High Divide, Seven Lakes Basin Loop

Seven Lakes Basin, High Divide Loop, July 4-7, 2019

Maps; check. Gear; check. Food; check. Definite plan; ummm. Trip partners; bailed. I'm always up for adventure. Thinking I'd learned a few things from my Wonderland Trail experience, where I carried all my own gear and food for up to 5 days, I felt really ready for this solo multi-day. The first thing I knew is if you don't have a permit, you better get to the ranger station early. So I woke up in a cozy bed from my friend's home in Kingston at 4 am, and drove to the ONP WIC in Port Angeles. I pulled out my sleeping bag and rested on the hard bench. I was first in line at 5:45 am, and by the time the doors opened at 8 there were 45 people behind me. 

Ranger Tobin gave me prime camps up in the alpine, at all the key lakes. When I asked about the gentians he said we were three weeks early in all of the blooms and most of the avalanche lilies have come and gone. On route, I ate blueberries...July 4th. Red white and blue. That IS early!

Vaccinium ovatum

Delicious

I drove, with the tape deck and radio off, along Lake Crescent and down the Sol Duc Valley road to the Sol Duc trail head. I finally ate breakfast, followed it with the lunch left overs and finalized packing up the bear can and my pack. I hit the trail at 10:30 am.

The four miles to Deer Lake were mostly uphill, but not terribly difficult. Regardless, I napped promptly after setting up camp above the lake. When I woke, I took a hike around to explore the rest of the campsites, and circumnav the lake. I found this little rock note, and many sub-alpine blooms including the shooting star, Pedicularis, bear grass, heather, bog orchid, marsh marigold and lupine. 

Whale indeed. But LNT? 

The sun came out at Deer Lake. 

I had dinner with a couple from Philly and a few others packed into the heavily impacted space in a sunny spot down by the lake shore. There was a lot of new camping gear pulled out of packs and whole bear canisters plopped down on the veg. I almost left, but it would be some of the last sunshine I saw for days. The next morning I headed up hill again into the Seven Lakes Basin. I walked out of camp at 9 am, with sunblock on for good measure, but with the sunglasses stored in their case.

Just around the bend, the alpine meadows began. Dark eyed juncos flit in the heather. Avalanche lilies popped from lingering north facing recent snow melt, magenta paint brushed the fog. Every flower I could name was out on the ridge, but couldn't see ten feet in front of me, or off the ridge at all. I had read a trip report about the geologic upheaval but it was nothing like I expected. Uplift, shift, and split--the trail split in two. I step over cracks and upturned rocks. I was in awe of the active geology.

At the trail Junction into Seven Lakes Basin there were some confusion between parties regarding location, and maps, and apps, but just around the corner and through a gap in the pass, I followed the staircase switchbacks into the basin belonging to Round and Lunch Lakes.

Folks coming up the hill pointed out the bear. I photographed it just as it disappeared in the rolling fog.

When I crossed into the stream outlet I met another solo woman. She was carrying a big knife on her hip belt that made me think of Irena (see Spokeandstories.com). We traded stories, of solo adventures and alpine flora, although I wanted to ask about all her tattoos that were peaking out from behind her open side zips in her rain pants. She said she'd borrow my line... I'm not solo, I came to visit my friends in the alpine. And it seems that this visit is vital to my soul, these alpine friends, these nearly lost words, that I love to list, and these wonders.

Castelleja

Castelleja and Spirea

Spirea and insect

I made camp by 2pm, or maybe three, and then instead of just the mist, it started to rain in earnest. By 6 pm I crawled out of the tent to fetch water and begin dinner. I walked uphill seeking some tree cover, but found Annie and Jack sitting in the drizzle in the site just above me--they were most welcoming. My dark chocolate peanut butter cups were a nice peace keeping gesture, but they upped the ante with a trade for some whiskey, that in my hot chocolate with coconut oil for dessert, went down really nice and helped keep me warmer. I wandered about from 7:30 to 8:30, holding my wonderland trail rule of not getting to bed before 8:30.

At 1 am I saw stars when I got out to pee. Orion was hanging out above the lake. At 5 I dreamed it was sunny and clear, but not quite. My 7 a.m walk to the privy was aglow in sunrise, and droplets shone like crystal balls. The whole meadow was sparkling.

