Always Take the Side Trip! — Wonderland Trail Day Eight
(White River Campground to Indian Bar. Per my AllTrails app: Length: 16.67 miles; Elevation gain: 4,423 ft.; Moving Time: 8:19; Total Time: 12:34)
Early Morning Silence
As usual I was up early, ate my high calorie granola breakfast with organic cranberries from my cache, took my morning chemo, and got ready to move. The whole campground seemed asleep as I tiptoed near Tim’s RV and pulled off my electronics, all fully charged! I was on the trail by 6:30. Little did I know then that this would be the longest, highest, and most spectacular day of my trip.
First, I crossed the White River bridges and began easy walking on a gentle slope, going fast.
The Ascent Begins
In about two-and-a-half miles I turned to begin following Fryingpan Creek as it started to ascend into the mountains. After awhile I encountered a group of hikers and passed them. They said they were a club called “Mountaineers” who do mostly weekend hikes in the greater Seattle area. I pressed on, but the uphill got steadily steeper, and I was feeling the burn. Where the path finally crossed Fryingpan Creek I stopped for a snack and to refill my water bottles. While I was sitting there the Mountaineers passed me in turn.
Back on the trail it was getting ever steeper, and the trees were growing thinner. To compensate, the wildflowers were growing more luxuriant, and they inspired my continued ascent.
Finally, I reached Summerland, where Gita and company would be camping that night, the last of their trip. The Mountaineers were lunching there, and it was my turn to pass them again. Now I was out in the open, with rocks and larger patches of snow, and dazzling views up at Tahoma.
Past Summerland… Rock and Snow and Danger
Ahead was a very dicey crossing, where a rushing stream coming off the mountain could be seen to go under a large snow field, only to emerge a considerable ways lower down. This is potentially a very dangerous situation, because from the surface it is impossible to tell how thick the snow is, or how much it has been eaten away by the stream flowing swiftly beneath it.
Quite a few people, including experienced mountain travelers, have fallen through the snow and been seriously injured or, in some cases, killed. In the worst case, the water is flowing so fast it pulls the hiker deeper under the snow bank where rescue is difficult and slow and drowning in ice water can be the result. There had been several of these spots on the mountain already, but this was the most treacherous so far because of the much larger volume of water disappearing under the snow field.
Two hikers ahead were approaching this hazard slowly and I saw that they were wisely going higher to skirt the trail in the snow. I say “wisely” because the boot path starts to melt and indent itself from continued use, making it even more fragile than the thicker snow around it. I passed these hikers and was surprised to see that one seemed much older than I was and the other looked about my age. With a quick greeting, I continued on.
A Chance Meeting That Proves Lucky For Me!
A ways further up was an icy lake set against the backdrop of Tahoma, and as I took some pictures the two men caught up to me. The younger offered to take my picture against the lake and I gratefully accepted, not having many pictures of myself on the trail.
Shortly later I again overtook them, and the older man asked, “Where are you from, Missouri?”
“No, I’m from Washington State,” I replied, “what made you think Missouri?”
“Well, from all the pictures you were taking, I thought maybe you had never seen a mountain before,” he answered.
On the face of it, this was quite a sarcastic comment, and for a moment I considered taking offense. But it was such a beautiful day, in such a stunning location, I could not muster the will to take it negatively. So I replied, “No, it’s just that my wife can’t be here with me, and I want to record as much as I can to share with her when I get back.”
I guess that was the right answer, because the older man changed his tone right away and offered to have me join them in going to “the most beautiful spot in the entire Mount Rainier National Park.”
Now I had a long way yet to go, on a very long day, but one of the advantages of waking early is that you can take spontaneous side trips and still make camp by nightfall. How could I refuse his offer?
Banter Over Lunch With Two New Friends
We continued together upward toward the saddle at Panhandle Gap, at 6,800 feet the highest point on the Wonderland Trail. After awhile the two men and I veered east, toward another mountain flanked with a blanket of wildflowers. A couple hundred yards further, we stopped for lunch in a spot where I would leave my backpack to pick up upon my return.
As we ate, I learned that the older guy was 82 years old, his name was Arnie, he was a professor emeritus from the University of Washington, and he was “probably one of the foremost experts in the world on the DNA in plant mitochondria and chloroplasts.” Learning that I was taking chemotherapy, Arnie posited that the current research fascination with oncogenes was probably off base, and he decried the fact that research proposals looking at alternate explanations for the origins of cancer had difficulty obtaining funding. Of course for me these concerns were not exactly abstract, but I found his ideas very interesting.
