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Upper Mc Call Basin, Goat
Rocks Wilderness |
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With heavy hearts, Bob and I reminisced about last year's trip to Upper Mc Call Basin. You see, Bob and I were planning the same trip this year, but he unexpectedly had to have surgery the day before leaving. As this was also my last weekend free from work, I insisted it had to go out with a bang. I quickly scoped out my topo and came up with a rather daring plan of hiking into the Basin, but I also wanted to see Goat Lake and Snowgrass Flats. 15 minutes of packing got me ready the night before as the plan was set. Three hours of driving got me to Packwood where I quickly realized, I must have passed Forest Road 48. I did a U'ey and passed Forest Road 21. Cursing the signs, I did another U turn and drove back towards Packwood As I knew 21 was further west than 48. Driving about 15 miles per hour, I spotted a dirt road leading into a clear cut area sporting no signs. This apparently was the road I was looking for. About a mile up the incredibly dusty road, I was behind three other vehicles. There was so much dust, I had to use my wipers to see where I was driving. I filled out my permit and took to the trail before the others had even put on their boots. I wanted privacy on this trip and I knew if I could set off before any of them, I would get it, even with my cold that I had caught from Johnathan.
The trail climbed gently as it rose to the top of the ridge before dancing from one side to the other. My mood soured as the trial had around 50 downed trees, over the length of a mile, I had to work my way around. The blowdown was not the soul reason for my darkening mood. The bugs were the main reason as they were profuse. The omnipresent buzzing sound followed me through the entire day. Over one blowdown, I was hit by yellow jackets; five stings in ten seconds.
I quickly made my way up the trail as the bugs could not follow a rapid pace. The wildflowers, abundant as the bugs, lifted my spirits a bit as the lupine and paintbrush covered the hillsides in wide swathes.
About an hour and a half after leaving the trailhead, I was in the alpine. With Angry Mountain in the distance, I did not feel alone in my dour mood. I thumped my way around the head of the valley and climbed up to the first pass holding the junction to Angry Mountain.
The pass held expansive views in all directions. To my west was my second pass, above Goat Lake. It seemed far away, but I was feeling better as I could now see my goals. I also had privacy to think and contemplate. My plan was to try and make it to Mc Call Basin, but I never truly thought I would. As a backup, Heart Lake seemed perfect.
To my east, Mt. Rainier loomed predominantly above the ridge I climbed to get here. The blue skies and perfect temperatures helped further increase my mood.
As I rounded the head of another valley, this cirque sported Heart lake. It looked as perfect as a camp spot could. I stopped a minute to think about camping there, but soon decided to move on as I was feeling fine and wanted more. Stopping just for a minute allowed the flying pests to swarm and encircle me like a piece of rotting meat.
The paintbrush was amazing. Never have I seen such a wildflower display as I had on this trip. Fueled as my spirits were now lifted high, I took out my topo to see my next objective. It was not quite clear on which part of the ridge I should take as the trail petered to nothing at the bottom of the talus covered slopes. I thought little of this and just carried on enjoying the scenery. The dark forest and marshy basins of last year were no match for the flowering, vast beauty that this route held.
I found what looked like the right pass, but it would take some time to climb without my ice axe. I sat down, eight miles after starting and had my first break. The bugs were not quite as bad here, letting me study my topo more diligently. I was close to the right pass, but what I saw on my map was farther down the ridgeline.
I moved on, now on all fours, trying not to slide down the 45 degree, incredibly loose, talus fields. Suddenly, a long snow field bisected my screwy route. It was several hundred feet long and towards the top, in which I was, was almost a 60 percent grade. With an ice axe, I would have made the quick jaunt over it, but the snow was too hard for my trail runners to kick steps. In looking down, I shuttered at the thought of having to circumnavigate this thing. Looking up was pointless as it was vertical class five climbing. I had a sit to think about my options.
There was really only one way to go; down. I rested and then went for it, carefully sliding faster than I wanted, eventually reaching the bottom. I worked my way back up the talus and across some precarious, loose washes lined with large rocks just waiting to take a tumble. Thirty minutes of climbing got me to the pass I was looking for.
From my vantage point, I could see my next objective. Getting up here took a lot out of me and I started to doubt if I could even make it by nightfall. With only a couple sites on this minor bench, I could have camped here as there was a picturesque site complete with running snowmelt. I thought for a moment while treating water and washing my feet. I thought of the times Bob and I had last year and decided that I was going to try and make the basin.
I worked my way down to Goat Lake and stopped for lunch. While taking my time eating, I thought about what route I should take as I wanted to see Snowgrass Flats, but not twice. I decided to take an off trail scramble, climbing rapidly to the junction of the PCT and Old Snowy. I looked over the trail carefully in front of me looking for any signs of a scramble route. I found one. It was not on any map I had, but I thought why would a scramble route even be on a map, trying to convince myself it led where I wanted to go.