From the outhouse I saw a buck. Two dear and two fawn pranced right beside my tent. Then, 4 goats across the lake and then for the next hour all at camp would see at least 10 goats, some kids, and a few radio collared Billys. These are the last of the goats at Lunch Lake. 120 will be airlifted out of here on Monday. (Story...)

There was sunshine, shadows, and smiles, yet it was short lived.

This lasted about an hour and then it was all fogged in again as I hiked back up the switchbacks to the high divide. Fog on the ridge was so dense, I don't know how I spotted the marmot, but I do have a naturalist's way.

On a dark gravel zig, or zag, two smiling hikers passed with news of a clearing just ahead. I booked up to the break--overlooking 7 lakes basin, later with a glimpse of lunch lake, too, and the path up from the saddle I'd seen yesterday in camp.

But this clearing, too, was short lived. The rest of the High Divide Trail was socked in. Erin, a teacher who grew up in P.A., and now lives in Houston, said, "Now when you come back, you'll see it for the first time again." I love that beginner mind set.

When the views are limited one can look below and within. at my feet are heaps of wildflowers. Spiderwebs, once hidden, glisten with droplets. And the single gemstone that lays in low of the lupine leaf. And if I stop on the ridge, seeing nothing below me in the fog abyss, I listen. To my heart beat, my breath. and to the droplets falling from trees with a sound that reminds me of the inconsistent plinks in to the tub after hand washing a summer swimsuit and hanging it in the shower to drip dry. And the whomp of the wings of a grouse. I hear these things when hiking with others as I don't often keep up. But I'm savoring these sounds solo. The mileage today means I can meander, and reflect. I can take heart.

The trail to heart lake leaves the High Divide, and as I did I dropped below the cloud deck. I could see the lake, and was the first to camp to choose my spot but the visibility didn't last long.

I had dinner by 6, and into the tent by 7:30, as it's raining, again, really raining. I'm not one for praying, but I guess I vocalized my annoyance with two nights of rain and felt I had my limit, or at least getting to the edge of my comfort with it. It was laughable, but not great. I had a good book of stories, as a end of year gift, and it was perfect. I read 174 pages! I also slept a great deal! These are bonuses of a solo backpacking adventure in less than perfect weather.

Yet, I was having FOMO for the landscape I couldn't see as a result. I wanted a break in the weather. My pee break at 11:30 was misty, so much that the head lamp blurred my vision with the dense particles of fog. I stumbled to pee in the trail. A goat hoof steps startled me and I scurried back in and zipped up, heart racing, as the Billy rooted around, licking salt from my ammonia urine. ugh.

I sort of slept til 5:30 and when heading to the privy, I sensed a break in the weather, but not enough to get me packing. I read another story. But at 7:30, the sun was seeping in at the edge of the tent fly. I was beaming. And I made a break for the high point for a view.

I continued back up the Divide for more, more of what I came for.

This. Love. Of. The. Alpine.

I jaunted back with a perma-grin, and skipped a hot breakfast to pack quick to get out by 10:15. I had 8 miles to go, mostly downhill, through the Sol Duc River valley along the Sol Duc River Trail. Plus I had a goal of 3 pm to the car. Saw not a soul for hours. No one coming up this way for the basin will be closed tomorrow for ten days.

It was sprinkling between the Sol Duc Falls and the parking lot, but it was a full on downpour rain when I approached the car.

So I went to the Sol Duc Hot Springs (where I hadn't been in 21 years, and only that time prior with my mom) and for $18 that included the $3 towel rental I soaked in the sulfury water, and showered away all the grime from the last 4 days, smiling at the rain, as it continued to fall.


Details:

Elevation profile for the 20 miles

Route info and map

We are now here.

You never know until you go.

I left my house on a whim at about 4 pm to catch the 4:45 Ferry across the Salish Sea. Flying downhill in the bike lane on Jackson, I could see the Sound in front of me. It was dark ahead but as I turned back, not only did I see my reflection in the ferry window, I saw my city aglow in the late daylight that pierced the clouds. That beautiful magic light always enchants me.

