Adventures Northwest Magazine Autumn 2020 by John DOnofrio

ADVENTURES NORTHWEST AUTUMN 2020

PICKET RANGE TRAVERSE

Saving Our Salmon Hiking Bagley Lakes Paddling the Inside Passage Running the Hill Fortress of the Bear

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INSPIRATIONS

IN THIS ISSUE

We’re Here for You

An Autumn Stroll around Bagley Lakes

John D’Onofrio

Saving the Salish Sea Salmon

Rena Priest

16 22

The Twin Bear Story Pole Rand Jack Running the Hill

Erika Thorsen

Intimate Nature

Trevor Anderson

In the Fortress of the Bear Brown Bears and the Legacy of Stan Price Shannon Finch

Traversing the Pickets with General Weakness

Jason Griffith

Anna Grondin

90 Days on the Water Paddling the Inside Passage

Nature is not a place to visit. It is home. - Gary Snyder

DESTINATIONS A Turning Point Out & About 3 Great Hikes ... for Autumn Letters to the Editor Bright Lines: Lawrence Millman Mountain Haiku eARTh: The Art of Nature Vital Signs Field Trip: Stuðlagil Canyon Cascadia Gear Next Adventure: Mirror Lake

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CONTRIBUTORS Trevor Anderson is an avid hiker and nature photographer born and raised in Washington State. His photography has been featured in Landscape Photography Magazine, Washington Trails, and others. He photographs with Canon gear and is partial to abstract patterns in nature. Visit him at: trevorandersonphotography.com Shannon Finch is a writer and aspiring photographer. She lives on a small farm in Stanwood, WA with her husband and many rescue animals and enjoys photographing wildlife and landscapes. Jason Griffith is a fisheries biologist who spends more time thinking about the mountains than fish. He lives in Mount Vernon with his wife and two boys. Anna Grondin is a wanderer at heart. She loves to upend her life in pursuit of new and intriguing experiences and is always qui-

Volume 15. Issue 3 etly planning her next endeavor. While not at her day job or out exploring the world, she enjoys trail running, backpacking, and eating delicious food. Bill Hoke came to the Pacific Northwest in 1970 and began a lifetime of climbing and hiking. He’s hiked—mostly solo— more than 1,500 miles in the Olympic Mountains and is editing the forthcoming fourth edition of the Olympic Mountains Trail Guide for Mountaineers Books. Rand Jack is a bird carver, conservationist, retired teacher, lawyer, traveler, nature lover, liberal activist and doting grandfather. “Spending a year carving an 18-foot story pole was in itself a great adventure and honor.” Sarah Laing is a nutritionist, author and co-founder of S&J Natural Products, which offers CBD products for healthy living. Follow her blog, Garden to Kitchen (g2kliving.com), where she explores cooking and health from the ground up.

AUTUMN | 2020

‘Joules’ Julia Martin paints the beautiful scenery of the Pacific Northwest. She has a great appreciation for the beauty of our mountains and a healthy respect for nature’s power to transform. You can find her along our trails taking photos to bring back to her studio to paint. Learn more at JoulesPaints.com. Author-Arctic explorer-mycologist Lawrence Millman is the author of 19 books, including such titles as Last Places, Lost in the Arctic, At the End of the World, Fungipedia, and the recently published book of poems, Goodbye, Ice (Coyote Arts LLC). Clark Parrish is not quite a PNW native, but having lived here now for over 40 years, he likes to consider himself a naturalized citizen of Cascadia. He and his wife Tina get out as often as they can with their trusty dog Kaala. He is a mostly-retired physician, after practicing primary care medicine in Bellingham for over 30 years. Rena Priest is a National Geographic Explorer, and a member of the Lhaq’temish (Lummi) Nation. She is the recipient of a 2020 Allied Arts Award and a 2018 American Book Award. Her work can be found in For Love of Orcas, Poetry Northwest, High Country News, and elsewhere. More at renapriest.com. Erika Thorsen is an educator living in the Pacific Northwest. She enjoys gardening, books, analyzing media, being in the mountains, looking at mountains, and painting pictures of mountains. ANW

COVER PHOTO: ATOP LUNA PEAK BY JASON GRIFFITH

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A TURNING POINT “You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope.” - Thomas Merton

ell, it looks like we made it to autumn.

It’s been quite a year: A global pandemic, climate change-instigated wildfires on a scale previously unimagined, fighting in the streets, an election ahead that has the potential to test the continued existence of a free and open society. Fear and loathing at levels the likes of which we haven’t seen in our lifetimes. But in all this darkness, there is also opportunity. Many of the underlying causes of our current unsustainable situation— previously concealed or oblique—are now laid bare for all to see. It has become impossible for reasonable people to ignore the fact that the trajectory that we’ve been on for a long, long time is in need of fundamental change. Getting back to “normal” is not an option. We have before us a defining moment in our evolution, a chance to wrest real, lasting change from this season of trauma. In the famous words of Anais Nin, “the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” That day, my friends, is here. There is much to do and much that can be done if we are resolute and compassionate. But to write the next chapter of our collective story, we will need hope and determination. We will need to summon our creative energy to solve problems that have festered in the shadows. We will need to remember who we are and to imagine who we stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.

could be. We’ve got to stand strong— no longer relying on “them” to address our problems. The solutions, when they come, will come from us. Daunting? Definitely. But this, unbidden, is our moment. The debate is over. The argument in favor of fossil fuels is over. The every-man-for-himself-ism has not moved us forward. The unchecked free market economy has brought us to ruin’s doorstep. Obviously: It’s time for something else. We’ve faced challenges before, and have some evidence (not enough, but some) that we can rise to the occasion. Flawed as we are, we are also filled with possibilities. But—and this is key—we need to resist being consumed by the negative. How can we do this? Let’s start by reconnecting to nature, by understanding deep down that we are nature. During the pandemic,

the universal response to a world out of balance was to seek solace in the woods, in the mountains, in our own backyards. This deep connection is the source of our strength, the center of our power and the “home base” that reminds us of what balance feels like. This connection empowers us to move forward. The next chapter in our story has yet to be written. Let us write it together.

Editor’s Note: In light of the COVID-19 situation, we’ve suspending our Outdoor Events Calendar. Look for this to return soon!

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Out&About

Wolverines Return to Mount Rainier After a Century of Absence By Ainslee Dicken Wolverines are very particular animals. Their existence is only possible if conditions are perfectly balanced, an ideal mixture of space, snow, and a healthy ecosystem. Mount Rainier National Park fits the bill, and for the first time in almost 100 years, they’ve reappeared. A breeding female and kits were found in the park this summer by the Cascade Carnivore Project (CCP). “A breeding female indicates a resident population, not just a lone male dispersing,” says Steph Williams, cofounder and project manager of Cascade Wolverine Project (CWP), a grassroots organization that has been collaborating

with CCP and other agencies during these discoveries. CWP works with the National Park Service, who have set up cameras to locate and track the mother and her kits, as well as any other activity that may be of use to researchers. Resembling small bears, wolverines are the largest members of the weasel family, weighing up to 40 pounds. Ferocious omnivores, they can smell carcasses through 20 feet of snow and will travel up to 15 miles a day for a meal. In the 19th century wolverines were on the brink of extinction due to hunting,

ever-expanding human presence and deforestation. Now there are laws in place for their protection, and the preservation of these rare creatures is being taken seriously. When asked what he wants for the future, Mount Rainier National Park superintendent Chip Jenkins hopes for a “continued trend of working together, from commercial forestry to small property owners, ensuring an unbothered habitat for these creatures.”

Healing with Horses: Animals as Natural Therapy By Nick Belcaster Since 1999, Whatcom County-based nonprofit Animals as Natural Therapy (ANT) has served youth, veterans and elders through equine therapy and helped many overcome personal challenges through animal-focused mental health programs. Their ledger is long with success stories, all thanks to a barn full of rescued farm animals. Photo courtesy of ANT

So, why horses?

“Partly because they’ve been travelling with humans for thousands of years,” Director and Founder, Sonja Wingard says, “They’ve been with us through everything.” But beyond that, the fact that horses are prey animals means they are always assessing the situation, and this lends them particularly well to picking up on situational and emotional undercurrents. Which, Wingard says, extends even to reading into our lives. “You can work out a lot of human relationship issues with your horse,” she explains. “I wish I had a horse before I had kids. “They help people become aware of what they are really feeling.” ANT’s current programming includes afterschool programs, mobile visiting therapy animals and the EAGLE veterans program. You can donate to support their work at: animalsasnaturaltherapy.org. 8

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Thru-Hiking Legend Heather “Anish” Anderson Shares Thirst with Whatcom County When last we checked in with Heather “Anish” Anderson in our Winter 2013 edition, she was fresh off the Pacific Crest Trail, having set a new FKT (Fastest known time) record of 60 days on the epic 2650-mile hike. Since then, she’s been…walking. And walking. 28,000 miles on the trail: The PCT again. The Appalachian Trail (twice). The Continental Divide Trail (also twice). Photo courtesy of Heather Anderson

In 2018 she became the first woman to achieve the thru-hiking “Triple Crown”, hiking the PCT, Appalachian and Continental Divide Trails in a single year. In 2019, she was named a National Geographic Adventurer of the year and published a book, Thirst: 2600 Miles to Home (Mountaineers Books). Thanks to the folks at the Whatcom County Library System (WCLS), readers will have an opportunity to join Heather’s adventures via a series of on-line presentations and community conversations via Zoom, Oct. 1-10, 2020.

