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Hiking Wonderland

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I spent the last ten days in the woods of Washington state hiking the Wonderland Trail. It is a 93-mile loop around Mt. Rainier, and is considered one of the most spectacular hikes in the world. It was certainly one of the most beautiful places I’ve been, but what was most special about the trip was the mental evolution it allowed. The combination of the natural beauty and the length of the trip allowed me to break through the crust to deep layers of mental clarity.

The trail itself is relatively difficult, including about 22,000 ft of elevation gain (and loss) over the length of the loop. Ten days is a moderate to easy length for the trip. We saw some people doing it in five, and others taking twelve or thirteen. Ultra-marathoners even do the whole thing in twenty-four hours. That would be a different kind of experience, though, and ten days gave us ample time to enjoy the gifts of the mountain.

Rainier from the southwest.

After some last-minute injuries, our group ended up being four strong. I knew all three of my travel companions before the trip, but had never taken on such an adventure with any of them. This added some uncertainty going into the trip, but worked out better than I could have hoped. The group dynamic was wonderful, a real joy. The team was positive and supportive, which made the camping easy and gave a lot of space for play and reflection.

Columnar basalt formations at S. Puyallup River campground.

I started the trip not knowing what to expect. I had never been on a backpacking trip longer than five days before, and I had never done any hiking in the wilderness surrounding Mt. Rainier. I summited the mountain a couple months ago, but that was very much about going up and down quickly, not taking time to circle around. I approached the trip with an open mind; I was very excited in an abstract way, but without concrete expectations.

I love rocks.

We started the trail at Longmire, a populated put-in at the southern edge of the mountain. Preparations had gone smoothly and we had two food caches waiting for us at patrol stations along the way. This meant we would never have to carry more than three days’ food at a time – a luxury for long backpacking trips.

Our schedule gave us two short days right off the bat to get warmed up to the trail, which was a great way to loosen up our legs. These first days felt like typical day hikes. We were still close to society, both physically and mentally. The vistas were gorgeous, but I got antsy being socked in by the forest for long stretches in between. The uphills were tough, so we took our time and our legs adjusted. We did a good amount of lounging about on the ridges and around rivers, knowing that our longer days ahead would not allow for it.

Spray Falls near Mowich trailhead.

Things felt good. We were getting used to being in a group together. We made jokes and started making references to jokes we had already made, slowly building experience and camaraderie. By day three or four we comfortable as a unit and realized that each person could hold their own in the woods.

The team at our Spray Park lunch spot.

Around day five things started to coalesce and we began to get deep into the flow of the trail. Each day’s walk became more enjoyable than the last. Physically, our legs had become strong and loose. Time began to feel more fluid. We would occasionally look at clocks to get a sense of how we were doing, but the day was no longer broken up into fifteen or thirty minute intervals. There was morning, midday, afternoon, evening, night. Each had its own joys and unique feelings associated with it. Every minute was filled with the beauty of the national park.

The landscapes we walked through began to take on a whole different character. The ridges brought unparalleled beauty. The views were almost too vast to comprehend, too picturesque to feel real. They were literally breathtaking. As we approached a pass connecting the northeastern corner of the mountain to the eastern side, we were exposed to an expansive view to the south. Mt. Adams and Mt. Hood stood clear on the horizon, our path crept for miles ahead through snow patches, rocky ridges, and lush valleys of wildflowers. The air was pulled from my lungs in awe.

Forests no longer made me antsy, rather just the opposite. The long sheltered uphills and downhills laid the best foundation for introspection. They gave me a chance to process the unbelievable vistas from the ridges and to empty my mind of built-up clutter. The trees were gorgeous: thick, coarse, full of life. We chatted a lot, talked about movies, solved riddles, but there was plenty of opportunity for silence and deep breaths. The forest trails were soft on the legs from pine needles, and they became a place for active meditation.

Sunrise from Summerland camp.

