Now that my daughter and I have joined forces to hike together this summer, I have adjusted our process. How many rests do we need? How long should each rest be so it restores us without leaving either of us cold? What is the best way to keep younger hikers interested and occupied? For that matter, when older hikers grow tired, can we coax more mileage from them? How much mileage and gain is too much? Since last Thursday’s visit to Annette Lake, I compiled a list of tips to coach and coax new hikers forward.
One way to coax new hikers is to stop to take frequent photo breaks. These beautiful falls are easily accessible, only .2 miles from the Annette Lake parking lot.
Coax New Hikers by Giving Them a Choice
Regardless of age, hikers will likely have more success on their outings if they are involved in choosing (and getting excited about) a destination. Before each hike, I ask my daughter what she’s interested in seeing. We use the WTA hikes finder to locate suitable hikes that include lakes.
From her baseline hike to Teneriffe Falls, we also have a better understanding of what elevation gain and mileage will be comfortable for her. We compiled a list of appropriate hikes from which she can choose based on the weather and how she feels on any given day.
Stunning trillium kissed by water droplets.
Hikes Under 8 Miles and Less Than 2000′ Elevation Gain
Here’s our shortlist (in alphabetical order) of Pacific Northwest hikes east of Seattle that we plan to visit this summer. All are between 5 and 8 miles and involve 1000′ to 2000′ elevation gain.
Annette Lake 7.5 miles 1800′ elevation gain (Blog 96)
Grand Ridge Park 7 miles, 1100′ elevation gain near Exit 20 off I-90
Lake 22 5.4 miles, 1350′ elevation gain on the Mountain Loop Highway
Wallace Falls 5.6 miles, 1300′ elevation gain (our Father’s Day trip, Blog 97) on US 2
Trail maintenance crews did a lot of work on the Annette Lake trail in 2022. They installed 288 steps (by my count) including a series of “crib ladders” such as these to improve footing.
Take Frequent Breaks
Another way to coax newer hikers forward is to plan frequent breaks. From our first hike together (as well as from decades of experience) I know that taking a short clothing and water break about 15-20 minutes into the hike allows an assessment of how everyone feels. With young kids that may be more like every 10 minutes.
Our modified plan is to check in with each other every 20-30 minutes. Sometimes when I’m alone with Ajax, I’ll go a whole hour before taking a water break.
My UW Husky student and I pose for a selfie in front of the lower falls.
No Regrets
After what felt like the umpteenth switchback, I could tell my daughter was getting tired. It was chilly and damp, and she had less oomph than she did on our previous hike to Teneriffe Falls. I used the phrase, “Just a little farther!” one too many times, and she ground to a halt. I figured that 52 minutes was close enough to an hour to merit a longer rest.
At that point, my daughter asked if I regretted inviting her to join me. I was shocked. “Absolutely not!” I replied. Her question reminded me that there’s more to communication than words. Could I be sending out vibes she’d misinterpreted? I joined her on the log. While I may long for the carefree pace I set whenever I go alone, I can do that anytime. But hiking with her is a rare gift that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Vanilla Leaf.
Demonstrate Proper Pacing
A mistake new hikers sometimes make is starting from the cars too hard or too fast, resulting in early fatigue. Just like any warmup to a workout, try suggesting easing into the hike for the first half mile. This allows the muscles, tendons, ligaments, and joints plenty of warm-up time before sustained exertion. Then, after removing a layer of clothing, you can settle into your “go forever” pace.
My daughter has demonstrated that she does not like to be the last member in a hike. If she can’t be part of a “kid sandwich” (i.e. adult – child – adult) then she would rather be out front. My goal in upcoming hikes will be to try to teach her suitable pacing (e.g. no sprint/stop allowed) without requiring that she walk behind me. Maybe we can find hikes with wide trails.
On a rainy midweek morning with low traffic, we feel confident letting Ajax off-leash and relying on voice command. Maybe in this case she still feels a sense of a “kid sandwich” with Ajax in the lead and me taking up the rear.
