OUT OF THE WOODS

“Out Of The Woods” sculpture by kayti sweetland rasmussn

It’s incredible what crazy thoughts come to fruition when wine glows sleepily in the stomach and the fire glows happily on the hearth. It was so for us many years ago while enjoying good after dinner conversation with our friend Emmett Oliver after a day of fishing. “Why don’t we all go hiking through the Olympics” he asked. It seemed like a good idea,and it was his home territory and the fact that he would come with us made it the best idea in the world.

Emmett Oliver’s house on the Hood Canal

We got the maps out, and from our location at Lilliwaup at the Hood Canal, Washington, there were no end of good starting places. Rivers ran straight through the Olympic Mountain to the ocean, and with some bearing fascinating names like Queets, Duckabush, Hamma Hamma and Dosewallips, who could resist.

We were city folk living in California at the time, and though we were long time campers, I had never seen a backpack let alone carry one. Our plan was not to hike the entire width, but to do a manageable 15 or 20 mile hike and then come back. It would condition us for a longer future hike.

We had to take advantage of friends who had Boy Scouts in order to borrow backpacks and other necessary supplies. We borrowed a couple of backpacks, one with wooden frame from a father and the other smaller one with exposed metal pipe frame from his son. We gave them a trial run around the block, and then began loading them up for a ten day hike.

We drove back to Seattle and the Hood Canal, and found that Emmett could not go with us. So we strapped the loads which would be our homes onto our city slicker backs and set out for the Duckabush trail.

We first stopped at the General Store in Brinnon and bought candy bars and a large bag of grapes. I began to feel the weight of my pack with its metal frame cutting into my tender shoulders before we even crossed the highway into the woods, but Dr. A. ex-Boy Scout as he is, strode confidently into our new leafy green home.

Along with the discomfort in my shoulders and back, my feet began to join the painful chorus as my new unfamiliar boots began to pinch.

To take my mind off the pain, I sang loudly. It wasn’t long before my stomach began to rebel from the sweet grapes, and I begged to sit on a nearby rock. We had not made very good time toward our expected resting place for the night which was a small hut used by backpackers deeper into the woods.

We were soon overtaken by a noisy group of people coming our way, disturbing all sense of peacefulness in the forest. Coming around the bend, keeping a fast pace was a troop of small Boy Scouts and their Leader, behaving as if they were on a day walk in the park (which they were) instead of on this great hiking experience like us. They would learn the secrets that old trails and stones only tell children. I would try to learn them in the next ten days.

The first night, while listening to the forest sounds, I imagined bears and mountain lions as well as bearded unwashed tramps joining us in the campers’ hut. Though no large four-legged beasts attacked us during our hike, we always had the company of small furry critters who scampered across sleeping bags and faces each night.

The early mornings were one of my favorite times of the day, when birdsong greeted us and sunlight lay in bright puddles on the floor of the forest. The other time was at the end of the hiking day, when nursing bruises and back pain, I could drop my pack and lay on my back watching the bats take off on their evening flight for food.

Olympic Rainforest

Some of the largest trees on the planet cradled us to sleep each night. Douglas Fir, Sitka Spruce, Red Cedar, and always ferns and moss. We were not to escape the frequent rain giving it the rainforest name, and on nights we did not reach a camper hut, we were sheltered by our small and cozy tube tents which had the habit of leaking, until we awoke several times with soggy sleeping bags.

Five days into the woods we had reached our goal and turned back toward civilization. We were seasoned hikers by now, though our blisters would take awhile to heal, and at the end of the trail, we were ready for the next long distance hike, this time with our own back packs.

Through the years, backpacking became a favorite kind of vacation, often with grandsons who still load up and take off into the woods.

SKINNY DIPPING IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

The first ever backpacking trip for the seven year old grandson took months of planning. It’s like waiting for Christmas—it takes more than twelve months to get there, and childhood excitement grows until it explodes. The fear factor sets in as departure time gets closer. As they watch the backpacking gear stack up in readiness, they begin to doubt their readiness for this great adventure. Their nine year old brother had made his mark in the wilderness two years before and offered great encouragement as the time approached.
Seven seems to be an appropriate age to expose a rambunctious boy to the wilderness, and the Forest Service insists upon that age before they give a permit. The have enough discipline to listen to wise old grandmothers, and enough fear of the unknown to look before they leap. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

We were hiking at 10,000 feet in the Sierras where the sun never gets around to melting the snow pack even by August. It’s pretty cold at night, and a cozy sleeping bag sometimes isn’t as cozy as you might like. The chipmunks are very busy night and day getting ready for a really cold winter, so the nighttime traffic over sleeping bodies, including exposed faces, is a real “treat”.
Mealtime is always a contest to see if you will get breakfast or they will.

It was an eventful beginning. After a short walk from the trailhead, we took a boat to the actual trail. My husband and I had hiked often in this area, and felt it was a safe enough beginning introduction to the pleasure of the outdoors. We each took a boy, and I was in charge of the smaller one when we took off. We immediately ran into a lot of snow, and I had to be the one to “take a short cut” and get two of us lost!

Mountain trails lose their familiarity when covered with snow no matter how often you take them. This should be printed in very large red letters on all maps, and pasted across all foreheads before embarking.

We remained lost all day while a formerly smug granny consoled a frightened 7 year old boy. But all was well when Dr. Advice showed up and offered a ton of unwelcome and humiliating advice, and we settled down for the first night in the wilds of California.

