The Best Laid Plans

While I can't claim any shortage of good times this summer, it has been severely lacking in nights slept in the wilderness, miles from the nearest french fry. Having gotten hooked on backpacking two summers ago, the stack of books on the floor beside the bed during the winter months leans heavily toward trail guides and outdoor magazines.

After a grand day hike on Sunday, I was determined to not let the next night be spent inside an actual house. My backpack had been sitting ready for a weekend jaunt for ages. So, after a quick breakfast of day old blueberry pancakes, I put the patient pack and boots into my car and headed out. My chosen destination was Indian Racetrack in the Indian Heaven Wilderness, WA. There were several small lakes at varying distances along the trail and a letterbox at the top of Red Mountain! The whole shebang was only ten miles roundtrip. The perfect destination...

I figured I'd stop when I got tired of carrying my stuff and set up camp at one of the lakes. Then, I'd head for the lookout at the top of the mountain with only a granola bar and water to carry. Well... these wonderful plans didn't take into account the unwanted company along the trail. My first clue should have been the large patches of snow that still covered portions of the trail, in the middle of August, at only 4000' mind you, makes for great puddles. Then there are those mountain lakes. Who loves those? Mr. and Mrs. Bloodsucker, of course. If I stopped for a second, hundreds (literally) of evil mosquitoes came for a visit. There was no way to open a tent door without inviting dozens of them in for dinner. These guys are normally done for the year by the second week of August but not this time around.

The second glitch in my fabulous plan appeared as I was passing Sheep Lake. Hmmm... I thought. I'm not at all tired after the two miles. I'll just keep walking to the next possible campsite. I hadn't stopped long enough at this point to realize that I was hiking past the Sacred Mosquito Breeding Grounds. At this point, I realized that I'd left the letterbox clue for Red Mountain sitting in a neat stack in the trunk of my car. Oh well, I wasn't tired yet but I wasn't anxious to add four miles to my trek by going back for that shred of paper either. The clue would just have to wait. Maybe I could just find the box using my radar.

Green Lake came into view and I still wasn't ready to make camp. I headed onward to Indian Racetrack, a lovely sprawling meadow with a shallow lake filled with big fat tadpoles making rapid progress toward frogdom, flowers everywhere. This would be a grand place to set up camp. Except those mosquitoes had the same idea. The only possible solution was to schlep my gear all the way to the top of Red Mountain, all 30+ pounds of it, 750' of elevation gain in three quarters of a mile. Sheeesh! Surely there would be a breeze up there, thwarting the Bloodsuckers.

Once I sweated my way to the top, I was graced with the view of five of our grand Cascade peaks, St. Helens, Rainier, Adams, Hood and Jefferson plus, thankfully, a good breeze. Stunning, stunning, stunning AND no mosquitoes. I opted out of sneaking through an open window into the lookout to spend the night. It was in the process of being restored and was filled with building materials and sported very dirty windows, not the best for mountain gazing. I found an almost level sandy spot with only a few dozen red cinders to remove before setting up my backpacking abode. As the sun was setting I attempted to activate my faulty letterbox radar with no good results. I'll just have to return yet another time, clue in hand, to find this letterbox.

In the wee hours, I found myself lying awake unable to get back to sleep. I figured I'd make productive use of my time and unzip my mesh door and look out at the bazillion stars overhead. I donned my glasses and Whoa! shooting stars galore. I'd forgotten the date. I was at nearly 5000' with an open sky, during the Perseid meteor showers. I counted twenty five shooting stars and five satellites in a half hour. I was certainly in the right place for meteors, if not for letterboxes.

The next morning I headed down the mountain, meeting up with a few other beating hearts: four grouse, a lovely emerald tree frog and many, many fat tadpoles. I refuse to count the mosquitoes, heartless beasts that they are. I do however count the hundreds of butterflies who fluttered by as I made my way down the trail. I met up with my first human almost back at my car, a woman who goes my the moniker Rapunzel thru-hiking the PCT solo. When I finally reached the car, there was another woman hiker sitting at the picnic table where I'd parked. Turns out I'd met up with not one but TWO solo PCT travelers headed for Canada. This one had no trail name and was known only as Claire. It was my golden opportunity to create some trail magic. I emptied out my food bag and gave her free rein at taking anything she had a hankerin' for. The orange flavored cranberries from Trader Joe's were a major hit.

All in all, poor prior planning worked out just fine this time around. Bits of magic of both the trail and meteoric variety appeared. Where will my tent be pitched next?

For the fabulous, fully illustrated version click here.