100 Kilometers in the Olympic National Park
August
14th, 2016
Having trodden many of the trails in the Olympic National Park, an idea simmered in my mind involving some of the most rugged sections. After two weeks of late-night staring contests with my Olympic National Park map, I devised a loop. After a four hour nap, I started at Obstruction Point around midnight on Sunday. I ran down the road back to Hurricane Ridge, then I dropped down to the Elwha via Wolf Creek Trail. Witching hour was living up to its name. The forests were dark, eerie, and full of silent watchfulness. The eyes of a small bobcat, illuminated by my headlamp at Whiskey Bend, only encouraged the spooky feeling that time of the night brought. As I ascended up to Dodger Point, the west peaks reflected the spectrum of early sunlight - which lightened the mood. A buck with its thunderous hop was the only sensation that brought my mind out of the hypnotic state of climbing. As I approached the last half mile, my eyes were agape as they saturated with Mount Olympus and the Bailey Range. I arrived at the Dodger Point Fire Lookout as the sun rose, shining bright on the surrounding ridges and mountains.
The navigation became difficult after proceeding off Dodger
Point to the Elwha. The trail is a well maintained deer trail closed in by
undergrowth. I circled for 30-60 minutes as the trail merged into a meadow and
became an elusive path to follow. As I descended, I wondered multiple times
whether I had to navigate a labyrinth of untouched forest down to the Elwha
River. Solace filled my marrow as I spotted an orange tag on a tree, the
universal sign of being back on track! After that, the descent down to the
Elwha ford was pleasantly steep with the reassuring whip of salal on every
stride. The river was marvelously cold on the feet and a relief from the heat
and friction that builds up on steep descents. The Elwha Valley is the epitome
of picturesque Olympic National Park river valleys. Green moss, walls of
trees, and mushrooms misting the air with spores.
A left turn up and out of the valley leads into a pine forest.
As the elevation increased the temperature decreased. Soaking my hat in every
creek helped lessen the onslaught of the sun’s radiation. Hayden Pass is not
too steep but lasts 8.4 miles; the word slogging comes to mind. Hayden Pass is
out there, but once you arrive, you don’t want to leave. The view of Mount
Anderson massif with its peaks surrounding Eel Glacier entices one up the
ascent.
Mount Claywood and Sentinel Peak form the gateway that welcomes into the Dosewallips River Valley. The descent off Hayden Pass is a memory
preserved deep in my mental vault to return to when hopelessness
reigns over my being. On the first switchback, Sentinel Peak exposes its
massive, glistening scree fields.
A left turn down another switch back points
straight at Mount Claywood, standing tall as a wave about to crash upon the
rocks.
At the top, the Lost Pass sign stares with defined numbers, 5-5-5-0, welling up a sense of accomplishment as the lungs are being sucked down into the diaphragm.
Cameron Pass looms up ahead and Lost Peak cliffs crumble into scree field, giving it the look of a mountain worn down to the bones.
A peak of euphoria at the top of Cameron Pass floods my veins. Wishing I could stay a while and scurry on the ridge crests like a squirrel on a power line.
The descent had the potential of turning into a scree party if I was in better shape. Hamburger feet don’t make good scree ice skates. The disappointment in a lack of scree bombing was minimized by the splendor of Upper Cameron Basin.
Head Cameron lays like a massive old dragon that has shed its scales around its tired frame. Snowfields and small runoff streams feed into the winding Cameron Creek below.
I descend, pushing into the valley. Cameron Creek trail is overgrown and my mind reminisces movies with dense jungle and machete wielding adventurers. Just before I give up hope and turn around to search for the lost ascent trail, I find the junction. Another escalator, up and up. More crawling snake root staircases and more breathing in the air as fast as the evergreens around me can make it. Grand Pass welcomes along with the golden hour.
Grand Valley lies ahead, past an icy lake and a descent like the swoop of a hawk. Coming down the rock staircases to Moose and Grand Lake tear up my left iliotibial band, which reduces me to trading off between stiff legged running and walking. The darkness settles in and I ascend to the top of the climb. I feel like a knuckle dragging ape climbing a hill after being exiled from the troop. Dark thoughts accompany the enveloping night. Beneath a star-lit canopy, all the regrets, what-ifs, and fixations on expectations are created and destroyed, persisting and cycling through my tired brain. The top of the ridge brings the comforting thought: “we are close”. My shuffling run/walk eventually brings me back to Obstruction Point. A massive buck stands next to the end of the trail, observing. My feet are relieved. I feel like victim of alien abduction. Did that just happen? Was that an actual occurrence? Around 69 miles and 20000+ feet of elevation gain. Exhausted, I crack a beer. What now?
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