On To North Cascades

It was a long ride to the ferry and we arrived around 5:55 p.m. for the 6:45 sail time. This gave us just enough time to grab an amazing pizza before moving our car on board the vessel.

The ferry ride was fun. Once we were on the boat, we realized it was only a couple hours from the landing point to North Cascades. Thus began a trip reminiscent of last year’s late evening dash to Yellowstone.

We made it to North Cascades. We were not expecting the power lines. And the hydro electric dams with small cities near them to support the workers. This is far from the “unspoiled wilderness” we’d been driving through for much of our trip. And so jarring.

We found the campground Alan had recommended around 9:45. It’s difficult to get a sense of how a campground works at that hour, much less pick a good site. But we think we did pretty darn well, grabbing a walk-in site on the edge of a lake.

We Came, We Saw, It Rained, We Hunted Futilely for Information, We Left

Morning’s light showed us the Olympic National Park campsite we’d landed in (we arrived around 9:30 after the game) was in old growth forest. Very nice, but not as nice as Mount Rainier. With some help from a Visitor Center, we headed toward beach and rain forest, two of the unique ecosystems at this park we were looking forward to learning about. Unfortunately, the array of ranger programs was considerably less plentiful than usual, and when we caught up with one, the ranger was a bad combination of new, ditzy, and tree hugger. Frustrated at the lack of information and disappointed in the park, we decided to break for the much recommended North Cascades National Park and see how far we could get.

File This Under ‘Glad We Did It; Won’t Likely Do It Again’

The drive to Seattle was distressingly traffic laden. Somehow, we found the stadium (it helps that it sticks up like a beacon), but had trouble with getting tickets and parking. We didn’t want to pay $30 (yes, that’s THIRTY dollars) to park and then discover the game was sold out. The streets around the stadium were filled with cops, pedestrians, and massive amounts of slow moving traffic. Amy popped out near the ticket sales and snagged two cheap seats ($18 each, all that was left) while Scott circled the block (which is not nearly as easy as it seems it ought to be). After a while, Scott came back around, and Amy signaled him wildly from the opposite side of the street that she had the tickets and he should park in the $20 garage he had just passed. With a nifty maneuver that irritated the officer nearby (the first of several of Seattle’s Parking Enforcement officials who had words for Scott), he went off to park. And then, to Amy’s surprise, came driving back out. Turns out he had no cash left and they didn’t take plastic. After much more irritating of police officers, Amy and Scott were reunited, and engaged in the search for a parking space. Finally, we found one that let us in for $30 (the next one was charging $40), and we were able to take many escalators to our nosebleed seats. Actually, the seats were pretty awesome.

A few quick impressions: Safeco is a very nice stadium. Even three rows from the top we felt like we were close to the action. Statistics are updated during the game in real time. Matsuzaka records an out, his innings pitched go up, his ERA down (though we do question the 107 MPH radar gun reading). Food was varied but expensive (Alaskan cod! $11.). Fans were generally very polite and there seemed to be less beer drinking.

Including $30 for parking, we spent a total of $81 for game, parking, and food. Not bad at all.

Video from our seats during the game.

How Scott Rationalized Dragging Us Out Of the Wilderness

For much of the trip (and for a few weeks before it), we’d been debating about trying to catch the Red Sox when they were at Safeco Field to play the Mariners. The most likely game would be one on Wednesday afternoon. When Scott checked the schedule a few days back and saw it would be Daisuke Matsuzaka pitching for Boston, he realized tickets might be hard to come by. For the non-baseball fans reading this, following is as brief a summary as he can make it on why this would be.

Although baseball is known as ‘America’s national pastime,’ television ratings suggest heavily that it has been supplanted in popularity by football on a regular basis, and ‘large event’ sports affairs – like the Final Four in college basketball and the Masters in golf – regularly have more viewers than baseball’s World Series. In the rest of the world, baseball is mostly an afterthought to soccer and other sports. One major exception to this is Japan. Japan has a thriving professional baseball scene. Experts who’ve been involved with both Major League Baseball and its Japanese counterpart say that overall the level of play in Japan is equivalent to between AAA ball here (our top minor league) and the majors.

