[tommytownsend]

August is time for the annual gathering of families for multi day schlepping through the woods with our combined broods. What once began as 1-2 mile overnight romps with giddy 3 and 4 years olds morphed over the years into unwieldy week long family therapy sessions. “Toughen up dork” became the motto as we prodded their quivering pack laden frames up gentle slopes such as Greywolf Pass and Buttermilk basin. The welps were fed meager scraps and the occasional stale gummy bear, their complaints met with empty stares. Predictably they grew into surly adolescents so we allowed the occasional peer to join us, some did well but none returned for a second time. When the first turned 18 an illusion of free will was introduced to entice attendance, but eventually college schedules, minimum wage jobs, can’t miss concerts, soft beds, toilets and “friends” proved too powerful a draw; our numbers declined. This years trek was, as usual, laid out by our leader The Goat. The son of a pastor he long ago shed established religious dogma but carries on a ministry of sorts. Marc’s Church of The Sweltering Trail. That he is a zealot is beyond dispute, but the sanctuary is divine, the sermons brief, the choir populated by birds and marmots and the congregation delightful so the faithful return. Recently Lucifer has a hand in our gatherings: summer fires have become a persistence issue, odd that we didn’t have a problem with this ten years ago, for a Chinese hoax this climate change thing is beginning to feel real. A pilgrimage from White Pine to Chatter Creek was decreed. And so it was that The Most Reverend Goat dropped off an advanced party composed of his wife and daughter (behind every great man) two dogs (spirit guides) and three day hiker/future church members at the trailhead so that they could reach the first camp before the dark angel had his way (104° forecast in Leavenworth). We met at Coles Corner and with the help of my mate set the shuttle.

The 3 miles to camp was an uneventful but hot and the burdens of the porters (The Goat is both shepherd and martyr) heavy. My boy plodded along without complain, stopping only when I asked how his heels felt, “They sting” and low his wounds were bound with mole skin.

If you meet an Ethiopian in the woods there's a good chance the Goat had something to do with it.

Horse fly free zone.

Mela cooling off

When it comes to hammock time all species are welcome

Sloth has long been my favorite of the seven deadly sins and camp one hosted an orgy of lassitude. The dust and flies commingled and swarmed in the mid day heat. Clouds the dog snapped at and occasionally ingested horse flies. If you want to get to heaven….

time to make our way to the alpine zone

these sappy cones were everywhere

Time to head uphill

An alpine start was easily orchestrated on day 2. While we missed the older teens they were impossible to get going in the early morning, the two 15 year olds were effortless by comparison. Is it because they are the 2nd born or simply higher beings?

flowers had peaked for the most part.

things are heating up

The hike to Grace Lakes involved more suffering. After taking a left at the sign posts the faithful were tested by the angle of the climb and a sun that scorched brows and tested wills. Our Queen grew quiet, a migraine seemed inevitable. The teens slowed, a sit down strike loomed, alas I had no gummy bears to urge them on. The Goat was far ahead, surely we were abandoned. But ours is a merciful lord and the trials soon ended, the path leveled and a patch of snow cooled fevered brows. We began a downward descent to two beckoning lakes. Nirvana, Paradise, Heaven, Valhalla? Choose your favored name.

Grace Lakes, aka alpine nirvana

Appears to be a coleoptera of the freaky genus

Mela's breaststroke is well known in the city swim club circuit. However this is the most exclusive venue she's competed at.

Grace Lakes garner a cursory mention in the Book of Alpine Lakes. The prophet Harvey gives directions but no qualifying words. But secrets are hard to keep in the digital age, I’ll let the images do the talking.

The rising college freshmen crushed our approach time. One of them is hung over, it's not too obvious is it?

The son of the goat and our Queen has been an ever present figure in the family trips. Trickster, chatter box and incessant negotiator he devised a plan that allowed him maximum city time while fulfilling the his role as first born and heir to the hooved throne. After a night of revelry he and his companion accomplished in a few hours that which took their elders and day and a half. Through the help of a new minor deity, Gaia of the smart phone, they appeared in the early evening fulfilling prophecy and proving their doubters wrong.

Cut throat harvest

Day Three was a set aside for rest, day hikes were had, distant lakes visited, fish slade and devoured, baptisms conducted. And it was good.

Welcomed marine flow

Hard to leave this place.

If there's a lower maintanance travel partner than this lad I have yet to hike with them.

On day four we bid fair well to the older teens, the heir had committed to the Trojans and had promises to keep and parties to attend before he departed to pursue his future in the new Babylon, Los Angeles.

Seems like a sweet place for a golf course. You'll need roll bars on that cart.

Lake Mary and yes there was a chill in the air

About 18 hours of bluster visited the camp, Clouds knows how to wait out weather.

The Queen has a modest throne

Our trek to Frosty Pass while not frosty was cool compared to our last travel day. The distance was not far and the berries abundant, we gazed down on Lakes Margaret and Mary. Our arrival in each new basin announced by a chorus of marmot. Above a minor tempest brewed, winds gusted, clouds hurried past. TMR Goat was keen to visit Alice, drawn as was his like to remote places unserviced by trails. But the hoard knew well of his ambitions and the cruel fate that was visited on those that followed him past the easy camps, across talus and through alder to places long abandoned. We choose instead a protected spot with relics suggesting a hunters camp. The auricle Gaia was consulted and it was revealed that the name of the place was Spanish Creek Camp. Perhaps it was Moors that settled this place or infidels with another name. The chill in the air tempted us to put to use the fire ring. Dry fuel was everywhere and it beckoned us to set it ablaze and warm our bodies and spirits. But alas a burn ban was in effect, passions were stifled and early slumber had by all.

The only hiker who could keep up with the goat.

Little know fact but my attorney informs me that there's cell reception here. Finally a chance to catch up on text messages.

The sleep that followed was made fitful by gusts and a brief rain that buffeted our shelters. We awoke to gentler skies. Lake Edna was a short walk away, The goat had planned on one last night but was laid low when his flock leapt at the chance to hike to the trailhead instead. A scramble up Cape Horn reminded some of the tenuous nature of our mortality and the descent through the alpine zone to the hazy apocalypse of the Icicle drainage made hearts swell in the recollection of the pure air we a breathed hours before.

And so it came to pass that we braved the descent of Chatter Creek and packed humans, canines and possessions into the waiting coach. Dinner was had in the hamlet of Leavenworth, our eyes burned in the thick smoke, the handiwork of demonic forces. We returned renewed by our time together in a sanctuary from these troubled times. Amen.

[MtnGoat]

A worthy and epic epistle.

[raising3hikers]

those fish look good in the fryingpan

[Brushwork]

Nice trip report! Those must have been some heavy packs, with the fry pans and camp chairs. Really nice to have once you're there...

[HitTheTrail]

Looks like a fun trip supported by full comfort gear through one of my favorite areas. Just a friendly tip..you may have one of your lakes mis-labelled.

[cascadetraverser]

Thats quite a tale you`ve told Tom; given me too much credit, but Thanks! Very nice family outing that went very well despite heat, flies, haze and rain! For those interested the route to Lake Alice is a bit of work. From Spanish Creek Camp (in the large basin below Ladies pass), head toward the lake and skirt below (not across) the steep scree fields beneath the cliffs off Cape Horn and then hit a thick troublesome forest full of blowdowns and head up to the lake. There is an old trail that peaks out now and then but is buried in blowdown toward the end. The lake is pretty and has a camp site but honestly Spanish creek camp is nicer...

[cascadetraverser]

HTT: You are right, that is Upper Lake Florence, not Lake Mary...