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Published: August 25th 2010
Colonel Bob Peak 3
Great photo on Colonel Bob summit
Saturday, August 21- Sunday, August 22, 2010 The Colonel Bob Wilderness Area, maintained and run by the U.S. Forest Service, is almost 12,000 acres that is, according to the USFS and the 1964 Wilderness Act, are to be "retained in their primeval character ... and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions.” Colonel Bob is the critical untouched/unlogged (at least in modern times) buffer between the Olympic National Forest (heavily logged in many places, 2nd or 3rd generation forests in most places) and the pristine Olympic National Park. We’d chosen the place specifically for its location in our position on the loop, and the fact that we’d be hiking just outside the Olympic National Park borders, and its scores of late-season tourists.
As I packed the backpack for the hike originating at the Pete’s Creek Trailhead, I felt lucky to have someone else, if for no other reason than to share the heavy load of food, stove, tent, clothes, etc. I felt a bit guilty, as it seemed as if Scott and his new pack were shouldering most of the weight—I
Olympic National Park Mount Olympus View
The highest peaks are in the center of the park, seen here (probably 20 miles away). only had my sleeping bag, clothes, bedroll, the food, stove and gas. Scott had the 6-7 lb. tent, plus his own clothes and lots of extra water.
Why Not Get Lost First? We knew that we were getting a late start, although throughout the hike neither one of us had a watch/clock, so we spent time on the trail pondering how much time had passed, what time it was, etc. (my camera’s internal timestamp later help us recreate the times). But, we did know that it was late, and possibly necessary to complete the (only) 4.2 mile hike the next day. Whether we summated the 4,510-ft. peak today or tomorrow—it didn’t matter, as we had both tonight (Sat.) and Sunday night, before Scott had to be back in Seattle for a return to the real world Tuesday morning.
Studying the map, Cartographer Scott led us on the Pete’s Creek Trail, down a number of steps and into lush rainforest, green at all angles. We walked 400 feet down one mile to a creek, a creek that necessitated a water crossing. We were a bit confused, as a USFS sign showed another trail crossing the water.
We surmised that this must be Pete’s Creek Trail as well. We sat down in the afternoon soon on the large-rocked riverbed to change shoes, me into my water shoes, and Scott into his bare feet. We crossed the water at is calmest, narrowest point, with rushing water up to our thighs, wetting our long pants, which had been rolled up for the journey. On the other bank, we bushwhacked through the woods to the trail, which promptly led us back just east of south of the riverbank upon which we had just landed. We marched up the trail, and in short order, came across a shelter.
Umm…there’s not supposed to be a shelter on this side of the water, is there?!
Answer: No. We were in the wrong spot, and it slowly dawned on us that instead of heading north through the parking lot to the trailhead, we had mistakenly traveled south, down to the actual Pete’s Creek (the end of the trail!). We laughed and laughed the whole 25 minutes that it took to hike back up to the other trailhead.
Passing the truck, we were now really late starting the trail (it was
1988 Colorado Hike
This is me in 1988, amazed that these cliffs are available to explore, without anyone important watching now 7 p.m.). From the moment that we stepped on the right trail, it was an uphill battle. Looking at elevation on a map is one thing, experiencing it is another. We knew that the Pete’s Creek/Col. Bob Trail started at 1,100 feet and, 4.2 miles later, one is at 4,510 feet (an elevation gain of 3,400 feet, most of it coming in the last 2 ½ - 3 miles). Take the numbers out of the equation and hear the reality: This trail was tough! Oh sure, it begins nice enough, traveling only slightly up through pleasant, wide forests and fern-covered ground.
Then the Colonel brings on the pain!
We hiked and hiked, idly chatting about all aspects of our lives, past and present. The only other people that we saw were a young couple, also with a dog, who had also plan to get to the summit (in 1 day), but had to turn around, deflated, after experiencing a “false summit” that turned out to be a rockslide area. They did describe a nice campsite above a creek about 30-45 minutes up.
That, walking uphill as opposed to downhill, was a good additional hour. My
Banana Slug
Can grow up to 6 inches muscles were screaming, due in part by the 50 lb. pack, and I was out of breath. I was relieved as, just 30 minutes before total darkness, to look up, panting, and see Scott triumphantly standing atop a flat area, about 15 ft. x 20 ft. wide. A huge fir tree stretched out over a small creek, dense with dark greens of mosses and plants and providing a sound-track to the stillness of the now-dark forest.
A 2-ft. fire circle and more-than-ample small sticks provided excellent warmth for the chilly night (we had full heavy clothes by this point). The moon rose over the surrounding vertical peaks (we were hiking along a creek in a tight valley, up to a pass. Then it’s back down a bit to then follow another creek to the summit), providing the same scene common with the bright sun—beams of light shooting through the dense canopy of the trees, basking different, small areas with a bright light. Moon shadows and failed photos taken of the moon followed, and soon, crashing from the idea that we weren’t hiking and/or in danger anymore, we grew mighty tired.