Unlike many Latin American countries which don’t have great baseball leagues and essentially export their best players to the U.S. (David Ortiz and Pedro Martinez are but two popular examples) most Japanese players have stayed in Japan. Only recently have a small handful of players decided to test their abilities against what many believe to be the best competition in the world here in the U.S. (though it should be noted that Japan did win the inaugural World Baseball Classic – equivalent to The World Cup in soccer – last year so they must be doing something pretty well). One of the first high profile players to hop the Pacific was Ichiro Suzuki, the centerfielder for the Seattle Mariners. Since his arrival here several years ago he has consistently been one of the better players in the league. He hits for a very high batting average (he was hitting .362 during Wednesday’s game which puts him second in the American League), is known as a base running threat, and his speed allows him to track down more fly balls than most in the outfield.

He has found a welcoming home here in Seattle, a Pacific Rim community where Japanese translations of English storefront signs are not uncommon. In fact, the Mariners are majority owned by Nintendo, a Japanese company and one of the world’s leading video game makers.

Ichiro, as he is universally known, and his success paved the way for many of the Japanese players who have followed, none of whom have been as heralded as Daisuke Matsuzaka, the pitcher the Red Sox signed to a much ballyhooed contract this past off season.

Matsuzaka achieved rock star status in Japan, his fame beginning in 1998 when he was still a high schooler. He was named the rookie of the year in 1999 his first professional season in Japan and the MVP of last year’s World Baseball Classic. It is said that when he pitched in Japan, people would gather outside electronics stores to watch the game. In short, he is Elvis.

Because of the popularity of baseball in Japan generally, and of certain players in particular, the higher profile players in the U.S. often have their own contingent of Japanese media who do nothing but cover their exploits for the fans back home.

The Mariners played at Fenway earlier this season. Due to the highly anticipated match up of Matzusaka and Ichiro, about 120 media credentials for these games were issued to Japanese media alone.

Wednesday’s game would mark the first time Matzusaka and Ichiro would square off in Seattle. Think Elvis and The Beatles on the same ticket. First in Nashville then in Liverpool.

If You’ve Ever Drunk A Bottle Of ‘Pure Glacier Water,’ You’ve Been Had.

Our ranger-led hike through snow to an overlook of the Nisqually Glacier covered the geology of the region, the activity of the volcano, and glaciers. The most striking of all was seeing the terminus of the glacier: a gray wall that appeared to be rock with water trickling out the bottom. Rather horrific.

Best of all may have been his lesson on how to walk in snow: when going down hill, kick your heel in. When going uphill, jab your toe in hard enough to kick up a spray of snow.

Mount Rainier

We were expecting this stop to be akin to Crater Lake: Oh look, a nice thing to see. Pretty. Ok, done now.

We were so wrong.

We certainly were not expecting an old growth forest. We’d come back just for that. The babbling of the brooks, the cry of the ravens, the stately conifers reaching so incredibly high. We are fortunate to have probably the most isolated campsite in the grounds, which doubtless heightens the effect.

And then there’s the mountain. Maybe if we’d had the obstructed view that’s supposedly more the norm we wouldn’t have been so affected. But we didn’t and we were. The video we saw at Crater Lake showed re-enactments of people finding the Lake for the first time. One guy dropped to his knees. Mount Rainier had that sort of affect on us.

Everything here is very spiritual. We are in a somewhat constant state of awe. We haven’t even begun to explore the park, either, having only driven the 21 miles from Ohanapecosh to Paradise over and back a couple of times, and taken a couple of hikes. We could easily see ourselves returning.

The Tatoosh Mountain range is sadly overshadowed by its more famous cousin but it certainly has its own beauty and allure as well. Not all that different from the Sawtooths and the Tetons, more of a sharp, jagged, pointy look as opposed to the large rounded peaks of the Cascades, which were born out of volcanic activity rather than tectonic shifts.

The Flood

Unless you’re an ardent National Park watcher, you probably aren’t aware of the excitement that’s been going on around here. In November of last year the park got 18 inches of rain in 36 hours. Not surprisingly, this triggered a HUGE flood. Mt. Rainier was incorporated as a National Park in 1899 (the fifth National Park in the US). Last November was the largest flood since that time. It closed the park for 6 months, the first time that has ever happened as well. The park only re-opened last month. Roads and campsites were literally washed away.

