Age and Altitude

That's where I'm going ...

A year ago my son/daughter-in-law hiked some in the Eagle Cap Wilderness in the Wallowa Mountains of eastern Oregon. When I saw their photos, I began to make plans. Conveniently, my son and d-in-law bought a house and needed some furniture that we were storing for them ... so I volunteered to drive a truckload of furniture from Mississippi to Oregon. 

After taking care of the furniture I made my way from Western Oregon back to Eastern Oregon near Enterprise and Joseph in the Wallowa Mountains. I arrived just after the middle of the afternoon in time to go to Terminal Gravity Brewery in Enterprise for a brew and a salmon burger. After checking out the Wallowa Lake Park, I drove to the trailhead and picked up a registration tag to complete and save time the next morning.

There may have been more signs I missed

My plan was to sleep in my car at the trailhead to save both time and money. Fortunately, my rental car had a passenger seat that slid far back and reclined sufficiently to get reasonably comfortable for the night. The forecast was for 45º weather, so I just covered with my quilt from my kit and went quickly to sleep.

I woke up about 5 o'clock and by the time I had changed clothes, checked my pack, loaded up, locked my car, and relaced my boots, it was 5:30. I turned on my headlamp and headed up the trail, stopping to put my registration paper in the box. I had studied my topo maps and looked at Google Earth so much that I was pretty familiar with the trail, and even in the dark, felt confident that I was headed up beside Adam Creek. The trail description on http://www.oregonhikers.org/field_guide/Ice_Lake_Hike says that you will be hiking through "a forest canopy of Douglas-fir, Engelmann spruce, and western larch with ponderosa pine, western white pine, and grand fir." I took their word for it, because, at 5:30 AM in that canyon it was pitch dark outside the reach of my headlight beam. When I got to the first fork I knew to stay left, having read the trail descriptions for a year.

Typical trail

That lower part of the trail is a mess because it is frequented by backpackers, day-hikers, and horse-packers. Most of the time I didn't get to do much looking around with my headlamp because I was studying where my feet were about to go, not only to keep from tripping over the abundant rocks, but also to keep from stepping in piles and piles of horse poop ... did I say piles and piles (yes, I did). I spent the first 3.5 hours cursing the horse people and their messy animals, and, after starting the relentless uphill portion, I spent the last 3.5 hours wishing I were a horse person.

At about 2.5 miles, the Ice Lake Trail (#1808) peels off right, crosses a log bridge, and begins the ascent to Ice Lake. About the time I got to the bridge I was able to turn off my headlamp and continue on with the available light of the rising sun. It would be a while before there was actual sunshine in the canyon, but there was plenty of ambient light to hike the trail. The trail from the beginning was pretty dusty with the red dirt common in that area. Not long after "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.." - Henry David Thoreau"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.." - Henry David Thoreaucrossing the bridge the trail begins seven switchbacks that are shorter than the higher set of switchbacks. That's because when the trail bends around the mountain to the south, there is a deep canyon of cascades and waterfalls on Adam Creek.

The "new" log bridge

I was pretty tired when I got through the lower set of switchbacks and I grumbled at the people who had made shortcut "suicides" to connect the levels of the switchbacks. One of my pet peeves is the idea that people care so little about the trail maintenance and wilderness ecology that they just want to make their hike quicker, so they leap off the trail and cut straight down the mountain, opening a steep section where the rains and snow-melts are going to wash out the mountainside and create more work for the trail maintainers. I can understand children running ahead on the downward sections and thinking that it would be cool to make a shortcut, but I cannot understand an adult person's total disregard for the LNT ethos.

One of Adam Creek's falls

There was much less horse poop on this upper section of the trail, meaning that either, by this time, the horses were all pooped out (which, judging by the amount of horse shit on the lower sections, was a real possibility), or the horse people had continued up the West Fork Wallowa Trail and not headed up to Ice Lake. Anyway, I had much less poop to avoid when I was hiking this section. I was grateful for small things ...