We poured several gallons of water over the
fire, making sure it was out, and walked the 10 feet to the tent, both entering the north side door, the other door lying at the edge of a 60 foot hill that rolled down into the rocks of the creek below.
We must’ve woken up around 9 a.m. the next morning, and spent the next 1.5 hours drinking coffee (I always tote my very heavy, foot-tall European coffee maker—can’t go without coffee in morning out there, or anywhere for that matter). We also had to wash all the dishes, change clothes, fold up the tent, and repack everything into the backpacks. In addition, for perhaps only the second time in my 2 weeks in Washington State, it was raining a bit. We were, for the most part, protected from the water by being under the canopy of the forest, with just mist blowing about by the time it had batted so many large leaves and branches. It was also fairly cold, and suggested an authentic rainforest experience.
Summit with the Colonel… Then, it was back to Bob. Uphill, through more dense forest that we had spent the night in, up switchbacks through the bottom
Colonel Bob Peak 2
I get nervous at summits with Sophie present (although, it doesn't bother her one bit). of a previous debris slide, through more forest, and then tighter and tighter switchbacks, we finally reached the pass, which offered, for the first time, and expansive view into the Olympic National Park, including Mt. Olympus. We wowed at the view, watching clouds quickly move and dart around the sky. Joining the Colonel Bob Trail for the final 1.5 miles of really vertical switchbacks, a small creek crossing, steeper and steeper painful upward steps, my muscles screamed and I again was cursing the Colonel.
And finally, the top.
The Colonel Bob Peak is a final 60 feet up steps carved into large rocks, and then onto a small trail, expansive drop off close at hand, and up to a 20 foot by 15 foot flat peak. I had sent Scott up to take a look first, to determine if it was viable that Sophie safely take the final yards of the trail.
The views, especially on top of the adrenaline, provided exciting views (that we really had worked to see). Clouds poured between peaks, and like liquid, slowly poured down into valleys below. Several times, clouds completely covered the peak, leaving us in a surreal, misty
Colonel Bob Sophie final
Very independent on hikes environment. A viewing window opened up, showing a sunny Lake Quinault 5 miles away. Olympic National Park looked beautiful from the southwestern side, and it was satisfying to know that we had made it.
We praised Bob, then headed down off the summit. Walking down was much, much faster, and blowing down at a relatively fast pace; it was amazing to think that we had actually walked up all of this tough terrain. A relaxing lunch back at the pass gave us the necessary energy to continue the journey down.
We ran into a solo male hiker, complete with a hydration pack, tights, a trekking pole, and gloves. He was attempting to make the peak after a failed attempt due to snow earlier in the season. He said that he had gotten a late start, and we were amazed that it was, again, so late in the day.
The sun was out a bit more now, and it alternated between hot (in my base layer and long-sleeved polyester pullover) and cool whenever we stopped to catch our breath. Sophie, who would lead the pack if I was second, and take the second position if I
was 3rd, seemed satisfied to be at the back of the pack. She, too, was feeling the Col.
At almost at the same spot that we had met the young couple 22 hours earlier, we met a trio of true amateurs (rednecks, at that). A tall man, dressed in cotton shorts and cotton T-shirt, carrying a 20 ounce single water bottle (and no other supplies—i.e.: food, dry clothes, iodine tablets, etc.) huffingly-and-puffingly asked us, “How much further is it?”
“Well, that depends on how far you’re going,” said Scott.
“To the top… …to the top of the trail.”
Scott was offering a bit of gentle advice, whereas I was more direct with the two yahoo friends who were about 4 minutes behind the first man (they were from Griffin, Indiana, a redneck town about 40 miles south of Chicago). I told the two: There’s no way that at this late hour you guys will get to the summit tonight.
“Well…we have a headlamp and a flashlight.”
“It took me and this guy two days to get up and down, and we have food and more water…”
Blank stares…
Freakin’ amateurs. Let ‘em
learn the hard way…
At this point, I gave up, turning and throwing a “Well…
good luck…,” (much like the one the Lewis and Clark National Forest worker had given to me when I told him that I intended to cross the peak in a Toyota pick-up truck). We laughed and laughed at the rednecks through the end of the hike and beyond.
We finally saw the road below, and after spending 4 hours getting down from the summit, reached the parking lot. It felt sooo good to take of the heavy boots and the sweaty wool hiking socks and change into some warm, dry clothes. An awkward “High 5!” (awkward because they seem so silly) ended a safe, successful and satisfying hike.
Colonel Bob Rules!
Chicago Dave, Scott, and Sophie the dog
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