3 Great Hikes for A ut umn

Lake Ann

The trail in to Lake Ann is delightful in autumn. A rare thing: You descend from the trailhead into the Swift Creek Valley, a kaleidoscope of fall colors. The Mountain Ash are particularly striking. Hop across the creek and climb to a saddle with magnificent views of Koma Kulshan, occupying the western sky. Take a minute to examine the rocks strewn about the saddle. They’re glacial erratics and are elegantly scrimshawed by the eons, an alpine sculpture gallery. Cresting the saddle, you’ll drop to the lake in its picturesque basin beneath the spectacle of Mt. Shuksan and the Curtis Glacier. Expect company. Lake Ann is in danger of being overrun. Strict ‘No-Trace’ ethics are absolutely mandatory. All told, you’ll hike about eight miles RT with a nicely balanced 1150-foot of gain on the way in and 750-foot of gain on the way out. Trailhead: Austin Pass, Mt. Baker Highway (SR-542).

Railroad Grade

To walk on a volcano is a unique experience. Add flowing glaciers and vibrant fall colors and you have the ingredients for an amazing autumn hike. The Railroad Grade Trail transports pilgrims to places normally consigned to mountaineers. Raw, glacial wonder. From the trailhead, you’ll traverse Schreiber’s Anderson has a history in these parts, having lived Meadow, where the huckleberries might slow your progress. Cross Rocky Creek on a suspenin Bellingham and spent much quality time on sion bridge and climb switchbacks through the local trails. “We hope Heather’s book and the free forest, passing a junction for the Scott Paul Trail, online author presentations inspire community and two miles from your car. Turn right for Railroad personal exploration,” says WCLS Adult Programming Grade at the Park Butte Trail junction in the Coordinator Ann McAllen. “In the past, library events elegant (and in autumn, wildly colorful) Morovitz like this would have happened live at our branches. Meadows and climb the stairway to heaven. Go Railroad Grade COVID has challenged our normal operations, but as far as the spirit moves you. Mt. Baker looms Photo by John D’Onofrio we’ve found we can create connection and stimulate ever higher as the trail traces the knife-edge of great book conversations online. We’re thrilled to a moraine, affording pulse-quickening views down into the host Heather and to introduce local readers to her book. We glacial tumult. Reach the climber’s camp with its front-row view hope our community will join us as we welcome her back— of the Easton Glacier, only about 3.5 miles (and 2200 feet) from your car—but it will seem like an entirely different world. virtually—to Whatcom County.”

Learn more, including how to register, at wcls.org/readandshare.

Trailhead: Mt. Baker National Recreation Area Trailhead at the end of Sulphur Creek Rd. (FR-13)

Windy Pass The Pacific Crest Trail from Harts Pass to Windy Pass transports hikers across sweeping meadows, above treeline almost the whole way, starting from one of the loftiest trailheads (6800 feet) in Washington State. The wide-open slopes are cloaked in gold and magenta in the autumn, an incandescent foreground for distant, ice-mantled peaks. The PCT offers miles of smooth, easy going— this section is a virtual hiker’s highway. One can imagine the excitement of the thru-hiker, only a few miles from Canada after more than 2600 miles. Gentle ups and downs allow for relaxed and leisurely sight-seeing on the way to the Pass, 3.5 easy miles from your vehicle. Total elevation gain is a gentle 1300 feet. Trailhead: Slate Peak Rd., 1.5 miles from Harts Pass,20 miles from Mazama on the Harts Pass Rd. (FR-5400) stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.

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Letters to the Editor Share your thoughts!

Write to editor@AdventuresNW.com

Weekly I check for local publications when I visit the Food Coop. The other day I was surprised and delighted to find the special summer edition of Adventures Northwest. My heart warmed and I felt a surge of optimism. Something was right in the world! One of the things I feel strongly about when getting out in nature, even just the garden, is that it puts us “in the present moment”. Past regrets and future worries recede and all but disappear. Thank you for this beautiful reminder of the healing power of nature. A. Prevost Bellingham, WA I was so pleasantly surprised to get the summer edition of Adventures Northwest! It’s beautiful. I read every single thing. I even liked the ads! Way to go! L. First Cosmopolis, WA

Thanks so much for your hard work creating a great magazine. I lingered with coffee this morning so I could read through the latest issue of Adventures Northwest Magazine. Such a wonderful way to start my day and I will go back and reread many of the essays by folks on the healing power of nature. I particularly liked your words “meaningful change often comes from undesired stimuli, uninvited disruptions that make our usual comfort zones uninhabitable. Perhaps now we have an opportunity to stop the train, to reframe our priorities and be more fully present. To be kind. To be wise. To be still.” I want to challenge myself to embrace the change more and I know that time spent in, and lessons learned from nature, is helpful for that. J.Broughton Bellingham, WA

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An Autumn Stroll Around Bagley Lakes Story & Photos by John Dâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Onofrio

A dusting of snow compliments the autumn colors of Upper Bagley Lake

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asily overlooked among the Mt. Baker area’s wealth of great hiking trails, the Bagley Lakes Loop is an autumnal delight. This short, easy trail that traces the shores of the sweet little lakes offers a chance for the whole family to savor the luminous colors of fall in a sub-alpine setting. One could complete the loop in an hour, or enjoy a languid afternoon of small discoveries and quiet beauty. These little lakes are set in a bowl beneath Herman and Table Mountains in the Heather Meadows area near the upper lodge of the Mt. Baker Ski Area. All told, there are about two miles of gentle trail that wind along and between the lakes—an excellent stroll on a cloudy day and a fine place to stretch your legs and admire the surrounding cliffs, waterfalls and meadows. On busy autumn weekends, when Artist Point is overflowing with blissedout hikers, things tend to be quieter down among the lakes. And as autumn progresses, this area provides late,

lingering access to sub-alpine beauty when the high country that surrounds

gardens. Swirling mists soften the sharp edges and twisted weather-beaten trees lend a melancholy presence, adding an impressionistic atmosphere to the scene. Table Mountain rises in the background above a yearround snowfield. From the parking lot, descend via a few switch-

In autumn the mountain ash turns an incandescent yellow and luscious blueberries offer up an ‘all you can eat’ buffet. backs to lower Bagley Lake. The dam here is a remnant of days gone by, built to generate power for the Mt. Baker Lodge which once stood in Heather Meadows. This formidable lodge was a major attraction until it was destroyed by fire in 1931. Turn left and follow the eastern shore through gardens of wildflowers beside tiny moss-lined creeks. Bagley Creek and Table Mountain Follow the tumbling stream that connects the two lakes it is covered in new snow. in a series of splashing cascades to anBasalt columns rim the lakes, interother junction. A right turn here leads spersed with the delicate lace of alpine to a graceful stone bridge that crosses

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the flow below the upper lake. Huge boulders offer inviting places to stretch out and contemplate the harmonious elements of water, rock and alpine vegetation in what feels like a sub-alpine

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Japanese Zen Garden. When calm, the surface of the upper lake is a reflecting pool for the surrounding mountains. On the west side of the bridge, a left turn leads to Herman Saddle via the Chain Lakes Trail and explorations in this direction, though more strenuous, are recommended. Turning right, the trail heads back toward the lower lake on the west side, gaining a little elevation and affording fine views of the basalt formations across the water. Here below the slopes of Mt. Herman, boulders are strewn about, glacial erratics deposited by the retreating ice. Many are adorned with a chiaroscuro of black lichen. In autumn the mountain ash turns an incandescent yellow and luscious blueberries offer up an ‘all you can eat’ buffet. The trail traverses above the lower lake and gently descends to the dam where you cross the outlet stream and return to the junction below the parking lot and trailhead.

It goes without saying that in such a delicate environment—located so close to the road—meticulous care must be taken to leave no trace of your presence. Obviously, no litter, but also no footprints in the wet meadows off the trail. ANW

Access: Drive Highway 542 (the Mount Baker Highway) approximately 21 miles east from Glacier to the upper Mt. Baker Ski Area. Just before reaching the upper lodge, turn right into the vast ski area parking lot beside the maintenance buildings. Proceed to the far right hand corner of this lot (near the outhouse) to locate the trail head. Turn right at the signed junction with the Wild Goose Trail and head down into the basin. A Northwest Forest Pass is required to park at the trailhead.

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Saving the Salish Sea Salmon Story by Rena Priest

n alarming factoid has been floating around for a few years now: In a â&#x20AC;&#x153;business as usualâ&#x20AC;? scenario, by 2050, plastics will outweigh fish in the ocean. This figure was first presented at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, and is based on a study released in 2015 by the Ocean Conservancy. It says something about plastics, but it also says something powerful about our current inefficacy in fisheries management.

