A north cascades adventure
***This is a Trip report of a recent vacation I took with my little brother...a brother's trip. I don't usually post the story with the photos on here, but I thought I would this time 
Heck the pics aren't much fun without the story IMHO. I hope a few of you guys enjoy.
--
Watson to Blum Traverse: with self propelled return via bike and kayak
August 22-30, 2009
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going now, and what was reserved for the future?
-~Jules Verne from 10000 Leagues Under the Sea
INTRO...
..Going Full Circle
In 2006, having no available partners, I made a crossing of the Ptarmigan Traverse with a self-propelled return. This combined over 100 miles of ridges, rivers, glaciers, and roads. Since then, the idea of this type of adventure has appealed to me. Not only does it combine several of the sports I love, but when you are transported at more humanly paces – not by auto, train or plane – you get to ‘smell the roses’. It’s like eating cake and ice cream, too!
Another North Cascade traverse from Mount Watson to Blum appeared perfect for this sort of outing. At least that’s what was on my mind as I rushed down from the Alpine Lakes (link) back to my house to immediately pack for 9 more days. Before much rest my kayak, bike and all my hiking gear was crammed into my car, my last few dollars into its gas tank, and I was driving into the mountains once again. It was then, I realized, half of everything I own is continuously going in and out of my car. A laugh overtook me, though, because it's more like continuous cycles from washing machine to car, but nevertheless, I’ve rarely been home for 5 months. There’s no complaining coming from me. Everyone needs a break. While a bit cliché, one climber I met along the way submitted this, “Mountains keep men honest.” I like that. My time in such high places has certainly kept me from deceiving myself. I know what I want and I'm out there doing it.
Day One and Two : Watson Trailhead to Diobsud Lakes
Sometimes I joke that there is as much work getting to the trail as the actual hiking. Even if it’s not exactly true, a lot goes into it. Fortunately Jessy, my little brother, had arrived to help me. With him we left gear at the end of Baker Lake Road and Baker Lake before arriving at our final destination, the Watson Lake Trailhead. Josh and Christy were there to join us for the day. Except for the bike ride back up to Watson, Jessy would keep me company for the next 9 days. Having begun a new business, my twin couldn’t and would miss out on our annual brother’s trip (2006, 2008), but we would all meet up for the kayak portion.
A nice trail begins the first 2 miles of the Watson to Blum Traverse and is the last we’d see for a week. We took several detours to explore the area before finally heading to Upper Anderson Lakes and the lower slopes of Mount Watson where we dropped our packs and climbed to what we thought was the summit. One other pinnacle appeared a few feet higher. Nevertheless, the way forward captivated us and we were excited to part ways with Josh and Christy and push further along. Yet, after they left, we tried for the other summit of Watson anyway. It was more than we were looking for, so we backed off. Since we couldn’t imagine leaving the high country for Diobsud Lakes, we found a camp sooner than we needed, but a perfect place caught our attention. That night we watched as bright stars tumbled out from behind dark mountains.
--
Morning sun and clouds rose long before we did. Like a head on beer, we wondered how long it would take for the sun to drink the haze up. Once moving we passed several Ptarmigan who were intent on racing along the rock, as intent as we were on making our way over to a high pass. With curious glances ahead, our eyes met sloping heather fields nestled below cliffs and sights of Diobsud Lakes soon after. Without knowing it then, our biggest challenge of the trip lay across the valley. Closer looks were warranted, but none were taken.
After dropping through forest between Upper and Lower Diobsud Lakes, we had lunch in a huge meadow full of Fireweed, Daisy’s, Salmon Berries and Cow Parsnip's. After a long rest, full of confidence, we proceeded up the wrong side of a waterfall toward a ramp on the south side of Bacon Peak. For several hours we proceeded through grizzled, arthritic hunks of trees more dead than alive and masqueraded ourselves as tree huggers and slide alder pullers between cliffs before submitting defeat. Apparently, in a place where there are no wrong ways, just easier ones, we managed to bite off more than we could chew and were rebuffed. Cut and scratched, bruised and weary we safely arrived below the waterfall once more. Looking upward, we shook our heads. "Why did we go that way?" Our route had wound through cliffs and near vertical brush and trees to dead end in worse cliffs. We could see now that we no where near where we wanted to be. We felt like idiots, looked up at the rain clouds coming in and decided to be smart and make camp while we had a place to do so. Our progress had been pathetic, less than a few miles.