Near the top of the seven lower switchbacks was evidence of a forest fire that had charred several hundred trees. I haven't had much experience with forest fires up close, so I can't accurately judge how may months or years prior had there been a fire. It didn't appear to be a really large burn area--compared to what we're seeing on the news these days, so either it was a lightening strike fire that had been followed by a hard  rain extinguishing the flames, or the fire crew had caught it early and put it out. It was probably only a couple of acres.

A beautiful trail

After the seven lower switchbacks and some cliff-side photo ops of the several falls on Adam Creek, the trail traversed--still climbing, mind you--across a meadow and through a couple of washed out ravines (Zig-zag in miniature). This meadow crossing was a nice respite from the switchbacks, but still continued on uphill. The meadow trail is something that I had seen on the Google Earth capture of #1808, so I knew I wasn't anywhere near the top.

And, at this point let me make it very clear that from the time the trail crossed the log bridge, it was unrelentingly uphill. I don't mean mostly uphill; I mean it was 100% an uphill climb. The trailhead is about 4500' in elevation and the lake where I was headed is 7900' in elevation. That's almost a 4K feet elevation gain (I figured I'd do the math for some English majors who might be reading this). I wish I knew the elevation at the log bridge over Adam Creek, but the trail from that point does not have even a short downhill stretch ... nor even a level stretch that I remember. It. Is. Uphill.

A burned out area along the trail

Not only were these 70-year old legs trying to carry about 38 lbs of gear, but trying to carry the gear constantly uphill, and at an altitude I rarely see. I think my home is about 300 ft in elevation, but the highest point in Mississippi (Woodall Mtn ... mountain?) is only 600 ft above sea level. I get over in the Georgia mountains a couple of times a year, and I get to Mt Mitchell in North Carolina once a year--if I'm lucky; but I never get to 7K or 8K feet ... so, I was sucking for oxygen to get to these old muscles. I know I was barely making one mph going up that trail ... plus, I was stopping frequently to lean on my poles. Whenever I get in these situations where my legs are almost giving out I think of Stephen Katz's AT hike from the Bill Bryson book ... remember when he "flung" all of the food and heavy gear out of his pack? One of the reasons I like hiking with a hammock is that I can almost always find a couple of trees between which I can hang ... and, believe me, I was so tired that I constantly looked around for possibilities of hangs if I completely broke down on that climb to Ice Lake.

 

Aspens are gorgeous in the fall

After the meadow was crossed I began another set of switchbacks ... twelve this time. I fought up the twelve switchbacks singing "Amazing Grace" in my head ... Good grief!!! Where did that come from? (Maybe it was the part about "a wretch like me" that I was feeling at that altitude and distance ... or the part about "When we've been there 10,000 years ..." was what I was thinking .... ) Anyway, the slow 4/4 beat was about all I could muster going through those twelve switchbacks ... it was really hard, and every time I stopped to let some blood pump back into my legs I looked for places I could hang my hammock for the night. From the bridge to Ice Lake was actually the hardest hike I've ever done ... I actually began to doubt my ability to finish ... (am I sounding pitiful?)

... but then, I was getting to swichback nine ... then ten ... then eleven ... then twelve ... and finally the trail kind of plateaued and I knew that I was almost there. I find it hard to explain the relief and exhilaration I felt when I knew I was close. I had read enough trip reports to know that the lake sneaks up on you after the trail plateaus ... and it did. My energy picked up slightly and I began to think about where I would claim as a campsite. As Faulkner said, I had not only survived, I had prevailed!

First view of Ice Lake from trail #1808

When Ice Lake first came into view I stopped in the trail to take it all in. (I realize that if any of the hikers that frequent Ice Lake and the Eagle Cap Wilderness are reading this, they probably think I'm overly dramatic in my first view of the lake.) I have seen beautiful lakes and mountains in dozens of national parks and wildernesses, but I've never had such a hard time getting there, so this place took on an extra element of meaning. Interesting how that works, isn't it?