On day 7 we camped at White River on the north side of the mountain. This was the same spot my previous group had started for the summit a couple months earlier, and it is a popular car camping area. Seeing so many day hikers and cars was overwhelming. We had very much closed ourselves off from the outside world in the past week, only interacting with each other, the mountain, and a few other groups of hikers. It was only by seeing these hints of society that I realized how simple our hike had been. Each day we would walk, eat, and sleep. Occasionally we would play a game of cards or sing songs. We had no access to the news, the media, text messages or traffic. Only with the pressure of these everyday stimuli lifted did I realize that their weight had been enormous. It doesn’t seem like much to fit one little worry in our minds at a time, but the collective burden of all these small things we think about everyday is enormous.

Same sunrise, other direction.

Losing these distractions had been so easy. They vanished without my realizing that they were gone, and in their place my mind expanded into calm and clarity. Stress was nonexistent. All this clutter in my routine back in society was not making my life better. Rather, it was making it harder to live life consciously, hardly to appreciate small joys, and harder to be honest and playful in my interactions.

So much depth.

One of the benefits of traveling with a group that I hadn’t experienced on my solo hikes was this access to playfulness. With so little stress and such simplicity in our day to day lives, playfulness and joy moved closer to to surface of our interactions. We spent lunches laughing to the point of tears, something I rarely approach in my city life. Our conversations could be serious and playful and the same time; sarcasm and irony melted away. Our time was full of joy, and our relationships grew much stronger because of it.

We covered a lot of mileage on the last couple days of our trip, and were treated to some of the best views we’d had. I was glad to have a chance to process some of the thoughts that had come up during our brief encounter with the outside world. I resolved to take some concrete steps to living closer to simplicity at home, such as incorporating yoga and meditation into my daily routine and giving away some of the physical clutter in my apartment. I also realized that creating more access to joy and play will likely be a theme throughout my life, and that a trip like this does wonders for reinvigorating those ideals.

Made it!

By the last day of the trip we were surrounded by day hikers and cars for large periods at a time, but we had come to terms with our reintegration into society. It was terrific to see that so many families and children were enjoying the beauty of the National Park.

My favorite.

We stopped at a diner for some greasy dinner on the way home, and realized that we hadn’t stepped indoors, sat in chairs, showered, or been in a car for ten days straight. No wonder our bodies and minds felt so good.

Summiting Mt. Rainier

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I climbed Mt. Rainier a couple weekends ago. The summit was a new high point for me, 14,411 ft. It ended up being one of the most fantastic – and difficult – adventures I’ve had. What a beautiful mountain.

It started Thursday evening when my rope team met up to do a gear check and talk about plans, goals, and logistics for the trip. I had borrowed a lot of gear, and it turns out I’ve never been mountaineering before. I hike and rock climb, so I have some basics like a harness and helmet, but glacier travel was totally new to me. A friend lent me an ice axe, glacier glasses, extra carabiners, collapsible shovel, an avalanche beacon (despite low avalache risk for the weekend), cramp-ons, double plastic mountaineering boots, and a balaclava (full head and face mask) in case of extreme cold at the top. I ended up using everything except the beacon and balaclava. This trip was wild.

We confirmed that everyone was fully equipped, had a couple big bowls of pasta, and enjoyed a beer over discussion. It was really good to talk about goals for the trip, summer camp style. Mine started out as pretty much just wanting to reach the summit, but I started to realize there was going to also be a huge opportunity for learning and practice over the weekend, and I started getting more excited about that. The phrase “mental elevation” came up, which I thought was cool but wouldn’t really understand until about 60 hours later.

Satisfied with our discussion and bags packed up, we set our alarms for 4:45 am and got in sleeping bags to catch as much sleep in the remaining 5 hours as possible.

And 4:45 came quickly, as it always has in my experience. We secured our packs, loaded up the car, and took off for the mountain, about 2 hours southeast of Seattle. We had reserved campsites ahead of time, but still ended up getting caught in a line at the ranger station for about 45 minutes. You don’t expect a line at 6:30 am, but that is how the mountain works. We filled out our trip plan and set out. We ended up with a campsite at Glacier Basin for Friday night (about 3.5 miles in at 5,000 ft), Camp Schurman for Saturday night (another ~3.5 miles at 9,500 ft), and another night at Schurman on Sunday if necessary. We wouldn’t be doing the rush up and down the mountain that some people do, so there would be time to practice glacier skills and get a bit used to the altitude. Pretty much ideal.

