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Marching Through
The Storm |
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I could tell I was on vacation as, incredulously, my watch's LCD displayed the shockingly late hour of 8:40am. Usually I am up at six, had eaten breakfast, packed up, and on the trail by seven. This was vacation. I stuck my head out of the tarp and noticed partly sunny skies as the meteorologist had boasted rain in the forecast for today. In fact, today was to be the worst weathered day to be had on this trip. The forecast called for seventy percent chance of the stuff. I crawled from the tarp and started brewing up a liter of tea, soon realizing I should have put some clothes on. Reluctantly dressed, I sauntered around the campground to see what I couldn't in yesterday's fading light.
After looking around a bit, I made my way back to camp and grabbed my now boiling tea and stumbled my was over to Dose's shores. I could stay here another day, I thought. In fact, I felt like I could stay here a week. Or two. Maybe three. There are a lot of campgrounds like this around the Pacific Northwest, and beyond, but I doubt any sported this vacant campground's serenity.
I fumbled my way over the rocks back to camp and decided that it was time to wake sleeping beauty. After a couple attempts, I resorted to tickling her nose. She opened her eyes and glared at me, snuggled deep in her synthetic cocoon. After a little coaxing, she was up and dressed. While she chomped down a couple of breakfast bars, I packed up, anxious to see what the day had in store for us. Shuffling off down the road surrounding the campground, the ranger station came into view, marking the end of civilization.
The trail tilted slightly upwards as we began our long climb towards the pass. At this point on the trail, the grade was never too steep for Amber. It takes the West Fork 10.5 miles to top out at 4500 feet, climbing a total of 2850 feet, with the last couple miles gaining most of the elevation. The many creeks gave us a lot to gawk at as most offered some sort of bridge. The omnipresent smell of pine filled the air as we breathed in deep, while setting a rather slow pace.
Some of the bridges were over large, marshy areas that would have been a mess to walk in. Potentially losing one's footwear. As I crossed over one, I noticed a break in the canopy and stopped to look upward at our immediate future. The once blue skies were now a steel grey. Now, I don't like to hike in the rain, but it looked inevitable. I figured since the forecast called for rain just this one day, I could live with it.
On we hiked, getting deeper into the wilderness. I had a feeling in the back of my head that the rain was coming; and soon. Just as I thought that, I felt the first cool drop splatter on the nape of my neck, sending shivers up my spine. Amber and I stopped at the bridge over Dose's west fork to gear up. I threw our pack covers on and got Amber set up in her rain jacket, but declined to don my own raingear. It was only noon and I knew that if I was in for a long, wet hike, I would get wet no matter what I wore from condensation. The one incontestable fact about hiking in the rain is you will get wet eventually if not immediately. Five minutes after the bridge, it came. It came with a vengeance, cold and painful, stinging my face as it hit, making up for all the beautiful days I have had in the Olympics.
Stopping at Big Timber Camp, I asked Amber how far she wanted to go. Diamond Meadows was just a couple miles up the trail and we were already soaked to the bone, but warm, as long as we kept moving. An hour later, we arrived at the meadows only to find every campsite occupied. As trail workers had monopolized the camp, our only option was to continue on. Fortune came upon us as 100 yards up the trail, we were blessed with the last site available. I set up the tarp in record time and after hanging the food, Amber and I stripped, got into warm, dry clothes and took a siesta while the rain pounded the tarp. Six ours later, the rain ceased and I built a large fire to dry all our wet clothes before making up hot couscous and cocoa. With our tummies now full, the fire started to fade, along with us. I only covered six miles today, but learned more than I had in the last three years of hiking.
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