[Larry]

Short Chutes and Staghorn Lichen at Moonshine Flats February 2-3 The weather was clearing and stabilizing into a rare North Pacific high pressure situation, and the barometer was rising, so I shoved the Karhu Kodiaks and the comfortable old Snowpines into the Old Beater. I pushed the accelerator pedal down, commanding the full fury of 84 horsepower, and motored west out of the Puget Sound basin toward Aberdeen. I couldn't help but feel the usual lifting of stresses that I hadn't even been aware of in Megalopolis. Cruising down the neo-Pleistocene glacial drain of Skookum Creek, I could almost picture the ice that once covered the area, and the resulting flow into the piedmonts and eskers of the lower Chehalis Valley. At one time only a couple of generations ago, this whole area was covered with ancient forests of massive trees, measured as the largest biomass per acre on Earth. Even the current fourth generation of timber is impressive in its ability to regenerate. I was steering through patchy fog and blue skies, listening to cranked-up Peruvian flute music as a buffer, towards the Quinault Valley, which would push me right back into the most ancient of ancients...one of the few remaining areas of intact Temperate Rain Forest in the world. Olympic National Park is part of the largest of these types of systems. There are also some remnants on the southern coast of Chile and in southern New Zealand. Scotland used to have a small preserve of temperate rain forest, but it is now gone through logging. Rising above the south edge of the rain forest realm of the lower Quinault Valley is the Colonel Bob Wilderness, a mini-massif of only a few miles in breadth, rising to a very modest elevation of 4492 feet. However, being only 25 air miles from tidewater, and rising so abruptly out of the green mists of the valley floor, the slopes are an incredibly efficient moisture trap, with a resulting snowpack that can be massive indeed. I parked to stretch my legs by the Big Tree Grove near Lake Quinault, which happens to harbor two of the largest trees for their particular species on Earth -- a Sitka Spruce that is 24 feet in diameter and a Douglas Fir that is 14 feet in diameter and not quite 300 feet tall. Interspersed among these particular giants are thousands of near-record trees, along with an understory of incredible biological diversity. I took the short loop trail through this showcase, breathing the purified air, watching the mist from my breath condense on the moss, following the slow trail of a banana slug through the thick loam, and acknowledging the spirit of the Gothic towers reaching powerfully into the sky. I turned into the Ewell's Creek Trail just past the hanging valley waterfall of Merriman Creek Falls. The parking area was basically a moss carpet surrounded by more huge trees. Of course, there was no one here, so I just listened to some quiet strains from Handel’s Water Music (shh...don't want to crank up the music here) as I packed the skis and bivy gear into my overnight pack. A Downey Woodpecker tapped on a nearby snag, beating out a staccato rhythm. I then started up the endless switchbacks of the hillside. This is an exceptionally beautiful trail that contours the 25 to 30 degree slope that is filled with enormous trees. I just took my time, gaining elevation steadily through this tilted cathedral. After about three hours of almost Zen-like traveling, I was bumped back to reality as I simultaneously broke out the fog, and broke into the first subalpine meadows. The snow started here, and was in wonderful shape for traveling without skis. As I wound my way up to a pass, the new snow got a bit deeper, and the trees progressively started to change in size and species. I drank and filled my water bottle at an open creek, and then cranked a hard left to climb into the basin of Moonshine Flats on skis and skins. The beautiful subalpine meadows of Moonshine Flats lie directly below the summit towers of Colonel Bob. In the summer it is always a pleasant surprise to be among the alpine wildflowers such as Heather and Partridgefoot and Shooting Stars at this relatively low elevation. The bubbling rivulets spin along, making little gurgling noises. Frogs jump like joyful maniacs, doing perfect bellyflops into the flower-lined stream. The wind makes a sighing tone as it wafts through the stunted trees. A feeling of mystery is in the air. In July, the summit is covered with a brilliant carpet of purple Penstemons. I took off the skins, wiped the sweat off my face, donned sunglasses, and glided across the small rolling meadow, with the Silver Firs shining in the brilliant sun, the white bark set against a deep blue sky. The pale banners of Staghorn Lichen contrasted with the deep green mosses, and the reddish basalt outcrops of the horseshoe shaped headwall outlined various enticing ski chutes through the trees, ready for my edges. The sun was warm on my back as I set up my bivy camp near a Bonsai hemlock. I took the "long way around" to gain a gentle ridge to the top of the crest, soaking up the wonderful view of the Quinault Valley. The vertical relief was stunning, and Mike's Spike showed its rapier tower along the ridge toward Baldy. Gibson Peak and Moonlight Dome displayed orange basalt summits in the sunset. The omnipresent Mount Olympus penetrated the ozone beyond Higley Peak. Lake Quinault showed off its eastern half as a blue mirror in the waning light. As the sun sank, the Pacific Ocean reflected back to my eyes as a brilliant thin slash on the western horizon. It was as quiet as can be. I pointed my skis toward the blue shadows of the camp in the basin, dropped into the line, and zagged down the short but perfect little chute, whizzing past the lichen banners and carefully turning past the whalebacks of black rock. Although there were only about 20 turns to be had on this one little run, the sheer quality of the surrounding beauty, the great snow, and the "deafening quiet" made this one of the better runs you could ever ask for. I went to sleep under the wheeling stars, with the Andromeda Galaxy rising with Orion in the southeast sky, knowing that tomorrow morning I had some pressing decisions...should I have one cup of coffee, or two...and, more importantly, which chutes should I choose next?

[rubberlegs]

Larry, your gifted writing style is refreshing, uplifting, wonderful, inspiring. Keep 'em coming!

[Quark]

rubberlegs, you're just saying that because I said it first, about Larry's Heather Park report. Copycat! You secretly wish to be me. Everyone does, and I know that. It's okay though - I'm used to it. On the other hand, you could have complimented Larry because you mean it.

[Larry]

[rubberlegs]

Larry, I will deal with this copycat issue with Quark on Friday evening. There will be no more of this elementary particularly quirky Quarkian issues, which are bombarding this board. Despite the fact that my compliment came after Quark's on NWhikers, I was travelling across the Olympics beyond the speed of light, thus compressing time such that my compliment preceded Quark's compliment, which makes Quark's compliment a copycat. I'll leave the calculations as an exercise for the gentle reader. And let it be known: there can only be one Quark, and nobody can aspire to be like Quark, not even a partical of Quark (which most physicists call a "moron").

[Captain Trips]

Hey Larry, I noticed your Western locale. Wondering if you have ever been on Anderson Butte, the old fire lookout ? My dad helped build the lookout some time back and I plan to visit the butte for family foto history. For that matter, I've always been interested in the over land route from Pyrites Creek in the Enchanted valley to Martens park and Mt Christie. Have you tried this route, described in Wood's Olympic trail guide ? Drock

[Larry]

[Larry]

[McPilchuck]

Muncaster Basin: http://www.alpinequest.com/muncaster.htm for other related Olympic teks: http://www.alpinequest.com/olympicmtnspage.htm McPil

[McPilchuck]

For further reading of Larry's wonderful Olympic Mtns. stories see: http://www.alpinequest.com/olympicmtnstreks.htm McPil