So we strapped on our packs and got moving. I think we were all hauling about 40-50 lbs, but even so, 3.5 miles goes quickly. The trail was nicely maintained and mostly snow free. They had had a serious wash out a few years back, and the trail has been completely rebuilt. All in all, an easy walk. We got to our first campsite around 11 am, leaving plenty of time to practice knots and self arrests. We set up camp and took a breather. The 4:45 am wake was pretty apparent, and our conversational skills were in a serious decline. I looked over a mountaineering book and dozed off on a sunny rock.

Evan, Greta, and Justin scoping out what lies ahead

After a bit of back and forth between half-wakeful studying and half-restful dozing, we all got back together for the hands-on practice. We roped up, did some laps around the snowfield, practicing commands and arrests. Informative and necessary, but definitely clouded by lingering exhaustion. Around 5 or 6 we decided to cook some dinner and get tidied up for sleep. The plan was to hit the trial while the snow/ice was still good (i.e., not slushy yet), so we set our clocks for a 4 am wake up. We were in our bags by 10 pm, and these 6 hours would be the longest rest of the trip.

Snowfield at Glacier Basin

And this time I was a little bit more ready for 4 am when the alarms started chiming. It is a good feeling to be up before the sun. The moon and stars were beautiful. We had a quick breakfast and chai tea and packed up camp. By the time we got moving, the sun was starting to shine on the western edge of the basin. It felt good to be moving in the shade – things would clearly be getting hot when the sun surfaced fully. We worked our way slowly up Inter Glacier on the way to camp Schurman. There weren’t any crevasses on this one, but it did get pretty steep toward the end. Our early start paid off, and we were rewarded with some pretty spectacular views by about 9 am. At the top of the ridge we roped up to move onto Emmons Glacier. We were expecting minor crevasses, but mostly we wanted to get some experience on the rope and with our knots. We snacked and hiked, practiced setting some gear, snacked and hiked some more. We might have taken our time a little too liberally and ended up at camp around 1 pm. We were greeted by David Gottlieb, a reknowned mountaineer who has climbed Rainier enough times to be “too embarassed to keep track” anymore. He gave us some tips on our knots and packing and wished us luck. We were reassured to find out that he would be summitting Sunday morning about the same time as us.

Sunrise on the mountain

1 pm may not seem like a late arrival into camp, but we were already moving pretty slowly. At 10,000 ft everything takes longer than you expect. We set up the tents, got a water-drip going to fill our bottles, played a game of Euchre, and suddenly it was 5 pm – later than we had hoped for dinner. We cooked, ate ravenously, and cleaned. Suddenly 8:30 pm. We decided on a very early start – 12:30 am. So we set our alarms for 11:30 pm and got in our bags for a glorious 2.5 hours of rest.

All geared up, heading for Camp Schurman

I actually didn’t realize that we had planned on so little rest (or I didn’t know what time it was when we went to sleep), and I felt surprisingly good when the clocks went off. Adrenaline and excitement for the summit certainly had something to do with it. It was beautiful out. The snow and ice were nice and solid, the sky was clear and full of stars. The moon was just rising and the whiteness of the mountain made the landscape feel extraterrestrial. Again, altitude and lack of sleep contributed. Either way, really amazing. We roped up and got in line. There were already other teams leaving, and we ended up being about the 7th team to set off. More would be coming up behind us, and it would clearly be a busy day on the mountain.

Arrived at Camp Schurman – Photo courtesy of Evan

Things got steep right off the bat, but we were in a pretty good zone. Circles of light from headlamps were moving up the glacier ahead of us and behind and it was easy to fall into a rhythm. After trekking a good way up the first section we stopped for snacks and realized it was already 2:45 am. There was one tricky section involving a snow bridge that had lost some of its integrity the day before, but it was still cold enough that there were no issues moving across it. We pressed on and it was 4:30. The sun was starting to rise directly opposite the glacier, giving us a wonderful light show. It got bright and things warmed up a bit, with the wind picking up as well to counteract the heat.