Photo by Brett Baunton

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One might easily assume that certainly, the role of fisheries management is to manage habitat and harvest to keep the fishery healthy and productive in a way that sustains it in perpetuity, right? Count the fish, count the fishermen, maintain awareness of stressors, and respond accordingly. With sound scientific management strategies in place, all should be well. But the fish have been in perpetual decline for over a century. In the Salish Sea, some salmon runs have gone extinct; others are critically endangered. Environmental stressors go unchecked, while ecoPhoto by Brett Baunton nomic pressures placed on harvest management creates a void in political goodwill to address the problems that face our once-abundant fisheries. Salmon farms stationed throughout wild salmon migratory routes are breeding grounds for sea lice and pathogens released into migrating salmon populations as they make their way to the ocean. Warming rivers create hostile conditions for adult salmon returning to spawning grounds, while hydroelectric dams present a hurdle for juvenile salmon returning to the sea. Every step in their life cycle is rife with challenges. A study by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration showed that only 52.5 percent of migrating juvenile spring chinook survived the journey through all eight dams and reservoirs on the lower Snake and Columbia Rivers. This survival rate is startling on its own, dismal when you consider that chinook salmon are listed as a critically endangered species. An important detail in the story of colonization, as well as in fisheries management, is that Western science knows best. We embrace its wisdom for all of the advancements we’ve made and congratulate ourselves for having left superstition and mythology in the childhood of our evolution. Yet, with all of this good science, why do we find ourselves in a moment of planetary crisis, where eco-systems face collapse, and keystone species are disappearing? Indigenous scientist Dr. Leroy Little Bear offers this: “Western science is largely aimed at exploration, Native science is aimed at sustainability.” It’s pertinent to mention that one primary motivation of Western scientific exploration and discovery is to find resources to exploit for economic gain. stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.

In 1883, Thomas Henry Huxley, the president of Britain’s Royal Society addressed the question, “Are fisheries exhaustible? That is to say, can all the fish which naturally inhabit a given area be extirpated by the agency of man?” His scientific exploration of this question yielded the answer: “nothing we do seriously affects the number of the fish.” The result of this declaration was that lethal new fisheries technologies were applied, and harvests went unchecked for the next 40 years. It was temporarily lucrative for the industry, permanently catastrophic for the fisheries, and the Indigenous Peoples who historically relied on them. As part of Huxley’s legacy, in Bellingham, WA, former home of the world’s largest fish cannery, an Environmental Sciences College is named for him. People in Bellingham are

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trying to rename a bridge that is named a disembodied voice, given you scientific astation to the fishery has been tragic. for a confederate soldier, but nobody facts, isolated from my personal history Bellingham, WA is situated on our ever questions the name of the environand biases. Here, I break the fourth wall. ancestral homelands, and we have been mental college named for a man whose I want to connect with you, invite you historically shut out from practicing scientific opinion enabled the our way of life since the midplundering of our oceans. If 1800s. As part of a relational exploitation of resources is network, from which we’ve the result of science aimed been displaced, this exclusion at exploration, what does sciis a shattering of a web. ence aimed at sustainability A recent study shows that look like? a spider’s web is part of its Dr. Little Bear gives us consciousness. A spider uses this: “If you look at things from its woven filament to interact a flux point of view, imagine with the world. Every minute your geodesic communal spivibration is sensed and acder web in motion. Okay, you commodated for. A breeze, a begin to see that everything is bird’s song, or an ill-fated fly related… In Western thought, will send ripples through the we try to isolate. We try to get silk to the middle where the down smaller and smaller and Salmon catch on the floor of an unidentified cannery, between 1897 and 1900 spider sits, senses, thinks, and smaller and isolate, whereas responds. When it’s windy or in Native thought, it’s always holistic into holistic thinking, make you a part when the web is heavy with rain, the thinking—it’s always about the relational of my relational network, and speak to spider will slacken the lines to release networks.” you from my identity as a member of the tension and maintain the strength and Until now, I have spoken to you as Lhaq’temish Nation, for whom the devintegrity of the web, its home, its ex-

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tended body. Similarly, when people use tools, the brain recognizes the instrument as a part of the body until we release it from our control. Our body is the home of our consciousness. The world is the home of our body. Everything is connected. We connect our consciousness to tools the way a spider is connected to the vibrations of prey and the subtle rhythms of the world that shimmer through its web. Likewise, in Lhaq’temish culture, we were integrated with the web of waterways and landscapes of our homelands

The new story told by the people of the sxwole, has become one of survival and repair. We repair by connecting.

factured tunnel of grasses and over the false reef into the net. It’s a unique technology that collects no bycatch and was traditionally made of willow withes. Because the fishery was tied to a rich cosmology, it was managed with regard for the fish as sacred. The sxwole was modeled after the way nature creates human life. The sxwole is a womb. Fish swim into the net to give the spark of life to the people for another season. Because women were the net weavers, the reef-net was also an essential factor in how we arranged ourselves as a matriarchal society. Each woman who contributed a panel of net secured a share of the catch for her family, and in doing so, secured the esteem of the people.

through thousands of years of interactions. We were in resonance with the systems on which we relied. The evidence of this is in how we practiced stewardship in our harvesting methods, and how our stories acknowledge the sacred in the other beings with whom we share our world. As an example, I’ll tell you about the Sxwole (shwala). Today, it’s known as a reef-net because it works by creating an artificial reef. Migrating fish swim up through a manu-

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Colonizers who tried to appropriate the technology had no feel for it and were deterred by the communal effort involved. They wanted a technology that afforded opportunities to secure the profit for themselves, without having to engage other people, and so the reef-net became the regional model for early fish traps, which were soon honed into a means of mass-harvest as witnessed in this passage: Peace and Privacy on the Twisp River R self-contained luxury suites R private screened in porches R

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“Then he began to reminisce and talk to me about the trap days when Bellingham canneries were so loaded that they couldn’t can them, and they used to dump as high as 30,000 fish. They just couldn’t do anything with them so there was dead fish all over.” –Jim McKay, 1974 (Lummi Elders Speak) There was no mythical transference to the fish traps, no communion, no bringing together of minds and hands, no gratitude to the spirit for the gift of life. The traps were eventually outlawed in 1934, but the damage to the fishery had been done and fishing rights were not restored to tribal fishers until 1973. When tribal fishers returned to the water, reef net sites were all occupied by non-treaty fishers. Hydraulics replaced the strength of men. The intricate, glittering web of interconnection had been shattered, and the new story told by the people of the sxwole, has become one of survival and repair. We repair by connecting.

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I recently learned a new word: Proprioception. It is “perception or awareness of the position and movement of the body.” I learned the word in relation to dogs. It turns out dogs tend to be mostly front-wheel-drive. They are not as conscious of their rear legs as their front, and this can cause hip problems later in life. As a modern society, reliant on Western science to inform our understanding of the world, we exclude all but observable reality from what we can know. In this, we are a bit like dogs, somewhat unconscious of what our behinds are doing. Luckily, dogs can learn “rear-end awareness” and avoid problems down the road. People can too. We can learn how to physically interact with our world in a way that acknowl-

edges the unseen and the sacred in each other—people, animals, waterways—and in seeing we can learn to live in ANW non-destructive ways.

POETRY FROM THE WILD

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Squatting among tussocks of sedge grass rest the dead boards of a church — collapsed windows, permafrost floor, a few lupines at the door, and a fruiting of Russula mushrooms in the nave. The nearest thing to a crucifix is a rotting pair of crossed boards fallen from the roof. Yet what better place for divine worship? In the decayed rafters sits the congregation — a group of black guillemots. They proclaim their faith by piping high-pitched hymns of praise to the Arctic’s gaping solitudes. As I listened to them, I too became devout. Herschel Island, Yukon Territory is from Lawrence Millman’s most recent book, Goodbye, Ice (Coyote Arts LLC).