... and now to find a camping spot ... I had discussed with my son/daughter-in-law about where they camped. In the heat of the summer I probably would have found the shadiest spot I could find; but this was October and I wanted to be somewhere that the sun would shine on till the final moments of daylight. Instead of crossing the outlet and heading over to the popular peninsula, I veered up to the right (north) and went up from the level of the lake. 

My bedroom

Experienced hikers know that, at night, the cool air comes down from the high elevations and settles in the low spots. Consequently, when you're expecting cool/cold nights, you want to go up higher than the low spots of the camping areas. I found a couple of trees between which to hang my Blackbird XLC, but I was not overly thrilled with the whole campsite. I was so excited to be at Ice Lake that I settled for a view rather than looking around more for a really good campsite.

Log-jam at the outlet of Ice Lake

Shortly after getting my camp site organized I headed down to the lake for a couple of tasks: to get water and to soak my ankle (which I had rolled a couple of weeks prior). I sat on the log jam at the outlet of the lake and stuck my foot in the water. Yikes! I couldn't believe that liquid could be that cold. I could only endure the cold for 45 seconds or so and then I had to pull my foot out and let it warm in the sun. After soaking my ankle 10 or so times, I put my boot back on and went to another edge of the lake to filter some water. I collected a four-liter bag, and 750-ml hard bottle, and about two liters in the dirty water bag of my gravity system. I was pretty sure that would be enough for the next two days. The rest of the afternoon I putzed with my gear, took some photos, adjusted my hammock several times, and went through my food supply to think about supper.


I wasn't worried about bears in this area, but there were rodents, sheep, goats, deer, and probably an elk or two that would be into my food cache if given a chance. I found a limb on the old tree and tossed over a cord to hang my bag for the night. I knew deer could stand on their hind legs up to about eight feet, so I got it up about 12 feet above a little slope covered with scree (of course, critters that live in scree aren't slowed up by it like the two-legged critters).

I went back into some trees to set up my stove and I boiled water for supper, suddenly very hungry, realizing that I had only had a Snickers bar all day. Supper was pleasant ... mac-n-cheese, I think. It was delightful to be sitting in a spot looking down on Ice Lake after a hard climb. My cooking/eating area was not wonderful, but it was away from my sleeping area, which was a good arrangement. After supper I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and got ready to climb into my hammock. 

Afternoon at Ice Lake

I got out and adjusted my hammock straps on the tree a couple of time, unsatisfied with my hang. I finally realized that I had tied my hammock between two trees that were small enough to be pulled in by my weight. When that happened, my center line that held my netting up off my face drooped very low, so I didn't have much room in my hammock for all of the getting situated that I usually do. Finally, I got situated and comfortable and fell asleep ... until about 2:00 AM ... when I was awakened by a horrible smell of animal-produced methane ... a giant fart that wasn't mine! The smell was horrible and I could see out of my hammock enough to see shadows of deer/goats/sheep/whatever passing by to get to the lake for water. I had seen deer droppings all around where my hammock was hanging, but never thought that I was in a freeway to the water for creatures propelled by methane.

The smell finally dissipated and I fell back to sleep only to be awakened a short time later by another breath-taking (and not in a good way) smell. Well, this was certainly a new experience for me and I guess I deserved it by hanging my hammock in a deer trail from mountaintop to water.

Good karma with an old tree skeleton

I woke before daylight, but drifted in and out until the sun peeked over the eastern ridge line and began to warm up. After an oatmeal breakfast I determined to move my campsite to a better location with bigger trees and one that was not in the methane highway. About 50 yards up the hill I spotted the sun-bleached skeleton of an old tree and the perfect campsite. The tree provided more than enough hooks for my gear to hang and a breeze-blocking space in which to cook. After a little analysis I found a larger tree and a solid stump between which to hang my bed. It didn't take me long to move my camp to the campsite I should have found the day before. 

When my son/d-in-law had been up at Ice Lake the previous October they climbed up to the top of Matterhorn and either on the way up or the way down had stopped on a rock bump to sun and eat lunch. I had determined that it was the perfect vantage point to see the whole lake ... and certainly do-able for an old man. I wasn't disappointed ... the trail up was a bit of a scramble, but the reward was enormous!

