A Beautiful Disaster

Jared and I had our first backpacking adventure together over this past weekend. And let me tell you, it was quite the adventure. We learned a couple lessons and a lot about each other, too. I learned just how patient Jared could be with his struggling, winded wife. And Jared learned just how charming I can be hiking uphill with a 40 pound bag on my back.

All in all, the trip was a bit of a disaster. Our first clue should have been the weather report. It was supposed to be a beautiful Saturday, but Sunday boasted 100% chance of rain. And in that little box indicating what the overnight would be, I'm pretty sure I caught a glimpse of something that resembled T-storms...but I tried not to think about it. Our second clue should have been the hour long border wait at the one border crossing that's practically guaranteed no wait at all.

As we drove through the mountains on our way to the trailhead though, all my apprehensions from those first two ill omens were whisked away. Because it's true what people have been assuring me. We do get a fall season out here. Maybe not right along the coast where we live and work (where evergreens and moss trump any other kind of tree), but in the mountains we saw glimpses of yellows and what will soon be reds and golds, and smelled that crisp, fresh fall air I've been craving. It's getting beautiful.

We decided to try a trail called Yellow Aster Butte. It's supposed to be spectacular in the fall season, when some of the plants turn reddish and yellow.

The trail is around 7.5 miles round trip, which means just 3.75 till our camping spot at the top. Just driving up to the trailhead we knew it'd be a beautiful view the whole way--and it was absolutely spectacular. The trail was a bit further into the mountains than the ones we'd been on so far, so we saw different views of different peaks, and a new side to some of our familiar ones too.

With packs on our backs, we started up the trail. And that's when we discovered one additional little hiccough: flies. Everywhere. They swarmed us like a plague, clinging to any bit of us and nibbling when they had the chance. It was the type of nuisance that forbade us from taking any extra breather stops, and unfortunately, I quite needed those breather stops. Did you know it's a bit more difficult to hike up hill when you've put on the extra weight of a pack? Apparently it takes more than just determination and a good attitude to get your backpack on, it takes some strength too.

But I made it. And we borrowed the idea of some other hikers we passed, using tree branches as fly swatters the first hour. It got us some funny looks from other hikers, plus some compliments on our ingenuity and, fortuntately, some reassurances that we'd reach a fly-free zone at the top. And we did. Right as the trail started opening up to spectacular vistas, flower sprinkled meadows and rocky outcrops, the breeze picked up and blew the wretched creatures away.

And--my favorite part--the trail flattened out too. Our major elevation gain was over, so I could actually look around and enjoy the hike. And I discovered just how amazing a snack of dried fruit and trail mix can be. Delicious!

As we hiked along the ridge, the blue skies we'd been enjoying were slowly growing a bit more dreary.
Eventually, they disappeared altogether, leaving us with a blanket of gray dotted here and there with more ominous shades. Now and then, we felt a couple rain drops--just enough to put a spring to our step and get us in high gear. At least, that's what it felt like to me. Jared thought otherwise, as I distinctly remember him saying, "Lift up your feet girl!" The trail continued to climb and zig-zag through alpine meadows, over a couple brief snowfields, and some rocky overhangs.

Eventually, we reached a spot where a lovely European couple informed us the trail turned left, not right. They also told us it looked like rain--which we'd figured out by that point. We followed their (correct) directions, and headed down a series of steep, downhill switchbacks.

And there, we found some deliciously sweet and tart wild blueberries. What a treat after a long hike!

The end of the Yellow Aster Butte trail is a plateau that's pitted with little lakes, all connected by tiny streams and a zig-zag of trails.

We spotted a tent or two tucked in between trees here and there, and decided our top priority was finding a good spot to pitch our own. We decided on a nice little patch, not too protected by anything, but flat and dry. It would do nicely.

Jared was on the trip too!

We quickly set up camp, and then had ourselves a nice dinner--indian food from a pouch has never tasted so delicious. By then, the sun was getting lower and lower, the clouds were getting heavier, and the wind was getting a bit more bold. We poked around just a bit, and then retreated to our nice cozy tent and sleeping bags. It was a wonderful evening tucked warm and dry on our mountain top, munching on extra-butter jiffy-pop, reading out loud from a book while the wind whistled outside. At that moment, life was beautiful.But then the night came. And let me tell you, God did a bit of showing off that night. He showed off His power to make wind stronger and louder than you ever thought possible whip and whistle through the mountains. And He showed off a bit of His sense of humor, too, in that that two of us were protected from it all by our tiny little sea-monster of a tent, held to the ground by 10 metal stakes and our own weight. 

The wind beat and abused our poor tent, but it held firm. And although we both spent a sleepless, white-knuckled night praying and wondering how we'd ever get off that mountain, we were warm and dry in our mummy bags. Even when the wind brought along its best friend, rain. I swear, though, every time I heard that wind picking up on one end of the mountains, it seemed to say "you shouldn't be here." And I must say, I couldn't agree more.