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The Twin Bear Story Pole Story and Photos by Rand Jack

n the fall of 2005, I was given a 300+ year-old, 18-foot-long, red cedar log from a jumbled pile in the log yard of the Oeser Company in Bellingham, WA. A tag on the log indicated that it had been cut down by Georgia Pacific in 1982 at the base of the Twin Sisters Range in Whatcom County, WA. near the confluence of Hayden and Fish Creeks. Being the custodian of this magnificent piece of wood inspired my imagination and coalesced several things dear to my heart—carving wood, love of animals, devotion to conservation, and respect for the traditions of the Northwest coast Native People. I decided to carve a story pole in the tradition of the original inhabitants of this land I now call home. The figures on the pole tell a story about the environmental web of which we are all a part. 22

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Concerned about cultural infringement, I asked my friend and much-

The Twin Bear Pole stands in the Whatcom Museum’s Lightcatcher Building

respected elder of the Lummi Nation, Darrell Hillaire, to come and see what I was doing. The first question he asked was: “Do the animals speak to you?” I had not thought of it that way, but, on a moment’s reflection, I answered “yes,” though his meaning was not completely clear to me. After a day of carving, I would lay in bed thinking “What comes next? How do I make a transition? How do I handle a knotty problem? How do I mend a screwup?” In the morning I would awake with an answer, or at least a lead. Provoked by Darrell’s question, I realized that the animals were indeed speaking to me. The pole depicts an environmental morality tale. I sometimes tell people that I just wrote an “ancient” legend, something I knew to be true. And something that I am quite sure Native Peoples of the Pacific Northwest have known for eons to be true. Again, the animals were speaking to me. >>> Go to AdventuresNW.com

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On June 27, 2009, a community of friends moved the Twin Bear Story Pole on a sailboat trailer from my workshop to its permanent home next to Bellingham’s Children’s Museum in the Whatcom Museum Light Catcher building. With ropes, push sticks and many hands, we raised the pole in much the same way, I suspect, that Native Peoples did for centuries along the North Pacific coast. On the opening day of the new Whatcom Museum, November 14, 2009, three generations from the Lummi Nation sang and drummed a blessing of the Twin Bear Story Pole including Lummi Nation Cultural Director James “Uncle Smitty” Hillaire, his

ers right to where Humans lived. The Salmon People were wary. Why should they make it easy for Humans to eat them? Raven had to bargain hard. He promised to make the Salmon People into five races, each distinctively beautiful and fit to survive. Raven also promised that Humans would always treat the Salmon People with respect. Raven knew that Humans would need wisdom to survive on Earth. So Raven went to Owl, who had great wisdom. He asked Owl to share some wisdom with Humans. Owl was skeptical. She thought sharing with Humans would be a waste of good wisdom. But Raven was cunning and convinced Owl

wife, known to all as Aunt Lutie, and their family. The twin baby bears in the mother bear’s womb at the base of the pole are a symbol of the fecundity of nature that we are all responsible for protecting.

HEY OUTDOOR ENTHUSIAST!

THE STORY OF THE TWIN BEAR POLE A very long time ago, Raven sat on a sandstone cliff overlooking the Nooksack River. Raven was a curious—some would say mischievous—fellow. As he surveyed the landscape from his lofty perch, everything seemed entirely too calm and orderly for his taste. Raven was bored. He decided to fly to a world far away and bring back Humans to this Earth. Certainly that would shake things up and make life more interesting. Raven knew that for Humans to get along on Earth, they would need some help. Humans do not have thick fur like Bear to keep them warm, and they can’t swim in the ocean like Orca. So from that far away world, Raven carried a cedar cone in his beak. From the seeds of that cone would grow giant cedar trees, and Humans would have wooden beams for houses, cedar bark for clothing, and tree trunks for canoes. Because Humans could not fly or run very fast, they would have trouble catching food. So Raven went to the Salmon People and asked if they would swim up the rivstories & the race|play|experience calendar online.

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that even a little wisdom for Humans would be a great improvement. Raven understood that if Humans were going to paddle their cedar canoes in the ocean, they would have to live in harmony, and with respect, for Orca, the most powerful creature of the sea. Raven also understood that if Humans were going to live in their cedar homes in the forests, they would have to live in harmony, and with respect, for Bear, the most powerful creature of the forest. If Humans cease to respect Orca and Bear, Salmon will no longer swim up the rivers. Cedar trees will stop growing straight and tall as needed for houses, canoes, and story poles. Humans will no longer be part of the Earth Community. Some Humans have come to think that they no longer need the Salmon People to return, the cedars to grow tall and straight, the wisdom of Owl or membership in the Earth community. Some have stopped respecting Orca and Bear. But

Lummi Nation Cultural Director James “Uncle Smitty” Hillaire at the Blessing Ceremony

the truth is, Humans need the natural world just as much today as when Raven brought them, and a cedar ANW cone, to this Earth.

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Running the Hill Story by Erika Thorsen

s I age, I have found a love for running up steep hills in the woods. It started because of bad knees and old dogs and continues as a personal challenge… but first let’s talk about the fact that it’s not easy growing older in a college town. Everywhere I go, there are young, dewy-eyed millennials who look beautiful without even trying and have no idea how able their bodies are. Bodies that can carry them on a 15-mile hike and feel perfectly normal the next day. Bodies that can pull a muscle and be back to regular programming within a week. Bodies that can drink one cocktail and not move around in a sluggish haze for half of the next day. Bodies that, when pushed in exercise, emit a glow and smell like flowers. I remember those days, but I certainly didn’t appreciate them at the time. Do any of us? Now those students blow past me on a trail, run daisies around me on the soccer field, and make me feel as if I’m riding a stationary bike on the days I commute car-less. And, truth be told, it’s not just the college students anymore. “Darn you, you whippersnapper!” I say (in my head) and shake my fist (in my head) at someone in their mid-30’s accelerating past me on the Sportsplex field. Their “older” league for women starts at 25. Twenty-five! The constant in-your-face compar26

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ison highlights what I’ve lost. It makes me acutely aware of all the precious weekends in my 20’s and 30’s when I sat hunched over various dining room

the consolation prizes for reduced endurance, permanently angry-looking brows and the need to cross your legs when you sneeze. But I’m trying to see it more as an even trade. Now I can afford the e-bike (I call it the cheater bike) for example. Though, yes, the younger salesperson at the bike shop told me, “A lot of older people are buying these,” but, hey, it cuts down on my commute by 15 minutes each way. I also arrive home without jelly legs and still have the juice to go for a run, should I want to. I’ll take it. I do not have a runner’s body; I never did. Even in college, when playing lacrosse and running on the side to keep in shape, I quickly found there was a limit to how many miles I could run in a week and still walk down the stairs in the morning. (About 15, it turns out. Per week, not per run!) What I had going for me on the field were my short bursts of speed—I could outrun most players and at least keep even with the very fastest player on Photo by M. Hays the other team—but distance is not my game. The stops and tables grading papers when what I starts on the soft grass-and-mud fields, really wanted to be doing was climbinterspersed with jogging around when ing mountains. Later, I kept telling the play was elsewhere, seemed to work myself…later. just fine for my knees. Certainly, there are parts about After college, I switched to playing aging that I appreciate: more financial recreational soccer, and for many years security, greater confidence and sense continued to enjoy a body able to carry of self, the wisdom that comes with me fleet-footed down the field, though experience—some might say these are I eventually started wearing knee

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braces for extra support. Occasionally, I still went for a run, but it was never my main form of exercise. Part of the reason I ran at all is that my endless meandering on the trails with my dogs (I feel it’s my obligation to get them out daily, plus, I love being in the woods) sometimes took a bigger chunk out of my workday than I could spare. I started thinking, “Why walk when I can run?” So I began doing more of it. The uneven and soft terrain of trails offers enough variety to keep my knees happy, and—did I mention?—I love being in the woods. But over the years, I’ve had a series of dogs that began to have trouble keeping up as they aged. These dogs, past and present, but presented in no particular order, are: Sweet Dog, Stupid Dog, My Soul’s Twin, Tiny Ancient Dog, Best Dog and The Flying Nun. All have been excellent trail dogs, save for Tiny Ancient Dog, who didn’t run, obviously, and my current Stupid Dog, who, due to

many (stupid) incidents, now has to be leashed at all times, even on the offleash trails. The solution, it turned out, was hills. Steep ones. Inclines that slowed me down so much, my dogs could just about walk their normal pace and still keep up. The hills allow for a good, sweaty workout without having to go more than a few miles, benefitting the old dogs and freeing up some of my time. And the more I sought out steep terrain, the more I felt accomplished and capable upon reaching the top. Even if I don’t happen to have an aging dog, I’ll still seek out the climb. I may be older; I may be slower; I may not be able to play as much soccer, but this—this is something I can do. I can push myself hard and get somewhere, usually somewhere with a nice breeze and vantage point. Sometimes when working my way up the Burnout Road or Oyster Dome or whatever climb I’m tackling, I’ll pass

by younger hikers coming down, and, admittedly, I relish the impressed look I occasionally see in their eyes. It’s a silly vanity, I know. What I want to tell those people hiking downhill is that their perception is skewed by the fact that we are heading in different directions. Turn around and watch me for 30 seconds, and they’ll see that “running” is a highly glorified term for what I am doing. Think instead of “the slowest jog you’ve even seen.” If the top of the speed-o-meter is Usain Bolt, I’m somewhere down between Betty White and a glacier. I’m pretty sure I could walk faster up the hill. And it’s possible I’m mistaking their pity for admiration. “Look how hard she’s trying!” one may say to the other once I’m out of earshot. “I smiled at her because she looked like she needed it.” When I’m muscling my way up a hill or bounding down trails and jumping over creeks, I imagine myself look-

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ing like the photos that grace this type of magazine—an adventurous, bad-ass athlete capably gliding over the landscape. But that’s a construct of wishful thinking. Because I do not look all millennial glow-y when I exercise. My face gets puffy and fire-engine red, my hair turns into a frizz-bomb and my expression, if the photos by the evil Ski-to-Sea photographer who insists on capturing the X-C skiers as they are going up the hill are any indication, I basically look like the real-life version of Edvard Munch’s The Scream. (Okay, okay – I know that the photographer isn’t actually evil; I know that it’s easier to photograph the skiers when they are spread out on the uphill rather than racing down it. But nobody

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else’s picture looks like mine. All the other 499 competitors are smiling and cavorting up the hill like they’re in The Sound of Music. Clearly, it’s just me).

