My Head is Spinning — Wonderland Trail Day Nine

(Indian Bar to Maple Creek.  Per my AllTrails app:  Length: 11.51 miles; Elevation gain: 1,739 ft.; Moving Time: 4:52; Total Time: 7:15)

My Early Morning Mistakes

In the wee hours I went out to pee, and I saw the cirque surrounding Indian Bar in the glow of the starlight.  So serene.

GIF from the view I had when I got up to pee in the wee hours

When the light began to glow on my tent, I followed my pattern and stuffed the sleeping bag into its sack.  It removes the temptation to crawl back into the warmth of its womb.  I was saving my final big calorie granola breakfast for the next day, my last on the trail, so my breakfast consisted of a tamale and some trail mix.  The tamale was tasty, but this meant a lot fewer calories than I had been ingesting.  Coupled with the meager so-called “dinner” of the night before, I was starting the day notably under-fueled.

I compounded the error when I debated filling my water bottles on departure.  Feeling lazy to remove my pack so soon after hoisting it, and knowing I still had a half bottle or so, I decided to press on.  Yet I knew that most of the day was going to be downhill along a ridgeline.  There are no water sources on a ridgeline!  I was obviously not thinking clearly.

Heading Down the Ridge Line

The first stretch was actually uphill and, just as I was leaving, a group of three — two elderly — passed me where I was taking a departure photo.

What was my hurry when I had views like THIS to enjoy?

Then the uphill was hard as my legs didn’t want to wake up.  Plus, the sun was almost directly in my eyes.  Eventually I got going and passed the threesome on a flat portion, where I realized that it really irked me for anyone to get out in the morning ahead of me.  I never saw them again.

There were plenty of dazzling wildflowers on the path to keep me entertained.  Prominent among them were these bizarre puffs of white that looked like alien spacecraft on stalks.  Strange, but eerily beautiful!

Wildflower, or alien spacecraft? You tell me!

Then it was down the ridgeline, or occasionally up when the mountain rose, but overall down and down as I got more thirsty and tired, and my water gradually ran out.  Still I continued to get great views until I descended below the forest canopy.

Despite running out of water, I had a nice view of Mount Adams as I headed down

The Price of Hunger and Dehydration

The one thing I had been so careful to avoid, dehydration, had caught up with me due to my own foolishness.  Down the Cowlitz Divide I came, then turned west and descended more steeply until finally — at last! — I heard the sounds of Nickel Creek.

This was an ideal spot to rest and fill up the water bottles and have a few snacks.   But as I leaned over the stream to fill my filter bottle, I had the strangest feeling.  It felt like the world was kind of spinning and I was kind of floating in it, and I realized just in time that if I did not voluntarily sit down, and quickly, I was going down involuntarily.

I sat on a rock with a thump and took stock of what had just happened.

I had been dizzy and nearly passed out.  For a moment it baffled me as this had never happened in my adult life that I could recall.  Then the fog cleared, and it added up… a very long day the day before; poor dinner the night before; poor breakfast that morning; not enough water on the trail down.  I tend to regard myself as invincible, but I had pushed my limits too far.

So, I took a good long rest, I drank a lot of water (and filled up both bottles for the trail), and I gorged on my midday snacks without restraint.  The dizziness never returned.

Refreshed and Back on the Trail

To continue I had to cross Nickel Creek further down as the regular bridge had washed out.  Then, a short ways down the trail, I met a guy coming up the trail carrying nothing at all.  He asked if I had seen three thru-hikers, and assented when I asked if two were older persons.  He was coming to meet them on the completion of their Wonderland circuit.

This seemed like a sweet gesture, and I explained they were 30-60 minutes behind me, and told him about the bridge detour at Nickel Creek.  I had almost missed the cairn leading to that bridge, and had been trying to decide whether to try dancing on stepping stones, or to bite the bullet and wade across, when I spotted it.  I figured I would save him that concern.

