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Murdock Lakes, Olympic National Park |
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Over the past months, I think I have forgotten how to savor life. Although I am enjoying every facet of it, and admire all my accomplishments, I haven't been living deliberately and have forgotten certain principals that I once clung to so tightly. The one thing that had not been faded by time was how to regain that perspective. I longed for an escape. Some place far away where I had no choice but to live without clutter and with only the most important things in my existence to think about. For this to happen, I needed to be in the middle of nowhere. To experience something that would burn a memory I could use to leverage what was real and what was meaningless back in society. I was long overdue for my semi-annual trip to the Olympics and glanced over a topo. Murdock Lakes, a tributary of the Hamma Hamma River, was only located about 3.5 bushwhacked miles from the end of Hamma's road, but a brutal 3000 feet higher. Instead, I chose an approach that would offer Gladys Divide as well as a quick summit to Mt. Gladys; a longer approach and more elevation, but more gradual. Amber wanted to come with me on this trip, so we drove to the trailhead in the wee-hours of Saturday morning with minimal gear. Combined, our base pack weight was a mere 11 pounds. Permits were filled out after the help of a friendly ranger (they were all out), before clothes were changed, and whoops were hollered. The ranger did a double take of Amber after learning our planned route and wished us luck.
About a year ago we were headed up this same valley with Bob, whom I missed, and wished he was with us on this trip, although I doubt he would have liked the route. Today, the plan was to hike past Flapjack Lakes on our way to Gladys Divide, then swing over and up to Mt. Gladys before a 800-foot scrambling descent to Murdock Lakes. Sunday's route looked more questionable. A 600 foot climb up from the lakes was required before a cross-country scramble to a minor peak. This peak was the head of a knife-edged ridge that would be our direct route to Black and White lakes, 900 feet below. This was all before the 2.6 mile, 3000 foot plunge into the valley, and then the 5.3 mile hobble to the truck.
Logistics aside, it was a glorious day. In fact, one of the best I have seen in the Olympics. The air was a low 60s while the stunning blue skies overhead were completely void of clouds. The sundry scents of summer's end and fall's beginning permeated the valley and only intensified as we gained elevation. Once we reached the lake, Amber and I had a sit, or, rather, I had a sit. Amber was busy trying to fish without a pole as many small trout were seen just below the lake's surface. It took a bit of effort for me to drag her away from such a beautiful spot, but I wanted to get to the pass before the heat of the day really hit.
Hiking into an area you have never seen before gives a sense of freedom and wonder. As much as I wanted to explore every square foot of the land, I also just wanted to sit back and stare, like looking at a fine painting. The area was fantastic as we grunted our way up towards the divide, now sweating quite heavily.
We took a breather so Amber could down some water I had just laced with Gatorade. With watery eyes and pink cheeks, she was looking a bit overheated. She assured me that she was ok and we plodded on, all the while she expressed her disappointment for the lack of bears in the area.
As we stumbled our way to the talus below the divide, she started to feel a little better and was glad the majority of the climbing was over.
We arrived at the divide and hugged. I tried to explain to her that doing things like this is a blessing to me. And when she is with me when I do them, the blessing doubles. Her tired little face showed the wear from the climb as she tried to acknowledge my gesture with a smile.
We rested a bit in the shade of a large rock. A cool breeze came up from below making her feel worlds better. She asked me where we were headed as I pointed up with a mouthful of Power Bar. The response from her was a simple grunt.
"I hate climbing", Her little voice said from behind. I did not blame her, but the climbing was almost over. We stopped at a seasonal spring to gather some water for the last push. Little frogs jumped about, improving her mood. I laid back, staring up at a cloudless, blue sky for five minutes while the Aqua Mira cooked. Amber's sounds of fascination slowly faded away to a faint mixture of high-pitched, happy tones and a breeze softly brushing against my ears.
Tarns started appearing frequently as this gave Amber the drive she needed. The time spent at the spring had fully recovered my little dynamo and she was climbing rapidly to see what was over the next rise. It was a good thing because I was feeling well. I had been cycling a lot lately and it was paying off in spades.
I chose a decent route that was not too hard given the open terrain and we heaved our sweating bodies up the last push to the summit.
It was time for along break in the shade. I glanced at my topo, but could not see the lakes below me. I saw a dozen tarns, but no lakes. Every tarn looked like it could be our destination (Amber had no qualms with this), but I needed something more than hard, jagged rocks to sleep on. I put the topo down and rested some more. I knew we had to go down and that was good enough for now.
Amber was herself once again and goofed off at the top, looking all around, asking what mountain was this and that. I was concerned as I did not see her poles that she would need to help her with the steep descent ahead of us. Frustrated, I had her stay put at the summit while I fumbled my way 250 vertical feet back to a large tarn she was catching frogs at. I found the poles and raced back uphill to find her in a slight panic, crying, afraid that I got hurt. I assured her everything was ok, and that I was not even mad at her for forgetting her poles. Three minutes later, we started the descent, not knowing where exactly we would end up.
The terrain was difficult, but manageable. The hardest thing was not to get cliff'd out and have to climb back up in order to pick a new route. The image below shows the outer, eastern edge of a rather large basin below Mt. Gladys and the peak we had to climb tomorrow to get to the start of the ridge down.
We made it down without incident to the basin, but I still could not see Murdock's shores. We dropped another couple hundred feet before I looked over the ledge to finally find them.