Coax New Hikers by Providing Suitable Rewards
As we learned two summers ago on a trip to Mt. Catherine, when the huckleberries and blueberries were ripe and abundant, having some sort of reward can go a long way toward motivating a newer hiker. The promise of reaching snow in June was a big lure.
Suitcase doggie! My daughter and Ajax pose on a snow patch that persists into early summer. One way to coax new hikers is to promise something they’ll enjoy. Snow, lakes, and an uncommon treat work for my daughter.
When our daughter was young, it was the promise of ice cream afterward. On this trip, I brought out crisp snap pea chips. We spent half an hour at the lake before we both got a little cold.
As soon as the activity itself becomes a reward, you know you’ve got a hiker for life. The fact that we have our next two outings lined up means that all those outings years ago with the Mountaineers Family Activities group have created strong roots. I couldn’t be happier. If you have tips for coaching or coaxing the newer hiker, please share them in the comments so we can all learn from each other.
A reader recently asked for tips on dealing with loss and disappointment. The permits for a trip she had been planning for six months got canceled, making it difficult to maintain enthusiasm for her trip. Loss comes in all shapes and sizes. It includes injury, illness, change in plans, loss of livelihood, loss of youthfulness, and even death. After nearly two years of exploring change, the best suggestion I can make is to look for good to come out of the loss.
Look for good. Instead of complaining about the rain, we celebrated the fact that the rain meant fewer people on a weekend hike and beautiful photographs like this one.
Weekend Hike to Teneriffe Falls
Last Saturday my daughter, Ajax, and I headed to Teneriffe Falls (6 miles, 1600′ gain) at Exit 32 on I-90. The drive has never passed so quickly. I usually listen to an e-book. Instead, we chatted easily about her coursework, the upcoming hike, her friends, and my clients.
When we started hiking around 8:30, the parking lot was about a third full. A trail maintenance crew was preparing for a day of work. Several Portapotties stood near locked latrines. And a large flat rock held numerous poop bags, indicating recent high canine traffic. Expect lots of people. It’s a Saturday in June.
Ajax and my daughter begin the steep switchbacks toward the Falls.
I’ve been so conditioned to go at dawn on weekdays to less frequented trails, that I have forgotten what it’s like to hike with hordes of people. (side note: If you seek solitude, avoid Rattlesnake Ledge on a summer weekend.) When my daughter pointed out bleeding hearts, banana slugs, and nurse logs, my heart swelled with pride. She still remembers much of what we taught her during her childhood hikes.
Loss or Gain?
Over the past year, I have explored what it’s like to move forward with an “empty nest.” Sort of. My daughter attends a local university and often comes home for a few days. We’ve adjusted to weekdays without her, and weekends with her. Now that she is home for the summer, we’re adjusting again. The biggest change: she wants to join me hiking.
How could this ever be perceived as a loss? You can view any change as having loss and gain. For instance, hiking with another person means a loss of freedom to go at my own pace. To leave the house when I want. Hiking on the weekends also brings a loss of solitude on the trail and a loss of time due to higher traffic in the city.
We dubbed this the “mystical corridor” with its pine needles, fog, and empty space. The rain kept the weekend crowds to a minimum except at the Falls where a large group of rowdy students celebrated their recent graduation.
But it also brings plenty of good. Wonderful conversations with another person. New perspectives. Varied pace. Exploration and adventure of a different kind. Moments of pride when you realize your daughter has absorbed all sorts of lessons from childhood. It depends entirely on how you frame it.
Ask yourself: are you a “glass half full” or “glass half empty” person? What if you tried to look at your loss through a lens of self-compassion and kindness, or tried to view your experience as a new learning opportunity?
Look for Good: Problem as Learning Opportunity
When my daughter insisted on a third break on the ascent, she needed to check her feet. She had hot spots on her heels that threatened to form blisters. I reminded myself of my biggest intention. Make sure she has fun so she agrees to hike again. I channeled the patience my friends showed me on Mt. Wrightson when I experienced heat exhaustion.
The joy on my daughter’s face, when we reached the Falls, was worth the three rest stops it took to get there. I thought back to all the hikes we did with her as a youngster. Now that she’s an adult, she’s come full circle. I couldn’t be happier.