Virtually every place we’ve gone thus far has been affected in some way. For example, the Grove of the Patriarchs is closed to visitors because the suspension bridge (which they recommended only one person at a time on even in its best days) leading over the river to it was damaged. It’s too bad, too, because the grove apparently contains trees over a thousand years old. We considered fording the river but decided against it and later we were glad because we read that the boardwalk within the grove itself was damaged and the entire area was filled with four feet of silt.

This Isn't So Bad

The Mountain Is Out Today

Mount Rainier is actually visible from Yakima, about 100 miles or so away. Oddly enough, though, there really isn’t another view of it until you’re right on top of it. At least not coming from Route 12 anyway.

We were a bit surprised at how quickly and suddenly we arrived at Mount Rainier National Park. A ranger at the entrance station suggested Ohanapecosh Campground, recommending it for its old-growth forest. Neither one of us has ever really spent any time in an old-growth forest. It’s just different. Peaceful. Spiritual. Our campsite is perhaps the most secluded one in the grounds.

The ranger offerings and hikes are much more plentiful than at Crater Lake. Of course, we arrived on the 25^th and the first ranger programs of the season were given on the 22^nd.

Apparently, it’s not all that uncommon for the peak of Mt. Rainier to be obscured by weather. We’ve been very fortunate thus far.

On to Yakima

Walla Walla: Sunday, Sunday? Closed, Closed.

Lello Flowers

En route from Seven Devils we crossed hills and mountains and emptied, rather startlingly, into agricultural plain. These are either mustard or canola. Can you help us out?

Our Ride

We’re driving in a gray Ford Focus hatchback. It’s not a bad car with the exception of the fact that our two large suitcases don’t both fit in the trunk lying flat, the dashboard has left its mark on Scott’s knees on more than one occasion, the armrest won’t fold up enough to stay out of our way. It’s got nice pickup, it handles the mountains no problem, we have no trouble passing the odd triple tandem trailer hauling hay, really, it drives great.

Problem is, it doesn’t seem to like us anymore. True, it may have reason. First, it’s a pig sty. We’re essentially living out of it and the attempts we make to clean it up really just serve to keep things barely under control. Second, we’re not exactly traveling on paved roads 100% of the time. OK, make that much of the time. Our campground at Seven Devils, for instance, while recently re-graded was still 17 mostly vertical miles from town on an increasingly narrow gravel road complete with sharp dropoffs and no guardrail. We ended up 7500 feet or so above sea level.

So we can understand that it has developed a horrible squeak most noticeable at slow speeds. It does seem a little rude, though, that the left front speaker has quit working. Maybe that’s just to make sure we know it’s squeaking.

Proof

Somewhere in the midst of the journey down the river a photographer had planted himself. For an undoubtedly outrageous price we can get pictures which show some and/or all of the following:

1. All of us having a great time

2) Scott about to fall backwards out of the raft

3) Alan's arm jackknifing Amy forward in an attempt to keep her in the raft.

(Scott would like it to be known he did not actually fall out of the raft. How, Amy has no idea. She was face down.)

To access the photos go to http://salmonriverphotos.com/rafts2007.html and select June 18 - 24, 2007.

Then click on S.R.E June 23.

Click on the second to last photo on page 2. From there you can click forward and backwards to individual photos. We're roughly photos number 34 through 50.

Amy’s Hat

(With apologies to Arlo Guthrie)

Now it all started about one year ago. At Glacier National Park we bought the ever-popular hat/shirt combination. The hat was supposed to go to one of us, the shirt to the other. The shirt was too small for Scott so it became Amy’s. Somehow, so did the hat. It was a navy blue, Anvil brand baseball cap with Glacier Bay, Montana printed just above the bill. It immediately became Amy’s primary hat.

