I’m up early again. 5:30 am? Without a clock, watch, or phone; it’s hard to say. It will be probably 2 hours before official wake up call. I find that these mornings of solace between dawn and breakfast are where my introvert batteries get recharged, and when I’m most prolific with my notepad. The stars were completely out last night, and that clearness has held on in the early morning, though overcast will start breaking in by the time we leave our camp here at Dose Meadows.

 

 

 

I feel like I got to know a bit about marmots just by pure solo observation. I’ve noticed that out in the meadow they dig many of their burrows next to the large rocks. They like to sun themselves on the rocks but have a quick escape route right down under the rock when a threat gets too close. I miss their back and forth calls, echoing off the mountain slopes. The quiet early morning provided a lot of time to wander out in their meadow and just stand on different rocks, observe the several levels scenery change as I adjusted my gaze near, middle, and far. Yesterday was our first black bear siting, so my eyes never diverted too far away from the little islands of trees in the meadow, wondering if a bear will come out for a stroll. Another mammal sighting was anticipated on this trip, which around 7 am by my guess, a false alarm sighting appeared from behind the mountain beyond the meadow. A single helicopter crossed close by overhead in a swift straight line. Mountain goats were scheduled to be airlifted by helicopter from the Olympics to the Cascades during most of our trip. I shared my observation with the group as we wondered if a dangling mountain goat would make an appearance on this day. Now that the gang and my cook group is up, time for another batch of oatmeal. I prefer savory oats, but the parmesan is running low. Sweet breakfast it is. After camp is packed away and the morning quote is read, time to head up to Lost Pass.

 

 

 

A good ascent requires a good snack. We get some great views of the 1,000 Acres feature, which is then described by our professor as “maybe 300 acres… mmm, maybe 100,” which I received as incredibly funny. My cook group and I consume the last of our precious cheese and tortillas with bittersweet delight. At this point, I still don’t know that my favorite part of the park is coming in just a few hours. Rested, fed, and recharged from some rare sun; we head onward to Cameron Pass.

Now here we are atop Cameron Pass and ready to head down into the Cameron Basin. We’ll be heading down what is a new term for me, a cirque, which is like a natural amphitheater basin-shaped by a glacier, and in our case still has snowpack in July which we’ll be crossing over. I was quite nervous about crossing over a seemingly steeply graded snowpack where down was to my left and up was to my right. Our professor, Tim Billo, provided us with the confidence and on-the-fly skill to make it safely across one by one. Once it came time for my turn, I heeded the instructions, taking borrowed trekking pole in my uphill hand and walking with a heel jamming down step by step. With minimal sliding, a grin started to appear. My adrenaline was going, but I felt so alive. We talked a lot about different types of fun and how a bit of low-level risk or sense of fear, when overcome, has such a fulfilling after effect. Once I crossed the snowpack, I was ready for anything. The next part down had the downhill on my right side. It was like walking on another planet, a grey Mars perhaps. We were basically walking on what sounded like rubble, the kind of sounds I’ve only heard in movies made by bricks rubbing each other in the aftermath of a building explosion or dilapidated over time. My grin turned to giggles as I did some micro surfing with my feet over the rocks, about half the size of my foot or so. I’m not a thrill-seeker, but by the time we made it all the way down to the bottom of the basin, I wondered how true that tag really is for me. I’m certainly not ready for skydiving, but a little snow trekking or glissading seems much more attainable now.

 

 

 

Maybe it was the buzz of descending a not-so-risky, yet heart-rate increasing basin, but my cook group and I were absolutely slap happy after putting up tents and making dinner. At this point, the cold and some rain sprinkles returned, but this has become a daily occurrence, so I suppose we were in a mood to laugh it off. Our rambunctious dinner session resulted in a few botches, but we certainly entertained ourselves, and I know some other groups gravitated over to see just what new gourmet camping concoction we came up with on dwindling food supplies. I laughed harder than I had in some time. Given some personal life changes I’m going through back home, I just was so grateful for that dinner especially.

I quite enjoyed the more open alpine rockiness of Cameron Basin. Judging by pictures of the overall park before the trip, I would have guessed that the lushest and vegetation dense areas would have been my favorite. But something about the empty space, the sparseness, the contrast to that lushness was appealing. Sometimes the forest can seem a bit boxed in when immersed for a long time. I guess I just like seeing more sky and am fascinated about lichens and shrubs growing on the edges of habitable terrain.

In the evening we had to set up a makeshift shelter with trekking poles and a tarp. The rains picked up, and our vast open space left us no cover for a group discussion. Jonathan Hong led the night’s discussion, talking about the coexistence of modern life and the environment which ended up being one of the more heated talks when things turned towards economics, wages, and rent rates. We took on if modern life really can coexist with wilderness and to what degree, how much overlap should there be. There was a bit of distraction from an amazing foggy moon and glow coming from the top of Cameron Pass. I knew the night to come would be the coldest for me yet, so I decided to turn in on the earlier side while a few of the gang went out to find ice worms in the snow on the lower part of the basin. Their trek was a success and made for some of the most interesting pictures; the glow of headlamps reflecting off of the ice while the moon and some starlight peaked through the patchy cover sky above.

 

 

 

 

 

This course was named Landscape Change in the Pacific Northwest, and after this trip, I truly saw more landscape change each day than I ever imagined I would. From the rainforest-like dense woods, to the streams, waterfalls, alpine lakes, valleys, peaks, meadows, glacial zones, basins, sub-alpine zone, and full alpine tundra; things often changed even throughout a day’s hike. The importance of this varied landscape hit a new high after seeing just how much diversity not only of landscape, but vegetation and animals. It was an incredible journey and a test of endurance through 50 miles of up and down, dampness and cold. In the Anthropocene, as the Earth heats up, the cooler zones that many alpine inhabitants take up residence will start to shrink as cooler habitat found further up the mountain will have less surface area. In general, the loss of snowpack over the next hundred years due to a warming climate will decrease the thaw and water that feeds the many streams, falls an lakes in the Olympic region. Even if this area is protected and humans leave no trace within the park borders, the climate changing cannot be removed from the peninsula. I have certainly been challenged and changed by 9 days in the backcountry. The cold and damp weather that we encountered most of the time is hard on my body. The appreciation I have for shelter to be dry and warm, just for those two reasons alone leaves me feeling lucky for what I have. In a setting like the wilderness, it became natural to be kind, share and encourage each other. I wouldn’t have made it the 9 days by myself in the wild. Sure, I would survive but without people to depend on for just comfort and company, it wouldn’t have been nearly as fulfilling to me personally. I do think that wilderness can be shared with people, but in places like National Parks, I believe that visitors should be roughing it and leave absolutely no trace, not use vehicles and generally try not to disturb anything. These wild places are becoming fewer and fewer. The only way to hold onto the wilderness we have is to let it exist with minimal influence from humans.