I asked myself, What’s good about this problem?
Learning how to lace boots properly and adjust for uphill or downhill
Layering socks correctly to prevent wear on the skin
Learning to doctor hot spots before they become blisters
Making sure to carry Moleskin, duct tape, or Bandaids in a First Aid kit.
Experience is one of the best teachers. I doubt she’ll ever hike again without bringing blister protection.
Near the bottom of the hike, I was relieved to see my daughter was still able to smile. We’re off to another hike in the morning. She had a good enough experience (and the blisters were only a minor irritant) that she’s willing to go again.
Look for Good When Losses Are Ubiquitous
Earlier this week it felt like every email I opened pointed to some kind of loss. Lost mobility that led to canceling a trip. Illness meant cutting a trip short. A fall that led to a trip to the ER. A friend reporting death of a friend. Loss of enjoyment due to pain. Loss of awareness while driving. And the death of a former client’s tentmate on Everest. Pain and loss everywhere.
Where’s the good? Two jumped out at me:
I have finally learned to hold suffering at a distance and not take other people’s pain on myself. I can remain compassionate and empathetic but not drown in the pain. Win!
Maybe I could write a blog about it that might help others find a path through loss.
The author, her daughter, and Ajax enjoy an hour at Teneriffe Falls before hiking down. If you go on a summer weekend, choose a rainy day to cut down on crowds. That will also make the falls more spectacular.
Additional Posts on Loss
I’ve written about loss in other blog posts. This list is not exhaustive, but it might point to some interesting reading if you’re relatively new to the blog.
Surviving a broken wrist in the Fiery Furnace at Arches National Park
Accomplishing your goal, and handling anticipointment (the disappointment of losing anticipation of a goal you’ve held for a long time)
A hike with two of my favorite living creatures on this planet. WIN!
Parting Thoughts
My parting thoughts are about Kelly Clarkson’s blockbuster song, “Stronger.” To paraphrase, what doesn’t kill us builds our RESILIENCE. A hero’s journey is filled with obstacles. We can bury our heads in the sand, smother our pain with food or alcohol, or we can face the pain and go right through it. If we look for what good might come out of it — connecting with others also experiencing the loss, having a different kind of adventure, getting more clarity on our goals and values — we can handle the pain more easily.
If you have recently experienced some sort of loss, please share it so we can all learn from and help each other. You are not alone. And if you have a topic you’d like to explore, please suggest it. A shout out to E. for asking this question, and to my Monday Morning writing partners for a wonderful, lively discussion of the Murky Middle blog post. I learn so much from all of my readers and commenters! Thank you!
During the past four rambles with Ajax, I reflected on our progress on our project. Is it still meeting its purpose? Am I experiencing “shiny object syndrome” (i.e. wanting to jump to something else midstream) or just the murky middle that sometimes comes with long-term projects? What are some ways to follow through on intentions?
Ajax explores a driftwood structure at Richmond Beach Saltwater Park.
Pinehurst Pocket Park
Doubt started creeping up on me during the Memorial Day weekend. My daughter was home for three days so I had some free time. I refused to battle holiday crowds in the mountains, so Ajax and I did a local Ramble instead.
We included a stop at Pinehurst Pocket Park, a tiny park covering less than half a city block. But despite visiting six little free libraries, something was missing. I long for solitude, for views, for the freedom to let Ajax roam off-leash. I miss the mountains. What would finishing 52 unique rambles do for me that hiking wouldn’t? Was I ready to change my intentions? Or maybe I was just having an off day. Perhaps my attitude would change when I tried a few more.
A great way for a local homeowner to showcase a sense of humor. Dogs can’t read but they sure can smell!
View Ridge Playfield
A few days later, I returned my daughter to the UW campus for finals week. On the way back, Ajax and I visited the View Ridge Playfield neighborhood. It brought back memories of summer visits to the kiddie pool when my daughter was a toddler.
We visited three little free libraries on this ramble, including one outside the Sand Point Community United Methodist Church, constructed to resemble the church itself. I marveled at all of the modern architecture in the neighborhood. At the same time, I felt crowded and confined, with people rushing from birthday parties to the library to local coffee and bagel shops.
