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Published: August 17th 2010
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Sunset at Granite Pass, Pacific Coast Trail (PCT)
Sunday, August 8th - Monday, August 9th, 2010
Note: The photos near the text are used to “reel the reader in,” and the remaining photographs are presented chronologically—up the mountain, camping, and back down the mountain, to get a sense of the changing terrain. After stuffing the backpack with the just-add-water backpacker’s food, stove, sleeping bag and pads, backpacker’s tent, and all-terrain clothes, I drove out of the Colonial Campground, heading the 25 miles back west to Rainy Pass, the point at which the Pacific Coast Trail crosses the only road through the Cascades—Hwy 20.
The Rainy Pass Trailhead begins in a small dirt parking lot, complete with self-registration for a recreation pass ($5 per day; I left my National Parks Annual Pass on the dashboard to cover the fee). There were at least 20 other vehicles in the parking lot, and I was a bit concerned about leaving the computer, expensive phone, and Ipod players in the vehicle, but I realized that it was probably just the Chicago big-city paranoia at work.
I was getting a late start (1:30 p.m.),
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Nice Trees! but very satisfied to be hiking the famous Pacific Coast Trail, one of only 2-3 major border-to-border North/South trails in the U.S. The 2,600+ mile Trail, designated a “Scenic Trailway,” extends from the U.S./Mexican border on the south, travels through the length of California, Oregon, and Washington State before ending in Canada. The final 70 miles of the Trail begin at Rainy Pass and flow through extreme wilderness and mountain vistas before finally ending.
Because the trail does wind through North Cascades National Park, and, thus, no dogs, I was hiking the northern direction of Rainy Pass in the Okanogan National Forest. Sophie was bounding around in the parking lot, as she knows that a hike is imminent. Her “luxury,” that I would be carrying for her, was a large can of Alpo dog food (at least the lid was “flip-top,” saving me a few ounces of can-opener weight). After speaking to 3 folks who had just come off the trail, I packed both environmentally-friendly and Deet bug spray (and used neither). Having packed too much in past hikes, I was very conscience to shed any weight necessary (even though I was only to spend one night in
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PCT Trail sign the backcountry). My pack, however, still weighed about 50-60 lbs.
I strapped the hulking bag on my back, and stepped past the wooden trailhead sign and onto the trail. Cutthroat Pass was listed at 5 miles away, with my ultimate goal, Granite Pass, 2 miles past that. To reach this goal, I knew that I would have to keep moving, as the average “speed” of hiking a trail, especially one with elevation (I would be going all uphill the first day and all down tomorrow), is really only 1-2 miles an hour). I would walk until almost dark, but since I was in a National Forest, could in a pinch camp almost anywhere.
The trail begins in elevation at 4,855 ft. and ends (for me, at least, at Granite Pass, with an elevation of approximately 6,750 ft. I was at road level when starting the trail, but knew, especially with the word “Pass” in the destination-name that I was going to be going to a mountaintop. The trail begins by mirroring Hwy 20 Westward for at least ½ a mile, steadily climbing upward on a 2-foot hard-compacted dirt trail. The entire two sides of the path
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Another hiker took this shot for us are various shades of green. Tall, tall trees are very dense; the road traffic is audible but not visible. As to assist “convenience” on the trail (thus, saving time/energy), “switchbacks” (short, tight zigzagging trails) begin after one mile. An interesting feature of a road-to-mountaintop hike is that all forms of vegetation viewing is experienced (of course, altitude is an important adaptation that vegetation and animals (including people) must make to survive). The variety of plant changes as altitude is gained (although, admittedly, I hold little talent in flora/fauna identification).
With mountaintops, and year round snow/glaciers, water is most always present and available, and even in the driest part of the Washington State season (Summer/August), melting glacier runoff/snowmelt provide opportunity to refill water (I use Iodine tablets to avoid guardian), take photos from the middle of the creeks, and provide water for Sophie). Even though I had carried my “water shoes” for river crossings, it was not necessary to ever wear them; previous hikers had positioned rocks as stepping stones across the water. In a few cases, dead logs had been laid over the larger bodies of rushing water and large rocks.
As the trail gains elevation, the
trees become a bit thinner, providing glimpses of surrounding peaks to the west and south. I took a break for some nice water and discovered that I had only packet a long-sleeve light winter shirt, a fleece, and a rain jacket—not a “base layer” wicking shirt that makes sweating much more comfortable (the moisture is “wicked” off one’s body). The parking lot was a bit chilly, but now, the sun was shining brightly and making contact on my body. So, I was forced by going upper-level “commando,” meaning shirtless.
