July the Fourth marks the unofficial official beginning of summer in the Pacific Northwest. While people in other parts of the country are refining their tans, flocking to the beaches and swimming pools on June 21st, we are often still dealing with thick marine layers, rainy days, and cool temperatures, and that's in the low country. The mountains are still often in the throngs of winter. The summer of 2021, however, may be a sign of things to come for us as the planet continues to warm and weather becomes more sporadic and unpredictable. After a bountiful winter for snowfall, temps were at all time highs in June leading to an early melt off, rendering the high country accessible much earlier than usual. I don't think I'm alone in hating the fireworks that accompany America's Independence Day since the mountains are usually packed, so the hunt for solace expands to decommissioned trails, blue lines, and remote lakes that often are reached by a combination of the two. After combing historical golden trout plants on the WDFW archives, we decided to take a chance on a lake in the Mount Adams wilderness, on the minuscule possibility there may be some hearty souls thriving in the rugged alpine environment that had been ravaged by wildfires several years earlier.
We started on a well established though not heavily traveled trail, one of two cars along the small shoulder parking area. Two day hikers/trail runners set out ahead of us, zipping quickly up the initial incline while we labored under our heavy multi-night packs, intent on spending two nights at our destination lake. The trail climbed variably for the first mile or so and then leveled out in a swampy area of recent snowmelt which meant swaths of mosquitoes, eager to feast, despite our lather of Deet. The only way to abate the swarm was to keep moving, so we did. We reached the burned forest area after about 2.5 miles, the summer sun bearing down on us immediately due to absence of the forest canopy. There was a gusty and surprisingly cool breeze blowing, which provided relief from the heat and the nuisance mosquitoes. We were meant to cut off the trail and head cross country at this point, knowing precisely where we needed to end up, using our GPS to periodically check our progress. Knowing the direction is helpful, having to climb straight uphill over burned trees, boulders, and not yet mature soil on the other hand, is not. We labored under the sun and ascent, finally cresting and taking some deep breaths. We traversed along the ridge line before cresting above a fantastically turquoise body of water, which we knew to be our lake from a couple of pictures we found, confirmed on our GPS. Relieved to have what we thought was the worst of the journey over, we made our descent through walls of beargrass and immediately found a perfectly level place to camp and immediately set up our tent to seek refuge from the relentless assault of the mosquitoes. Once in the tent, we put on clothing to cover our whole bodies and donned our ridiculous head nets. Sadly, we had no such protection for Birch, who got the worst of it, rubbing his nose raw with his roughened pads. Shaun bravely strung up his rod despite not seeing any evidence of fish activity. I think he made it about 20 minutes before giving up and retreating to the tent with us. We cooked our dinner and ate inside the tent, something we would never do in bear country.
 |
| Finally getting a view of Mt Adams, just before entering the burn |
 |
| Leaving the canopy and into the mid-day sun |
 |
| No more trail. It was like this for a couple of miserable miles |
 |
| Giving Birch plenty of breaks |
 |
| Improvised dog bowl |
 |
| Looking toward Rainier |
 |
| Almost down to the lake |
 |
| Plentiful bear grass |
 |
| The best smelling wildflowers |
 |
| Front porch views |
 |
| Poor baby. We felt awful for him |
 |
| And for ourselves |
 |
| Finally, he can relax and not worry about the mosquitoes |
 |
| Enjoying golden hour from the tent |
 |
| I seriously felt awful for him |
 |
| This made me cry |
We fell fast asleep, exhausted and relieved to shelter from the constant biting, the buzzing remained ever present. When I woke the next morning, I pulled on my puffer jacket, grabbed my camera, and set off to explore the lake a bit while the mosquitoes were in a brief lull (it was around 40 degrees). I traversed around the lake where I found a somewhat clear view of Mt Adams, framed by the shards of broken off trees and burn. Funnily enough, without the fire, Mt Adams wouldn't have even been visible from this mirador. The sun was just beginning to crest above our sunken horizon, the lake perfectly still, which made for some serene photos. I scrambled back to camp, knowing that once the sun warmed the banks, the mosquitoes would rouse again, looking for an early morning snack. We had already decided we couldn't make it two nights there, so we packed up our gear, ate some Cliff bars on the run, and started our descent through the stream outlet, which we hoped would offer a more direct route back to the trail. After negotiating around some larger drops, we reconnected with the trail and began the drop back to the car.
 |
| A solitary duck lived at the lake |
 |
| Sunrise and thankfully no mosquitoes |
 |
| Enjoying the cool temps |
 |
| A bear in the bear grass |
 |
| Glassy morning |
 |
| The way out was more of the same but easier |
 |
| But lots of snags |
 |
| And puddles |
 |
| Mosquito heaven |
Relieved to be down and mosquito free, it was time to down some Red Vines and find a milkshake. Did we catch fish? No. Did we have a great time? Also, no haha. But was it memorable and fun in its own way? Yes. That's the beauty of the hard way.
