Island Lake backpack

The 4th of July weekend is all about the red, white, and blue.  Red is the color of the the Belgian national soccer team uniform. White is the color of my legs. And blue was my mood after a World Cup loss by the U.S. team to Belgium. There had to be some kind of supernatural intervention involved in that loss. How else to explain Chris Wondolowski missing an open goal from yards away? How could one of the world's great superpowers lose to a country famed for waffles? What else can one expect from a team named the Red Devils?

Let's go hiking!

Despondent, I went to lose myself in the Sky Lakes Wilderness. Plus, I also really like to hike, but that's beside the point, just let me wallow in my mire. The mire-wallowing began at Fourmile Lake, situated at the foot of Mount McLaughlin. As I laced up my boots at the trailhead, it was quiet...too quiet. Despite it being early summer, there were no mosquitoes and I was suddenly a little less despondent.

Junction in a lodgepole forest

Of course, the mosquitoes were waiting for me in the lodgepole forest but I didn't really feel the need for Deet until a little over a mile, the mosquitoes weren't really bad at all...yet. The first mile of trail was a rather utilitarian bypass around the Fourmile Lake Campground in a thin lodgepole pine forest. I could not see the campground or lake but I could hear the happy hordes and car motors as I walked by.

Let the oohing and aahing begin!

After crossing the Cascade Canal, the "real" hike started. The trail was basically following the Fourmile Lake shore, although the lake remained mostly hidden behind the forest. Huckleberry grew everywhere and this has got to be a royally fruity hike come September. At a viewpoint by the lake, there was a postcard view of Mount McLaughlin's perfect snow cone rising over the lake's sapphire blue waters.

Badger Lake

Next up on this lake tour-de-force hike, was Woodpecker Lake. A short climb took me to this small but pretty (just like me!) lake. And after a relative hop, skip, and jump, hikingwise, up came larger Badger Lake. Every time I see the word "badger" I am reminded of a certain coworker whose office nickname is "The Badger", but I saw no real badgers or coworkers at the lake. I did see and hear woodpeckers throughout the hike, though.

Columbines graced the trail

After Badger Lake came Lily Pond, a brown wet spot in the middle of a marshy meadow. Wildflowers were blooming in numbers at the meadow and I put down the pack for a bit and engaged in a happy photo shoot. Plumes of white bog orchid grew uncoincidentally in the middle of the bog. Monkshood, delphinium, columbine, aster, and showy Jacob's ladder each had a turn at keeping my camera busy. Life is good in a meadow in early summer.

Life is hard on trees

Life is hard on trees up here and the trail between Lily Pond and Long Lake was through a forest of trees that had been snapped off at the top. The broken tops were strewn all over the trail and it was a little bit of work to wade through the debris. However, it was easier for me than it was for a couple of horse riders I exchanged pleasantries with.

Long Lake below Lost Peak

Long Lake was indeed long, lying in skinny slender repose below Lost Peak. A nice little rest stop in the shade was enjoyed and a hiking couple jumped into the lake to cool off while I was there. From there it was on to and across the Pacific Crest Trail into a forest with a lush carpet of huckleberry bushes where a side trail delivered me to Island Lake, my home for the night.

Island Lake in the late afternoon

It was late afternoon, and I set up camp next to the Judge Waldo Tree, famed because the noted conservationist Judge Waldo defaced the tree by carving his initials on it in the 1800's. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight burnished the lake with a soft golden glow. Dragonflies flitted by and fish jumped, their splashings marking the passage of the afternoon. Suddenly, there was a rumble like a large landslide that culminated with a thud, a falling tree does indeed make noise when a man is there to hear it.

The innocent victim's home

My lakeside reverie was further interrupted by a noise that sounded like a combination snort/cough/growl, the sound emanating from the forest about 50 yards in back of me or "my campsite" as I like to call it. I made a mad dash to the camp but there was nary a creature around.  It was about then I had the feeling I was going to spend yet another night in the woods defending my territory from invading marauders of uncertain specie.

Island Lake sunset

Sure enough, in the middle of the night I abruptly awoke, senses on full intruder alert. Just outside of my tent, something breathed heavily, close enough to ripple my tent fly with it's hot and presumably fetid breath. "Get thee gone you four-legged spawn of Satan!" I yelled, or some facsimile thereof. Startled, a large animal took off running in panic, I could feel the vibration of the footsteps in the ground I was laying on. I have no idea what animal it was but I'm thinking deer because deer are the four-legged hiking-pole stealing spawn of Satan. At any rate, it was no more sleep for Richard as there were several more nighttime confrontations, my invective increasing in saltiness with each new raid.