On the other side, the pavement was dry under my wheels, as I biked the trails and forested roads of Bainbridge Island. Early fallen samara from big leaved maple trees and some cedar speckled the shoulder.


By the time I arrived at Fay Bainbridge Park, less than an hour ride from my house, the skies had opened up. Maybe I missed the mark and misjudged the weather. I set up the tent in the rain; a deluge I haven't seen in awhile. I was drenched, but chuckling as I admired the speed at which I pitched and hoped it was a water tight as it looked. I rolled the bike up to the shelter nearby to cook dinner, tucking the stove behind the fireplace to get out of the wind.

By the time I finished dinner the rain had slowed and then stopped, rather unexpectedly. Before dark, I explored the rest of the park, the boardwalk access to the beach, and the pay station. I also noticed another shelter with a smoking chimney. I rolled the bike under cover, added another log, hung my gloves and jacket on the mantle, and fired up the stove for hot chocolate. Here I was. I sat reading by the heat and light of the serendipitous night until my eyes fell heavy and I crawled into the dry tent.

The full moon danced in and out of the clouds. Clouds dumped a few strong storms between 10 and 1 am. The rain thwaps on the tent drowned the sound of the surf and stirred me awake once. Yet, the same cloud cover kept the evening warm enough that when I went to the bathroom at 4 am I needed not my jacket, nor my socks.


When I woke again at first light, it was to sunlight, and strong sunshine. The light filtered through the blue tent wall so as to soften the pages of my heavy book. I devoured a hearty helping of pages before breakfast until I finished it.

When the tide is out the table is set. This Coast Salish expression refers to the bounty of the tide flats. Oysters, clams, and more. I spooned oatmeal down and took my tea for a walk, along smooth stones, some slick with green seaweed. Eel grass pulled in the direction of the tide. My flip flops flapped, keeping my toes from the sand. I walked the shore with my eyes on the birds. When the tide is out, the table is set for us all. The long neck and long legs of the heron reflected in the still water between rippled sand. She speared a small fish and wiggled it down. Gulls dropped shellfish from above hoping the help from physics pops them open. I couldn't pry my eyes off an Osprey, deftly diving into the sound. The eagle gave chase and I followed the Baldie back to his perch in the tree above me.

This is indeed was a feast. I was in my happy place, merely being outdoors. I was sensing the weather; watching the winged world, the shift in the tides, and the leaves as they tumbled in the breeze. I also was reading, curled into a comfortable nook on a driftwood log. I marked a line from Leath Toninos essay in the current issue of Orion magazine that I curled in my hands, "...but nowhere is the middle of nowhere. Everywhere in the middle of somewhere. Nature has no edges. That center is relentlessly here..." It reminded me that the word nowhere can also be read as now here.

Here I am. Sun warmed my cheeks as I smiled. I'm glad I came. Here I am.

As I looked up from the page I saw a seal, bobbing its puppy like head in the waters edge. "And here you are," I said with a smirk before he sank away. When I turned back to the page, I heard a fellow beach goer yell, "Whale!" and looked up in time to see her point. It was impossible to miss the dark dorsal fin that rose from the water. Then with the smaller dorsal fin close behind. I was on my feet with a roar of excitement, my hands in the air in with the triumph of being alive and here to witness. I fancied myself as loud as the Seahawks fans I heard when I got off the ferry and rode past the stadium.

Here they are! Again and again the Orcas rolled, dove down, and up again. They were close enough I heard the hiss of the blowhole. Their audible sigh called me awake, and to the edge, much like a shofar blast I missed last week during the holidays. The next thing I knew, I ran down the beach, leaping driftwood beaming, mud kicking up on my calves from my flip flops till I stood, shin deep, in the sound with them. We are in this together.

We are here now.

Orcas are icons of our place. Yet, especially this year, and especially for the local J pod, Orcas remind us of where we've missed the mark. Tahlequah is the mother who carried her deceased baby orca around the Salish Sea for 17 days in a historically unprecedented and incredibly moving ritual of grief. When the baby would fall her mother would nose dive and reach down to bring her dead calf’s body back to the surface. Another calf in her pod, Scarlet, has died from starvation.