All packed up from lunch, I made my way to the faint scramble route after pausing momentarily to talk to others hikers heading the opposite way. The hikers here are different from the ones I meet in places like the Columbia River Gorge as the people here have a plan. That plan requires work and commitment and it shows on their faces, full of smiles while saturated with sweat. We wished each other luck as I started my scramble. I climbed high on a trail averaging thirty percent, passing a small shelf sporting awesome views, a small snow-fed stream and a large meadow to set up the tarp. As the bugs were not nearly as bad here, I really had to ask myself the question of camping right here, right now.
I figured I could camp there if I could not make it to my planned destination and continued on. The scramble that started out semi-reasonable turned downright dangerous as the talus became looser with the tilting grade. I had to skirt around this in order to get to the trail, but was getting a bit worried as every piece of platter-sized rock I stepped on slid out from under my feet.
I worked my way over, down, up, and around and still no sign of the trail. The topo was useless here as it was all steep with no prominent peaks in sight. I just hoped that this last skirt proved worth my efforts.
Relief comes in so many forms as I let out a boisterous sigh. I could spot from my vantage point the trail leading to Snowgrass Flats and knew that the notch above the basin was, at the most, only 30 minutes away. I made my way down and then back up to the trail, stumbling over the loose slopes.
Now officially on the PCT, I could make up some time and get down into the basin before sundown. I thumped my way, carefully at times, down to the notch that would allow me access to the ridge leading down into the basin. I remember how bad the trail was last year here as it is very steep while every step is like walking on ball bearings.
The steep scramble down to the small ridge was no big deal as I worked it up in my mind as the end all of scrambles. After the ones I had done just an hour ago, this one paled in comparison. I hit the ridge leading down as I noticed a goat just across a snow field. The big guy was grazing and had no companions to compete with, taking his time looking at me as I looked at him.
A long hour long scramble, longer than I remember, got me to Bob and my old camping spot. I quickly set up my tarp as I was too tired to do anything else. I had gone far today and wanted to savor the last hour of daylight so I quickly donned my down jacket before making dinner. Dinner finished, I followed it up with a small pull of rum, warming my tummy. The wind over the last hour turned downright intense as it flattened my tarp twice, threatening to snap my pole. I set the tarp back up, hugging the ground as it could use me inside to support it. Safe from the wind inside the tarp, I gazed at the intense stars twinkling in the black, moonless night and was treated to three streaks of bright light from the Perseids meteor showers. My day was complete.
I awoke feeling quite well as the day before had taxed my sickened body. It was eight as I was rather shocked at the time since I have never slept in past six at home. The day was clear, but clouds were moving in fast. That meant getting ready now. I made tea and had struck camp before it got hot. Drinking down the tea, I wanted a slow pace that would warm me up rather than break me down to the trail.
Mission accomplished as I made it to the PCT sweating very little. I felt good, almost better than before starting yesterday, as I am sure my body was acclimatized to the thinner air here (7100 feet) than at home (240 feet). The weather was indeed taking a turn for the worst as my pace quickened to it's usual three miles per hour.
At the junction with Old Snowy Mountain, I felt invigorated as I had 11 hours of daylight left. So far I have surprised myself on this trip. Now would be the time to enjoy the time I have left here. No struggles. No effort. At least until the pass above Goat Lake.
I followed the trail towards Snowgrass Flats to see what all the hype was about. Besides being beautiful, all I hear about the place was how the campsites were constantly occupied. I made my way across the large snowfield at a modest pace of three miles per hour feeling fine.
Arriving at the flats, I could see what all the huff was about. It was an incredible spectacle with vast open meadows filled with aromatic flowers. I am not sure what time of season would be better here. Early spring would bring a little more water to the area, making it easier to camp, but one would miss out on the wildflower displays.
The trail bobbed up and down as the miles rolled by without effort. The fields were so vast that the speed I was hiking was just right. The only thing of concern was the weather. I wanted to make it over the pass before it got any worse, even thought it kept the bugs to a minimum.
I sped my way around the head of the valley and did not hesitate to push hard up the final climb to the pass. The weather was closing in fast as my trail I took just a couple hours ago was in deep cloud cover now. I shuffled over the pass and carefully weaved my way down and around the snowfield. Finally on solid trail again I was back to three miles per hour when I ran into a couple guys camped at Goat Lake. Then proceeded to tell me how bad the wind was last night as a friends tent had pulled it's stakes before flying 800 feet and sinking into the bottom of the lake. I suppose my site was not as bad.
My last break was a good one. I was at my last pass, looking over at Goat Pass, the route I took to Goat Lake. I had beaten the weather as it was all forest walking with blowdown from here. I packed up after washing my feet and shouldered my pack just as the sprinkling started. This trip was an important one for me. I found I could accomplish more than I thought, given the right mindset. As I missed my family this weekend, I hiked this for myself, and a good friend who is home recouping. If he could not be with me here in person, at least he could in spirit.
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