With Sophie leading the way, as she most usually does—traveling 50 feet in front of me, sniffing and turning back every couple of minutes to make sure that I’m still following her, the trail again turns to switchbacks a mile from the top (officially Cutthroat Pass…P.S.:
Why all the scary names?!). Having spoken with at least ½ of the people that I passed (most from Seattle, as this great place is only really about 3.5 hours from there), I learned that the switchbacks travel back and forth over several small creeks, with the volume of water decrease a wee bit as it gets closer to its original source. There
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J.S. and Rob, two of the many nice outdoorsy folks that I met on the trail. is, in general and especially in August, little/no water available past Cutthroat Pass (one can, in a dire situation, hike ½ mile up or down the ridge-line trail to the year-round snow patches that are available—it would be at least 30 minutes each way, not to mention dangerous). Having only a 32-ounce Nalgene bottle, I made the decision to eat near a creek ½ a mile from the top. This way, I could use the 3 cups of water for food, and drink at least 64 ounces of water, then fill the bottle until I returned to this point tomorrow.
With a beautiful view of North Cascades behind me, I could never have guessed how large the expansive vista about to be rewarded me really is. As far as the eye could see, large snow-covered peaks jutted out of the ground and clouds formed around the larger peaks in the bright-blue sky. At Cutthroat Pass, I had my longest conversation of the hike—30 minutes—with two men from Seattle, R.J. and, hell, let’s call him John (sorry guys—if you’re reading this, send me your proper names again. My faculties at 6000 feet are limited). Having lived in Seattle for
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Plenty of water sources are available all the way to Cutthroat Pass, no water after 20 years, the two travel to this spot as many times as possible, especially in the fall, when a certain type of conifer tree turns bright yellow). We chatted about travel, the trail, and they offered an excellent overnight trip suggestion that Scott and I later used.
All of the people that I chatted with that Sunday afternoon/evening were super-nice. There was certainly all archetype of hiker present and accounted for: The 20-something Moby-Dick carrying intellectual searcher, the “retired, active” couple (one worked for Boeing and dealt directly with Chicago failed-Olympic bid Chairman Patrick Ryan), a father/son trio, hunters, from Kansas (the dad had lived here 20 years ago and had walked the entire PCT trail through Washington at that time), and even a jogger. But my PCT Summer 2010 Award goes to the Jackson family of 4 who were taking 12 days to hike the entire distance from Rainy Pass to the Canadian border. They had camped a mile behind me, and were on their second morning of this excellent family-bonding trip. The two daughters were probably 8 and 10. Nice job—returning to nature to build the family unit.
Good Trail Advice at the Top After leaving the two gentlemen, the phrase for the future hike, the Monty Cristo trail filed away, I headed left on the very exposed, but pleasant, Granite Pass section of the trail. This trail cuts through the side of a mountain, and is in some places only about 18 inches wide, and is made from the readily-available materials, rocks. Sophie confidently led the way, and I stopped to snap pictures of the massive basin, Cutthroat Lake visible a couple of miles down in the valley. After an interesting walk, relieved that the path was at a constant high altitude, I finally reached Granite Pass and climbed the 300 feet to the top of the round stone peak. In front, and on the other side, are massive, and I mean massive separate valleys. It was a fine addition to the first vista (Cutthroat Pass). I explored around, snapping pictures for at least an hour, when I noticed that the sun was about to dip behind some rocks and Sophie the dog and I needed to find a campsite for the night.
Carefully climbing back on the trail, we backtracked a ¼ mile and surveyed the trees and rocks far
below. Since it was almost dark, certainly now there’s little potential to “ruin someone else’s natural experience, I chose to gingerly walk down the slop to a restively large flat outcropping of exposed rock and sloping dirt.
Mystery Swopping Raptors The area was perfect, and with about 30 minutes left of setting sun, I snapped pictures through dusk and into darkness. I was quite surprised, as often happens spending time in natural environments, when a sizable bird (with a wingspan of at least 3 feet) began to patrol the area, making swoops down towards and over Sophie the dog and me. Backlit by a darkening blue sky, the bird’s square head lead me to believe that it was a large owl. It would fly back and perch on a dead, standing tree for a few minutes before beginning the rounds again. I was trying, unsuccessfully, to snap a photo when another bird of the same type swooped down only 10 feet above Sophie. A third bird joined the investigative fun. I heard no sounds from the birds, so I’m not sure if they were, in fact, owls.
