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Loowit
Trail, Mt. St. Helens |
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Waking up at five in the morning was not an ideal start to the weekend, but this was to be a weekend of contemplation. Recent opportunities that could happily change some minor courses in my life encouraged me to seek solitude for pondering. As my time last year while hiking around the Loowit was so memorable, I thought it would be a grand idea to have another go while getting a little exercise and some badly needed meditation time as well. Gear packed, I was off at six to pick up some breakfast on my way to the June Lake Trailhead. This year, the plan was to hike the Loowit Trail counterclockwise, backpacking if necessary, to view the mountain from a different perspective. 90 minutes of driving brought me to a road closure about a half mile from my destined trailhead. Seems that the Forest Service still has not repaired the road that was washed out last November after being hit with eleven inches of rain.
Undeterred, I parked the truck in the overnight parking area at Marble Mountain Snow Park before donning my trail runners. Shouldering my pack, I made my way across the parking areas and to the trailhead. I always wondered what the winter climbing route looked like in summer as Amber and I have never seen the trail with less than four feet of snow. The trail was incredible, well groomed and wide enough at times for a car to drive by. After 30 minutes of easy cruising, I passed by the area Amber and I camped at last March. Things sure looked different without all the snow.
Being in such a memorable spot gave a great excuse to take a break. I took a few minutes to think, but was quickly dissuaded by the forest floor that I was sitting on. It was riddled with wild strawberries. I have seen the plants numerous times, but never with any fruit. I put thinking aside as I greedily plucked the little morsels from the ground. They were the sweetest berries I have ever eaten.
After a few handfuls of strawberries, I turned my attention to the ripening blueberries and perfectly ripe huckleberries on the bushes behind me. I could not resist, although none of the bush's berries were as sweet as their grounded cousins. Morning snack complete, I threw my pack over my back as I quickly made my way over Chocolate Falls. The mist that had been with me all morning was starting to break up, revealing the decapitated summit of the mountain.
Within 30 minutes, the clouds dispersed and sun was ever-present, promising a grand, albeit hot day. I made my way up the bottom of Monitor Ridge, passing a half dozen bone dry stream beds along the way. This worried only a little as last year, even in the morning, there was ample water along the south side of the mountain. I figured I could simply fill up one of the upcoming, larger flows.
I made my way around the southern portion of the mountain in no hurry, taking my time across the two lava fields. I had all weekend and my body was recovering fast from the climbing that was required from the start. Things were just as I remembered them from last year. The southern portion of the mountain was simply stunning. One direction gave me huge, grassy meadows to gaze at while the other gave me an ocean of low-slung clouds.
Coming around one bend, a small squirrel jumped out in front of me and let me know I was in his territory. I stopped to apologize as he did the same. I could understand his grumpiness as he had lost his leg, but was still quite amble. He came out of his den while I was trying to talk squirrel and gave me a pose.
I thumped my way towards Sheep Canyon and was starting to get a bit concerned as there was still no water to be found. I knew that the west side of the mountain was waterless, except for the Toutle. I took water out of the Toutle last year and regretted it. It had small worms and other larvae in it that made drinking rather unappealing. I made up my mind quite quickly to start scrambling up one of the stream beds. I hoped to get close enough to one of the snow fields I spotted below to score some water before it sank into the sandy bed. I cautiously made my way up the bed, being careful with every hand and foot placement. Only 10 minutes got me to a trickle fast enough to fill my bottle in a reasonable time. Slow enough to wash off my feet and sit for a few.
2.4 liters of the cold snowmelt gave me the extra gumption I needed. I bobbed down the trail, singing out loud and started to wonder how far I should go. Maybe the northeaster side, by the spring? I chose not to worry about it as things all day have been working themselves out, except what was waiting for me. A surprising turn of events led me to a trail severed by severe rain damage. I looked up and down it's entire length and could not see a place remotely possible to cross.
The canyon was the Blue Lake Canyon and last year, it was quite a slog to come back up since it had been washed out the year before. This year, the spot I crossed last year was 40 feet deeper and vertical. I have scrambled down some crazy stuff, not having a trail, like Elliot Creek Canyon on Mt. Hood, but this was simply impossible without injury. I bushwhacked down a few hundred more vertical feet, about a mile towards Blue Lake with still no sign of a possible crossing.
Pissed, I sat and had a think along with a peanut butter burrito as my options were quite limited. Camp about nine miles from my truck, continue on and deal with the slog back up, or head back and have one hell of a day hike. After eating, I chose regrettably to simply head back. This was not the plan as I wanted some time to think out in the wilderness, but if this canyon was this bad, what were the others like. If the others were as bad, or worse, it would keep me from thinking altogether as it would take all my concentration and energy to climb down and out of these things.
I took one more picture as the specimen looked quite peculiar, then heaved my pack and set back down the trail. Indeed, I would have a bit easier time getting back as it was almost all down hill. I was not looking forward to re-crossing the upcoming canyons as they took a bit of work, but at least they were manageable.
Most of the streams were flowing upon my return with Swift Creek having the largest output. I took the time to wash my face and feet while sitting and thinking for a while. With a little vacation coming up, I may attempt this again in a couple weeks with the navigation of Blue Lake Canyon. Although I did not attain the goal I set out for, I found much more.
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