Talking to Yourself

Me, Myself and I

Story and Photos by Bill Hoke

Going hiking by yourself is one thing. Going solo for three, four, five nights—or more—will open new doors to your outdoor adventures. Thanks to Cebe Wallace, local climber, and hiker, who went into the mountains by himself for one week every year, I thought, Why not?

I asked Cebe what it was like and he said two things: “You’ll see” and “You’ll talk to yourself.” I did see, and Bill and Bill became well-acquainted, discussing every meal, every trail dead end, where to place the tent, whether we should attempt to solo Heart Peak. We did not always agree but thankfully it never got to the point where we split up.

My first overnight was to Upper Royal Basin, eight miles in, and when I arrived at 4:30 p.m., I was alone, no one in sight. I set up camp—sorry no campfires allowed—fluffed up my sleeping bag, wandered the area, fixed dinner, did the dishes, hung my bear bag, kept looking down the trail halfwanting for there to be others. After checking my watch: 5:45 p.m., I fluffed up my sleeping bag again. Now what?

This first night alone was memorable. I had my Deliverance fears, imagined bear attacks, snakes, cougars, even an abduction. Asleep at 10 p.m., awake at midnight, awake at 2:10 a.m, and this time an epiphany hits me: I am alone for the first time in my life, eight miles from my car, 20 miles from a main road, thirty miles from a payphone. Alone. Finally back to sleep.

First morning alone, feeling cocky, I climbed Mt. Fricaba, returned to camp, and hiked out, passing a few hikers coming in. One night behind me, I was still alive, a little wiser, and ready for more.

After several solo attempts on the 44-mile roundtrip Skyline Trail (one an admitted chicken-out at Kimta Peak), my climbing partner Terry MacDonald and I finally pulled it off in four nights, one of the best hikes ever. After a full day to hike the four miles between Kimta and Lake Beauty (aptly named), Terry said to me, “bet you can’t solo this.” He was beginning to make fun of Bill talking to Bill, as they bent over a topo map like they knew where they were.

Three weeks later I did it solo, in three nights; the trail between Kimta and Lake Beauty freshly brushed out, Kimta to 16-Mile Camp on the North Fork, my first 17-mile day. Whew!

How about four nights down the Elwha? Went well, got into a staring contest with a yearling bear at Chicago Camp, and was an hour early to meet my wife hiking up to Wolf Bar two days later. Then a three-nighter down the Elwha, now with a lightweight load. You can really sail with a 30-pound pack.

When I mentioned to Robert L. Wood my plan to hike from Dosewallips to Staircase via Heart Lake and LaCrosse Basin, Bob wisely advised, “Go in the other direction and the sun will be at your back. And promise me you will spend one extra night at Heart Lake. Camp on the tombolo.” Five nights.

Day One to the (now removed) shelter at Home Sweet Home—13.5 miles, followed by a memorable night climaxed by a shooting star over Mt. Hopper. It was raining at Marmot Lake, big drops. A huff and puff uphill took me to Heart Lake. No one else there. I pitched my tent on the tombolo. Bob was right. Just perfect.

Day Five above Heart Lake. A big place to be alone

The next day, totally alone, I explored Lake LaCrosse and the basin, and if Bill or Bill find a prettier spot we will let you know. I spent one of the best days of my life, wandering, climbing most of Heart Peak, sleeping, and trying to eat what turned out to be way too much food still in my new bear cache.

I came out over O’Neil Pass in the rain, the Enchanted Valley over my shoulder, hiked Anderson Pass in heavier rain, and spent a dispiriting last night camped at dripping Camp Siberia. And then—lo and behold—in perfect weather cruised three hours down the west fork, nine miles to Elkhorn where I hitched a ride to Brinnon.

Day Six at Anderson Pass. Time to head home.

Two locals offered me a ride to Highway 104 and as I swung my pack into the back of their pick-up, I heard one say, “Looks like we got us a tree hugger” and I yanked my backpack from their truck as they roared off, all of us laughing.

Bill and Bill enjoyed a big gulp in Brinnon, and Jefferson County Transit got us home, eventually.

Lessons? Many. Every night a new cast of night noises. You definitely will talk to yourself and you must positively allow enough time (like a day off at Heart Lake) to take it all in. Yes, being frightened is part of it. The night sky has stories to tell. You might write a haiku.

I got lost a few times and once found myself crawling up from Home Lake, dehydrated (careful!), and fainted at the top of Constance Pass.

A few years later, alone on the Abel Tasman Track working my way to Separation Point at the top of New Zealand’s South Island, I stopped at Mutton Cove and was eating freshly cooked mussels picked from the rocks, when a hiker approached me, asked if he could share the campground, said he was from…Eugene, Oregon.

You never know what you will run into out there going solo, one night or five or more. Bill and Bill have had some splendid times alone in the backcountry.

Go see by yourself. ANW