Sunrise over Washington

This continued for some time. We had some trouble with the pace and congestion at this point – we kept having to stop behind slow groups, but couldn’t get enough momentum to pass them and stay ahead. So we alternated between getting cold and getting tired, not ideal. Around 7:30 am we stopped for a longer break, about 15 minutes. We were about 700 ft from the summit, but we were getting worn down. The altitude was kicking in and it was hard to stay focused. We chatted about our energy level and motivation, and decided that if we weren’t on the summit by 10 am we would turn around and head back. Pretty generous, but it seemed like a good goal at the time. We had another snack and got our legs moving again.

The slightly longer rest and chat had motivated us, and we ended up being pretty solid the rest of the way to the summit. We slowly realized we had arrived as we saw rock and climbers resting. 8:30 am. There were some wispy clouds around and the wind was whipping across the crater. Not a very hospitable place. We could see north to Baker, but a light haze kept the views from extending more than a couple hundred miles. It felt really good to be at the top, and a huge relief to know that we wouldn’t have to go up any further.

Team Kraken at the top – Photo courtesy of Greta

I am upsidedown – Photo courtesy of Greta

The wind was keeping us from enjoying the rest too much though. We were feeling the cold and decided it would be best to make our stay short. We snapped a few photos, tightened up our gear and set off for the descent. We kept our cramp-ons on in case we came to any icy patches, but things were getting pretty slushy and we probably could have moved a bit faster without them. Still, the descent was a relief and it felt like we were covering ground in no time. We stopped briefly a couple more times to snack and plodded on. We found that the snow bridge we had crossed earlier had melted out a bit more, requiring a short jump to get across. We played is safe and set some protection in the snow in case of a slip and made it across without trouble.

It is a long way down – Photo courtesy of Greta

A short leap over a crevasse

After some final knee-high-slush trudging, we made it back to Camp Schurman where are tents were waiting for us, 1 pm. We shed our packs and crawled into sleeping bags for a quick rest. We could stay another night there if we wanted, but we had heard that there were thunder storms were on the way. We slept about an hour and a half and packed up camp. We loaded up our bags by 5 pm and got on the rope for one last stretch of glacier travel. We were exhausted but happy, and everything went smoothly. We got to Inter Glacier, the steep snowfield from the second day, and were greeted by a nicely groomed glissade track. Strapping our gear on tightly, we sat on our butts and got ready to slide. It felt terrific. The 3-mile snowfield which had taken us 3-4 hours to climb a day early quickly receeded in about 15 minutes of amusement park-style enjoyment. The snow cooled our legs, pretty much bliss. Within the hour we were back to our first camp and on our way out on a 3.5 mile dirt trail. Our heads were clear with the reduced altitude, but foggy from exhaustion. The hike felt more like about 7 miles, but we made it. We got to the car at 9 pm and took our boots off to great relief. Success! We had reached the summit and made it back down in one piece. It felt incredible. And it was really hard. We were totally beat, loopy, hungry for something other than Power Bars.

Glisssssaaaade!

We got in the car hoping to find burgers, but Enumclaw is a sleepy town at 10 pm on a Sunday, so we settled for the 24-hour Safeway. Another meal of snacks, but at this point it didn’t really matter. We got back to Seattle around midnight, ready for some hot showers and warm beds. In bed by 1 am, up at 8 am for work. 7 hours felt luxurious. What a weekend.

Made it back!

Going Solo

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I’ve gone on a lot of enjoyable adventures in recent years, and a few of those I’ve done on my own. Returning from a weekend in the snow and mountains with friends, I’m drawn to thinking about what makes an event or adventure special, and how it allows you to grow as a person. The basic idea that has set off my thought process is that I think it is important to have some solo adventures as it is to go off with companions. The reason for this, however, is quite similar to the reason that it’s great to have big experiences with friends.

