Trip report by: Denis Du Bois
"I would probably recommend this trip to a friend."
This sunny weekend bridging the last day of July to the first day of August, I wanted to finally get up into the high country for a backpacking trip. I called around to several ranger stations, and consistently found that the trails were buried under snow, or blocked by deadfall from the heavy winter of 1998-99.
On the advice of one ranger who seemed to be fairly well informed (too often, I meet ranger station staff who don't hike their own district), I packed up and headed for the sunny, green meadows of Excelsior Ridge. It didn't really occur to me until a couple of hours of driving later, that I would be hiking within a stone's throw of the Canadian border. And I didn't plan for the conditions I would eventually encounter on the trail.
Photos: The boardwalk was partly visible at the edge of frozen Damfino Lake. This was the last I saw of the trail. Sunset made the trip worthwhile.
I stopped off in Bellingham to get lunch, gas, and some supplies at the Base Camp outdoor store, a quaint log cabin, well-stocked, and staffed by friendly people. Kind of reminded me of the old REI atmosphere. The second leg of my trip began across the freeway from Bellingham, toward the town of Glacier.
The last segment of this long drive was the most beautiful of all. Canyon Creek Road is a narrow, mostly paved, road winding up into the hills north of the highway. The road ends in a small parking lot, an old logging platform with an excellent view of the valley below.
Within a mile of the car, I reached Damfino Lakes (Ira Spring says it's pronounced "damn if I know"). This is a tiny lake with a pool beside it, surrounded by trees and brush. There might be a campsite there...I wouldn't know, because the lake was still frozen and the shoreline was completely buried under snow.
I crossed a small exposed section of boardwalk, the last I would see of a trail all weekend. From there, the snowpack concealed any sign of the route. So, out came the map, compass and altimeter. If I could angle across the north-facing slope through the trees and make the first small pass, the route would be on a south-facing slope. Looking across the valley at other such slopes, lush green and snow-free, I concluded the trail would emerge at the pass and I'd be in the green high country I had envisioned.
Wrong. Without benefit of snowshoes, I kicked and slid and huffed and puffed to the pass, elevation slightly above 5000'. It was a snowfield. I hurried toward the pass and looked over the south side. It, too, was a snowfield. Snow everywhere. I was standing on the trail, for sure, but between it and my feet was at least 10 or 15 feet of hard snowpack.
Did I mention I got a late start? I left Seattle after noon, began hiking at around 4:30, and this first 2-3 miles cross-country on snow had taken me about 2 hours. Two more hours, and the sun would set. Camp would be at the pass. I found a level spot, smoothed out the snow, and made camp. Mind you, I had not prepared to camp on snow. My summer clothes and three-season tent were packed with mosquitos in mind, not snow.
Then the moment that made it all worthwhile--sunset. It began as a warm, bright spot on the distant horizon. I could see it clearly from my camp, which, thanks to a large clearcut, had a broad vista to the northwest into Canada and out to the Sound. While I ate dinner and put on every stitch of clothing I had, the sky darkened with reds and purples, as the sun slipped behind some storm clouds over Vancouver Island. A few minutes before setting completely, the sun appeared again between the clouds and the horizon, for a bright show of red. Afterward, the lingering light spread upward, casting purple, red, yellow and orange light on the bottoms of the clouds.
It was easy to forget that the temperature on this snowfield would fall very quickly, very soon. I was reminded when a breeze came down the slope and hit the back of my neck.
It was almost a full moon, and the storm clouds never did move in on my exposed ridgetop camp. In the morning, the sun soon warmed my tent as I made bad coffee, and ate my oatmeal as quickly as I could, to finish it before it got cold. Ah, the pleasures of snow camping! But it was another sunny day, and the hike down would be very quick. That gave me the rest of the day to explore the area. I had never stopped at Nooksack Falls, and it was a magnificent day to go to Artist's Point, so off I went.
Once I got over the disappointment of not making Excelsior Ridge, I began to think that wasn't such a bad trip. (I was not thinking that as I kick-stepped my way up the steep slopes above Damfino Lakes.) Next time I plan a trip where there will be snow on the trail, I'll plan to make 50% fewer miles in a day, and take warmer clothes.
Note: This is backcountry wilderness travel. Any trail can become very dangerous in winter conditions. You are responsible for informing yourself of the hazards and taking the necessary precautions. Please read Terms of Use.