I thought of those two dead Orcas as two, and now a third, surfaced in front of me again. Those in view, so close to my city, gave me hope. They invite me to smile, dance, and delight in being present. They ask me to think where I've missed the mark, to think about what burden or grief I've been carrying around, and to consider what I need to nourish me in the year to come, and what can I let go of? 

In what feels like the middle of nowhere, they remind me to be here now. 

*from http://www.endangered.org/memorial-for-tahlequahs-baby-and-j50-first-we-mourn-then-we-organize/
* more: https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/environment/orca-j50-declared-dead-after-search-southern-residents-down-to-74-whales/

Braids like Ropes: Hair and Hygiene

I wear my hair in braids, especially when I'm adventuring. Last summer, I look liked twins with the most iconic braid boss ever--Anne of Green Gables. 

Jess and Anne of Green Gables, PEI, Canada photo from SpokeandStories

On the Wonderland, a solo female hiker stopped in her boots to tell me, "Wow, you have braids like rope. That's some hair." Truth. It's typically a mess of curls and tangles. So I tie my hair in knots on purpose. I took those braids out only once during the entire trip, only to re-braid them on the banks of Mystic Lake, loosing strands of curls in the wind enough to make a nest! 

Showing off those braids and the mountain. Skyscraper Mountain. Photo by Jaal Mann.

Hygiene in general is a concern for folks looking to do a longer journey. Folks are fine for a few days, but without a shower for two weeks? What do you bring? How do you do it? I thought I might weave more tips than braiding my hair in this vignette. 


Tea for two:
One of the desires for this trip was to sit around in camp with a warm drink, to sip tea in the morning, and a whiskey hot chocolate before bed. While the weather made it too hot for after dinner warm drinks, I never gave up on tea. It's tea for two purposes. First and foremost, it's the warm drink, the caffeine, and the goodness of tea outdoors. The second purpose, is a wilderness secret I've been using for more than 20 years, maybe longer. I think I can thank Sandy for this trick. She was my Outdoor Adventure Camp counselor in the great summer of 1989. I still use other outdoor education tricks from her and Bear. The second purpose of a tea bag is the teabag face wash. The tannin in black tea are a wonderful astringent. The bag is warm, and feels great in the mountain mornings. The face wash removes last night's sleep in the eyes, and the cake of dirt, sunblock and bug spray before you layer more on for today. After I squeeze out some of the water, I gently apply the tea bag to my eyes, then wipe my face, behind my ears, and the back of my neck. If I'm feeling really dirty, I may even tuck a tea bag under my armpit while cleaning up breakfast. 

Deodorant?
On shorter trips I leave that at home. On this trip, I brought a travel size tea tree deodorant. I'm only bothering to write about deodorant at all for Jaal's trick. Being ultralight, and crafty, he melted down some deodorant and put it in an empty chap-stick container. Careful not to confuse the two!

Dip and Rinse:
Despite the record heat, and ungodly sweat fest, I managed to stay fairly clean for these two weeks. How? Water! The Wonderland Trail offers water regularly. While rivers tend to flow full of glacial till, there is no love loess there. Plenty of clear streams offer clean drinking water (still need to filter or treat!) and a refreshing cleanse. I frequently dipped my hat, and rang out my buff, did a quick scrub, and soaked it to keep cool as I kept hiking. Streams and creeks made for great foot soaks, too. I was also able to rinse clothes. Remember no soap at the source. 

Rinsing and drying my undies at Indian Bar

The real treat was swimming in nearly every alpine lake we encountered. I swam at Louise Lake, Mowich Lake, Golden Lake, St. Andrews Lake, and Mirror Lakes. 

A swim in Louise Lake

Gaiter Girl: 
There are many things I adopted from my NOLS outdoor educator course in the Olympics. One of them is gaiters. Even my most consistent mountain buddy Erik said, "NOLS was religious about gaiters. It's the best way to keep your socks clean. Clean socks means less foot issues. Less foot issues means more easy hiking." I wear them on almost every hike, and was especially glad to have them on this long hike. I only had one change of socks--and a new pair in each cache. Yet, with my gaiters, rinsing socks, and taking my socks off in the sun at bug-less long breaks, I was able to keep my feet in great shape. I trusted this method of foot care so much, and loved my "newish" Solomon 4D GTX boots so much, that I didn't even bring camp shoes. I could also stand on my gaiters when I needed a boot-off rest in camp.