A distinction could be made that unlike The Scream’s look of abject terror or agonized despair, my expression more closely resembles a jaw-open ver-

sion of exhaustion. The thing is, looking back, I wasn’t exhausted at that point in the race. Or any point, really. I’m not skilled enough of a skier to push too hard up the hills because if I push, I just slide backwards. That’s just how I look when working out. When running, if you throw in the thrift store clothes and the bag of dog poop swinging in my hand, I’m about as far from those magazine pictures as a snaggle-toothed pug is from a wolf. On some outings, people have actually stopped to ask me if I’m okay. Photo by M. Hays But, whatever — I am doing it. I am pushing my 46 years up that damn hill, and, despite what I might look like, I am enjoying it. I aim to still be doing that at 56, and, if the good world allows, maybe

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even decades beyond that. I may not be a runner’s runner, but I am moving forward, and I run only for myself. That is the mental place where I can learn to ignore all the comparisons and focus on what I can do, not what I can’t. To keep myself happy, I never enter races or run with other people. It’s the bliss of solitude that makes the running worthwhile—the freedom from having to keep up with a running partner and the mindless peace of being in the moment with only lightly swaying ferns, bird songs and the rhythmic jingle of my dogs’ tags. No timing, no counting miles, no weekly goals, no reading running magazines or buying weird goo to squirt in my mouth. Forget the fauxInsta-perfect images, jazzed up tales of grit and glory, race tee-shirts and stickers. If that’s a person’s jam, that’s awesome, and I say go for it! But it’s not mine. The simple act of getting up a hill—step-step-breathe, step-step-breathe—is my bliss. So what are all these words for? To remind myself and others that fitness, challenge and a sense of accomplishment can happen at any level, and mostly importantly, it should happen on your terms. Forget what other people can do, whether they are your age or not; find your own stride. So I will keep running the hill, as long as I can, at whatever pace I can, because I figure as long as I’m going up the hill, I can’t go over it. ANW

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Intimate Nature Trevor Anderson’s Eye for Detail

he beauty of the Pacific Northwest has captivated me for as long as I can remember. Even before I ever picked up a camera, I knew there was something very special and therapeutic about being out in the wilderness. This appreciation has only become deeper in my photographic work. Photography has helped me observe and capture the fleeting and captivating intersections of color, light, and detail. From glacially-carved mountains to cerulean lakes to

old growth forests; this environment truly offers abundance for the senses. I hope to continue to explore its unique moods for many years to come See more of Trevor’s photography at trevorandersonphotography.com Visit AdventuresNW.com to view an extended gallery of Trevor Anderson’s luminous nature photography.

Left page top: Larch Puzzle. Bottom (L-R): First Frost, Frozen Amber Right page, left column (top to bottom): Against the Grain, River Abstract, Formed in the Elements, Aspen Leaves Right page, right column (top to bottom): Etched in Gold, Mossy Entanglement, Radial

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In the Fortress of the Bear Brown Bears and the Legacy of Stan Price Story by Shannon Finch

he dark bear marches to- pointing slightly upwards. I track the bears through my camera wards us, her powerful front lens. As the female fills the frame, I’m legs swinging in a bowlegged walk. A large, lighter colored male follows her. The corners of his mouth curve upward in a sort of permanent smile. But the foam on “Smiley’s” lips and his clacking teeth make the situation less amusing. The large hump between their shoulders leaves no doubt that these are grizzlies, or brown bears as they are known in this part of the Face-to-face at Pack Creek Photo by Marie Duckworth world. From the corner of my eye I can see our guide and a ranger at the corners of the viewing area, which is little more than a square outlined with logs that are better seats than barriers. Their rifles rest in the crooks of their arms, 32

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surprised that I’m not scared. I’m . . . mesmerized. Or maybe paralyzed. The bears are now about 30 feet from us, but they ignore us as they lumber past the viewing area. There’s a collective exhalation from us humans, and excited whispers

and nervous grins at what we just witnessed here at the Pack Creek Zoological Area, a unique brown bear preserve on Admiralty Island in Southeast Alaska.

Fortress of the Bear To understand Pack Creek, you have to understand Admiralty Island. At 1600 square miles, Admiralty is the seventh largest island in the United States. In addition to brown bears, it is home to a large population of bald eagles, many other bird species, Sitka Black-tailed deer, marten, mink, otter, and all five species of Pacific salmon. Admiralty provides everything a bear requires to flourish: alpine denning sites, abundant water, and lots to eat. Pack Creek itself descends from an elevation of 4000 feet through grasslands, spruce and hemlock forest, and rich >>> Go to AdventuresNW.com

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sedge meadows, until it reaches the tidal flats of Seymour Canal. The bears follow the grasses, insects, berries, bulbs, roots, shellfish, and of course salmon, in an elegant dance with the seasons. The native Tlingit name for Admiralty Island is Kootznoowoo, Fortress of the Bear, leaving no doubt as to who was, and still is, the dominant species. Today, it has the largest concentration of brown bears in the United States, with an estimated 1500-1600 bears. Even with hunting permitted on 95% of the island, their numbers hold steady. That’s about one bear per square mile if you’re doing the math. Compare that to the total human population of about 650. Where brown bears originated— and when—is a mystery, though fossil evidence shows their presence on the island for thousands of years. What is known is that the mitochondrial DNA from bears from Admiralty, Baranof and Chichagof Islands is different from

those of other grizzlies, with studies showing possible linkage to polar bears. This may account for the brown bear’s larger size compared to other grizzlies, though an ample food supply helps too. Whether bears swam or crossed ice bridges to Admiralty is anyone’s guess. For reasons unknown, no black bears ever made it to the island. That the Pack Creek Preserve exists at all is due to the unexpected convergence of its prime bear habitat, an intrepid adventurer named Stan Price, and unusual cooperation between multiple government agencies.

The Bear Man of Pack Creek Stan and Edna Price moved to Alaska in 1929. They worked at numerous jobs, including mining, logging, and fish canning. Stan was a renaissance man, able to build and fix anything. In 1952, after an unpleasant encounter with the IRS, the Prices towed their floating house, called a wannigan, to

Pack Creek. They added outbuildings and gardens to create a self-sustaining homestead. Over the next 38 years Stan lived among the bears, first with Edna until she died, and then with his second wife, Esther. Stan loved all animals, allowing deer into his house to sleep on the bed, and bears to nap in his wood shed. He explored Admiralty Island, armed only with a stick, getting to know the island and his “neighbors.” Female bears especially became accustomed to him, and brought their cubs to the homestead as a way to avoid aggressive males. Stan and Edna also raised a couple of orphaned female cubs, who in turn brought their cubs to the homestead. This lack of fear of humans, known as habituation, was passed on to generation after generation. While some rangers thought that Price was too friendly with the wildlife, without him Pack Creek would not be what it is today. Habituation is the reason we are

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able to observe the bears in such close direct conflict with brown bears. The proximity. It can be a good thing: Alaska territorial government actively Jane Goodall would never have made supported eradication of bears to make her groundbreaking observations of way for mining, logging and settlethe chimps at Gombe if they hadn’t ment. In 1929, a bear killed a young accepted her presence. But habituForest Service employee, which further ation can be dangerous, especially when food is Bear cubs in the meadow. Photo by Shannon Finch involved. For decades, tourists at Yellowstone National Park—and some staff who should have known better—used food to lure black bears in for photos. Food can make animals aggressive, and both bears and people can be hurt or killed (It’s unbelievable that this practice continued until 1967, but that’s another story). Edna Price said they never let their guard down around a bear. They loved the bears, but were never complacent around them. Word got around about the Prices’ unusual living situation and people flocked to Pack Creek to see for themselves. Stan enjoyed sharing his stories about living among turned public sentiment against the the bears with countless visitors. His bears. respect and admiration for them was The bears did have a small contincontagious, and people came away with gent of advocates. President Theodore a new perspective. It wasn’t always so. Roosevelt attempted to set aside In the early 1900s, logging comAdmiralty, Baranof and Chichagof panies set their sights on Admiralty islands as a brown bear preserve. The Island’s timber, which put them in plan failed, but others took up the