This morning we arose with the idea of making the day a half internet, half rafting affair. That’d give us plenty of time to plan the rest of our trip, provided we got a good, reliable internet connection. On the way north along Highway 95 we kept stopping at libraries and cafes which weren’t open yet and didn’t have wi-fi signals into the parking lot. It soon became clear that an internet connection wasn’t going to happen for us. Finally, we hit Riggins, The Whitewater Capital of Idaho, the base for most of the companies whose rafting brochures we’d gotten the night before.

From their brochure, Salmon River Experience seemed like the company to start with. They put a lot of emphasis on the quality of their guides and we figured the guide would be a pretty important part of the trip so we’d want as good a one as we could get. SRE was the last place in town and we went up to the office a little after 11 with a bunch of questions: Do they take walk-ins? How much experience would we need? What time would the next half day trip leave?

Nobody was in the office but we heard voices from upstairs so we headed up towards what began to look like a residence. As we stopped uncertainly on the staircase, the front door opened and a smiling woman came out, followed by a man in a Hawaiian shirt. We recognized their faces from the brochure: Deb and Chuck. We asked about a half day trip. There wasn’t one scheduled to leave that day but we could see Chuck’s mind begin to work. “What time do you have?” he asked. “A little after 11.” “I’ve got a little after 10, we operate on Pacific time.” Their full day trip was due to launch soon. If we hurried, we could hop on that trip which would allow a) one of their guides, Frank, to lead a trip rather than come back to the shop, and b) one of their guests, Alan, to ride with us instead of on a potential party barge. We’re not so much into the drinking of beer. How about we take a full day trip, but he’ll charge us the half day rate since that’s what we’d come looking for? We’d need to leave now, we could settle up when we returned. “What time would we get back; we still don’t have a place to sleep tonight? Are there campgounds in the area?” “You’d be back around 5 and there are places not far from here.” Sold! With Deb shouting things like, “Got a hat?” and “Don’t forget sun block!” from the balcony, we hopped into Chuck’s Subaru Legacy for the trip to the raft launch. In the canyon, cell service and CB radio just don’t happen so the only way to reach the group about to launch was to catch up to them before they left. Chuck drove at what he seemed to consider an unsafe speed down a long, windy one-lane road following the Salmon River all the while regaling us with tales of local color. Morals of the stories: You can beat a man up, just don’t kick him in the ribs when he’s down and send him to the hospital. And we understand you don’t want to be taken in by just one deputy so we’ll send three out after you. It’s a pride thing.

As we approached the launch, an SRE van passed us going the opposite way. Chuck paused momentarily and tooted his horn, “I hope Frank wasn’t in there. Well, if he is, I’ll take you. Worst case, you end up with me.” No doubt it was just too beautiful a day for whatever office work he may have had in store for the afternoon.

Most of the group – which would eventually consist of four rafts and two inflatable kayaks, one operated by a pair of pre-adolescent boys – hadn’t left by the time we hit the launch. Chuck kept the Legacy running and hopped out of the car to explain the new plan. Within minutes, Amy had returned from the rest room and Scott had learned we’d be sharing a raft with a New Jersey-raised Swarthmore grad now living in Tucson, and our guide, Frank. Wallet and keys into the dry bag, sun block into the cooler, lifejackets on and fitted tight, ‘the solution to pollution is dilution’ (pee in the river if you need to), if you fall into the water use your paddle as an extension of your arm, yes the headrest on your life jacket will keep blowing into the back of your skull but it’ll hold your face out of the water if you happen to get knocked unconscious, if you have to pull someone into the raft grab them by the lifejacket rather than the arms, we were on the river before we had time to process everything.

Frank introduced himself as a recent graduate of Colorado State University in his first summer as an SRE guide. Turns out he was a civil engineering major who was interested in water resource and ecology and rationalized the guide job as good experience for his future.

We went through a couple of sets of good rapids and gorgeous scenery before stopping for lunch on a beautiful beach which would have been a thoroughly wonderful experience were it not for the stiff breeze which added a little sandy texture to some of our food. The wind was blowing a little harder than usual, making things tougher for Frank and a tad chillier than the thermometer would suggest. After lunch all three of us opted for splash jackets to keep us drier and warmer. Alan, it turns out, has been to a number of national parks in the area and after swapping stories about common experiences he gave us some valuable tips on a couple of the parks in Washington (we’re both really looking forward to North Cascades now, and expecting Mount Ranier to be closer to Crater Lake than Glacier), and we gave him some suggestions for his future travels as well.

