Trip report by Jeffrey Olson
In August of 1995 Dave and I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail from Stevens Pass to Stehekin. We spent the night on the shoulder of Glacier Peak at Milk Creek on a bare patch of ground cleared out of the ten foot high brush. From Milk Creek to Stehekin was hiked in rain, clouds, mist and fog. I decided to hike part of this trip on 7/29/98.
I purchased a smaller pack, 2800 cu inches or so, and was going to do a training hike to test pack, and the new philosophy I'd read about in Ray Jardine's "Pacific Crest Trail Hiker's Guide." My pack, with three days of food was 21 pounds. The hike was about 35 miles and I wanted to hike it in two days, hopefully doing so without overly taxing my citified body. I wanted to see if it was feasible to even consider hiking from White Pass to Snoqualmie Summit in six days at an enjoyable pace. The upshot, it is feasible, and I'm going to try.
I left Seattle about three and arrived at the trailhead at six, which included a half hour of sitting in traffic in Everett on the freeway. The same thing happened on the way back. From Exit 206 on I - 5, it is 62 miles to the trailhead. The last 10 miles or so is on dirt road, washboarded, but drivable at 40 mph.
I started hiking a little after six on the Suiattle River Trail, what the backcountry ranger said she and her colleagues called the "Suiattle Highway." In 15 minutes or so the wide trail y'ed and I dropped to cross the river. The trail contoured along the river for a couple miles before heading up into the Milk Creek Valley. I'd decided to camp at the first water I ran into, which was about three miles from the trailhead. I strung out the rain fly from my brother's 1971 North Face A frame tent, and went to bed.
Up at seven, and on the trail after breakfast and breaking camp at 7:30 I continued up the Milk Creek Valley. The trail meandered gently through old growth forest, some of it mightily impressive, when it suddenly stopped and there, rising 8000' above me, was Glacier Peak. I oohed and ahed a bit, and then headed out into the brush. The ranger said that a lot of drainage work had been done on the trail and it showed. There was no standing water anywhere. But, because it had rained a bit the night before, the brush that had grown back over the last two months, now about knee high, soaked my lower legs and running shoes. No big deal.
The trail did a bunch of switchbacks up the east side of the valley and paralleled for a bit before meeting the Pacific Crest Trail. I looked down and saw the campsite I'd spent the night at three years before, remembering how wet and miserable it was hiking the 2000' and infinite switchbacks up the canyon wall. Well, it was no different this year. The brush was head high and leaning over the trail. The previous night's rain dropped just enough to totally soak everything so it was heavy with water. I tended to lean out from the canyon wall until I realized that it was a 60 degree pitch and a misstep might mean a fall of ten feet or so before slithering to a stop against some more solid brush. I took great satisfaction in breaking particularly onerous branches of bushes that leaned over the trail. And what was odd, is that as I walked, soaked from head to foot, water running out of my running shoes, I was thirsty. There was no water, and wouldn't be any for a mile after reaching the top of the canyon wall.
As I walked up the wall the clouds began to rise from below, dogging my heels it seemed. The marvelous view up to the mountain and surrounding minor peaks were slowly being hidden by the clouds blowing up the valley. How odd to see the clouds below me, rising up and blowing by me.
I reached the top of the canyon and met five fellows with brush cutters, a saw and ax. They were hired by the forest service to clear the trail. I was two days too early. Their work was evident as I hiked across the flowered meadows beneath jagged cliffs and hanging snowfields. It was like someone had taken a weed wacker and cleared the grass two feet on either side of the trail.
I broke for lunch in the bowl in which flowed the headwaters of Dolly Creek. The ridge had proven a little too much for the massing clouds, and for an hour i lay in the heather and sun, staring up at what I guess was Gamma Ridge. The clouds finally poured over the ridge and I napped for another hour, watching the peaks disappear, and then the snowfields. The wind was just a might nippy at that point and I had digested a lot of the parmesian and pilot crackers, so I headed out. For the next two miles, up to Vista Ridge and around its backside I walked through acres and acres of purple and white flowers, so thick that by bending down I couldn't see any green.
With little warning the trail plunged down the mountain, past Vista Camp, where the ranger I met later was headed to dig a new toilet, into the forest and down a long series of switchbacks. I'd climbed 4000' that morning, and now was going to descend 2000' into the Vista Creek drainage. The forest was old, and dryer than the forest at the bottom of the Milk Creek Drainage. It wasn't until I was about a mile and a half from the Suiattle River that moss began to appear, and the undergrowth got thicker. Glacier Peak must form some sort of rain shadow for that flank.
I decided to camp at the crossing of Vista Creek, about 18 miles from the day's starting point. Having hiked sections of the PCT, the longest being 35 days and 550 miles, 18 miles, even when I was in "whalebone and whipcord" shape, was tiring. But I was pleased to feel tired, but not beaten. Running shoes and a 20 pound pack. I'm a convert.
I fell asleep about eight and woke up at six, and lay there watching the sun dapple the trees and warm the air. I was up at 7:10 and on the trail at 7:30, a personal record for breaking camp. I stopped at the first tributary and ate breakfast. The water at Vista Creek was glacial melt, and muddy in extreme. I got to the Suiattle River and its quarter mile of camps on the north side. There were four or five parties doing their best to ignore each other.
The crossing of Miners Creek, at the junction where the PCT heads up, and the Suiattle River Trail downriver, was interesting. It's a 2' in diameter log flattened for about 10" on top, about 40' long or so, and crosses a ravine easily 30' deep. There is a 3/8" cable strung taughtly about chest high to serve as rail. I got about three quarters of the way across when I lost the log for the bank below, and felt my inner ear begin to go where it goes when I lose it. I clutched the cable for dear life and forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and take the five or six steps that got me off the log. Whew...
The trail for the rest of the way along the river winds up and down, in and out, around and back in thick forest with almost no views. It is a supremely uninspiring hike, one to test the determination to enjoy hiking. There are campsites every two or three miles, usually near one of countless streams cascading across the trail. There must have been 50 streams during the 11 miles between the PCT bridge over the river and the trailhead. There was even a suspension bridge crossing over Canyon Creek that swayed and rippled when I stood in its middle and jumped up and down. It's made out of 18" logs and inch and a half suspension cable, with long eyebolts between the cable and undergirders. It's about 60' long and quite responsive to stimulus. I could see why the ranger said the trail was called the Suiattle Highway. Lots of people, all of them in cleaner clothes than mine. Most were heading up to Image Lake.
I arrived at the trailhead about two, after lunch and an hour nap in the shade. 14 miles that day, and I was just coming into my second wind, my afternoon motivation. The monotonous trail hadn't beaten me down completely.
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