When he mentioned that his father grew up in the Bronx, I thought of my father growing up in Brooklyn, and I got a strong vibe that he, like me, might be Jewish. I asked him the question directly. “No, I’m not,” he replied, adding, “I mean my family origins are Jewish, but I think all religions are the same.” I took him to be implying that they were all hogwash, but then my question was meant to be cultural and not theological. As far as I was concerned, he was Jewish.
His friend Jay was an architect, and they were neighbors who shared a love of the outdoors. Arnie was both charming and occasionally annoying but, as I said, it was too lovely a day to be annoyed. So, when he lectured me about biology, I kept it to myself that I had been a biology major in college and listened attentively. In truth, I worried that I might embarrass myself if I claimed credentials based on classes I had taken in the mid-1970’s!
Seeking Goats and Wildflowers on our Side Adventure
Arnie was doing this hike for the 29th time and he hoped that no one else even knew about it. Jay was more realistic and pointed out a few footprints that we encountered. I joked that they were probably Arnie’s from the last time he had come. In this way, as we hiked up the hillside toward the peak, we gradually got to know each other and to get along with a friendly banter.
Right near the start Arnie pointed out wool caught in the branches at trailside and said we would likely encounter mountain goats.
Sure enough, a herd of about sixteen were sitting on a snowfield, presumably keeping cool that way. We approached carefully, with Arnie in front, and he – the photographer skeptic – began taking pictures of the creatures while being careful not to disturb them.
Eventually we continued up the hill, finally arriving at the summit, Banshee Peak, elevation 7,366 feet. On the other side of the peak was a sheer cliff, dropping many hundreds of feet straight down. You wouldn’t want to be standing there in a high, gusty wind!
Looking west, the mighty Tahoma filled the sky. Looking east and south we could see Mt. Adams clearly, almost like a twin icy cone, and further away we could make out Mt. St. Helens, and even, in the far-off distance, Mt. Hood. Arnie was certainly right about one thing – it was a spectacular location!
We headed back down, talking about wildflowers – cinquefoil, phlox, and false hellebore — and I learned a lot about how lupine provides ecosystem services through its nitrogen fixation.
We spoke about the habits of mountain goats, and of little-known hikes of great beauty, until I finally got to my pack, picked it up, and bid them farewell. They were going back to their car and I was going on, over the Panhandle saddle, to Indian Bar.
Suddenly All Alone, Route-Finding in the Late Afternoon
It was now well past 3 p.m. and the area had cleared out. All of the day hikers had returned toward their cars, and all of the through hikers had already passed through. It became my personal paradise, but not without danger either. There were many more snow/river crossings, with the snow even softer and more vulnerable now, after several more hours of sunshine hitting it. With no one around to help, an accident would have left me very vulnerable indeed. In addition, it was sometimes difficult to find the trail amidst all the rocks and snow. At one point I wanted to go down, but the trail continued upward, and only after some searching did I realize my mistake.
Eventually I found the correct path downward. Before giving up my elevation, however, I took a video of the mountains, which I have broken into two clips, .
Down to Camp and an Uninspired “Dinner”
Then I did descend, quite steeply down a ridge, and I could see an old stone house in the distance marking my destination. According to Arnie it had been built in the 1930’s as one of Roosevelt’s WPA projects. When I arrived, I filled my water bottles in the icy water and made camp up the hill. I returned to examine the old house, which was now the group camping site, and to do my laundry.
I planned to have a quick soak too, but the water was so icy cold on my feet that I changed plans and settled for a chilling face wash. Some of the young group campers were less inhibited and jumped in, cold-or-no-cold, most of them without their clothes on. Ah, youth!
Dinner was uninspiring as I had made a mistake and packed both cheese and tortillas in my second cache instead of the first. This was poor planning, as the tortillas now smelled fermented and, while the cheese looked fine, its package was swollen suspiciously. For some reason I chose not to open a tuna packet, but just “dined” on odd snacks like jerky and fig bars. It was more like an extended snack than a true dinner.
Then to bed. My longest day was done.
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Comments 3
Wow your video clips are cool. It looks so cold there, what were the daytime temps on this day? The scenery is so hard and gray looking (I’m an east coast gal).
Look forward to more.
Holly, the snow stayed late because we had quite a cold June, but by July it was warmer. Hence the heavy snow melt runoff and the danger of falling through the snow. The high was probably low 70’s on this day, or maybe high 60’s. Thanks for reading. The next post should come out tomorrow. — George
Thanks for answering my question