North Cascade Wonders (and some notes on journey elements we love, and don’t)

Our time on the edge of North Cascades National Park, in a spacious, low-service, moss-covered Forest Service campground at the junction of a creek and a river, began with some loitering in our own “neighborhood” so Paul could finally wet his fly-fishing line. That big fish that kept disturbing the water proved elusive, but it was nice to be off the road and trails for an afternoon. 

Little did we know we were girding our loins for a challenging day. The next morning, we did our level best (which is never very good) at getting an early start to reach a coveted parking spot at the Cascades Pass trailhead. The guidebooks and apps had warned us of two deterrents, crowds and a terrible road to get to the trail. How could both be true? 

That 30-minute drive was the worst!  The road was rutted, washboarded, narrow and steep. We could not hear each other over rattling pots, pans, cups and cutlery. Bags tumbled, the cutlery drawer defeated the magnetic latch that often defeats me, food jumped the net, and two passing cars added to our anxiety – are they going to get the last two parking spots?! The only part that was funny was the rain of dark chocolate nuggets and coffee I encountered when staggering back into the cabin to close the damn cutlery drawer.   

We did get a parking spot (the second to last!) and ascended 1,800 feet to the pass, exchanging greetings and quick chats with quicker or descending backcountry hikers. The lunch spot at the top was a bit of a party. Flat boulders for hip-to-hip picnics with fellow travelers while enjoying the view and the fearless chipmunks. A cheeky chippie even climbed up Paul’s back to get a good sniff of his sandwich. We then ascended further through colorful, luminous subalpine meadows on the Sahale Arm to the Doubtful Lake overlook. I regretted not being up for the final ascent to the base of the glacier, but an 8 mile / 2,600 ft hike was plenty for my knees (though my new boots were a boon for my feet). 

The next day featured a mere 4 mile / 900 ft hike and more attempts at fly fishing, and on Labor Day we broke camp and headed for the Mount Baker Wilderness Area, armed with many helpful suggestions from Cousin Audrey and the Joslyns. 

Our campsite was within feet of a river which featured mesmerizing salmon spawning activity in a depression right in front of our camp. “Big Daddy” defended his spot seemingly tirelessly, but the harassment was constant and the current strong. We kept wondering if we would witness the moment of succumbing. A young lady pulled into the spot next to us in the morning, having driven all the way from Whidbey Island for her first solo camping trip and to do the same hike we had planned – Chain Lakes Loop. 

While pausing on the first pass in that hike, Sydney from Whidbey caught up to us and we struck up a conversation with another group. We were asked: which has been your favorite hike? And we wondered if this one might be it. Turned out it was. Just as photos don’t capture the wondrous views, words are insufficient too. The views of snow-covered Mt Baker and glaciated Mt Shuksan were stunning, as were the surrounding peaks and verdant hills. It was like moving through a spectacular palace, from one gorgeous room to another, each distinct. There were sections that felt like private Edens with shiny meadows enclosed by trees. Others featured jewel lakes. In one rocky section, we filmed a chubby marmot crossing our path, then working its way up a hillside, flipping up its fluffy tail before every forward movement. Soon after, a dog gave chase, setting off a three-marmot alarm that continued to ring in our ears for ten minutes as we hiked to the next ridge. 

We continued to leapfrog with Sydney on the hike, as well as with other happy hikers who – like we – were proceeding very slowly and taking far more photos than anyone else would reasonably appreciate. That evening, Sydney brought her camp stove over to our picnic table and we enjoyed cooking and dining together, and especially our conversations, until darkness fell. We had hoped to get to know fellow travelers on this long journey – our encounter with Sydney will certainly stand out. We wish her well as she bravely writes the next chapter of her life. 

Our hikes have given us plenty of time to mull over the whole experience so far. Here are some thoughts. 

What We Love

• Lively conversations with strangers in gas stations and parking lots. Opening lines: “I love Virginia!” or “Cool van!”
• Chats with passing hikers, some of whom proudly show photos of the wildlife they have encountered (we have decided not to avoid “popular” trails – they are well-trafficked for good reason and the diversity of languages, accents, and styles is interesting)
• Many hours of exercise outside in nature’s beauty
• Inhaling deep lungs full of cool mountain air (when the wind is blowing favorably)
• Breathtaking moments
• Switchbacks
• Whistling marmots, jeeping pikas and chirring chipmunks
• Subalpine meadows
• Friendly, conscientious camp hosts
• Paul catching his first trout on a fly entirely solo (no guide)
• Clean campground washrooms with hot, strong unmetered showers
• Blogging (CJ)

What We Don’t 

• Washboarded roads
• Rock scrambles
• Long, steep descents
• Wildfire haze
• Non-functional WiFi (cellular deserts are expected, but it’s maddening to head to a spot to get some planning done and be thwarted)
• The illusion of wetness while fishing in waders in mountain streams; not to mention the lost flies and elusive fish (PB)
• Our limited, boring clothing options
• For CJ: long waits for Paul’s careful preparations. For Paul: CJ’s antsy hastiness