Around 6:00, Jared finally plucked up the courage to look at his watch. We had about an hour till sunrise--or at least until it was light enough to see the trail. At 6:50 I asked Jared how much longer we had to pretend we were sleeping. At 7:00, we did a marathon pack-up, and braved our way into the rain and wind, motivated only by promises of hot chocolate and heated seats once we reached the car. We had rain coats and pack covers, but my pants were water-logged within about a minute. The wind came in gusts, cold and threatening. And the rain just kept coming. But we found our way through the fallen clouds back to the main trail, I found a trusty walking stick for the more tricky parts, and we marched our way back down.

We made record time. And, the lower we got, the less rain there was, and the gentler the wind became. Eventually, we were able to look at the sky and see beauty in the rushing clouds and rare spots of blue. And by the time we got back to our car, we had quite made peace with the mountain and it's angry weather. We promised we'd see it again--but next time, we'll make sure we have two forecasts of sunshine.

It was actually a beautiful trip. Jared and I came out strong and laughing--in fact, he recuperated fast enough to embark on another trip the next day! And the forecast for that trip? Three solid days of rain. At least I learned my lesson :)

Just your typical Sunday afternoon

These past couple weeks have flown. Absolutely flown. They've been wonderful, but super busy. Between new and exciting (but time consuming) projects at my work, and staff retreats, camp, and leaders meetings with Jared's work, our weekdays have become a blur. Fortunately, we're both doing things we absolutely love. And the weekends leave us some time to play, too. Because that's one thing we've really discovered out here: the Pacific Northwest is God's playground.

This past Sunday, we went on a quick afternoon hike in the Mt. Baker area. It was one of those hikes that really reminds you just how much God loves us. I think it showed a bit of his playful side too--wildflowers and glaciers and waterfalls all within a glance of each other. 

The hike is called Heliotrope Ridge, and like many that we've decided to try, it's featured in the Best Wildflower Hikes of Washington book. This is actually the trail that people climbing Mt. Baker use. And we saw a lot of backpackers on their way down, bearing all their rope, their crampons, and other mountain climbing tools.

The book warned us that we'd have three creek crossings, which could be dangerous, depending on the hike. Well, usually those books exaggerate. But I think this time it fell a bit short--as in 5 or 6 creek crossings short. Before we even really got on the trail, we had to climb down the bank to cross the rushing river on a log. Apparently the normal route was over a snow bridge, but that had collapsed as it got warmer and melted. Fortunately, the trees out here are massive, so that log bridge was actually pretty comfortable :)

A lot of the hike was simply climbing through the lush forests, crossing the occasional stream. But every once and a while, we'd come across a more significant crossing that required hopping from rock to rock. One of the first ones had this waterfall in the background. It was a wonderful little spot to cool down.

 Did I mention it's peak wildflower season right now? Mmm hmm. Jared was trying to capture the flowers against the rushing water in these photos.

 

 We eventually grew pretty accustomed to seeing and crossing these rushing streams. And with Jared's help, I became pretty good at hopping from rock to rock. Only one wet foot by the end of the trail :)

The last mile of the hike was phenomenal. We had finally reached the sub-alpine meadow area--by far my favorite level. And did I mention it's peak wildflower season?

 The banks on either side of us were a blanket of purple, blue, yellow and green, with splashes of red here and there. These pictures definitely do not do it justice. But trust me, it was all we could do to not just stop and stare.

 But we kept going. And it's a good thing we did, because the sights just kept getting better and better. The trees disappeared and the whole skyline opened up, revealing hills lined with waterfall after waterfall. Everything just seemed to be rushing water, boulders, and flowers.

 And those of you who read my last post may recognize the peak showing his face in the back of this photo.

Considering that this is the hike people take to climb Mt. Baker, we couldn't be closer. But that didn't make him seem any more approachable. He certainly dominated the skyline.

 This is where we ended up. Essentially, this trail climbed up to the Coleman Glacier. Now, I've been to glaciers, but I don't remember them being anything like this. I always picture them as a snowfield. But this was crazy. Giant pits and ditches of ice, rushing water, and hard packed snow. There were a couple people out on the glacier, who we assumed were training for the summit. Hikers are always warned to stay off glaciers unless they have proper training, and I've always kind of shrugged that off as overly cautious. But oh man, after seeing this I can see why. It was intense. It just looked dangerous.

 It also gave us a strange desire to watch Bear Grylls in Man vs. Wild (one of our favorite tv shows from our college days).

 In short, it was a pretty awesome hike.

 If the weather cooperates, we're scheduled to do our first overnight backpacking trip together this weekend! I'm keeping my fingers crossed. After a hike like this, I want nothing more than to spend an entire day poking around and exploring up there. Although I wouldn't say no to a real toilet ;)