[l]

**Warning** Post contains some personal info that may not interest every (any?) one. Karen’s thoughtful ‘musing’ had me sifting through my stuff for something relevant to this thread. The following was written to a friend in Vermont who lived on the Peninsula for nine years. Christmas morning, 2003: “Oh no, Robert Wood died.” These somber words came from Jan while reading the paper at our dining room table; I was on the computer. I quickly circled behind her to read along. Beside the three-column article sat Wood’s picture. I’ve seen different photos of him before and each has been of an elderly man. This one revealed an even older visage – gray, receding hair above dark sunken eyes with a rather serious look in them. As I would shortly learn, I mistook serious for ill. Wood suffered from Parkinson’s during his final years. He died in a nursing home at age 78. Other facts mentioned in the writing: A lifelong bachelor, Wood worked as a court reporter in Seattle; he summited Olympus 18 times and helped pioneer climbing routes in the Needles; Wood penned 4 books on the Park (I have all of them), his most famous, Olympic Mountains Trail Guide wasn’t released until 1984. This last disclosure surprised me. At the time – fall of ’84 - I didn’t realize I had purchased a newly published guidebook. I finished reading the article and returned to the computer feeling a little uneasy and detached. Whatever bothered me was put on hold. After responding to an e-mail I began packing. Snacks, firewood, chair, lantern, camera, etc., were tossed in the car. John and Sha were coming over for dinner and I needed to burn about four hours. At 2:00 I slid behind the wheel and started the engine before realizing I forgot to bring reading material. I ran back in the house, snatched Wood’s book on the O’Neil Expedition and drove away. Elwha Campground was empty as I pulled in next to the shelter. After starting a fire I walked along the tiny creek, snapping pics with the tripod. I exposed one last frame from the bridge then stood there awhile, thankful to once again have the Park to myself. Yet, strangely, after all these years, I still can't say exactly why I covet the solitude. By the time I ducked back under the shelter my can of soup was boiling over and the sun had set. I balanced the lantern on the tripod, kicked my feet up on the hearth and started reading. Couldn’t make it past the first page. For some reason all the words appeared blurry. I guess that’s what happens when a book sits unopened for too long. Or maybe it was because I finally came clean and acknowledged what troubled me in the morning. Sharing a common passion builds strong bonds and I needed time and space to sort through my feelings. I set the book down and began daydreaming. The best way to explain my thoughts is by going back to the beginning, back to March of 1984. As you know, Stevie, when Jan and I made our great escape to the Peninsula it wasn’t under the spell of some romantic odyssey. No, we were desperate. And broke and clueless, but soooo relieved to be somewhere else. That month-long timeout on Rialto Beach helped us in more ways than I could possibly know. There’s no telling what might have happened to us without it. In the relative comfort of our current lives it’s easy to forget the worst of those days. For purposes of this letter, I’ll stick to the positives. After getting financially stable, we were free to investigate our new world. And such a place to explore! I clearly recall the day I purchased Wood’s book at Brown’s, probably in September. Up till then Jan and I were familiar only with Rialto and bits of the Hoh, Hurricane Ridge and the Elwha. I was eager to learn more about ONP and was sure I hit the jackpot with “Olympic Mountains Trail Guide.” Fresh off my resignation at Payless (the nerve, grooming me to be store manager!) I had plenty of time to hike. Turns out my hiatus lasted nearly 3 years and boy did I make the most of it. Like snakes shedding their skin, people live certain lives for a time then slither into others. Mine during the mid 80’s was unforgettable. As I write this I can see myself in that small, moldy cavern on Whidbey Avenue with nose buried in Wood’s book, plotting my next adventure. I’d scrawl some notes about mileages and must-sees, stuff it into the pack with a bag of peanuts, two slices of bread and an apple then wait for good weather. There’s no need to elaborate on the joys of experiencing a new area in the Park – you know the deal. After each outing I couldn’t wait to get home and review my impressions with Wood’s. I became so versed in his book that I was familiar with at least something in every single entry. Today I rarely consult the trail guide. But that’ll change as time chips away at my memory. I always hoped that someday Robert and I would cross paths somewhere in the Olympics. Not an unreasonable desire when you consider how many miles I’ve logged over the years. I’m convinced we were near each other on a few occasions. I used to fantasize about meeting up at a backcountry campsite, chatting the night away over a crackling fire. We spent hours batting hikes back and forth; I knew his favorites, most were my own. I complimented him on the Press Expedition book; he liked my minimalist approach. “Mr. Wood, all your writings are so well researched and precise – a result from years as a court reporter?” But not all was a lovefest. I’d nail him for being so vague about the Bailey Range. “Come on, four pages about some easily followed trail and just a couple on the traverse from hell?” Denials at first but I kept scratching until the truth came out. To begin with, I gave fair warning in the intro – neophytes need not apply. There are hundreds of miles of established trails in the Park to cut your teeth on before trying a cross-country route. If every single area in these mountains was accessible by trail, what would happen to our sense of wonder, the need for adventure? And Jim, didn’t you just tell me how much you cherished solitude and challenge? Fair enough, Bob, but someday, dammit, I’m still going post a website on the Net with a detailed account of the Baileys. In July of 1999, Wood hiked for the last time in Olympic National Park. Frail and accompanied by a long-time friend, he managed to make the top of Hurricane Hill. Quoting the article: “The disease had turned Wood’s walk into more of a shuffle,” Tonne said. But that day he reached his destination before growing so exhausted that Tonne had to assist him on the return trip. “That’s the kind of man he was,” Tonne said. “He had the guts.” It’s no surprise Mr. Wood chose Hurricane Ridge for a final view of his beloved Olympics. If it was my good-bye, I’d too want to see Olympus and the Bailey Range. And I don’t think it’s any coincidence that they’re the last hikes written about in their respective sections of his trail book. By 6:30 I doused the fire and loaded the car. While driving back I was still on such a mental high that I stopped off to photo Swain’s neon sign and other decorations around town. Finally arrived home 7 hours after leaving, got the dinner scoop from Jan and retired to my room. I wanted to re-read the article on Wood so I pulled the folded paper from my File of Important Documents (a 12 year old cardboard coffee box from ARC Vending. Who needs your stinkin’ asbestos!). I soon realized I missed one small but notable fact this morning. He didn’t pass away on Christmas Eve as I had assumed. Robert L. Wood died December 21st, the last day of autumn - his favorite hiking season. Mine too. “The attractions of the Bailey Range are varied, and they lure and seduce the dedicated backpacker. The mountains are quiet and peaceful, the stillness broken infrequently by the wind, the whistles of marmots, or the barking of coyotes. At times the peaks are awash in brilliant sunshine; more often, however, fog drifts across the ridges to create eerie patterns among the peaks and crags. Rock, snow and ice dominate near the crest, but lower down the meadows shelter cold, blue lakes and brooks that flow from sun-cupped snowfields. Bees buzz in the heather, hawks soar overhead, and elk and bear roam the upland. This is the backbone of the wilderness Olympics, where from high vantage points the mountains appear to circle upon themselves, ridges and canyons extending for miles in every direction.”

