We stripped naked inside the tent, then ran down the trail in flip-flops and Crocs, splashing water on our armpits and thighs to rinse off the day’s sweat. During a brief interlude in the precipitation, we talked each other into an ambitious plan to rinse off in the creek. on, we sat in the tent, reading and swapping stories of other hikes and book recommendations. The rain began just after we returned to camp and ate lunch. But even the particulates hanging in the air couldn’t hide the beauty of Glacier Peak. After hiking two miles, we reached the summit, which was exposed and windy. We passed a few hikers: young couples or groups of friends, and solo men. We set out for Kodiak Peak, noticing the smoke grow thicker as it began obscuring the sun. “We’re going to eat it,” he said, leaving two vegetarians standing bewildered, trying to fathom how exactly one field dresses and packs out a 300-pound bear. The man’s partner soon appeared in our camp, confirming the kill. A minute later, three shots rang out in quick succession, followed by a fourth a minute later. He and his hunting partner had camped near us the previous night and had started to hike out when they spotted a black bear. Our plan was to keep the same camp and day hike to the top of Kodiak Peak, where under normal conditions we’d be treated to a 360-degree panorama of the surrounding Cascades, including Glacier Peak.Īs we readied camp to leave, a man with a rifle slung over his shoulder sprinted past our camp on the trail. We’d seen it floating above us while we hiked up, but it was settling into the meadow, giving everything farther than a mile away a gray haze. I pitched the tent as she pumped water and cooked a stew of instant rice and beans topped with a beautiful indulgence: a perfectly ripe avocado. The sun had passed over the ridgeline and we could see our breath in front of us. “I knew you could do it,” she told me with a smile when we arrived in camp. My 56-year-old mother was sweaty, but unfazed, stopping only to wait for me to catch my breath. An autumn chill settled over the valley as the sun began to set, and I started to seriously doubt my ability to climb the last two miles to our camp at 5,000 feet. We’d missed wildflower season by weeks, but were treated to a canvas of orange mountain ash berries, ripe blueberries and ferns as we ascended. We had six miles and 2,000 feet of climbing to go to reach the meadow, where we hoped to find a water source and make camp.Īs we walked, the summer day we’d left turned to fall. The air wasn’t perfect, but it looked to be hovering around moderate quality, which was good enough. She suggested a new route, plucked from a mental encyclopedia cultivated over thousands of miles on the trail: Meander Meadow and Cady Ridge, a 16-mile loop in the central Cascades, east of Stevens Pass. How many trails would be closed next summer because of fires in the area? How many more acres would transformed from hemlock and pine to charred stumps? I couldn’t help wondering if I’d waited too long to get back in the woods.
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