After camp was set near a stream, Jessy and I left our packs and set off to find a way up Bacon Peak. I went one way and Jessy went another. Mine dead ended, so I returned to camp. When Jessy didn't appear for a long time, I began to worry, but out from the brush he burst just before dark. He had found a way. Two smiles were shared between us and dinner was served before it began to rain. The tap, tap on the tent at bedtime left me ill-at-ease since my hope was for sun and warmth the following day. As good luck eventually follows bad, I dreamt of blue skies.
Day Three and Four: Diobsud Lakes, Bacon and Green lakes to Nert Lake
My dreams weren't ignored. Blue skies continued to foster burgeoning expectations of what far-off sights were ahead, ones that we would see in days to come. After a rush to break camp, we set up the way Jessy had scouted. Over huge logs and small cliffs, we arrived at two small tarns. More were beyond steep, slick heather and even more after we climbed a waterfall. Easy boulder scrambling put us on a ridge overlooking an unmapped lake whose appearance wasn't the last thing to surprise us. Up further we climbed to the top of Bacon Peak, but 'surprise', another taller summit was spotted. Descending we traversed and climbed snow and then scree to the true summit where burnt remains of an old fire lookout were scattered across lower slopes. This wasn't so easy to spot, although, I'd much prefer to have the lookout here than debris. Nevertheless, views of the Pickets and all the mountains between hoisted our desire to see what was around the next corner.
After lunch and much leaning over the map, we decided to go down and see what we could see. With no rope and tiny rubber-snubber crampons over my shoes, I was less than thrilled about exploring more glacier than I had to. Jessy was more fortunate and had a good set of crampons. He took the lead as we wound our way through a few glaciers and ridges before finally descending hard ice to smooth rock slabs, shaped much like the glacier they were born from. The interspersed streams and potholes were icing on the cake in this wild and beautiful place. For us, one of the highlights of our trip.
We decided to parallel the glacier directly down to Bacon Laken. I'm sure there are better ways than we took, but we enjoyed the steep slabs and climbing, along with views forward and backward at all Bacon Peak had to offer. This peak had continuously surprised me and my ideas of what I thought she offered were much skewed by faraway glimpses. For its size it is more of a mountain than a peak; it dominates the landscape.
Camp was set as light eased into a peaceful slumber and dusk awakened. First sights of Bacon Laken set above Green Lake were far from being terrible company, but enough of a pull to keep us moving faster than we should have. We ran down the last rock fields to the outlet falls of the lake. Looking down it, I imagined a slippery one way journey down its curved path. Fording it was easy enough, although more water would be challenging.
Tent sights were non existent, so we found the flattest spot we could. Heavens forbid it had to be within grasp of the falls and thoughts of our gear tumbling away were a constant worry, but we kept everything in hand and found our camp quite a pleasure to stay at. Within a few feet the lakeshore was a 10-ft sloping mound of rock. It presented the most perfectly situated lounge chair this side of Mount Watson. Under the moon's scope, the waterfall and lake were inebriated, moving in slow motion like the stars. Minutes were passed by movements in the sky. With a cold quart of kool-aid we relaxed. Here nothing much was said between us. To every side, this beauty had too much to talk about.
--
The next morning rain came again and we decided to spend a few hours exploring the area above our camp. The cerulean outlines of Green Lake pleaded with us to come down and explore it and much to our dismay, we packed camp and set off.