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cause, recasting brown bears as majestic, intelligent and resourceful creatures rather than ruthless killers. But it was a human catastrophe, the Great Depression, that gave the bears a brief respite as timber contracts dried up. In the 1930s bear viewing became a popular pastime for visitors from Juneau. In 1934, the National Forest Service and Alaska Game Commission created the Pack Creek Bear Preserve, and in 1935 the Civilian Conservation Corps built an observation tower upstream from the mud flats. Hunting closures for 20 square miles around Pack Creek further protected the bears. But these were small victories. In 1947 Congress passed the Tongass Timber Act, which pitted bears against loggers again. Bears were in the cross hairs for the next 25 years. When the tide turned for the bears, it was almost as if to make up for lost time. In 1978, President Jimmy Carter declared Admiralty Island a National Monument using the Antiquities Act. National Monument designation didn’t change existing land uses, but did limit new activity. In 1980 Congress created the Kootznoowoo Wilderness,

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which covered nearly all of the island. Wilderness designation is the government’s most comprehensive protection, safeguarding watersheds, habitat, and outdoor recreation. After Stan Price’s death in 1989, the state of Alaska created the Stan Price Wildlife Sanctuary, which protected the estuary. The state is responsible for its management. In 1997 the U.S. Forest Service created the Pack Creek Zoological Area, 66,000 acres of habitat off limits to hunting. It is co-managed by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game and the U.S. Forest Service. This seems like a confusing jumble of management, with a lot of layers. But it is impressive how all of these separate entities work together. No human or bear has been injured at Pack Creek since it has been actively managed, and the agencies have a strict protocol to keep it that way. That means permits are required to visit during critical times, and there are limits on the num-

ber of visitors per day. There are also professionals out there to keep visitors from doing something stupid.

Sitka spruce and hemlock pop with bright green new growth. It starts out cloudy, but the sun gradually makes an appearance. As we motor towards the island, we see a female bear with two cubs trailing behind. She turns occasionally to chase them away, which our guide tells us is natural, but I can’t lie, it is unsettling to see. After meeting up with a ranger on the South Spit, we walk along the mud flats towards the viewing area. The sedge meadow is lush, bearbelly high in some places. Immediately we see Smiley and his intended. There are four other bears in the meadow as well. We’re lucky, because often by June the bears have headed back into the forest or up into the mountains to wait for the salmon to come in early July. I’m drawn to Granny, who is thought to be between 30 and 35 years old. She has a pronounced limp in her left hind leg, either from an old injury, arthritis, or both. She looks under-

Stan Price circa 1968

Photo by Elmer Lindstrom

Among the Bears There are only two ways to get to Pack Creek: by boat or by float plane. We arrive by skiff. It’s early June, and

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weight, her skin sagging a little, and her coat rough. Still she manages to eat and move around, and I can’t stop taking photos of her expressive face that has either a scar or a big smudge of dirt on it. Two cubs, a blonde female and a light brown male, graze on sedges. I think they are the same ones we saw on the shoreline. Cubs stay with their mothers until they are about three years old. When the female is ready to mate, she drives the cubs off, first to protect them from males, and second, because it’s time. The cubs stand up often on their hind legs, scanning. The female seems to be the bolder of the two, often leading

the way. Farther out in the meadow another adult female grazes, likely the mother of the cubs.

ally scratching with the immense claws on her hind foot. Suddenly she decides to move on, and that’s when we have our close encounter of the bear kind. They circle around the viewing area and end up in the meadow south of us, closer to the other bears. Smiley again lies down on his belly, hind legs splayed out like a frog. He’s in a shallow puddle, watching as the female “Granny” at sunset. grazes. A crow pecks at Photo by Christine Smith the mud around him, getting quite close, Smiley is doing all he can to get the but Smiley only has eyes for the dark attention of the dark female: He army female. Granny casually skirts the accrawls closer to her, rolls over on his tion, munching sedges as she goes. The back, sits on his haunches like a dog, cubs are new to this scene, and fall over always staring at her. She alternately themselves to get out of the way. dozes and grazes, once in a while casuMeanwhile, another male material-

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izes from out of the woods, crosses the creek, and ambles towards the momma bear. She crosses the creek to get away from him, and then crosses again. He follows. She disappears into the woods. Twice rebuffed, he looks around, and sees Smiley and friend, making a beeline for them. I worry that we are going to witness a fight. But Smiley backs off, and in an instant, the dark female hooks up with the interloper. I am not kidding, it was that fast. And startling. Smiley takes a couple of steps towards them, and then seems to think better of it. He retreats into an alder thicket. While the other bears are doing their thing, he grabs an alder sapling and wrestles it to the ground, stomping and shaking it. Scientists frown upon attributing human feelings to other animals, but it’s hard not to see Smiley’s alder smackdown as frustration. It’s hard not to get caught up in this bear soap opera. I feel sad for Granny, likely in her

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last summer, and think about all she has experienced in her life here. I worry for the cubs now that they are on their own, and I sympathize with Smiley, as all his hard work was for naught, this time. I wish I could have known Stan Price, walked the island with him, learned what he knew so intimately about this place and its inhabitants. I see him in my mind’s eye, striding through the sedge meadow with his stick. He chose a life that was no doubt hard, but it was a life of meaning and connection with the natural world. Because of him, we get a glimpse into a world so different from the humancentric one most of us inhabit. As outdoorsman Brendan Leonard wrote, “Bears don’t care about your problems.” They just go about their bear business as we saw today at Pack Creek. This is still the Fortress of the Bear; humans ANW are only transitory visitors.

Note: Friends who visited Pack Creek the next summer said that Granny didn’t appear, and is presumed dead. It seems that I indeed captured her in her last summer.

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Traversing the Pickets with General Weakness Story and photos by Jason Griffith

Looking across Pickell Pass from Frenzel Camp at sunset. Mount Crowder on the left and Spectre on the right 38

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such trips, at least for me these days, is that they aren’t getting any easier. Some of that is age, some of that is self-induced suffering as a result of my unyielding determination to carry—in addition to my mountaineering gear— copious amounts of camera equipment. I had sworn that I’ll never do another sevenday Pickets trip, but...

The Object of My Desire

‘Schwacking our way up the Crescent Creek climber’s path

mages stick with me. I’ll often plan a trip around a specific place that I’ve seen either on a screen, a print, a slide, or just in my mind’s eye after looking at a map.

Frenzel camp is such a spot, its draw powerful enough to compel a seven-day traverse from Goodell Creek to the Big Beaver Valley just to spend a few hours (well, a few more hours than planned, as it turned out) looking all around in wonder. The yin and yang of

This one started like most—swatting bugs and dividing up group gear. My pack was way too large, as usual, but it turned out I did an even worse job than normal of packing food. This would be apparent on day seven as I packed probably four pounds of extra food out of the Big Beaver after spending the week trying to give it away. I really should be better at this by now.

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Anyway, the pain began immediately.... and continued. By the time we reached the Chopping Block Col, I was thoroughly wrung out and cramping, trying my best to look as carefree as Tyler (who had climbed Johannesburg Mountain THE PREVIOUS DAY!). I wasn’t fooling anybody though, especially myself. So, I went off to get water for the group and have a good cry (well, maybe on the inside, a little). Recomposed, I came back and volunteered to sample some of our whiskey supply. Much better. The easy stroll the next morning started with some talus side-hilling and steep snow traversing that led to more boulder-hopping and a general team mutiny as we all sought a line that was superior to our teammates’. Somewhere in the midst of this ego-driven mayhem, we spooked a bear (surprising for all involved), met a party of impressive women headed to Mount Terror (“The Terror Twins”- not actually twins), and had some fun ascending the steep snow and “loosey goosey” rock to the Ottohorn-Himmelgeisterhorn Col. Whew. Gearing up, we joked about who was going to lead the first pitch. “Not I,” came the reply from General Weakness (AKA me). Tyler gamely stepped up and promptly gunned us all to the false summit before we knew what happened, including a sparsely protected section of off-width that he exclaimed was “fun” as we all clenched our butts in solidar-

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ity. It was quite a climb though, and my hat is off to John, Silas and Russ for establishing such a gem on probably the best rock in the Pickets. Highly recommended! Next stop was the object of my desire—Frenzel Camp—one of the best camps I’ve had the pleasure of staying

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in. It truly was a remarkable spot, surpassing even my vivid mental image. A patch of green, a tiny pool of water and a sky-full of jagged peaks. It’s hard to describe how these elements combine to achieve perfection. Listening to the weather radio that evening, General Weakness declared

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East Fury. This was even truer the next day as the stormy weather continued to linger into the afternoon. Fearing that our chances for West Fury were fading, we opted to pack up in the mist and grope our way over to the summit of Outrigger just as the weather began to improve. It was still harder than it should have been to get off Outrigger and ascend to the summit of East Fury. The General arrived crabby and didn’t relish carving out a platform in the snow, melting snow for water, and generally having to pretend to be a tough alpine climber. Thankfully I had one of those bourgeois NeoAir mattresses to insulate my sorry ass from the snow and provide some Arriving wrung out at the Chopping Block col below Mount Terror on Day One.