Pee rag:
I'm not only a Leave No Trace practitioner, I was once a LNT educator for scouts. I've been leaving no trace with a pee rag since the OAC days, decades. I just use a bandanna. The UV sunlight disinfects, and I can leave no trace, other than the temporary puddle. When I returned home from The Wonderland I joined a Women of Wonderland FB group and found a few new purpose-built products for this.

• WeeRag: a soft spongy natural viscose shammy towel to use by itself or in combination with colorful fabrics and artistic designs. The WeeRag pee rag was developed through the partnership of a physician and life-long adventure athlete, and an engineer with a passion for creating eco-friendly solutions. 
• https://kulacloth.com/

I since purchased a Kula cloth and absolutely love it. The snaps are so convenient and it's truly waterproof so that my hand is never damp. I'm a huge fan of this essential piece of gear and never leave home without it. 

6 D's of Doing the Do:

• Go the Distance--200 yards from water
• Dig for Depth--6 inches down. Make sure your trowel is strong enough, and the blade is marked for depth.
• Dig for Diameter--Wide enough to do your business--4-6'' diameter.
• Drop it--do the do--You might hand on a nearby tree, or lean back on a log, if your legs need a little support.
• Decompose and Disguise --using a nearby stick or rock, break up the feces, and stir them in with the soil to help decomposition. Dispose of the decomposition aid tool (the rock/stick) in the hole and cover the entire thing up with the soil you dug out. Adding a bigger rock or stick pile may also help disguise your dump.
• Disinfect--You've stored your TP in a Ziploc bag, so seal it up, tuck it into the toilet paper tube, and grab your hand sanitizer. Then zip up, button up, and head back on your way.

TP and Hand sanitizer:
Bring enough, put some in the cache, and 2 oz of Hand Sani was perfect for the entire two weeks. Don't just use the hand sani after pooing. Also use it before meals, and yes, after the bear pole. It's the back country germ equivalent of a door knob in the front country.

Stay clean, stay healthy. Keep conserving our natural wonderlands. Keep hiking!

Goats in the Gap: Wildlife

We'd heard that there were goats in the gap. I recall when skiing on the Frying Pan glacier, decades ago, a whole herd of goats crossed the gap and played in our tracks. I was eager to see them there again, white on white, sure-footed friends. However, I saw no goats in Ohanapecosh Park, Panhandle Gap, nor Summerland. Perhaps it was because we went through that area on a lovely Saturday, where hundreds of day hikers and tourists were making their way up the Summerland trail as we descended the gap to Summerland camp. Goats, overall on this Wonderland journey, for me, stayed rather elusive. I saw hoof prints in the mud at Aurora Lake. I saw signs of them on a scramble above Mystic Lake, fluffs of white fur on the edges of evergreens, stuck to the pitch and the bristles of needles. While admiring the alpine glow from Aurora Lake, a fellow camper pointed out a lone big billy goat ambling on the flanks of Aurora Peak. We alternated watching the goat and the glow. So the next morning, when I went scrambling up Aurora Peak with Jaal, seeing fur on nearly every veggie belay, I started singing. "Billy! Billy don't you loose my number! Cause you're not anywhere, that I can find you." It was silly, but I really didn't want to see an angry old billy goat come around the corner. 

At Sunrise, everyone asked if we'd seen any wildlife. My response was, "Of course! Birds, butterflies, insects, frogs!" I smiled. There were so many creatures to catch my eye. A ranger with a butterfly net caught my eye too, and I stopped her to ask her some questions. I had photographed a few and wanted to know more. 

Me: "What is the blue butterfly?" 

Ranger: "Well, the very technical scientific name for them is Blues! Although there are a few species." (later I looked up the genus: Lycaeides)

Me: "The yellow one, here?" I showed her a photo. 

