the tollbooth is) was gorgeous with fog laying low between the majestic maples. Baldy Ridge was catching the morning sun, and the snow-clad peaks visible up the valley were so crisp and sparkly. I hung out at the picnic area for a couple of hours, thankful for the TP at the outhouse, and fixing up a few cups of tea while slowly wandering around watching the sun crawl down the mountainside.
Around 7:00, the firsts guests and workers of the day started to file into the park, and a short while later I headed down the road, figuring I would meet my ride along the way to the hiway.
Along the way, I began to chastise myself for not completing my hike. What exactly had my goals been? To hit every destination on my itinerary? Or were my goals to spend a whole bunch of days in the woods, hiking, breathing the fresh air, enjoying the solitude and sleeping under the stars? Had I failed or succeeded?
When I saw my ride come over the rise in the road, and I felt a big joy rise up in me that I would be home in a couple of hours, I had my answer. It was a success, every over-weighted, blistered step of it, and I was glad to be done.
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