Sand Point Community Church boasts two neighborhood boxes, one for books and one for food. Both resemble the church.
The view from 70th Ave. NE looking east toward the Cascades. A block west, you can see a similar view of the Olympics.
In a word, hectic. A feeling I escape in the mountains and try to avoid during Rambles. But the farther south I explore (i.e. closer to downtown) the more hectic the pace feels. The yearning for the peaceful solace and rhythm of the mountains grows stronger with each urban ramble, now that more people are getting outside in nice weather. Or perhaps because I was able to see the mountains without being in them.
Haller Lake in the Murky Middle
The following day, our ramble to Haller Lake in north Seattle made me want to give up. Not because of inclement weather.
We strolled clockwise around the small, private lake hoping to find a waterfront path (it doesn’t exist) or at least public access to the lake (there is only one such spot).
Haller Lake from the west. Trying to access this mostly private lake was part of my murky middle. But I can change my approach to find safe, accessible, beautiful, public spaces and continue on my quest. Simple, right?
Behind the North Seattle Church, we caught our first glimpse of the lake. Unfortunately, the only access by non-residents is on the west side. So we continued on our way, eager to spot any lingering waterfowl. So far, all we’d heard among the usual suspects were red-winged blackbirds, common inhabitants of wetlands such as Montlake Fill and Magnuson Park.
No Dogs Allowed
But as we strode toward the lake from the west, my heart dropped. A sign proclaimed No dogs allowed on Seattle beaches. A local collecting trash gave us the ol’ stink-eye.
“C’mon, Ajax, it looks like we’re not welcome here,” I said to my docile pup. He dutifully followed without a single growl or bark. I hate feeling unwelcome anywhere, but especially in green spaces touted as accessible to and for all. Apparently not dogs.
My murky middle nearly caused me to give up after 39 rambles. Decorative signs hang on the fencing leading to the public boat ramp at Haller Lake. For all they do to try to welcome people, it’s the last thing I felt.
“I don’t want to visit any more spaces that make me feel unwanted, unsafe, or uncomfortable,” I thought as we left Haller Lake.
But I had to remind myself, this was different. This was mostly a privateaccess lake. And maybe the lady just had weird eyes. Maybe she wasn’t directing anything toward me. Perhaps the anger I felt was due to a poor, uninformed choice. But anger it was. Not one of the reasons I go on walks with Ajax.
The Desire to Quit Rears Its Ugly Head
So this morning, I told a friend that I was considering stopping my Rambles project. Surprised, she asked why. I mumbled something like, “I miss the mountains. And I miss visiting some of my favorite places where there are no people.” Both are valid reasons.
But they don’t tell the whole true story. I think I was willing to scrap my whole year-long project… in order to avoid shame. Well, eff that. That’s on ME, not anyone else. And now that I know what I was doing, I won’t cave.
Something my friend said reminded me to review my big why: this project was a way to explore mindfulness, learn to be more fully present, and experience joy in tiny moments. Haller Lake may not have been joyful but many of the others have been.
Review Your Intentions
Once she left, I reread what I hoped to get out of this year. June seems to be as good a time as any to reflect on intentions set at the start of the year.
Appreciate beauty
Connect deeply
Move frequently
Create abundantly
Improve lovingly
Challenge gently
Appreciate beauty, large and small alike.
I realized that I’d slipped on my why. And the two that need more work are “appreciate beauty” and “improve lovingly.” I have been trying to strongarm myself into going to places within walking distance of home — that may be aesthetically unappealing or worse, downright unsafe.
But what if I gave myself permission — challenged myself gently — to access green spaces beyond walking distance for my final twelve Rambles? What’s stopping me from driving to new green spaces like I do hikes?
Richmond Beach Saltwater Park
So, with renewed interest in our project (just in time for Ramble 40!), I drove to Richmond Beach Saltwater Park for a walk-and-talk with a writing friend. Connection. Check. I expected great views of the Olympics. Saltwater birds. And with any luck, no crowds.