Ranger: "Likely a sulphur" (Colias occidentalis)

I showed her photos of the orange checkerspot, and a heart shaped black and white moth, whose name I've forgotten. As we parted she said, "Someone today asked if there were any butterflies out here, noting they hadn't seen any." "They are EVERYWHERE!," we smiled in unison. 

Orange Checkerspot

unknown (to me) Black and White Moth

A bevy of blue butterflies (say that ten times fast!)

Mayflies were magic like fairies. They danced in the wet meadows, back-lit by morning sunlight. They sparkled in the mist of the Spray Falls. They delighted me. 

But not all insects were pretty; some were downright persistent pests. The flies were likely the worse, deer flies pestering more than biting black, as they were slow and could be swatted if you had your hands free. I think bugs in general were the worst uphill from Nickel Creek. In a desperate move, to keep moving, I pulled my bug jacket out of the top of my pack and threw it on. I'm advocating for the invention of an over-the-pack-bug-poncho. But I like to say it isn't summer, unless there are few summer scars. Even if they are from bug bites, itched raw to bleeding. Buggers. 

Mama and cubs, Carbon River, photo by Jimmy Williams, NC

We heard there were bears at this camp, and that camp. Ten days in, I still hadn't seen any sign of them. I met a ten year old girl along Moraine Creek and the Carbon River glacier, who practically jumped out of her backpack to tell me a story of the mama bear and cubs she just witnessed crossing the suspension bridge. Fellow hiker Jimmy Williams was there too, and captured this photo. Later he wrote, "I wish I would have gotten her running across the suspension bridge, but grabbing my pack and getting off the trail was first priority."

Then, sure enough, day ten, I'm hauling up a steep climb from South Mowich River, keeping a good pace and crushing my time goal. I was feeling great. I reached the ridge and was rewarded with rustling in the berry bushes. I froze as she stood on her hind legs, looked me straight in the eye, and then settled back down. I had raised my poles above my head and told her loudly "I see you. I won't harm you. You won't harm me!". Then, I grabbed my camera and watched. I could see her big collar, and then her cubs. They crossed the trail, checking me out. A fellow hiker watching from the other direction, and he thought my pole raising was a signal to him. When I did catch his eye, I made other gestures, that in retelling to Jaal at camp, seemed silly and moose like. Regardless, we were all safe and I had my bear sighting. 

Mama Bear

Cub on the trail

Curious Cub

Mighty mammals make for fine wildlife stories. I think that's what all those Sunrise tourists were asking me about. Then, leaving Sunrise parking lot, we watched a deer and fawn. I heard the peep of pikas, mostly in the scree fields while hiking or at the pit toilet of Cataract Valley camp. They were hard to photograph, so small, and gray, round like rocks. A Douglas Squirrel practically posed for me leaving Cataract. Marmots seem to do the same, perched on rocks in alpine meadows. At Summerland I watched a few nibbling wildflowers in lovely light. 

Oh Deer! 

This Douglas Squirrel is a fungi.

Mmmm. mmm. mmm. Marmot

Finally, I'm a fan of frogs. Alpine lakes were teaming with tadpoles. The tarn at 6000' above Mystic Lake had moving moss--I've never seen so many tiny frogs in my life, the ground was hoping! I was grateful these amphibians shared their swimming holes. 

teeny tiny frog

Jaal and the frog

Frog in Golden Lake. 

The Wonderland Trail--14 days and a dozen vingettes

In an effort to challenge my writing, in addition to my hiking, I plan to write about the two weeks on the Wonderland Trail, not as a day by day play by play, but as thematic vignettes. I created the following few working titles for each upcoming vignette. Click on the bold title to read more. 

Goats in the Gap: Wildlife

Blurry on Purpose: Photography

Out of the Mystic into the Mist: Weather

Funky with the Mist on: Wildflowers

Braids like Ropes: Hair and Hygiene

Cairns and Crossings: Trail conditions

Moss Grows on the North Side of our Bones: Being here

That Tree has a Beard: Fellow Hikers and the game of Telephone

The Vaccinium debate: Trail food and nomenclature

On the Up and Up: Elevation

Intense: Shelter

Stay tuned for photos and snippets, wisdom and wit from The Wonderland.  