It was a bit cold and I was maximum-layered
for the 48-degree light and breezy nightfall. I climbed into the small “mummy-like” tent, inviting Sophie into her “spot,” the small vestibule near the tent’s head space. I had hung the food, using my trusty hemp string, in a tree 50 yards away. Sophie had eaten a ½ can of dog food, and I gave her water in a 1 cup measuring cup. She then proceeded to fart in my face all night.
Of course, I only reacted to the first few, as I was soon out in a deep and relaxed slumber after a successful day of backpacking in Washington State on the Pacific Coast Trail. I did wake up in the middle of the night, when I thought that it had started raining, and got out of the tent to check on, and try to cover the backpack. There was a lot of moisture in the air, but it was clouds that had enveloped the entire mountainside. The clouds, although un-photographable, were amazing framed in the dark-blue night sky.
In the bright and sunny morning (as soon as the sunlight reaches over the peak, it gets very warm, going from heavy long pants to
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PCT Campsite View shorts-wearing weather in a matter of minutes), I admired the view for a few minutes and broke camp. It took a while of precarious scrambling to get back up onto the trail, but after a seemingly-slow climb, I was back on the trail, absentmindedly singing a Neil Young song when I met the Jackson family. The mother was perplexed, too, as to the bird’s identity, but did identify the whistles from afar that had serenaded us last night at dusk (and, I forgot what exactly it was!).
I crossed back over Cutthroat Pass, stopping at the first available water spot to take my last two gulps out of the bottle (psychologically, I had left 2 swallows so that I wouldn’t panic knowing that I was officially out of water) before filling it up and adding the Iodine tablets.
A half hour later of nice, casual downhill walking, I stopped at the only visible-from-the-trail campsite. Four huge logs formed a square that framed a rock fire pit. I picked up small bits of trash while the lunch water warmed. Sophie rested, lying flat out on the ground, moving only to snap at buzzing flies.
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Lost Sophie, PCT Trail Getting Lost!
After lunch, my usual “opportunity to get myself lost” presented itself. Trails led out from the campsite, opposite of the small trail back to the PCT. I thought to myself, “Well, these trails must lead
somewhere.”
Turns out, they don’t. After 20 minutes of downhill bushwhacking, I was at a pivotal decision point: Turn around for a long workout backtracking uphill, or continue moving the one direction that I was sure needed to be taken: downhill. I chose downhill, and was soon unofficially lost (I knew the trail was currently somewhere to my right, and, somewhere below, the trail would have to cross from right-to-left. I also knew that I eventually had to get down, so downhill was an obvious direction). So, I guess that one could say that I just “officially did not know my exact location.”
For the next 3 hours, I thought, surveyed, strolled through sloping meadows and down rushing-water riverbeds, moved through thick scrubs and vegetation, and experienced the general uneasiness of being lost. It was fine, though, as I got to more closely view the terrain, away from any people, and stumble upon at least 4 other exquisite
backcountry campsites (one of which was eerily abandoned some years back). I practiced following the trails to the campsites back (hopefully) to the trail. Didn’t happen.
The general uneasiness of being lost was compounded by the fact that I had no map (other than the North Cascades National Park Service brochure) and no watch, compass, or phone. However, I was prepared to spend another night out there, if necessary, and there was no one awaiting to hear from me at any appointed time (I did plan to make it to Seattle this evening; however, Scott would’ve just gone to bed, not phone the authorities). But, I do get a little worried when the, "
Where the Hell am I?!" questions begin to get asked to me, by me.
I finally found the trail, as was thankful to have done so. I was in the general area that I thought I was…however, it had taken me 3 hours to cover a little over a mile in the bushwhacking conditions. I congratulated Sophie, and we spent the next 1.5 hours down the final switchbacks to the truck.
All in all, the hike was spectacular, and I told Jennifer
that this would be an excellent place to return to. The Granite Pass Hike in the Okanogan National Forest was a challenging, yet pleasant experience.
I changed clothes and started my final leg of my journey—Seattle. I passed the Colonial Campground at Diablo Lake for the final time and briefly stopped at the North Cascades Visitors Center for postcards (none!).
I was exhausted (and sore!), but very relaxed and happy to have experience the second overnight backpacking hike on my trip (the other being in the Boundary Waters of Northern Minnesota). I plugged in the Ipod, rolled down the windows, and rolled outta’ the mountains for the Pacific Ocean…
Thanks for reading the blog, and I hope that you enjoy the photos (clicking on one will present a slideshow, or one can just scroll down to the bottom of the page for extra pages of photos—there’s 130 in all).
ChicagoDave and Sophie the dog.
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