[Karen]

Shacknasty Jim, That was beautiful. There will never be another one like Robert Wood. Our paths never crossed either except once when he put on a slide-show at the Mountaineers. The spiffy Gore-tex/pile-adorned audience was a little put-off by Wood as his slides were old-fashioned and he had an old-fashioned projector. None of that detracted from the beauty of the Olympics that Wood camptured, despite the "out-dated" equipment he used. It bothered me -- and perhaps I am mistaken but I always had the feeling that he was co-erced to do that final edition of his book. That must have been difficult for him in those years of old age and illness. I hope it was something he wanted to do. Karen

[Jeff R]

Jim, Great read on Mountains, People, and life changing experiences.

[l]

Karen and Jeff, thanks for your nice comments. Karen, I'm aware of Wood's presentation you attended. I have a hunch that Robert wasn't comfortable as a focal point or even mingling in social circles. Many of us can relate to that. His love of the Olympics is what drew me to his book. He strongly believed they are a wilderness apart from any other in the lower 48. I agree, just as many on this board consider the Cascades a special place. As mentioned, I never met Mr. Wood, but I've spoken with some of his gang. Here's an example: About 20 years ago, I was returning from a trip up to Blue Glacier when I crossed paths with three elderly men near Happy Four. All were carrying daypacks and leaning heavily on well-worn walking sticks. We exchanged the usual trail greetings and questions about where I’d been and where they were headed. “We’re going to the Olympus Ranger Station,” one of them said. Of course I couldn’t help but point out that it was rather late in the day and their destination was unrealistic. Well, it turned out that, back in the 30’s, these men helped build the very trail I had hiked the previous four days. Their pack horses arrived during our conversation. I quickly switched from teacher to student and tried to pick their memories for as much information as possible. And they kindly accommodated. Just before parting, I asked if they didn’t think that the Five Mile Slough was the nicest place to be found along the entire Hoh. The oldest of the three smiled at his friends, tapped his stick twice on the ground, raised it and slowly drew its point across the breadth of the valley, then said, “Sonny, it’s all nice.”

