Silver Snag Studio

View of Mt. Baker from camp

Besides working like a dog and finalizing my Certified Interpretive Trainer and Envision certifications,  I am trying to get back to wilderness fitness so I can go to Baffin Island next year and backpack the Arctic Circle for 3 weeks, maybe seeing a polar bear before they all expire.  I packed into the Park Butte/Railroad Grade trail in the Mt. Baker area to spend the night under a full harvest moon.  The road to the trailhead is excellent, unusual for our area, and I arrived early enough to get a decent parking spot. I was intending to head for Mazama Park, but a sign at the trailhead indicated it wasn’t available for camping due to a youth group.  I signed up for Cathedral Camp on my pass, not sure what I would find.

It’s not terribly far to get to a campsite, but the trail gets steep in one section.  In this area, I ran into two groups of young guys in camo with firearms, learning later they had arrived for the high country bear hunt.  The first group said they found a spot on Railroad Grade and thought there was at least a site or two open.  I figured I would try that first, and go on to Cathedral if nothing worked.

Awesome idea for a seasonal bridge where they wash out constantly

I grabbed the first site on the Grade, a great camping platform under some lovely mountain hemlock trees with a great view of the mountain.  The only better site I found in the area was the one closest to the moraine trail, a similar platform but with an even better view.  Since it was warm and dry, and unlike most of Washington, almost bug-free, so I brought my little lightweight Marmot Starlight shelter (more a glorified bivouac bag than tent).

My lovely little campsite

The camp was above a lovely meadow and stream for water, with vibrant pink heather and pretty purple lupine in bloom.  The lack of bugs was a blessing at this time in the Cascades, as was relative relief from smoke of the raging wildfires scorching Washington.

I hiked the first day to the Climber’s Camp along Railroad Grade.  There are high country camps here, lovely but less private than my modest camp.  I’ve climbed Baker 18 years ago by this route.  I liked the Coleman route better since it was less crowded.  This route has a reputation for crowds, but it was not bad early on as I walked uphill.  A climbing couple passed me, and two women with packs.

Backpackers headed for the high camps

I walked the very narrow trail on the eroded lateral moraine that embraced a once-mighty glacier. It’s stunning how far the glacier has receded, leaving the cavernous moraine to crumble into the void. The trail leads to “Sandy Camp” where a group of youth hosted by North Cascades Institute were spending the weekend.  Some had never been to wilderness before, nor ever camped.  They were having a superb time, skimming the snowfields and studying the world.

I chatted with two rangers, Julie and Vilay, who were going to give the youth group a talk.  Vilay was enjoying a break from her deployment as a fire ranger in the wildfire plagued areas of Eastern Washington.  She said the air quality was better here, and her cough was going away.  She had never backpacked before- but it was growing on her.  They were dividing their time between the youth group putting in the pit toilet in Mazama Park, and the group at Climber’s Camp.

I took shelter in the lee of a rock, since the wind sweeping off the glaciers was quite cold on an 80 degree day in the mountains, and took pictures of crevasses in the Easton Glacier.

This is late in the season, when crevasses are usually visible, but higher up, I could see a light snow layer over the surface.   I noticed that a group that seemed to be guided (in identical tents, and herded like cattle) climbed in the evening.  I wondered if they avoiding icy conditions that can become a sliding hazard if a climber slips.  Even skilled climbers have lost footing on August ice and careened down a slick glacier surface to their deaths.

Juba Skipper, first time I’ve seen one

Fritillary- maybe Arctic female, not sure

Checkerspot on penstemon

What was most interesting to me, now that I’ve become older and distinctly batty, were the butterflies fiercely defending their patch of greenery and trying to complete a life cycle in the short alpine summer. At one point, I saw clouds of checkerspots rising in a tornado against an invading Western white.

And there were marmots- now dwindling in number, but according to Julie the Ranger, who does surveys, stable in this area at 46.  It’s hot for them, and I see a mother chillin’ on the snow, sprawled out while her baby tried to get her to come feed or nap in the den.  People are up here with dogs, and hopefully keeping them in check.  Julie says that marmots are suffering on the busy Skyline Divide Trail, possibly because of disturbance.  Later, I hear some kids whistling at them, and then passing the “trail closed” sign into marmot territory, which gets them calling.  Come on, folks- teach your kids better manners.  If they’re picking on animals at this age, they’ll be torturing people later on.

The night was lovely, with moonlight bathing the mountain and meadows and all of us sleeping beneath it.  I woke at one point to tremendous rock or ice fall, sounding like thunder in the night.  It happened twice in short order, suggesting maybe a serac went tumbling and took a buddy with it. A couple folks I talked to the next day said the sound woke them, too, and they thought there might even be an earthquake.The next morning I left my camp set up and hiked to the Park Butte fire lookout.  The morning light illuminated fields of pink heather still in bloom.  The trail winds up a rock garden and past two tarns, then winds around a bluff and approaches the lookout on a ledge.

Marmot announcing my presence

Marmots chillin’ on a hot day. 

View from Park Butte Lookout

Heather meadows as the sun comes up

Trail to Park Butte lookout

Bear, not being able to open her eyes to the vertiginous view

At the lookout, I met a dog- probably a Staffordshire bull terrier- named Bear.  Bear was an older dog who couldn’t bear to look at the dizzying view, and would stand on the stairs, or preferably my feet, with her eyes closed to feel secure.  Bear was lucky she was a dog when the two groups of hunters on the high country black bear hunt had passed the day before.  The nice young men were all dressed in Cabelas best- camo from head to foot and guns carried in safety position. They actually missed the black bear that the lookout overnighters and several campers saw.  All the campers were happy that the bear lived to see another day.

On the way down, I followed the nice young women I met the day before, cousins.  One worked for North Cascades Institute, the other was a piano repairwoman.  They were typical of the great young gals I meet now in the backcountry: free-spirited, happy,but and independent, loving the outdoors and their lives.  It gives my heart a lift to see this change- there is a light of hope for us women after all, and we are that light.

Tree beards, not Tree Beard- but by the full moon, who knows?

Admiral in the wet meadows on the lookout trail