I had a powerbar and a drink and made a couple of videos and took lots of photos. Wow!

Ice Lake from up on the western slope

When I got back to my campsite I had a tortilla and some peanut butter and continued to be awed by the beauty of that area. In the spirit of old age, I decided to take a nap--but only a short one--to rest my tired bones from the previous day's pull uphill. After my power-nap I putzed with my gear a little and then decided to hike over to the peninsula to see where most people camp. There had to be at least 30-40 campsites over that and a few fire rings (even though fires are prohibited). Most trip reports say that, during the summer months, the campsites are full and late-comers search to find spaces to camp. On this day there was only one tent for a couple of backpackers who were fishing around the lake's edge as I walked over. The campsites on the peninsula were spectacular, but I was glad I was there at a time when I had the place pretty much to myself.

By the time I got back to my big tree the sun was setting to the south of Montezuma and the western slopes were already in the shade. One of the treats about hiking in the western mountains--as opposed to the Appalachians where I usually hike--is the mornings and afternoons when the sun has some of the terrain in the shade and some catching the bright rays. I still remember sitting with my son on the edges of the Grand Canyon watching the sun set and all of the changing shadows ... but that was only 30 years ago ...



After supper I fixed a cup of decaf and leaned back against the old tree and just watched the sun set over the top of the western peaks. Feeling much better about the quality of my hang I put on my long-johns and snuggled in under my Warbonnet Mamba quilt. 

Looks like a turkey skeleton to me ... maybe a zombie turkey

 I was not awakened during that night with the smell of goat farts, but I did wake several times as the winds picked up. There had been breezes throughout the days, as there usually are in the mountains--but these seemed to be heavier than usual breezes. In the south I would have thought that a front of some kind was blowing in/through, but I didn't know my western weather well, so I wasn't sure. Shortly before daylight I heard misting rain hitting my Superfly.

After climbing out of my hammock and checking on my gear hanging on the tree (as I normally do, I had covered my pack with a waterproof pack-cover). It was all dry. I grabbed some Tyvek, my stove, a waterbag, and my food bag and took it over to my Superfly to eat breakfast.

During breakfast I made a command decision to hike out that morning. I had taken provisions to stay three nights, but not knowing the weather patterns of those mountains, I decided to hike on out ... with two options. Option 1 was to camp at the big horse camp next to the bridge over Adam Creek; option 2 was to hike all the way back to my car. I determined that I would make that decision when I go to the horse camp.
 
It took me a bit longer to pack up sitting under my tarp, but it all worked and the tarp was the last thing I stuffed under my pack cover. I put on my Luke's silnylon rain jacket and my Z-pack kilt and got ready to head out. I took my prayer flags off the tree and stuffed them under my pack cover and looked back over the lake valley. Even in the mist it was breath-taking.

Rare beauty in October

I got a little teary hiking back down the trail when I first left the lake area. I'm not sure exactly why ... and I'm not a particularly emotional person (although I cried at My Dog Skip ... and stories about soldiers in Vietnam), but it was probably knowing that I would never be back up there to see that place that was so breath-takingly beautiful. When I turned 70 last year I began to much more earnestly consider my own mortality. It's interesting how one's perspectives change--or, at least mine have. Now every time I go someplace I consider whether or not I'll ever get there again. Most of the places I go in the Sipsey Wilderness are not hard to get to and I know I'll get there again if I live longer (Dang! I sound like I'm on my last leg ...). Ice Lake, though? I'm pretty sure I won't be able to make that climb again. I've enjoyed these photos, though, and the memories ... always the memories.

My son said  he was taking me to Goat Rocks next year ... it's in Washington, near Mt. Adams ... I can't wait!

I hit the tree cycles at their prettiest

Early morning sky just before it began to sprinkle

Adam Creek

Six goats up on the mountain .. squint harder ... see em?

Ice Lake, Wallowa Mountains, Eagle Cap Wilderness