As I dropped toward the road I revelled in the big trees by the side of the trail.  After my dizzy spell, I think I had a renewed appreciation of my surroundings.

The Big Tree

Giving that tree an embrace — a tree-hugger, and proud of it!

Roads and People

After surprisingly large crowds on Friday, the day before, I saw relatively fewer visitors on Saturday.  At Box Canyon I met the park road and crossed to read the placards and throw away my garbage in the bins, including the spoiled tortillas and cheese.  A tour group was there, and the leader/driver asked if I was hiking through.  The tour seemed to include a lot of rowdy young people who were throwing something (stones?) into the box canyon.  I was glad to leave them behind.

At least I didn’t throw anything into the box canyon!

Road Behind, But Warning Ahead!

I had my second “lunch” at Stevens Creek.  Learning my lesson, I also refilled my water!

Stevens Creek, another refreshing stop!

Leaving the creek, I saw signs prominently displayed about the trail closure ahead due to a slide west of Maple Creek.

Slide warning regarding the area I needed to cross the following day

I haven’t written about this before, but I had been told about this problem right at the start and had been worrying about it a little all along the way.  Apparently, this spot had been perennially slide-prone and this time the crews just couldn’t fix it.  So, it was formally closed. The official options were either:

ONE:  You take their detour.  They had apparently blazed a set of very sketchy paths down steep scree slopes to the river below, one on either side of the closure.  Depending on which direction you were going, you would drop down one, walk along the river below to the other, then ascend the other side.  I spoke to a guy who said it took him 20-30 scary minutes going down and 5-10 much easier minutes coming back up. 

TWO:  You take the road.  The ranger I spoke to thought walking the road would be much more dangerous because the drivers are rubbernecking and not looking out for hikers.  He suggested hitchhiking instead, but that would be “cheating” in my book.

THREE:  This option was not offered because it was officially forbidden, but the vast majority of hikers I encountered (including Gita, Polly, and Darcy) had chosen it.  That was to go ahead and cross at the site of the “closed” washout despite there being no discernible path.  The footing was supposed to be loose, sliding rock across a very narrow ledge but still do-able.  One guy said he had actually bent his poles making the crossing and would never do it again.  Others said it wasn’t too bad but acknowledged that it was changing every day and could be growing increasingly dangerous.

I planned to wait until I got there to make my call but thought the road option was out.  I was leaning towards going down to the river, even though it would mean losing time, and it sounded almost as dangerous as the short crossing.  We would see the next day.

First to an Empty Camp… Again

The last mile to camp from Stevens Creek felt like tropical rain forest at times.  It was sunny and hot, and at one point I passed through a patch of lush ferns that were taller than I was.  I made Maple Creek camp and was the first to arrive at a little after one p.m.

As at Mystic Lake it was a bit weird having the place to myself.  I picked Site One and tied my bandana to the number so others wouldn’t come down my private path hoping for a vacancy.  Then I scoped out the first move of the next day, a river crossing and reroute.  I also doused my shirt in the cool water, sponged myself off, and — after wringing it out — put the shirt on to cool myself.

Damn the Flies and Bless the Tent

Then I noticed an increasing problem of biting flies.  Not the big horse flies that hurt like hell, but the black ones that look almost like house flies.  Back at camp they were so persistent and annoying that I pitched tent, threw my stuff inside, then tumbled inside myself.  Even quickly unzipping and rezipping the entry, three or four got in that I had to relentlessly hunt and kill.

For the rest of the afternoon I napped, holed up in the safety of my sanctuary.  Finally, I had to run and recover my food from the bear pole to make dinner, something definitely more filling and nourishing than the night before!  It was freeze-dried vegetarian pasta to which I added a whole packet of tuna.  Of course it was cold, but as before this did not bother me.  My plan for stoveless travel had worked fine.

After dinner and replacing the food up the pole, I watched the bugs crawl between my tent and the rain fly until my eyes drooped and I fell asleep.  I was nearing the end.