|
Loowit
Trail, Mt. St. Helens |
|
As I pondered what the theme for this trip would be, or rather the reason, it occurred to me that there wasn't such a thing, at least, not this time. I sit here, now fully hydrated, three days later and ten pounds heavier, and I think of the why. The goals I had this year were being checked off quickly. Indeed, these were the benchmarks that I sought to find out more about my own self. Things that only my closest companions would understand. Things that I wanted to complete to unlock who I was. I knew this journey around the mountain would be harder than the last. Not because of the weather, or because of the washouts, or because of the stomach bug given to me by my daughter, but because I was in chase with myself from my last trip. This trip was simply to test if I had grown better as the trail had gown worse and to what proportion.
It started like many of the others, but with a few major differences. My pack's base weight was six and a half pounds, it was going to be over 85 degrees, and the washouts had me in a bit of a funk. Also, I know from experience, going clockwise around Helens is much harder than the direction opposite which I will explain.
Starting off at the June Lake trailhead was a blessing as the forest service finally rebuilt the road. The rumors were an estimated 22 million to repair the road, but I, along with may others in the hiking community, wondered whose pockets all the extra millions were lining. Nevertheless, the road, once again, led me to the June Lake trailhead where I reminisced about many past trips. Heck, my first overnighter was here at the lake way back in 2003. I stomped my way up the trail, enjoying the added views from results of the rains in 2006, soon meeting the junction with the Loowit.
The day was magnificent, but warming rapidly. I reminded myself to drink, even if I was not thirsty, and gulped down a pint of liquid before entering the blast area.
Right from the get go the lahars started. I hopped my way over while gawking at the scenery, reminding myself to look or hop, but not both at once.
Soon enough I came upon Chocolate Falls and wondered how many times I have taken this picture. I watched the falls as I let the warming, but still-crisp morning air cool my heating body. The water coming from the Swift glacier was flowing far earlier than I had ever witnessed, but I thought this a good omen as it meant more possible water sources than the last trip.
Just before the climb up Monitor Ridge, I spotted a Goldenrod Crab Spider sunning himself, or guarding an egg sack. I took a couple minute breather as I watched him do nothing.
A few minutes was all it took as I cooled, feeling strong again for the climb. There were a lot of snowfields still lingering and I took full advantage to fill my water bladder with the snow/ice. Drinking the now-ice-cold liquid gave me a nearly instant boost of energy, making me forget the rigors that were heading my way. Setting out, I almost stepped on a large toad and promptly moved him into the shade. Seeing his satin sheen body nearly void of moisture made me feel pity, for nature is harsh. But it also reminded me I would not be far behind the toad if I did not drink enough. The day was getting hotter by the minute.
I left Monitor Ridge behind and worked my way over another lahar. I stopped long enough to apply a thick layer of sunscreen before setting off. Even though I do not burn easily, the sun was nearly overhead and would have burned me soon enough.
Crossing more snowfields, I greedily ate while filling my water bladder with ice, turning the water in the bag to slush.
I down climbed one of the more difficult washes that I remembered and thought it not any more worse than the last time. As soon as I thought that a worry came over me. I was close to The Blue. As I approached Blue's bisection of the trail, I remembered about my campsite from 2006. I wondered if it was still there and made my way up the mounds of ash to find out. I smiled as it was right where I left it, albeit a bit more vertical along it's edge. What used to be 60 degrees is now vertical for the first 30 feet.
I bushwhacked down and down and down some more, eventually finding where I gave up in 2007 and had a sit. I felt good, but slightly overheated as any effort now meant building more heat than one could dissipate. A few minutes of a semi-cool breeze led me to shoulder my pack and thump my way through the saplings, looking for the illusive ribbon that marked a safe passage to Blue's opposite side.
Ribbon found, I down-climbed my way into the canyon and up the other side. A half hour slog saw me back to the Loowit where I slowly plodded my way up and over Crescent Ridge before stumbling my heat-weakened body down to the Toutle. A quick down-climb offered the reward of cool water to gulp and a head to dunk. I drank one liter. Then I drank another. As I sat there like a bloated pig. My stomach hurt as the water wasn't going anywhere, hence, it wasn't getting absorbed back into my body. Heat exhaustion had set in, but I was not worried as it was cooler here in Toutle's canyon, offering a steady breeze, and only four in the afternoon with lots time for rest.
I laid out my bed for the night on a soft, sandy beach before turning my back on the sun and writing in my journal. I did not write long before I started feeling better. When one does not hurt, one regains the consciousness of those things around him like odd plants with berries of some type growing within it's leaves being held with fingers that have been digging for traction in ash and pumice.
The sun finally dipped below my canyon's rim and I felt good enough to make a pot of couscous. I washed it down with more cold water from the river before following it all up with a shot, then two, then three, of whiskey.
It took a long time for the whiskey to warm my tummy and calm my frazzled mind and body. But, eventually, it did, just as the sun was starting to fade. I laid back on my bivy sack and stared up at the sky wondering which stars would be the first to play their show for me tonight. I was no longer worried about tomorrow, no longer worried about how I would get out of this sand pit. Just as I laid back a helicopter swooped overhead just clearing the bench above me. He circled me three times as I could only scowl. What was his problem, I wondered, as I was camping outside of the restricted area. I wondered if he thought I was in trouble with the red bivy and all. The circling man went away, the starts came out with the big dipper directly overhead, and the moon, although never seen, lit up the side of my canyon, reflecting the trees along the opposing ridge. I drifted into dreamland.