[Karen]

Shacknasty Jim, Yes, I agree ... I don't think Wood was as comfortable in social situations as he was in the mountains. I can certainly relate to that. I do attend social situations from time to time but feel much more at ease in the outdoors than I do around people. I loved your account of running into the guys that built the trail. What a privilege to meet them and talk to them. The Olympics have a different feel to them than the Cascades. If it were easier for me to get to the Olympics, I'd spend more time there than in the Cascades. As it is, the Cascades are much closer and that is where I spend much of my hiking time. Back in the 1980s I got to know Harold Engles, who was the Darrington District Ranger for many years (first ascent, Three Fingers, with Harry Bedal). I got to know him well enough that I was given a standing invitation to drop by any time to visit him and his wife, Anna Mae, at their home near the base of Whitehorse Mountain. I was content to sit in their living room (with the view of Whitehorse) and just LISTEN. I have a copy of a piece that Dee Molenaar wrote about a private climb in the Cascades in which Harold and others were a part. Phil Dickert was also with them, I believe. I had to promise him (Harold) that I would never publish the piece and I have kept my word. Every once in a while I get the piece out and enjoy it -- it is a wonderful description of these aging legends on one of their frolics in the mountains, full of pathos and humor. Harold had a fellow he climbed with well into their 80s. Harold and I had planned a 3-day trip to Three Fingers with his friend but his friend didn't want me coming along (I don't know who the person was) but the feeling was, according to Harry, was that I wasn't old enough to accompany them so I bowed out. I joked with Harry that that was probably the last time that anyone would tell me I was too young for anything. Don't know about you but occasionally I run into someone who is much older than me (how is that possible?) and in good condition, still scrambling, hiking, climbing and I often want to stop them and ask them who they are but am usually too shy. I did run into an "older" couple on Sauk Mountain a couple years ago and did get the courage to ask if he was "Fred Darvill" and indeed, it was. I hiked with him and his wife that day to the summit and had a great visit with them. Karen

[Karen]

Correction .... I wouldn't "publish" it anyway, it's not my right. Sorry for the bad choice of words. Karen

[l]

Wood, Molenaar, Bedal, Spring, Manning, Marshall, et al. Did you ever consider yourself part of that club? By that I mean, having invested enough time in the Cascades and Olys accumulating the knowledge to acquire 'hand' as my father would say. I remember first reading your stories and reports in Pack&Paddle. Occasionally I'd notice an article in newspapers and other publications. It's evident to me you're a club member. BTW, I'm the treasurer of that club (but not a member) and noticed you haven't paid your dues. They've recently increased so you currnetly owe $300 in back payments and $10 for this month. We only accept cash.

[Karen]

Shacknasty Jim, I never met Bedal. He died before my time but I wished I had known him. One of my favorites hikes is Bedal Basin where you can still find remains of his cabin from years back. Molenaar? I never hiked with him or knew him well. I knew of him long before he had ever heard of me and I was surprised once when he knew who I was. Manning I've never met face to face but we've corresponded a few times over the years (we were never at odds). And once a brief correspondence with Wood. From P&P (Signpost) the person I knew "best" was Ann Marshall, daughter of Louise. I wish Ann had been able to keep Pack and Paddle going because there's never been anything equal to Signpost/Pack and Paddle. Too bad. As for Louise we met a couple times in the early 1980s and I was in total awe of her, practically tongue-tied. So, in short, I hardly feel that I am part of that club. Just standing at the window looking in and waving from time to time. Karen

[Dean]

Karen mentioned that she never met Dee Molenaar or hiked with him. I crossed paths with Dee and his son as I was descending from Mt. Rainier many years ago. His son was with him (name?) and we had a nice but short visit as he was taking his son up to Camp Muir.

I did spend a week with Ira Spring which will always be priceless to me. These are the Elders of the tribe, men who made a huge difference to the northwest in so many ways.

[salish]

[Dean]

Cliff

[polarbear]

Shack, have you read An Ice Axe, a Camera, and a Jar of Peanut Butter by Ira Spring. Lots of interesting tidbits there on the Olympics.