The best places to visit weren't exactly known to us. Going from Watson to Bacon to Hagan and finally Blum was what amounted to a game plan. The where and what we would get to see between was left for weather to decide. As clouds broke up, I asked Jessy "Do you think the lake shore would be easier than the ridge?" It was a stupid question, cause it didn't, but we agreed and turned right. Easy ground morphed into a waterfall, the climbing of which was fast becoming a forte of ours, and traversed mid-falls on a ledge to enter slide alder, the climbing of which was another talent seized up in other adventures. Success was spent sometime later on the opposite shore looking down another waterfall that fell away beyond sight. Lunch was served as well.
Ignoring the bushes, we climbed steep then gentle slopes to Nert Lake. Our progress was subverted by never ending fields of the biggest blueberries I've ever seen. Not a sour or spoiled berry in the bunch. Blue fingers and faces brought us to camp. A swim and fire were treats and the first of the trip. On top of a small knoll after dinner, we took in the area and scouted the way ahead.
>>>continued
Heck the pics aren't much fun without the story IMHO. I hope a few of you guys enjoy.--
Watson to Blum Traverse: with self propelled return via bike and kayak
August 22-30, 2009
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going now, and what was reserved for the future?
-~Jules Verne from 10000 Leagues Under the Sea
INTRO...
..Going Full Circle
In 2006, having no available partners, I made a crossing of the Ptarmigan Traverse with a self-propelled return. This combined over 100 miles of ridges, rivers, glaciers, and roads. Since then, the idea of this type of adventure has appealed to me. Not only does it combine several of the sports I love, but when you are transported at more humanly paces – not by auto, train or plane – you get to ‘smell the roses’. It’s like eating cake and ice cream, too!
Another North Cascade traverse from Mount Watson to Blum appeared perfect for this sort of outing. At least that’s what was on my mind as I rushed down from the Alpine Lakes (link) back to my house to immediately pack for 9 more days. Before much rest my kayak, bike and all my hiking gear was crammed into my car, my last few dollars into its gas tank, and I was driving into the mountains once again. It was then, I realized, half of everything I own is continuously going in and out of my car. A laugh overtook me, though, because it's more like continuous cycles from washing machine to car, but nevertheless, I’ve rarely been home for 5 months. There’s no complaining coming from me. Everyone needs a break. While a bit cliché, one climber I met along the way submitted this, “Mountains keep men honest.” I like that. My time in such high places has certainly kept me from deceiving myself. I know what I want and I'm out there doing it.
Day One and Two : Watson Trailhead to Diobsud Lakes
Sometimes I joke that there is as much work getting to the trail as the actual hiking. Even if it’s not exactly true, a lot goes into it. Fortunately Jessy, my little brother, had arrived to help me. With him we left gear at the end of Baker Lake Road and Baker Lake before arriving at our final destination, the Watson Lake Trailhead. Josh and Christy were there to join us for the day. Except for the bike ride back up to Watson, Jessy would keep me company for the next 9 days. Having begun a new business, my twin couldn’t and would miss out on our annual brother’s trip (2006, 2008), but we would all meet up for the kayak portion.
A nice trail begins the first 2 miles of the Watson to Blum Traverse and is the last we’d see for a week. We took several detours to explore the area before finally heading to Upper Anderson Lakes and the lower slopes of Mount Watson where we dropped our packs and climbed to what we thought was the summit. One other pinnacle appeared a few feet higher. Nevertheless, the way forward captivated us and we were excited to part ways with Josh and Christy and push further along. Yet, after they left, we tried for the other summit of Watson anyway. It was more than we were looking for, so we backed off. Since we couldn’t imagine leaving the high country for Diobsud Lakes, we found a camp sooner than we needed, but a perfect place caught our attention. That night we watched as bright stars tumbled out from behind dark mountains.
--
Morning sun and clouds rose long before we did. Like a head on beer, we wondered how long it would take for the sun to drink the haze up. Once moving we passed several Ptarmigan who were intent on racing along the rock, as intent as we were on making our way over to a high pass. With curious glances ahead, our eyes met sloping heather fields nestled below cliffs and sights of Diobsud Lakes soon after. Without knowing it then, our biggest challenge of the trip lay across the valley. Closer looks were warranted, but none were taken.