This morning, the only people enjoying the park were dog walkers (like us) and stair climbers (also like us.) Movement. Check. We headed along the top promenade for an overlook of the park and ended up at a gorgeous Madrone tree – I think, based on the peeling bark. Beauty. Check.
Active Ajax Adventures are a great way to explore the area and get outside my comfort zone. A hiking friend convinced me to keep going and get twelve more Rambles.
My writing friend gave me several big hugs and encouraged me to continue with our quest. Twelve to go.
Takeaways: Surviving the Murky Middle
Whatever goal you are pursuing, at some point you may think, “Do I still want this? Does it matter? How can I stay interested and engaged through the finish line?” I offer some final thoughts about what might help.
A little free library near the InterUrban in Shoreline. It perked me up after the mood sink of Haller Lake and gave me a glimpse of hope that maybe I could refine our project.
New Perspective
Before you completely give up on any intention, give it a day or a week to let yourself think about it. You may be having a tough day. Things might look better with a little distance from your intention.
Review the initial reasons why you embarked on this journey in the first place. Perhaps (like it did for me) something has slipped and a reminder will jump-start you.
Discuss your decision-making process with someone who understands your struggle. They might have a fresh opinion that can help you see it in a different way.
Despite enjoying my rambles with Ajax, my experience with Haller Lake almost made me give up on the project. The simple solution: a reminder that it’s OK to drive to green spaces now that I’ve exhausted everything within walking distance of home! Win!
Tweak Your Intentions
Can you tweak your intention (i.e. nudge the notch) to make it a little more compelling? For me, reminding myself that it’s okay to drive to mid-distance green spaces opens up a ton of areas to explore. Not only will I still save on gas and driving time, but the choices just got a lot more interesting.
Imagine two outcomes: completing and not completing your intention. What will each look and feel like? Will you have any regrets about your decision? What does completing (or not) your intention say about you? What good might come from completing it, even if you feel like you’re struggling? And if it’s no longer right, be comfortable walking away without shame or guilt.
Finally, if you have been working on an intention alone, find a buddy or accountability partner. They help!
If you are struggling to follow through on an intention, don’t give up! Share your dilemma in the comments so we can support each other.
A lovely canopy of moss-covered trees drapes over the path just past Cougar Pass on the way to Lost Beagle Trail. One way we assess progress is to refer to a map and signage to make sure we’re heading the right way.
My intentions shortlist included the following three items:
Reflect on the use of objective and subjective data for assessing client progress
Explore new-to-us segments of Cougar Mountain’s trail system
Test two new water delivery systems I’d purchased for Ajax’s 8th birthday
Assess Progress: Objective vs. Subjective Data
During our hike, I found myself thinking about how Precision Nutrition suggests tracking progress. To help clients reach distant mountain peaks, there are some obvious, objective metrics. Guide services such as Alpine Ascents International want to be sure their climbers can reach base camp carrying a specific pack weight in a certain amount of time. If not, they might jeopardize the team’s chance to reach the summit.
Objective Data
Objective measurements include measurable facts such as:
Distance hiked
Elevation gained or altitude attained
Time traveled
Pack weight carried
Heart rate data (average, max, rate of recovery)
Steps achieved using some biometric device such as an Oura ring, Whoop strap, or Fitbit
A piece of objective data for hikers is mileage traveled. King County does an excellent job with signage. As long as you know roughly what your end destination is, you can easily get there. But a goal like “increased fitness”? Without more specific parameters, you may never know if or when you’ve reached it.
Subjective Data
But these metrics are only part of the picture. For some people participating in unguided trips where they can take their own time, subjective metrics may actually be moreimportant. These might include:
Feeling less winded at the top of stairs or hills
Having energy for the trip back to the car
Wanting to eat at base camp or the summit
Feeling well enough not to need any pain medication or anti-inflammatories during or after the trip
Being able to recover quickly once exercise stops
Feeling like they can continue the very next day without much rest
Have a conversation with a partner on the way up or down
Having an easier time than the previous hike
Subjective data are harder to quantify. They are specific to each person and based more on internal feelings rather than external metrics. Such criteria often have more meaning for the hiker.
