Up High

It seems like the mountain adventures I've been doing lately have presented me with circumstances that have resulted in images with a bit of a common thread: Relatively small human figures in an expansive,  high country landscape.

The snow in my Washington state alpine playground is melting fast in this unusually warm spring…and thus, because we enjoy a pristine, white setting,  my friends and I have been doing trips that take us higher and higher. Plans are afoot for an even more ambitious trek in mid-June into the North Cascades. If the weather cooperates and the trip comes off, it could be amazing. Stay tuned.

Until then, here are several images from the past several weeks.

Plan C

Two friends and I headed to Mt. Rainier yesterday with a plan to hike to Camp Muir, the small, flat-ish area at an elevation of 10,000 feet on the massive 14, 411-foot mountain where most summit climbers put up tents and spend their first, often somewhat breathless night,  before climbing to the top the next day.

When we arrived at Paradise, however, the winds were howling and spindrift snow was blasting the landscape -- this at the relatively "low" elevation of 5,000 feet -- such that we didn't even want to get out of the car, much less climb five thousand feet of elevation higher into the teeth of the nastiness.

We considered a Plan B: To drive a bit lower and snowshoe out the Stevens Canyon Rd (still closed for the winter and snow-covered) toward the Tatoosh peaks;  but it turned out that the winds were whipping there too, and we were also concerned about avalanche potential.

In the end, we drove further down the mountain below Longmire,  hiked/snowshoed the Kautz Creek trail up toward (but not quite to) Indian Henry's Hunting Ground,  and wound up having a great outing. From our lunch spot on a high, snowy knoll, we could look out toward Mt. Adams (above) and some of the westerly Tatoosh peaks.

Once back at the car at the end of the day, we watched a lenticular cloud form over Rainier, an indication that the high winds on the mountain had not let up. Magic Hour photographic light was wonderful.

Post-hike dinner was at the Wildberry in Ashford, a sweet little restaurant run by a Nepali Sherpa family.  I got to say "Namaste" a lot, drink Nepali tea, and we three hikers enjoyed a fine meal. I had Nepali dalh (lentils) and was in vegetarian heaven.

Hike stats:

Approx 8+ mi RT
2300'+ ele gain

Here, and There

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that I guess was a parody of the theme "I'd Rather Be Jogging," or "I'd Rather Be Fishing," or "I'd Rather Be Shopping."

The sticker I saw was: "I'd rather be HERE,"  and I took it as a gentle reminder that happiness is best found in the present moment, not in some dreamland, fantasy island place in the future.

Nevertheless -- and bumper sticker wisdom notwithstanding -- a friend and I headed up into the mountains yesterday.

We left here behind, and ventured there.  I fully admit that the landscape where I feel most content and at peace is up in Earth's high places.

Our trip took us through the Skagit Valley, where I photographed moon-set at dawn (above.) And then we drove up, up, up, toward Mt. Shuksan, one of the most beautiful peaks on the planet in my opinion.  And to Mt. Baker.

At a number of points in our snowshoe hike, my friend and I exchanged grinning expressions of joy, moments when no words were necessary.

We were both so happy to be where we were.

Heart History

Forty-plus years ago when I was in school  I thought "history" was boring.  Now that I'm old and "historical" myself,  events that came before my time seem much more relevant.  Funny how that is.

For folks like my friends and me who do outdoor stuff, it's kinda cool to know the stories of hikers and climbers who ventured into the local hills before us.

Two friends and I traveled to Yakima Sunday and hiked/snowshoed up Mt. Cleman, a sagebrush- country peak for which I have a daypack full of fond memories, having hiked/climbed it many times in the late 1970's and early 80's with my friend, Louie Ulrich.