After dropping through forest between Upper and Lower Diobsud Lakes, we had lunch in a huge meadow full of Fireweed, Daisy’s, Salmon Berries and Cow Parsnip's. After a long rest, full of confidence, we proceeded up the wrong side of a waterfall toward a ramp on the south side of Bacon Peak. For several hours we proceeded through grizzled, arthritic hunks of trees more dead than alive and masqueraded ourselves as tree huggers and slide alder pullers between cliffs before submitting defeat. Apparently, in a place where there are no wrong ways, just easier ones, we managed to bite off more than we could chew and were rebuffed. Cut and scratched, bruised and weary we safely arrived below the waterfall once more. Looking upward, we shook our heads. "Why did we go that way?" Our route had wound through cliffs and near vertical brush and trees to dead end in worse cliffs. We could see now that we no where near where we wanted to be. We felt like idiots, looked up at the rain clouds coming in and decided to be smart and make camp while we had a place to do so. Our progress had been pathetic, less than a few miles.
After camp was set near a stream, Jessy and I left our packs and set off to find a way up Bacon Peak. I went one way and Jessy went another. Mine dead ended, so I returned to camp. When Jessy didn't appear for a long time, I began to worry, but out from the brush he burst just before dark. He had found a way. Two smiles were shared between us and dinner was served before it began to rain. The tap, tap on the tent at bedtime left me ill-at-ease since my hope was for sun and warmth the following day. As good luck eventually follows bad, I dreamt of blue skies.
Day Three and Four: Diobsud Lakes, Bacon and Green lakes to Nert Lake
My dreams weren't ignored. Blue skies continued to foster burgeoning expectations of what far-off sights were ahead, ones that we would see in days to come. After a rush to break camp, we set up the way Jessy had scouted. Over huge logs and small cliffs, we arrived at two small tarns. More were beyond steep, slick heather and even more after we climbed a waterfall. Easy boulder scrambling put us on a ridge overlooking an unmapped lake whose appearance wasn't the last thing to surprise us. Up further we climbed to the top of Bacon Peak, but 'surprise', another taller summit was spotted. Descending we traversed and climbed snow and then scree to the true summit where burnt remains of an old fire lookout were scattered across lower slopes. This wasn't so easy to spot, although, I'd much prefer to have the lookout here than debris. Nevertheless, views of the Pickets and all the mountains between hoisted our desire to see what was around the next corner.
After lunch and much leaning over the map, we decided to go down and see what we could see. With no rope and tiny rubber-snubber crampons over my shoes, I was less than thrilled about exploring more glacier than I had to. Jessy was more fortunate and had a good set of crampons. He took the lead as we wound our way through a few glaciers and ridges before finally descending hard ice to smooth rock slabs, shaped much like the glacier they were born from. The interspersed streams and potholes were icing on the cake in this wild and beautiful place. For us, one of the highlights of our trip.
We decided to parallel the glacier directly down to Bacon Laken. I'm sure there are better ways than we took, but we enjoyed the steep slabs and climbing, along with views forward and backward at all Bacon Peak had to offer. This peak had continuously surprised me and my ideas of what I thought she offered were much skewed by faraway glimpses. For its size it is more of a mountain than a peak; it dominates the landscape.
Camp was set as light eased into a peaceful slumber and dusk awakened. First sights of Bacon Laken set above Green Lake were far from being terrible company, but enough of a pull to keep us moving faster than we should have. We ran down the last rock fields to the outlet falls of the lake. Looking down it, I imagined a slippery one way journey down its curved path. Fording it was easy enough, although more water would be challenging.
Tent sights were non existent, so we found the flattest spot we could. Heavens forbid it had to be within grasp of the falls and thoughts of our gear tumbling away were a constant worry, but we kept everything in hand and found our camp quite a pleasure to stay at. Within a few feet the lakeshore was a 10-ft sloping mound of rock. It presented the most perfectly situated lounge chair this side of Mount Watson. Under the moon's scope, the waterfall and lake were inebriated, moving in slow motion like the stars. Minutes were passed by movements in the sky. With a cold quart of kool-aid we relaxed. Here nothing much was said between us. To every side, this beauty had too much to talk about.