We had hit a great time to have it all to ourselves, as we encountered very few hikers, and the more elevation we gained there were no others. When we got to the top of the mountain, the sign identified our location as “Dick’s Peak, 9,700 feet”. There are lots of small beautiful and icy cold lakes scattered throughout the Sierras, seducing sweaty hikers to cool off in their pristine depths.
“But I didn’t bring my swimming suit”! both boys cried after I sensibly suggested a swim. “Who cares”, responded Dr. Advice, divesting himself of his clothing. “There is absolutely no one here to see you”, I told them, after they fiollowed suit.
So now they are captured forever in paint, contemplating the beauties of the wilderness, sans clothing.


Both boys are now grown with families of their own. Both are still interested in the outdoors, and the younger one is a wildlife biologist.

MINNIE AND MICKEY GOT MARRIED

Minnie and Mickey got married and joy reigned supreme in the magical kingdom! After 27 years of singlehood, raising two fine children and carving out a very successful business career, our youngest daughter Cori, (aka Minnie) was married in a beautiful countryclub setting to Jim, (aka Mickey), surrounded by both families, and over 100 nearest and dearest.
As a first date, she invited him to a Halloween party, where they won first prize dressed as Minnie and Mickey mouse, whiskers, ears and all. If a new date can withstand that introduction, he must be a keeper!
Cori has a sense of fun which she imparts to everyone she meets. Instead of one “best” friend, everyone she meets feels as if they are her best friend. She is always there for everyone in sickness and in sharing happiness.
In Jim , she found a partner who has the same spirit of fun, and with whom she can share her love of travel, skiing, biking, hiking, kayaking, and golf., as well as just sitting by the fire and watching old movies.
It was a fairy tale occasion on a perfect evening in the Northwest, and made even more special as one of her oldest friends officiated in the ceremony, incorporating the words of an ancient Native American blessing into the ceremony. Her sister from Southern California, was the matron of honor, and Jim’s best friend, whom he has known since elementary school, was his best man.

Cori and Jim have a special affinity for Hawaii, and friends sent orchid and maile leis which helped decorate the cake table. Hawaiian music played softly during the ceremony.
After dinner and a great coconut cake, everyone (including Dr. Advice and I) danced up a storm.

I have never felt a such a palpable sense of joy as was being sent forth around a room as it was for Minnie and Mickey’s wedding!
May the blending of these two families bring happiness, more joy, peace and contentment and fun for the rest of their lives. AHO

Cori and Jim with her children

Dr. Advice, Cori and Me

HIKING 101

It became much more fun when there were four of us instead of just the two, and we couldn’t wait to introduce both grandsons (there were only two at that time) to the high country we loved.  They had been good campers since the age of two, but children were not allowed to backpack until the age of seven, so only the older brother went first.  To illustrate our enthusiasm for the long hike, I made a quilt showing everything we might see (excluding the bears!)  As children do, he became an instant expert when we got on the trail, and after a week of sleeping under the stars and catching the small silvery trout which waited for his hook, he was ready to go home and impress his younger brother with tall tales of the weeks’ events.

Two years later, both boys were able to go, and as sometimes happens with all of us, the things you have most looked forward to become a little scary when you finally get to do them.  The older brother was in a state of high excitement, but the seven year old approached the start of our journey with trepidation.  This hike was in Desolation Valley, and  would eventually take us to 9600 ft. elevation.  We joined a small group in a boat which took us across the lake from civilization to the trailhead where we were all on our own.  Dr. Advice and I had climbed in this area a number of times and though we would cover a lot of territory, it would be an easy hike for the boys.  We paired up with me walking with the younger boy who gradually seemed to become more comfortable both with his pack and with the whole adventure.

Though it was August, as we climbed we ran into snow, which became a little deeper as we progressed.  In the mountains you become used to looking for landmarks, and there are many along this trail including the lake where we would be spending our first night.  The lake lies at the base of a group of rugged peaks which resemble nothing more than a moonscape.  Quite recognizable, and not too far from where we started.  We learned years ago to carry a police whistle in case of emergency, and though the boys each carried their own sleeping bags plus their whistle, Dr. Advice and I divided the rest of the gear.  I could see a familiar dogleg coming up ahead, and told my small companion that we would take it and catch them up as the trail straightened.

However, all trees look alike in the forest, and all trails look alike under a blanket of snow, so when I realized we were not coming out in the same spot I had hoped for, I blew my whistle and we listened for an answering tweet which came right away, but on the second try there was no reply.  Not to worry , I told my little friend whose blue eyes were getting larger and more concerned;  we will recognize those crazy moonscape mountains in no time.  By this time, I was getting a little worried myself, and did not follow the second rule in mountaineering:  stay where you are and wait till you are found.

By this time it was afternoon, and we had climbed atop a large rock to see if either the lake or the craggy peaks were visible.  My small partner was in a state of despair, and in no mood to play games such as blowing our whistles and yelling for help.  He worried about where we would sleep or eat, and I assured him we had all the right stuff to survive the night if it should come to that (which it would not of course).  We blew whistles and counted to ten, and after a few minutes of this activity, we finally heard the welcome answering call.

It seemed we were about a quarter mile above the lake, and they had been waiting for us to arrive for some time, with the older boy also anxious about sleeping and eating.  They actually DID have all the food, and we had the small tent in case of a sudden rain squall, which happens frequently at that elevation.  So we climbed (slid) down and they climbed up, and we set up camp for the first night in the Wilderness.

The rest of the week went well, and the rocks were bare of snow which made climbing easy.  The boys were delighted with the small alpine lakes where they could bathe and fish, and once they were convinced that no one else was there and could not see them, they stripped off their clothes and jumped in the icy water.

That trip took us to Dick’s Peak at 9600 feet, and was a great introduction to the pleasure of wilderness camping and gave them a good foundation for many years’  of enjoyment.

My  little trail partner has become a wildlife biologist, and his older brother has the  avocation of horses, fishing and hunting.