Ajax crosses a wooden bridge on the Tibbets Marsh Trail on the way to Cougar Pass. I assess his progress by his energy levels and panting.
Assess Progress Using a Continuum
If something can’t be measured, how exactly do you gauge improvement? The short answer is: scaling, or using relative comparison on a continuum.
Take the first example given in “subjective data.” If you do a hike one week and it takes you fifteen minutes of sitting on a rock, panting, at the turn-around point before you feel like you can start again, and the next week it only takes you five minutes (for similar effort/exertion), and you stand for most of that, you have shown “much improvement.”
Whether you use a scale of 1 to 3, 1 to 10, or 1 to 100 doesn’t matter so much. And the exact number (which would mean you’re looking at objective data) also may not matter. What matters is feeling better than last time for comparable effort. We’re after improvement.
How do you track your own progress? Is your way helpful? Or do you beat yourself up over a higher-than-expected heart rate and slower-than-desired pace? Could you use a better way to gauge improvement? One that matters to you?
Water for Ajax
For several years, I’ve been providing Ajax treats on the trail in a collapsible silicone food and water bowl, but the ribs have collected some unidentifiable, unappealing substance that won’t scrub off. Ajax deserves better. For his eighth birthday, I bought several hydration systems for us to test.
A plastic Lesotc 2022 allows the remaining water to return to the bottle. It comes with a mini-carabiner for attaching to your pack. One fatal design flaw requires sticking your fingers into the water to secure a plug after filling the cup. I opted to maintain squeeze pressure while he drank. Unfortunately, when I let go mid-lap, the slurp of the draining water startled him. Product fail.
Despite trying numerous water delivery options, Ajax still prefers the old-fashioned way: fresh from the stream.
The second was a Gology insulated 32-ounce thermos, complete with a carrying case, detachable food and water bowls, a slot for a phone or wallet, and a screw-on cup. The unit is completely dishwasher compatible, which was my main objection to the silicone bowls. But at two pounds, I’m still skeptical. The verdict? You might have guessed. Ajax prefers running water from a stream.
Assess Progress During Exploration
Having successfully tested the two hydration systems, our third objective was to explore the park. Once you know the main route in any park, it’s fun to get off the beaten path and see what else the park or mountain has to offer.
Our route took us up Big Tree Ridge Trail for about a mile (in the northeastern-most corner of the park marked by “You are Here”). We immediately turned left and wandered along the following trails: Military, Precipice Top, Surprise Creek, No Name, Shangri-La, Protector, Tibbetts Marsh, Cougar Pass, Klondike Swamp, Lost Beagle, and finally ended up at the parking lot at the Harvey Manning Trailhead.
Solace and Problem-Solving
The wonderful thing about starting a hike midweek at 6 a.m. is — you guessed it — solitude! We shared the trail with two trail runners, a pair of women hikers starting as we finished, 19 bird species, a mole, a mouse, squirrels, and a chipmunk.
But perhaps one of my favorite reasons to hike is to give my brain a rest from helping guide clients solve challenging problems. Hiking becomes a form of walking meditation. I may start using the subjective metric of “feeling emotionally better at the end of a hike than when I started.”
May all of you find solace in your own exploration. And if you have a metric you use that I haven’t written about here, please share so we can all benefit.
The trailhead has a nice map that I used to gauge the approximate locations of the Museum and the Peak. I also discovered there was a lake on the map, Granite Lake, which I’d never noticed before (top, blue).
Which Hike?
Obviously, a dog doesn’t have a direct vote in which hike to do, but Ajax’s comfort IS always an important consideration whenever I plan an outing. Especially since these Active Ajax Adventures were designed as a way for us to enjoy the outdoors together.
When we hiked Mt. Washington the week before, Dirty Harry loomed directly across the highway from us. Since there is still plenty of snow on trails at Exit 47, we’ve been hiking farther west. Why not compare the north-facing slopes of Mt. Washington with the south-facing slopes of Dirty Harry’s Peak? We arrived at the Dirty Harry’s Peak parking lot early enough to start hiking at 6:10 a.m. The earlier, the cooler, the better for us both.