Louie was 77 when I met him in 1977. I had just started a job as a photographer for the paper in Yakima, was new to the West,  and a novice hiker. I was aware that there were two "old guys" in Yakima, Lex Maxwell and Louis Ulrich,  who had been climbing in the Cascades for decades. I wanted to do a photo story about one of these characters and I made contact with Louie. We did a couple of hikes and walkup climbs together, I did my story, and, in the coming years Louie and I became good friends. Even after Leah and I moved to Seattle in 1980 I'd sometimes travel back to Yakima and hike with Louie.

There are climbs that young alpinists do today that Louie and his partners pioneered in the 1930's. If you look through Cascade Mountain climbing guidebooks you'll see that Louie is credited with a number of first ascents.

The two images above are from my archives.  Photo #1:  Louie and me, about 1978, I think near the Goat Rocks. And photo #2:  Louie on Mt. Cleman in 1980.   The photographs below are from Sunday's outing.

In my heart Louie was there with us Sunday, making yet another trek up one of his favorite Yakima area mountains.

Hello 2016

The holiday week has been beautiful here:  Clear, bluebird sky,  and a ton of new powder snow in the mountains.

Above is an image from a sunrise ferry crossing of Puget Sound as I was on my way to meet up with my hiking friends (we took advantage of the holidays and time off work to get into the high country.)  Below are pictures from one of several snowshoe trips we did, and there are plans afoot to go again tomorrow.

The New Year offers great promise here, and I hope for you too.

Sagebrush and Snow

This post: Images from two hiking trips I've done the past two weekends.

(Above)  from the sagebrush country of Central Washington; and (below) from a snowshoe trip up into the snowy high country near Mt. Rainier.

Both landscapes were Perfect Places to Be (in my opinion,) but oh so visually different.

Happy Holidays, and Peace!

White Friday

I did a hike to a place called Sibley Pass in the North Cascades on October 17, before snow began to fall in the high country. It was a gorgeous, almost-balmy day as several friends and I trekked up out of a basin and climbed onto a ridgetop where we took in amazing views, dramatic and severe-looking peaks in every direction.

As perfect as that October day was, I found myself wondering what that landscape would look like in Winter. And without even realizing it, I guess I began planning a return trip.

A week ago, the day after Thanksgiving -- the day that the marketing world calls Black Friday -- two friends and I went back to Sibley Pass.

Above are two images from the October hike, and below are pictures from the most recent trip -- a day we trekked in so much snow I took to calling it White Friday.

Six Days

I was in Ohio last week,  spending time with my mom, and one of the things we usually do when I visit is make a trip to Amish country.  There are several country stores in that area that Mom likes, and there is also a little Amish diner where we have lunch -- $4.95 for an egg salad sandwich and potato chips.  I happened upon the pictures you see above.

A mere six days later I was back home in the Pacific Northwest and made the pictures you see below. Several friends and I had snowshoed up into the Mt. Stuart range in Central Washington, hiking a trail that took us up, up, up above treeline, where views extended at least 100 miles.

It's a bit unreal to me that, in the space of less than a week, I was in two places, so very unlike one another. Neither place was better than the other. They were simply different.

 

Call of the Wild

I assume that most people have heard about "Ski Bums" and "Climbing Bums" -- individuals who, when the weather is right,  or a good-for-nothing friend calls on the phone and says "Let's Go!",  blow off responsibilities like school or jobs to head up into the mountains for a Play Day.

Well, if Webster's Dictionary or Wikipedia ever coin the term "Snowshoe Bum,"  I'm pretty sure I could be first in line to qualify.  Not that I live in an old VW van,  or squeak by on a meager income from a trust fund,  or any of those stereotypical ski/climbing bum lifestyles.

Yet.

But don't tempt me, because there are days when I lean toward that kind of dirtbag-ish path.

I mean, check out these pictures I shot two days ago on a snowshoe outing in the North Cascades and tell me if you blame me for throwing my winter gear in the car and heading for the hills on a weekday, a day when most responsible folks were punching the clock.

The weather was right.

The snow was right.

Oh wow, dude. I was so there!