Permit, rations, and bicycles--A prologue

If being at the ranger station 2 hours early was good for friend, Jaal insisted that being there 3 hours early was even better. We left Tacoma at 3 a.m. Jaal drove in the dark and by 4:30 I pulled my sleeping bag to the bench and front of the Rangers station for two more hours of sleep, having driven to Tacoma at 9pm, and only returned to Seattle the night before, at midnight, mind you, from a trip East.

Mount Rainier National Park Longmire Wilderness Information Center

The pre-dawn light was beautiful and at 6:30 our first fellow hiker joined us on the stone stairs. Diane was from Chicago, and had stayed the night with her mom in the Longmire Inn, walking over with her full pack, ready to go.
I noticed she had Red Fraggle strapped to her pack and asked her about it. "Family rule", she said, "Never hike alone. So I always bring a buddy." She is a pre-K teacher and this would be her second attempt at circumnavigating Rainier. Her mom would help her drive around rations, while day hiking for a few days.

When the doors opened at 7:30 on Thursday morning, we were first in line. Ranger Rachel helped us with our permit, 20 minutes of problem solving and clicking drop-down menus from a clunky 90's computer program. Finally, we had something. She smiled. Our dream plan, the one we had submitted in March, was to start at Mowich and go clockwise for 14 days. Ranger Rachel switched the trail head start, and our direction, to give us nearly all of our camp choices, and help us meet our goal: to hike around the mountain, to go slow, to enjoy The Wonderland Trail. Plus, our permit would start Friday. That gave us the whole day to mellow into things, drive our rations around, and communicate our logistics to others at home. In planning more, we headed back into the ranger station to look at the relief map and trace our route up and over bumps and blue river lines. I also noticed a night skies program for Friday night at Cougar Rock Camp where we'd be staying. Opportunities await!

We left Longmire for Carbon River. It didn't take long to start noticing the cyclists climbing up hill to Longmire. After a huge peloton, I realized today was RAMROD. 155 mile bike tour around the mountain. Closer to Eatonville, I noticed 4 women cycle -touring in our direction. I rolled down the window and cheered them on as we passed them. Then not too long after, they walked into the Eatonville bakery, where we were having second break fast. These gal friends from Texas and Georgia were on a week long tour from Spokane to Seattle. This was their fourth annual trip of the kind, traveling domestically and riding for a week together. Of course, we talked and talked about touring and warm showers, and my transition from tarmac last summer to dirt and wildflowers this summer. Being from the south, they didn't find the heat to unbearable today. The hottest part of the day was yet to come.

Me and the gaggle of gals riding from Spokane to Seattle.

The volunteer ranger at White River Ranger Station taking our cache.

Cashing are food at the Carbon River Ranger station and the White River Ranger station was pretty easy. We were happy to learn this morning that park rangers would actually be driving them up to are pick up location (Sunrise, and Mowich Lake) due to limited space. We had thought would camp Thursday night at the White River campground, but by the time we had stopped in Enumclaw at Taco Time and for huckleberry ice cream at Wapato Woolies in Greenwater, all the first come first serve car camping sites were full. So we looked at the map. We found a very small campground just 0.4 miles off of the road halfway between white River and Stevens Canyon. We walked back into the Ranger station and ask for a permit, got it and headed back down the road.

As we packed up to head into our overnight camp, we caught the tail end riders for RAMROD. I cheered them on with Allez allez!, and high fives while running along side them through the car pull-out. One rider said her Garmin was reading 99 degrees Fahrenheit. I knew exactly how she felt, having been there a year ago, crossing the Canadian Rockies with the tarmac reading 42 degrees Celsius. I've been there knowing that just a little encouragement from a stranger can go a long way for motivation. I was motivated by these riders for my own dirt and wildflowers adventure.

And just like that, after months of planning, and a day of logistics, and a 15 minute hike, by quarter to five pm I was sitting along Chinook Creek resting in the shade and enjoying the nature, the stillness, and the beauty of Mount Rainier National Park. From my mossy seat, in a rock carved just for me, I really couldn't help but think it ironic that I ran into four cycling women and a plethora of RAMROD riders today of all days. As if I was being reminded to take all the lessons from the spokeandstories adventure into this one.

Deer Creek Falls