The General Gets Comfortable The next day was spent lounging, watching the weather deteriorate, and keeping tabs on the Twins as they ascended up into the mists. Packs were lightened, whiskey stores reduced, and tired legs rested. It was a great spot to spend a weather day. That night, the forecasted rain and wind arrived and we were all glad that we weren’t up on the summit of

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that the next day the team would remain in Frenzel Camp to wait out a squall that was predicted to come through. Coincidentally, it also meant that the General’s load, which had to be carried over Outrigger and to the summit of East Fury, would get a tad lighter. Post-dinner activities that first night included feeling sorry for the Terror Twins who we could see having an unplanned(?) open bivy on the North Face of Terror. Tough ladies!

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Puzzling out the way off Outrigger Peak

much needed rest. West Fury. Why? Well, why not? We were there, we had the time, and, as they say, “It must be climbed!” And so we did. It was actually a lot better than it looked from East Fury, but still took some time and a rope (if you’re partial to such things, as I am). It was about seven hours roundtrip, including about an hour on the summit. And then it was down, down, up,

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down, and over, over to Luna Col and the comfortable camps there. At this point a weight was lifted from the team since it was all pretty much downhill from here and we were on friendly and familiar ground. Watching the sun set and chatting with a team headed to East Fury the next day was a very civilized end to a few days of ruggedness. The last few drops of whiskey sealed it—tomorrow we would set the alarms

and watch sunrise from Luna. Because, why not? Well, I could think of a few reasons when my alarm went off the next morning. But I gamely tried to forget all of them and struggled to keep Tyler in my sights as he streaked for the summit like a well-chiseled alpinist fired from cannon. I failed, of course, but arrived on the false summit in time to capture the scene pretty well with my

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A quiet night at Frenzel Camp

camera. Like most places along our trip, though, pictures really didn’t do it justice. But no matter, the summit of Luna has 4G now (??!!) so you can pretend that the pictures you’re sending everyone represent EXACTLY HOW IT IS, RIGHT NOW. No wonder the

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Axes? Pickaxes? According to the weather radio at Luna Col, more rain was on the horizon so we broke camp and headed

down into the head of Access (Axes? Pickaxes?) Creek. Again, this turned out to be a good move, validated in the morning when I awoke to find my mattress floating in a bass pond while rain pounded on the fly. Ahh, the glamour of mountaineering! Access Creek was—of course—brushy and it was going to be wet. We were long out of whiskey by now, so it was going to be a character building descent which, in the case of General Weakness, might actually be just what the doctor ordered. We even found bits of a trail! And a couple of large logs across the Big Beaver! And a freshly logged and brushed Big Beaver Trail! It was all just so reasonable. Down at Ross Lake, we dropped our packs and enjoyed an obligatory dip in the lake and lazed in the sweet northern sun while waiting for the water taxi to come take us home. ANW

eARTh

Love & Transformation: The Mountain Paintings of Joules As a child, I spent a lot of time at the family cabin, close to Mount St. Helens. The Gifford Pinchot National Forest was my playground and many joyful memories were made in that rugged forest. I learned to have a deep love for mountains and—after the 1980 eruption—a healthy respect for natures’s power to transform. The loss of our cabin and the mountain as we knew her has influenced my work ever since. I use non-traditional utensils to impress thick layers of acrylic paint to a surface. The direction of the wind, the flow of the water, the rhythm of dancing light moving through the tree limbs are some of the elements I think of as I paint a landscape. With this process I endeavor to build a bridge between what a place looks like and how it feels to be there. See more of Joules’ work at JoulesPaints.com. Clockwise from top left: Park Sun, through the Trees; The Journey Starts With a Hill; Mt. Baker from Glacier Creek; Trail to Bagley Lake (Triptych); Leaning into Bagley Lakes

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90 Days on the

Jeremy paddling in Tarr Inlet, Glacier Bay. Photo by Anna Grondin

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Water

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Paddling the Inside Passage Story by Anna Grondin

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he Inside Passage is a protected water route that weaves through islands and narrow channels along the North American West Coast. Its southernmost point is Olympia, WA and it travels north for roughly 1200 miles to Skagway, AK. Last summer my partner, Jeremy, and I set out to kayak its length. The idea was born during a seemingly casual conversation early in our relationship. We were discussing dream trips and Jeremy asked if I would ever want to kayak the Inside Passage. Looking back, I think this was more a questioning of my merits as a potential partner than a proposition to actually do the trip, but regardless, the seed was planted. That summer we did a nine-day shake out trip off the coast of British Columbia and from that point the wheels were set in motion. Two weeks after returning, I asked for a leave of absence from work and we started planning what was to be the most pivotal adventure of our already rather adventurous lives. We spent a full year planning for the trip. Researching routes, purchasing gear, planning our food, and working out all the logistical details it takes to pull off a three-month self-supported kayaking trip. On May 24 I walked out of my office for the last time, finished some last minute packing, loaded Jeremy’s parent’s truck with our kayaks and gear, and it began.

Foggy morning in Fraser Reach. Photo by Jeremy Nylander

In a state of barely-contained excitement, we drove the 14 hours to Bella Coola, BC, our starting point. There

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on their best colors just for us. We were off! The great adventure was beginning! We have both traveled extensively and been on extended backcountry trips before, but nothing like this. We slept fitfully the night before our launch, woke early, packed our boats and took the first paddle strokes of the trip. Dipping my paddle into the water for that first paddle stroke was a moment that will forever be etched in my memory. The paddle from Bella Coola to Shearwater was supposed to be an easy transition into expedition paddling. My research said the winds would be in our favor and, provided we had an early start, the waters would be manageable. We gave ourselves seven days to cover the first 85 miles, a very modest goal. We had campsite options that were well-used and accessible. We planned to relax and settle in gradually, enjoying ourselves. But that wouldn’t be the case. Eight short miles after our start, we pulled our boats off the water for the first time and

set out to look for our campsite for the evening. It was supposed to be a local favorite, an often-used clearing in the woods, just up from a beach with easy

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landing. Instead we found a sign warning us that the area was now being used as a bear research “snag station.” Basically, a bear lure. We could not camp there. We had no choice but to put our boats back in the water and continue on. The next six days proved to be similarly difficult. We encountered headwinds daily. By 10 a.m. each day the wind and seas had reached a height that pushed us off the water. My well-researched campsites continued to be hard to find, or simply missing. On day five an official-looking boat pulled up to the beach where we were camped. The crew were part of the bear research effort in the area and had stopped to warn us of high bear activity at our chosen campsite and to let us know the forecast called for gale force winds the following day. All of that frustration and struggle had the backdrop of clear blue waters and sunny skies. Towering peaks jutted straight out of the water. We paddled past magnificent waterfalls, coastlines colorfully adorned with seaweed, anemones and starfish. Porpoises traveled with us often, dancing and playing just off our bows. Nature was exploding all around us, full of life and wonder, and we were struggling to keep to our schedules and plans. We spent a day in Jenny Inlet waiting out the storm the researchers had warned us about. For

Anna contemplating a waterfall in Graham Reach. Photo by Jeremy Nylander

that night a black bear sauntered slowly through our camp. It didn’t seem to care that we were sharing its beach, it just paused a moment to sniff the air and walked by. The day we reached Shearwater, our first resupply point, we paddled through icy rain and headwinds most of

Each day, as we settled into the rhythm of paddling, we contemplated our lives, letting all our decisions, our failures and successes, our great losses and struggles roll through our minds.

release control, let go of our schedules and expectations and just paddle. The researchers were right about the bear activity too. As we cooked dinner

the day. We passed through the beautiful Gunboat Passage with mist swirling around the towering green spruce and cedar that lined the shore. We landed at the Shearwater docks at dusk where a friendly Harbor Master greeted us, let us store our kayaks and offered us camping. We took our first showers of the trip, purchased groceries, picked up our re-supply box, made the obligatory phone calls to friends and family and headed off again. The second leg would be our longest. It would take about two weeks and we would travel a winding path from Shearwater, through Milbank Sound— our first experience with waters unpro-

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me it was a turning point of the trip. We didn’t talk about it, but there was an unspoken decision that we would

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tected from the open ocean—through They dove and spouted before moving Grenville Channel, a narrow waterway on, leaving us speechless and filled with with tides so strong that even large powelation in one of those moments that ered boats must carefully time their passage, past Fraser Reach and on to Prince Rupert. We encountered some of the worst weather on this leg—11 straight days of rain which left everything we had damp. When the sun finally did come out we gleefully unpacked every item from our boats and dry bags, spread them out across a rocky Fireweed in front of Johns Hopkins Glacier. beach and laid on the Photo by Anna Grondin rocks, soaking up the sun like basking seals. That night we woke to the sound of seems too pure to have been real. whales splashing. We ran out of our tent The days and weeks that followed and with the light of a full moon watched were filled with authentic joy. We started two humpbacks surface, mouths wide. out most mornings in mist which dissi-