I woke up to sunlight, but my watch told the story of five thirty. I though for sure it would be darker than this and quickly packed up in ten minutes. I bagged more water for the massive slog out of the canyon. I scrambled my way, sometimes using all limbs to keep from falling right back down, to gain the bench below the final push to the canyon's upper edge.
I was sweating profusely during my hour long scramble, but finally was able to see the fruits of my labor. I looked down from where I came.
This was the spot I wanted to get to. This was the heart of devastation. I knew once I got here, I would have some fairly easy miles in front of me to make up some time. The day was already heating up, but I still took the time to gaze.
The lush, green grass and brush, splattered with Lupine, slowly devouring the bleached skeletons of once great trees, threw off the most beautiful of contrasts.
The washes I had to climb in and out of were easy compared to Blue and the Toutle and I was able to think. I walked along, retracing my steps of the past. But at the same time, forming new ones that would lead me to a better existence. Or so I thought. I had not remembered many details until I arrived at these places.
I was nearing the main blast area where Helens spewed her guts. Again another strange contrast poured out in front of me. The soil, not much more than ash and rock, with the heat of the morning, provided welcome flashbacks of Southern California and the PCT, yet, I was surrounded by vast fields of greens, reds, and purples.
I reached an area I believe is called Sasquatch Steps. I am not sure why they call it this. I would think a more appropriate name would be Rock Alley, or Twisted Ankle Valley, or Break Your Frigging Neck Plateau. Really, it wasn't that bad. It was just a pain in the ass to walk through.
The heat-related stress my body was feeling the day before was returning. I drank copious mounts of water, trying to stave off the exhaustion, but the washes, down-climbing, and rock hopping, made it a challenge.
I was approaching the northeastern flanks of the mountain now with only a few challenges awaiting me. One was the heat. It was getting downright hot as the waves reflecting off the white, fluffy pumice, heating my water, making it not so pleasant to drink. My other foes were Windy Pass and two major canyons I had read were really gutted and had stopped hikers dead in their tracks. Of course, the NFS said the same thing about the Blue and Toutle Canyons, but those were exaggerated.
I could not break myself from thinking I was not heading in the right direction. I had two NFS maps showing me where all the recent trails were, where the restricted zones were, and where the major crossings were. So far, I had only used one of my maps, but whipped out the other as I neared Spirit Lake. I did not remember ever coming this close to the lake, but soon found a sign indicating Windy Pass was 3.5 miles.
Throwing out an 'F' bomb just did not seem proper for the amount of peace offered up here, but I did it anyway simply because I was pissed off. I walked up to a nice couple leaning against a sign pointing the way to Windy Ridge. This was the same place that stopped Devin and I from riding our bikes here back in 2003. The problem was, during my last trip, I never passed this spot coming down from Windy Pass and new I had derailed from the Loowit.
I followed the trail leading away from the Windy Ridge junction for several miles, up and down, over washes, to another junction saying that Loowit Falls was only a mile and half and that it's direction was, in fact, the Loowit Trail itself. I let another 'F' bomb go off before huffing my way up to the steep switchbacks that led to the pass. The trail here sucked. As much as I dislike side-hilling, I dislike it more when there is a lot of vertical land at the edge of a pathetic path that sloped away from the sides of a wall. One slip meant something very bad was going to happen. And the angle of the path meant slipping was a very real possibility. Carefully, I made my way up before showing the slides all my gratitude for the inconvenience they provided my trip along the northeastern flanks, and for the incredible job the NFS did in marking the trail that led me miles astray.
There was no doubt about it, I was fried. I said hi to a few mountain bikers before watching them fade out of site. One kept taking pictures of me, but I did not care. I was a sweaty, stinky, semi-lethargic, sauntering mess, and I did not care. I passed the Ape Canyon tail junction and scooted my way up Helen's east flanks. I was making good time, but the heat was wearing me down so very quickly. The washout at Pine Creek was almost laughable. It was exaggerated, just like the Toutle and Blue, but when I approached the Muddy River, my confidence was smashed to bits.
The canyon, now wider and braided, was nearly vertical for the first ten feet as far as the eye could see in either direction. If it was stable at all, I could simply use the rocks to down climb, but this crap was literally falling as I stood. In fact, there was a slide of significant size that happened just two minutes after I had arrived, filling the entire canyon, and my eyes, in an ashy haze, lasting for 15 minutes. I tight roped my way up and down the edge, looking for a spot and finally found it. A half hour of careful foot and hand placement, along with a lot of sliding, made it exhausting. You see, I was at the lowest spot available. If I lost control while down climbing, I would have slid down the wall to it's angled bottom, then over the edge of a large waterfall. The floods of 2006 took a massive amount of debris, just below the bottom of the picture, creating a falls and making the canyon wall over a hundred feet higher.
Making it past the canyon gave me no reason to celebrate. I was done. I sat in the shade of a small tree, hurting more than when I walked. My gut was sloshing water that would not get absorbed, my feet were sore, and I was just too hot to enjoy the tremendous beauty that surrounded me. I stumbled on, back to the lava, back to the June Lake junction, completely exhausted.
It has been five days and I am finally writing this. If someone enjoys the pictures, then I feel that at least the trip was a success. I have always said that I learn something on every trip and this one was no different. I am fully recovered from the fatigue, but it took five days. I have no idea how I could have made the trip any better or easier other than hiking it in the opposite direction. Heck, even Muddy Canyon had a trail going up the opposite side I had to slide down. Maybe more salt in my snacks (I lost 10 pounds this trip after drinking 10 liters of water on this day alone). Who knows. But I have come to learn that time will bleach the stains of bad experiences from my memories, making even this trip one of my most fond.
|