There are plenty of great vantage points on the way to the Balcony. Catching this view of McClellan Butte reminded me that I haven’t visited it in over twenty years. Maybe next month!
Make Good Decisions About Where to Stop
The next decision was where to take our first break. We could visit one, two, or all three destinations, separate hikes in their own right: Dirty Harry’s Balcony (4.4 miles and 1,600 feet of gain), Dirty Harry’s Museum (5.6 miles and 2,800 feet of gain), and Dirty Harry’s Peak (9.2 miles and 3,326 feet of gain). I wasn’t sure Ajax would be comfortable visiting all three — he is, after all, wearing a fur coat in this heat — so we stopped at The Balcony first.
Dawn (7 a.m.) looking eastward over I-90 from Dirty Harry’s Balcony at Exit 38.
Having settled into a nice rhythm of water breaks every 45 minutes, we continued through the lush woods to mile 2.8 where we reached the fast-running Museum Creek. In a trip report I’d read the day before, another hiker suggested using poles to cross. I had found a suitable stick (my pole sat forgotten in the car) in case I needed one. But how would Ajax do?
Where to Cross?
I never want to take any unnecessary risks that would jeopardize my partner’s safety. I thought about securing his leash to his “suitcase harness” so I could grab him more easily if he slipped on the wet rocks. The last thing I wanted was for him to tumble downhill out of reach. At the edge of the racing water, we stood assessing the flow. I couldn’t find any “obvious way” across.
Nope. Too risky.
I actually turned us around. Maybe we could explore the Museum or check out the Ira Spring Connector closer to the Balcony.
Museum Creek is a raging river right now. I didn’t see an obvious, safe way across where Ajax stood so I turned us around.
Once Ajax stood safely beside me, however, I glanced around. Several rock “islands” stuck out to the left (low) of the fastest part of the stream. Maybe we could cross there.
With Ajax watching on the bank, I carefully made my way across several large pieces of wood someone had placed on top of stones. Safely across, I turned and called Ajax.
Heart in my throat, I watched as he paused and shook out his nervousness. Then, determined not to be left behind, he promptly joined me.
Relieved that we’d made it across, I gave him lots of lavish “good boy!” praise. As we continued, I wondered whether the continued snow melt would cause us greater difficulty on the way back. We’d literally have to “cross that bridge” when we came to it. Onward, to find snow.
Happy author selfie. Anything that gets me outdoors to fresh air, birdsong, solitude, and beauty makes me smile. And when I think we’ve reached our turnaround point but I find a safe way forward, I’m even happier.
Make Good Decisions About How Long to Rest
At a lovely spot half a mile beyond the stream crossing, we took a ten-minute break. I felt pretty confident we would not see any other hikers behind us. After all, only dedicated and experienced hikers would brave that stream crossing. And only insane people would be up this high so early!
Several large trees have been carved into lovely benches where hikers can sit and enjoy the view. We were almost to the steepest part, so I gave Ajax a snack and some water while I shot several photos.
The author’s selfie was taken while reclining on a carved tree bench roughly 1.5 miles from the summit.
Recharged, we easily stepped across numerous small stream crossings, covering the last 1.5 miles pretty comfortably. The trail includes some unrelenting switchbacks, and we reached snow about .5-.75 miles from the summit for the rest of the hike.
Where to Enjoy the Views?
From Dirty Harry’s Peak, you can look north, west, or south. The day we hiked, smoke from Canadian wildfires obscured most of Mt. Rainier to the south. My DSLR 100-400 mm lens would have been useless. Glad I didn’t carry it!
For our summit visit, we found a shaded spot on the far west end of the ridge where the snow had already melted. Ajax promptly plopped down to relax. I pulled out my foam sit pad and reclined, looking into the blue sky. As soon as I’d gotten comfortable, a gray jay (or ‘camp robber’, as some people call them) ventured close enough for a good shot on my phone.
Ajax approves of our summit spot out of the sun.
A gray jay joins us hoping for handouts.