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pated as we paddled, revealing the hills and snow-capped peaks that surrounded us. We fell into a rhythm that followed the ebb and flow of the tides. Break camp, pack our boats, paddle. Stop to eat, paddle, find camp. The coastline, its animals, plants and weather started to feel familiar. Our bodies began to change too. We could feel ourselves growing stronger. We paddled farther and more easily each day. As paddling became easy and the area started to feel familiar and welcoming, we had time to let our minds wander. Each day, as we settled into the rhythm of paddling, we contemplated our lives, letting all our decisions, our failures and successes, our great losses and strug-

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VITAL SIGNS

What’s the Alternative? Becoming Adept at Adaptation. By Sarah Laing, B.Sc. Nutrition

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gles roll through our minds. We didn’t always talk; we spent hours in silence, just listening to the world around us: otters playing, an eagle soaring overhead or a whale blowing in the distance. I had gone through an incredibly painful divorce just

a few years before and as I paddled and let the world breathe into me, I felt myself letting some of that pain go. One morning in particular, we got up early to make a long and exposed crossing and as we paddled away from

shore a young wolf ran out of the forest. He trotted to the water’s edge and watched us. I could see the same breeze that was tousling my hair ruffle the fur behind his ears. As I looked into that wolf’s eyes, I felt deeply connected to the world. Our gaze met: both of us curious, neither particularly fearful, just observing. I found myself thinking about the circumstances that had brought us both here in this moment. The wolf trotted away and I was left feeling reassured in my life and my choices. Our path took us north, winding through channels, weaving in and out of islands, looking for camping spots, falling asleep, snug in our tent, while listening to the sound of whales singing all around us. We saw eagles, wolves, bears, otters and minks. One morning we woke to find we were sharing our beach with a yearling moose. We paddled through waters that took us to the limit of our abilities and

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then we pushed past them. We dusted off our navigational skills and paddled through thick, opaque fog and rain. Every day something incredible would happen; a moment would come that would shake us deep in our core. A moment that far exceeds my ability to capture in words. Sometimes fear, sometimes awe, wonder, or joy. We had set out to paddle for three months, to go on a great adventure, and we did that, but we also saw deep into ourselves. Free from the frantic schedules and constant noise of normal life, we could sit with these emotions, breathing in the salty air, smelling the trees, Anna sautĂŠing fiddlehead ferns. Photo by Jeremy Nylander hearing the animals. We made it to Alaska and glacier country and watched as the seasons changed from summer to fall. The shore plants turned yellow and red. The grasses became brittle and dry. During the last few weeks of our trip the Alaska ferry strike caused a major change of plans. We had planned to take the ferry back to Shearwater and paddle south and home from there, but with the ferries not running we no longer had that option. Instead we chose to spend two weeks exploring Glacier Bay. The land there is some of the most rugged and remote in the U.S. Aside from the small visitor center at the mouth of the bay, there is no sign of our species. Mountains rose straight out of crystal blue waters. Massive rivers poured off cliffs, showering the surrounding shore with their spray. It is the dominion of whales, bears and wolves. Glaciers stretched down the valleys, reaching into the bay, calving and breaking, causing shockwaves in the water that reached us even miles away. The air blowing off the glaciers was cold around us and the water below us was frigid. For the first time we paddled in all of our layers, water

bottles filled with hot water between our feet, but we were still cold. The grandeur that surrounded us made us feel small and utterly insignificant. We paddled in the shadow of those mountains for two incredible weeks, breathing in the ice-chilled air, camping on rocky ledges, listening to the gunshot sound of glaciers calving and crashing into the water at night. One evening Jeremy woke me and we lay with our heads out of the tent, warm in our sleeping bag watching the lights of the Aurora Borealis dance across the sky. With no small reluctance we made our way north again for the last leg of the trip. Those last days passed easily and as we paddled into Skagway Harbor and pulled our boats out of the water for the last time, I felt both extremely accomplished and overwhelmed with gratitude for the experience. We didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t paddle the full length of the Inside Passage but we adapted to our circumstances and completed the 90-day adventure that we had set out to do. We spent three months in the company of whales and wolves, slept in old growth forests under the cover of 500-year old trees, and explored waters that challenged our paddling skills. The hours and days spent in those waters changed us, gave us a deeper understanding of ourselves and our world. We walked off the Skagway dock that final day feeling confident in who we are, where we had been and who we hope to ANW become.

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The heartbeat of Cascadia

Field Trip Adventures beyond the PNW

Stuðlagil Canyon Story and photo by John D’Onofrio

had been anticipating my hiking adventure in Iceland for several years.

I was expecting natural beauty on a scale that I had never experienced. I was prepared for thunderous waterfalls, pounding surf, luminous fields of wildflowers and vast, flowing glaciers. I had anticipated the fountaining of geysers, bubbling fumaroles and boiling rivers and envisioned something like a consciousnessaltering geology lesson: brilliantly-colored rhyolite mountains, rainbow-hued moraines, vast fields of lava known as Nornahár (witch’s hair). But I did not expect the basalt wonderland of Stuðlagil Canyon. Little-known (absent from the guide books and even the maps) until recently, this awe-inspiring basalt canyon is reached via a 14-km drive up a non-descript gravel road followed by a 4-km hike across the pasture lands of a nearby farm. The

The heartbeat of Cascadia

Icelandic people have been unfailingly generous about allowing visitors to respectfully cross their land, a gift that obviously must be received with meticulous care. We climbed over fences, passed a stunning waterfall and eventually descended cross-country through the vibrant greenery to the lip of the canyon. The scene was straight out of a Norse Saga: soaring towers of basalt, twisting like the geometry of the spirit world; deep orange mineral deposits; and cascading water, trickling down through grooves and complicated channels to the beautiful aquamarine river below. It was like walking among the ruins of a colossal temple. I’ve been fortunate to have spent quality time in some spectacular places in my life—many instances of reverence, of transcendent beauty—but Stuðlagil Canyon was visually overwhelming, beyond any sci-fi conjuring of my imagination. ANW Humbling and energizing, all at once.

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Cascadia Gear: Essentials for your next Adventure Keen Targhee III Men’s Hiking Boots When it comes to hiking boots, features and benefits abound. Waterproof qualities, durability, ankle support and traction on rough surfaces are all obviously important. But for me, the name of the game is comfort. I’ve been hiking a long time and can remember hauling heavy, rigid, unforgiving Frankenstein boots up into the hinterlands…and suffering the pain as a result. When your hiking boots hurt your feet, those other qualities really don’t seem very important. And then along came Keen. Emphasizing comfort (and affordability), Keen has changed the way I think about hiking boots. The Targhee III, a perennial top-seller for the company, celebrates its 15-year anniversary this year and amazingly, Keen continues to find ways to improve it. This boot feels like a running shoe—light, flexible and comfortable right out of the box. Breaking them in? Unnecessary. And yes, for those of you keeping score: they’re breathable, waterproof, offer decent stability and good traction. But first and foremost: they feel great as soon as you put them on. And ten miles down the trail. More info: keenfootwear.com

Therm-a-Rest® Hyperion™ 20 Sleeping Bag Therm-a Rest has long championed their “sleep systems”, an interconnected combination of sleeping bag and pad. The concept is solid: If a sleeping bag is attached to the pad, more insulation can be utilized on the top because the bottom is insulated by the pad. The Hyperion 20 weighs a mere 1lb. 4 oz. and deploys 900-fill Nikwax Hydrophobic Down™ to keep you both warm and dry. The provided compression sack enables the Hyperion to pack small (about 6x8 inches) and you might find yourself searching for it in your pack. The downside: A half-length zipper and a somewhat restrictive cut for side-sleepers. More info: thermarest.com

Gear Spotlight: Altra Lone Peak 4.5 by Chris Gerston

Whether using the Altra Lone Peak 4.5 as a trail runner or strapping crampons onto them for climbing Glacier Peak, Backcountry Essentials manager Niki Moltumyr loves her Altra shoes. The design philosophy of zero drop (meaning both heel and toe cushioning are the same) and a wide toe box make the Lone Peak ideal for a wide variety of uses. This latest version of the Lone Peak has some fit differences from previous models that will affect each person differently, depending on the shape of your feet. We highly recommend that you try on all footwear before purchasing, even if you have had a previous version. The Lone Peak has the most generous fit in volume and features a rock guard along with 25mm of stack height which helps protect your feet from below. Niki credits the Lone Peak for helping her get past a plateau in running, thanks to the wide toe box which alleviated the numbness and pain she experienced with other running shoes. While not the lightest runner with similar stack heights, the Lone Peak is loved as both a trail hiking shoe and a favorite of thru-hikers. Erin Belcher, our resident thru-hiker (PCT, AT & CT) raves about her Lone Peaks. In addition to the best-selling Lone Peak, two other Altra shoes worth mentioning are the Timp 2.0 (which has a lower volume fit, no rock guard, but 29mm of stack height) and the Olympus 4.0, with more of a similar volume fit to the Lone Peak and 33mm stack height. I’ve previously reviewed the Olympus, which have allowed my old knees to start running again. Backcountry Essentials, owned by Chris Gerston, is an outdoor specialty shop located at 214 W. Holly in Bellingham, WA. Check out more of Chris’ gear reviews at AdventuresNW.com