--
The next morning rain came again and we decided to spend a few hours exploring the area above our camp. The cerulean outlines of Green Lake pleaded with us to come down and explore it and much to our dismay, we packed camp and set off.
The best places to visit weren't exactly known to us. Going from Watson to Bacon to Hagan and finally Blum was what amounted to a game plan. The where and what we would get to see between was left for weather to decide. As clouds broke up, I asked Jessy "Do you think the lake shore would be easier than the ridge?" It was a stupid question, cause it didn't, but we agreed and turned right. Easy ground morphed into a waterfall, the climbing of which was fast becoming a forte of ours, and traversed mid-falls on a ledge to enter slide alder, the climbing of which was another talent seized up in other adventures. Success was spent sometime later on the opposite shore looking down another waterfall that fell away beyond sight. Lunch was served as well.
Ignoring the bushes, we climbed steep then gentle slopes to Nert Lake. Our progress was subverted by never ending fields of the biggest blueberries I've ever seen. Not a sour or spoiled berry in the bunch. Blue fingers and faces brought us to camp. A swim and fire were treats and the first of the trip. On top of a small knoll after dinner, we took in the area and scouted the way ahead.
>>>continued
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The way to Berdeen Lake either goes high or low. We decided to go low entering a beautiful valley just as a Black Bear crossed boulders in the midst of a waterfall. With my small lens on, I had no hope of photographing. He was in the trees by the time my larger lens was on and Jessy was able to catch a few fleeting photos of him. Too much like what every other seems to get of the is awesome creature.
From the meadow we climbed up a steep gully to Berdeen Lake. With our exploring done, we continued on to the outlet where we struck camp for the day. We had plenty of time to relax. For Jessy this meant a swim out to an island and fishing. For me, a nap and photos. Near dusk we decided on a short hike and at the Upper Lake spotted the very same bear again. We watched him from across the lake for most of an hour before going back to camp and bed.
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In the morning hours, we regretted having to leave. Two days would be well spent here. Following the creek past the lake, we continued over boulder fields until we reached snow. Rock cliffs and more boulder fields separated the lower snowfield from a higher glacier. We managed to traverse rock and then glacier up to a narrow pass that put us between Skitzo and Hagan Peaks.
Jessy really wanted to climb. Dropped packs and a quick jaunt to Hagan was much enjoyed, not only for the climbing, but for the views. Nearly all that we had crossed in the days previous could be sighted. I didn't mind climbing Hagan again, my last was on skis and summer is so much different.
Back at our packs, we traversed glacier rock slabs interspersed with small potholes and creeks much like all the others we'd climbed. Steep boulder fields were carefully crossed on our downward hike to Blum Lakes. Buoys floating in them were a curious sight and we didn't understand why they would be there? Just to get to such a place is very difficult and not many come to visit. It turns out they were poisoning the lakes to kill off non-native fish so they could plant others. In a way it makes sense, I'm just glad we didn't drink the water or stay to swim.
Up at Vista Tarn, we made camp in a grassy field and spent the remaining hours watching the fire and smoke from blazes to the Northeast.
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I've been up and down from Mount Blum twice (Blum: NW Shoulder, Skitzo, Hagan and Blum: Baker River Smorgasbord) and the experience was less than enticing. This time I figured I had it down. Over 5000-ft of forest and bushes split by cliffs. Since going the wrong way isn't an enjoyable endeavor, I paid too much attention to where I thought I was and not enough attention to where I was going. This descent can reward excessive amounts of suck. It's best to stay on the ridge. If you descend off of it, you become blocked by steep ravines full of slide alder and rocks. Jessy and I spent 7 hours descending less than 2 miles. If on course, I imagine 3 hours to be more appropriate. I've found the climb to be much easier than the descent. One bleak moment was when, for the 2nd time, we stepped on top of a bees nest. With no recourse but to keep descending, the Yellow Jackets get plenty of time to overwhelm you. It isn't as if you could run away. A slip would be unfortunate.