There are a lot of good reasons to adventure with friends. At least for me, shared experience is one of the most meaningful and easiest ways for me to connect to someone else. Maybe I have trouble getting out of my own head and empathizing with other people’s past histories and stories, but being in the physical presence of another while creating strong memories lets me feel like I understand them on some deeper level. The crux of an adventure, the heart and emotion of it, is nearly impossible to describe to another. Maybe I can relate if I’ve done something similar, but the best I’m going to be able to do is enjoy the fact that you’re riding the feeling of life-building experience.

The other major connector from adventuring is talking about it after the fact. Sometimes there are inside jokes, there is always describing it to others who weren’t there, and for the best adventures, there is reminiscing that continues for years after. “Remember when we…” is a simple and strong bond to have with someone, especially when the remembering is about something wild and maybe a little crazy that you’ve done. Hiked that mountain to see sunrise. Biked over 100 miles to the Oregon coast and back. Had that road trip through 8 national parks.  These things are the glue that make regular friendships into lifelong friendships.

So, isn’t that enough, to have some great trips and vacations with friends? Maybe, but in my life I’ve found the solo adventures to be equally or more valuable than those in groups larger than one. On the most basic level, there have been fewer of them, which may make them stand out by sheer quantity. There is another piece to it, though, that goes deeper. When you go on a solo adventure, for the most part similar things happen as would if there were others with you. The difference is that in this case there is an entirely new sense of internalization. These experiences are wholly yours. They define you on an absolute scale, not one relative to your companions.

There are still inside jokes, but now they are things which you know nobody else will fully understand, so you smile to yourself instead. There is still describing it to others, but without someone else to share the emotion with, description feels empty and usually ends up being brief and lacking. Rather than be disappointed that other people don’t relate, I treat it as an opportunity to keep my experience special. It is beyond words, a deeper part of myself. And years later, the experiences are still there. They are a story to share with yourself as you lie in bed, as your mind wanders on the bus, as you imagine your next adventure.

So what does it actually feel like to do it? I’m coming at this from a couple main experiences. One was a six-month trip to Italy, with good chunks of the second half being solo. The longest unbroken piece was a six-day bike tour from Tuscany to the Amalfi Coast. I interacted with a lot of people, but nobody I knew or have seen since. The other is a four-day backpacking trip through the Cascades in Washington on a portion of the Pacific Crest Trail. I started with a friend who had to head home after the first day, and then ran into a handful of other hikers along the way. Again, not isolation, just solo-adventuring.

At first, it’s hard. There are nerves. Obviously to go solo, you should be sure that you are capable and comfortable with what you’re attempting. Still, there can always be emergencies, and being alone removes a lot of your safety net. It is emotionally trying at times. Especially in the woods, evening time is tough. Between stopping hiking and getting in your sleeping bag, watching the sky darken and shadows take over, it is hard to avoid thoughts of friends, lovers, former lovers, potential lovers. Eating is naturally a social activity, and dining alone always gets me.  The list goes on. Even with all these difficulties, and in a lot of ways, because of them, the payoff is huge. It is so empowering to know in such a real way that you are capable of doing something difficult and prolonged without another’s aid. To know that you can overcome hard emotions. To know you won’t die.

It usually takes me about two full days of going solo to get through the tough emotions and loneliness. After that it doesn’t go away all the time, but for the most part I am close to ecstatic. I become calm and connected to myself. I know which avenues of thought are fun to go down, and which will cause me pain or disappointment. I am in control, and I am smiling. I know where to push my limits, but enjoy taking it easy. I don’t mind the fact that I won’t be able to communicate to my friends what it is about this trip that is so great. Sometimes there is something extraordinary that I can tell it will draw people into the story of the trip. Watching a mama hawk teach her baby to soar on gusts of wind. But the real joy comes from the fact that every moment feels that special and unique, it is just harder to communicate why.

I have yet to take a longer solo trip (hiking the Appalachian Trail, or the whole PCT?), so I can only imagine how the presence of solitude evolves over time. It is something I’m curious about, but it seems very dependent on which direction my life leads me. For now, I’ll be making a conscious effort to go adventuring as often as possible, but will be sure to sprinkle in a solo trip here and there.