Cloudwalking Mt. Townsend

After a long 4^th of July weekend and being far too busy with our various projects, Kath and I needed a break. So we took off for a four-day adventure vacation. We wanted to go hiking in the Olympics somewhere, and explore a wild beach, too. After wrangling about which hikes to take, we chose to start by climbing Mt. Townsend on the northeast side of the Olympics. I had been there a few times with my kids, but Kath had never been there. She loves deep forests, alpine meadows, and mountain views, so I was excited to explore there together.

The trek is just over four miles up, and I do mean up. It gains about 3000 feet in those four miles, unrelenting for much of it. She was a little nervous about how she would do. Coming across the ferry in the evening, we could see the mountain’s flat ridge rising tall above all the other peaks nearby.

After a delicious dinner at Sirens in Port Townsend (their fish and chips are heavenly), we arrived at Dosewallips State Park late in the evening, set up our tiny trailer, and went to bed early. The weather report said, “partly cloudy in the morning with sunshine by noon.”

Clouds filled the skies while we slept and hung heavy in the morning. After breakfast, we drove up to the Mt. Townsend trailhead and began hiking into the thick gray. It was cool to start, and we bundled up. I let Kath lead so that she could set a comfortable pace for herself. Straight up we went. Bless her, she pushed on, up and up. The trail climbs steadily, endlessly, switchbacking up the sides of the mountain. Our puffies came off within the first half mile.  

Rhododendrons fill the understory under a canopy of giant firs and cedars, immense trees, their tops hiding in a misty fog. We took occasional water and snack breaks, enjoying the absolute quiet of the deep forest, a distant creek falling softly. After one mile we entered the Buckhorn Wilderness boundary, still climbing up at a steady pace.

At two miles, the trail breaks out of the forest into meadows rich with flowers this week, columbine and paintbrush, bunchberry and bluebells, asters and lilies and dozens of others. We switchbacked around rock faces and through all this life doing their best to grow where the growing season lasts for a dozen weeks at best, although that is changing. There should still be snow on the high peaks; they became bare more than a month ago this year. Not that we could see the peaks. The mist swirled around us, creating a mysterious, magical world, blanketed in silence now, other than the haunting song of a hermit thrush nearby.

On we ascended, stopping at outcroppings that would be rich with views of craggy peaks on a clear day. Not today. At three miles up, we passed a junction in the trail, the left trail going to Silver Lake, the right to Mt. Townsend peak. We were getting close. And on we climbed, now down to just our shirts as our bodies kept pouring out heat and sweat.

It was close to noon. Just short of reaching the ridge that leads to Mt. Townsend (though the fog kept us from seeing it), we sat down on a rock outcropping to eat lunch. Oh, that tasted good! As we sat there, four scantily clad teenagers passed by, hiking upwards, music blaring from one of their packs. They asked if we were going up or back down. We said we were still deciding, and they laughed.

Their music could still be heard long after they passed.

The entire Olympic range was blanketed in clouds. We had a campsite that needed to be vacated in a couple of hours. We had found most of what we had hoped to find, the deep forests and alpine meadows, but there was no chance of finding mountain views. And to follow that raucous music instead of the lyrical lamentations of a hermit thrush did not inspire us. The peak was a destination, but not our goal. A hike into the wilds of the Olympics was our goal, and we were there.

We headed back down, fully satisfied.

Life is never about the destination. It is always about the journey along the way. Our journey along this trail filled us with delight and togetherness. What more could we ask?!

My Ballard High School marine biology teacher, Mr. Russell Quackenbush, had a large impact on me, inspiring me with his curiosity about life and his enthusiasm to share whatever he discovered. He had pithy sayings posted around his school room.

One that stuck with me was, “Aim for the stars. Even if you don’t reach them, you’ll go far.”

Mr. Q passed away just last month at the age of 93. https://obituaries.seattletimes.com/obituary/russell-russ-quackenbush-1093837270

I thought of him and his words of wisdom as we walked back down. We had aimed high, and gone far, immersed in the presence of ancient fellow creatures standing all around us, the tall giants of the forests and the tiny shrubs and flowers high on the mountain. They stand in sunshine, rain and snow, windstorm and calm, watching old folks and teenagers walk by, lives coming and going, just a blink in the forest's long span of patient being.

A five-minute video of our day is found at this link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDUYA2CgUd0

We found our way back down, tired but joyous, and took a long nap back at our campsite, ready for the next adventure the next day. That story to come soon, definitely another adventure!

jack