The spirit of Judge Waldo haunts the campsite

At one point, I arose to check upon the welfare of the camp and bats swarmed to the headlamp located disconcertingly on my forehead. I'm not sure what was worse: getting stalked by unknown creatures of the night or having bats by the buckets flitting in my face with their leathery wings. This hike was beginning to feel a lot like Halloween.

Morning reflection

I'd like to say I woke up at the crack of dawn but actually I arose before the crack of dawn since I'd long been awake anyway. Heeding the call of nature, I approached a bush with the intent of relieving myself. When the first molecule of pee stream hit the bush, a black humming cloud erupted forth and swarmed towards the only patch of skin within 5 parsecs that was not protected by Deet. MOSQUITOES! I had to use all my formidable athletic skills to hop and dance around and finish the business I had started, waving my hand frantically to ward off the predatory insect vampires while simultaneously keeping the waving hand safely out of the jet stream, so to speak.

Man, the mosquitoes are huge!

The mosquitoes the day before had been tolerable, overnight they had tripled in quantity and quintupled in ferocity. I wore an inch-thick layer of Deet but the mosquitoes were like a collective swarm of invertebrate Admiral Farraguts, each quoting "Damn the Deet and full speed ahead!" in wing-speak as they dive-bombed me.

Pretty but hot, just like me!

Also tripling in quantity and ferocity was the temperature. This had been a fully sunny weekend but on the hike out, it was hot, so hot I couldn't come up with a simile to amuse my readers. So I'll just say it was hot as heat. So, this hike had heat, mosquitoes, falling trees, mosquitoes, fearsome camp raiding creatures, and more mosquitoes. However, it also offered mosquitoes, pristine lakes, wildflowers, mosquitoes, green meadows, a venerated tree, and mosquitoes. That makes it a great hike in my book and my World Cup despondency was cured, at least until I found out it was a Germany vs Argentina final. I may have to go out for another curative hike!

Where mosquitoes come from

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

Brown Mountain

It definitely was time for some mental floss.  I've been having a crappy attitude that comes with working and not getting paid due to the government shutdown. Watching little men with big egos endlessly bloviate and palaver on TV, posturing for meaningless sound bites while my salary is held in abeyance is just not healthy. It was time to seek peace and enlightenment on the trail where the only things to be held hostage are my leg muscles.

The Pacific Crest Trail calms angry government workers

Starting out at the Summit Sno-Park at the foot of Mount McLaughlin, I followed the shady Pacific Crest Trail downhill towards busy Highway 140. The trail followed the dry Cascade Canal which looked less like a canal and more like a seasonal creek. I'm not entirely sure but I think the canal was a misguided and heretical attempt to drain water from Fourmile Lake down to Fish Lake.  

A tribe of fungi

Autumn has come to the Cascades as the thimbleberry leaves on the forest floor were turning yellow while white snowberries and red rose apples graced their respective bushes and shrubs.  Mushrooms of various shapes and colors sprouted forth from fallen trees, decaying logs, earth, and pine duff. Not even a mile into the hike, and already I could feel mellowness enter my soul.

River of black rock, no diving allowed

After crossing Highway 140, the PCT crossed the High Lakes Trail, a rather utilitarian hiking trail that connects Fish Lake and Lake of the Woods. Shortly after, the trees suddenly ended and spit me out into acres of black basalt.  The rocks had been delivered courtesy of Brown Mountain which was unseen somewhere above me while rivers of rock tractored downhill through the forest.

The Pacific Crest Trail

A lot of work had gone into constructing the PCT in this stretch as the trail had been dynamited into existence through the black lava flows; the trail bed afterwards was filled with red volcanic cinder. The trail tread was brightly visible in the black geology and all one has to do is follow the Red Brick Road, so to speak.

A pictorial metaphor of my mood

Naturally, vegetation is somewhat challenged to gain a foothold in the lava fields but chinquapin didn't seem to have a problem as large tracts of the bushes flanked the trail. Chinquapin is fairly nondescript as plants go but their spiny seed pods are quite distinctive and the trail was littered with the "porcupine eggs".

This is why we hike

Climbing steadily on the flanks of Brown Mountain, the trail soon offered sublimely expansive views of Mount McLaughlin, its cone lightly frosted as a freshly made doughnut. Periodically, Fish Lake (or part of it, anyway) could be seen in a forested bowl below the majestic volcano. Much photography ensued as I gained elevation.  

Thimbleberry, going all autumn on us

At the three mile mark, the trail reached a crest with the last view of McLaughlin before dipping into viewless forest.  It was the logical turnaround point and I enjoyed a lengthy lunch in the cool sun while soaking in the panoramic vista figuratively laying at my feet.  On the way back down to the car, the PCT kept me pointed at Mount McLaughlin and I never tired of the view.  Mental floss, in the first degree.

A glimpse of the future

For more pictures stop by and visit the Flickr album.