They were the right size and shape, but I did not imagine there would be so much vegetation. It was paradise. Amber was so thrilled she took off on her own route. It lasted 90 seconds before she cliff'd out and had to backtrack, choosing to follow me. I simply chose a wash that gave the best footing and that I could see the terrain to the lakes.
We had come all this way and found heaven. With only two signs that humans have ever been here, this was our place. It was remote. It was rugged. It was hard as hell to find a place to sleep for the night. I wanted so bad to take a plunge into the lake, but had to find a spot flat enough to set up camp. From ten feet away, every spot seemed perfect. Although, once I got there, I found what all the vegetation was hiding; ground riddled with rocks far too big to sleep on. Anything remotely flat was a squishy, muddy mess.
Eventually I found a spot in between the lakes and set up camp. Amber was also hard at work, scrambling franticly to gather the biggest of the lake's inhabitance.
With camp set, I boiled up some couscous and found a spot to finally sit. This is what I needed, but I hated the thought of leaving so hastily in the morning. I laid back and just let the memory burn.
Amber asked if we could look around the lake for animal signs. Incredibly, no game scat was found and just a couple signs of bear. Plenty of cougar signs, especially around the tent, were spotted, noting how difficult it was to get here from any direction. We climbed a local set of rocks to see the lay of the land as the sun went behind the lip of the basin far above us. We talked for a while before Amber pulled out one of her books to finish . She doesn't read that much at home, probably because of her noisy brother, but out here she enjoys it as I drifted off to sleep with her still reading.
Day came too early, just too damn early. The lake was so quiet and peaceful, I would have stayed another day, or two, or three. But, there was a lot of ground to cover and not all of it good. And we had to be home by seven. Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of my bag and boiled a liter of tea. I leaned back against a rock and sipped on it as I watched the sun come up. I am glad I found a site with eastern exposure to see such colors while I sipped. I was nearly fully recovered from the day before and hoped that Amber was too before having to wake her up.
Ice cold milk and Cheerios are mighty powerful to a ten-year old in the back country as it drove her quickly from her down cocoon. While Amber slurped up the sweet cereal, I packed. One of the advantages of lightweight backpacking is a quick strike of camp in the mornings as I was done by the time she was. We set out with heavy hearts, doubting we would ever return to this magnificent set of pools.
We climbed slowly, warming up our legs, but mostly so I could pick a route that did not include a broken bone. After zigzagging, and a few near-vertical sections, we were officially out of the lake's basin, and on the next basin up.
The sweat flowed, but not too fast as we took plenty of stops for gazing at the rewards.
One last climb up saw us to the main basin below Mt. Gladys. I thought it should be easy now. I figured we needed to head towards the prominent peak at the edge of the basin signifying the start of our ridge towards Black and White lakes. We arrived at the peak, but I thought it rather sketchy to climb along the top of the ridge, so I chose a route just to it's side. Amber wondered how we were going to get down as it looked very steep. I picked a route parallel (or so I thought) to the ridge for about 500 feet. We traversed west (or so I thought) towards the ridge to the the lakes, but every time we bushwhacked through one gully, there was another one waiting for us. I took a few moments to glance at my map while concentrating on my compass. With no choice, we had to climb back up. Amber is in the photo below.
The climb up was steep and Amber let me know she was getting damn tired of climbing. I went over to an adjacent edge of the basin to spy Flapjack lakes and knew I was actually on course, but was a bit north of where I needed to be. We looked at the lakes as a bear was grazing just below us. After the bear took off, we shouldered our packs and climbed a couple hundred feet up the minor peak to gain the ridge. All I can say is the ridge was steep, sometimes vertical, with a lot of exposure, but the weather was calm and, with it, the wind as well. Only once did I think about roping Amber up, but she had confidence and did very well.
We finally made it off the ridge with the consiquences consisting of bloody shins, a bleeding knee, and both ankles (all mine). Amber walked away from the ridge unscathed, but I still vowed never to return. I had to let Amber know time was running out as she wanted to explore the lake's shores. Reluctantly, She joined me around the lake to gain the trail down.
As we started the drop, I chewed on tuna that I had brought and pondered a return, but in winter, to the Mt. Gladys area. It was such a majestic area, that it had to be explored more granularly. Let the knee-pounding begin.
I felt really good as I explored all the various life that surrounded me. Fall was not yet in full swing as things were still so colorful and vibrant. My nasty hiker funk had a hard time staving off the sweet smell of the forest we were dropping into.
Finally we met up with the North Skokomish Trail and had to sit down. By this time my feet and knees were a little achy, but after a five minute break, we started back towards the truck, making "ooooooOOoooooo" sounds every time we saw what Amber called a "trail-face".
With only three and a half miles to go, I was a little sad about leaving. I needed more time here. I needed more time away from angry people. People that would rather run over my bike and I to save a few seconds of their time. People that think they are before everyone else. People that do not value their own lives, so you had better watch out for yours. Perhaps if they saw raw beauty it would change their demeanor.
We made it back with 30 minutes to spare. We changed clothes and sped off, saying goodbye to the nice ranger lady who helped us the day before. Amber was beat, but happy and expressed the attitude that one gains after spending time in the out of doors. She expressed how she missed her brother, how she loved her home and how blessed she was. She understood as I hoped others would. Someday.
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