After enjoying the views for half an hour, I packed everything up and we made our way to the “other summit” to check out the view to the north. I hoped we could see Glacier Peak and Mt. Baker; the haze made that impossible. But we spotted a lake I later identified as rounded Granite Lake, straight below us, with snow patches in places.
Granite Lake is due north of Dirty Harry’s Peak.
A melting snow bridge near the north summit.
My stomach dropped when I noticed what Ajax was standing on. Below him, the narrow snow bridge was rapidly melting. If it gave way… Fortunately, Ajax responds to my voice commands. He abruptly trotted to my side to lavish praise. Now, at the halfway point, we had to get down safely. The toughest part would be that stream.
Should We Include A Side Trip?
The trip down included interesting exchanges with eighteen single or paired hikers headed up. “Cross low,” I told them about the stream. I winced when I spotted a snake slithering across the trail in front of me. Fortunately, Ajax was exploring something behind me and didn’t see it.
There was also the issue of crossing Museum Creek again. We heard running water before we saw it. And twenty paces from it, Ajax came to an abrupt halt. Did he remember the first time? Could I coax him across again? I gave him another water and food break (lucky dog!) He’d done it before; could he do it again?
In order to make good decisions about this stream crossing, I had to look for an alternate route. Ajax succeeded with his second stream crossing at 10:30 a.m.
With a little coaxing, he scampered right across the stream, choosing his own way, reminding me of the pair of mountain goats I’d spotted on Dirtybox Peak situated between Mailbox and Dirty Harry’s Peak. Relieved and feeling invincible, I searched for the north turnoff for Dirty Harry’s Museum.
Dirty Harry’s Museum
There is no sign for the “entry” into the woods like there is for the trail itself. A small rock cairn sits on a large boulder directly across from a dark narrow opening in the trees. And once you enter the opening and head steeply upward, there are bright ribbons marking the way.
Ajax followed me for several minutes until the trail met the stream and opened up to Harry Gault’s rusty truck. I’ve only visited this particular destination once before, so we took a few minutes to explore the truck before heading down in earnest.
Harry Gault’s truck, what is known as Dirty Harry’s Museum.
Make Good Decisions: When Enough Is Enough
Once we returned to Dirty Harry’s Balcony around 11:15, I stopped for Ajax to have the rest of his kibble. I could tell his energy after visiting all three destinations. I paused to enjoy birdsong and chatted with another hiker until it looked like Ajax was ready. Only two miles to go! I estimated that keeping on our pace, we’d reach the car by 12:30.
But my pooped pup had had more than enough. A mile from the car he plopped down and wouldn’t go any farther. I considered carrying him but I knew that would just result in both of us being exhausted. So instead, I pulled out my sit pad, found a good rest spot, and let him take a brief nap.
No. More. Momma. When Ajax plops down and refuses to go on, I know he’s reached his limit, much like I did on Mt. Wrightson. In order to make good decisions, consider all in your party. I knew all we could do is take a break.
After a fifteen-minute break, he’d stopped panting, but he still lagged behind me. I finally secured his leash to his harness and coaxed him down to the car. He’d clearly reached his max.
Takeaways
As we head into summer, some of my top takeaways from this experience include the following tips:
Consider all party members’ strengths and weaknesses. I plan early morning trips so Ajax will be more comfortable. And if the forecast is for temperatures much above 75 degrees Fahrenheit, we stay local.
Choose destinations wisely. Granite Mountain and Dirty Harry’s Peak are two trails I’ve decided are best done with Ajax in the fall or spring when there is plenty of snowmelt or cooler temperatures from shade and cloud cover.
Consider destinations with rivers or lakes to cool off when it gets hot.
Study trip reports on such websites as Washington Trails Association to learn about conditions ahead of time. Knowing the stream was running high helped me be prepared both with a stick and with alternatives.
Be okay with changing the destination – go farther or shorten the trip depending on party preparation.
Listen to your party members, canine or human. If they show signs of needing a break, provide one. Pressing on may only make matters worse.
Indian paintbrush.
What top takeaways can you share about any of your recent learning experiences in the mountains? Share them in the comments so we can all benefit.