Eventually we had traversed back to the right area. More steep forest led to vague boot paths that seemed to have faded since my visits 4 years ago. Once we bashed our way through the last remaining Devil's Club, we arrived at Baker River and shortly after, the bridge. Feeling like warriors, we marched to the car, eyes sparkling in the late day's sun with satisfaction over completing what we had set out to do. If you are thinking this trip is over, don't get too excited. It's time to hit the water.
Day Eight and Nine: Baker River, Baker Lake to Watson Road and Trailhead
Chilled water high from the mountains all meet in Baker Lake. Once a natural lake, the river was dammed twice in 1925 and 1959 to create Lake Shannon and Baker. As promised, my twin brother Josh arrived with his kayak to join Jessy and I. Cramming our gear into our boats and dry packs was a challenge as we were sparing no comforts. By mid-morning we were on the river.
Even though the river isn't too long, there were plenty of massive trees to slow us down. Over and under we went by whatever way was easiest until we arrived at the lake. Far above us were Shuksan and Baker whose glaciers shinned in the sun. Even Blum and peaks could be picked out between hills. While I've never kayaked so much lake in a whitewater boat, it wasn't so bad. We stuck along the east shore and admired the stumps whose outlines beneath or above water boggled the imagination. They were true goliaths in their day.
Halfway to camp we stopped for several seal launches. For those that don't know, this is when you slide from cliff or ground into the water, much like a seal does into the ocean, thus the name. Jessy and Josh couldn't get enough of this. They found one other spot a few more miles down the shore.
The last few hours to Maple Grove Camp was spent battling the wind whose presence I'd earlier said of, "At least we don't have a headwind." Now that we did, the brothers could only blame me. It was enough to soak us to the bone. We were relieved to pull our boats onto the shore and set up camp. We had a huge fire and enjoyed a calm night.
--
The last day was both sad and happy for me. With so much adventure this year, it was hard to see this one come to pass and be finished. What else was there? No more big trips were planned. This was it. Since Jessy had to get home to his family early, we all rushed down the lake to the dam where we pulled out. Parting ways, Jessy and Josh jumped in their car and headed back down to the beginning of the lake. I was on my own now, at least no human companions. The mosquitoes were ruthless as I climbed into the bushes to retrieve my bike.
Somewhere around 3700-ft of vertical gain was ahead of me and 10 miles of road. My legs groaned after being cooped up in the kayak for 2 days, but eventually they loosened up. Washboard, dust, and strain weren't enough to put a stop to me. It was over halfway before I stopped to take a photo and near the end before I pulled up once more. Far below me the blue waters of Baker Lake appeared small, but I knew different. The distance was ingrained in my every muscle. They had brought me here.
At the car, heart bounding I sat down in the drivers seat, not wanting to drive home. Not wanting to leave. Could I do it again? Could I just throw my pack on and put foot to trail, paddle to lake, and cleat to peddle? I could, but would it be the same? You only live through these days once and they are gone. Even as my mind raced over every moment - every taste, touch and sight I knew I'd certainly smelled the roses along the way. No matter if I was back at the car cause I'd gone full circle and isn't it the best of journey's that bring you back to their beginning? From lakes to crashing waterfalls, to glaciers and summits, each were fondly recalled as I turned the car on and drove home. ~thanks for reading, jason hummel
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Thanks for reading Art!!! I wasn't sure you guys would enjoy this type of story...it's more of a climbing adventure. But I thought I'd give it a go.
Ski Mountaineering stories: www.cascadecrusades.org
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Stephanie
Ski Mountaineering stories: www.cascadecrusades.org
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Cuong
James
Langford Photography
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Ana
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A GREAT writeup and photos! That Green Lake area just keeps getting more and more interesting. Now if I could just find a painless way into there!
Look forward to the next adventure..
Blog: http://blog.scolephoto.com
Yep, wonderful area. When you find an easy way into Green...let me know
Ski Mountaineering stories: www.cascadecrusades.org
Jason Hummel photography on:
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