As we approached the Time Zone rapids Scott – sitting in the front of the raft – got caught up watching the drama in front of him: the kayak containing the two boys flipped over. They turned it upright and one boy got back in but it flipped again before the other could join him. Eventually, they were rescued by the raft guided by Greg, the most experienced SRE hand on the river (who spent the rest of the trip giving LOUD instructions to the kayakers on how to navigate each set of upcoming rapids). In the midst of all of this, Scott dimly heard Amy exclaim in surprise and Frank say, “Sorry Amy”. After our raft had made it through the Time Zone, Scott turned around and saw that Amy wasn’t wearing her hat.

Remember Amy’s hat? This is a post about Amy’s hat.

“Where’s your hat?” “Uhh, you mean you missed all that?” “Missed what?” Amy’s navy blue, Anvil brand baseball cap with Glacier Bay, Montana printed just above the bill had been swept off by a sudden gust of wind and blown into the water. Frank had stopped steering the raft (which was approaching the rapids) and had used the oars to try to fish the hat out. At one point, he dropped the oars entirely and was fishing in the river with his hands. Alan was using his paddle as well. Evidently Frank came extremely close to grabbing it on more than occasion. But, alas, it had remained out of reach.

A few moments later, Frank – in a voice surprisingly devoid of surprise – said, “There’s your hat.” And, sure enough, about three feet beneath the surface of the river (and moving faster than our raft) was a navy blue, Anvil brand baseball cap with Glacier Bay, Montana printed just above the bill. Frank attempted to steer the raft alongside and he, Scott and Amy reached out with oars and paddles and implements of recovery to grab it but again it eluded all rescue attempts. By now, folks from the Group W party barge noticed our efforts and were filled in on the story of the loss of the navy blue, Anvil brand baseball cap with Glacier Bay, Montana printed just above the bill. With tears in her eyes, Amy gave up all hope of recovery, again.

Moments later, a cry arose from the other raft. They had spotted it! The chase was back on! Someone in the Group W raft was able to recover the navy blue, Anvil brand baseball cap with Glacier Bay, Montana printed just above the bill and it made its way back to Amy.

Triumphantly (and firmly) placed on Amy’s head, the hat survived the rest of the trip down the Salmon River and now has a story to tell all of its companions in our coat hall closet when we return to CT.

After all that excitement, we drove into town and had a steak dinner that couldn’t be beat.

Finding a Tent Site on a Busy Friday Night

The campground we’d selected for the night, Cascade Lake State Park, near the town of Cascade, seemed perfect. Well, sort of. Kinda scummy, actually. But maybe the one area set aside for tents would be nice, and it was on the other side of the lake. Numerous hair-raising turns on a rapidly increasing confusing series of roads later, Scott approached a nice family in a nice home, and got directions back out to the main route. At least we didn’t die in there. Once back on Highway 55 we said, hey, we’re north of where we were, it’s going to take us a long time to get our way back to the campsite, and it’s not all that nice anyway. Plus, there’s a campground 40 miles north with SHOWERS!!! Seemed like an excellent plan. Till we got there and they were full. Following some more odd directions, we finally found a site at the Ponderosa State Park North campground. Our $12.72 (tax. They add tax.) also got us showers at the main Ponderosa State Park way back in town.

One Day, Four Scenic Roads

Today’s travels daisy-chained four Scenic Byways together. First, we finished the Sawtooth Scenic Byway at Stanley. Once we turned south from Stanley, we were on the Ponderosa Pine Scenic Byway. Not a huge amount of ponderosa pine, but that may have been the beetle, or the Lowman Fire in the 1990s.

Once we hit Lowman we headed east on the Wildlife Canyon Scenic Byway. We didn’t see any animals, really, but it was lovely, along a deep gorge for much of the way, and past a former CCC camp.

At Banks we headed north on the Payette Scenic Byway, alongside fantastically rushing waters. Absolutely jaw dropping, but hard by a busy road. Kind of an unsettling combination.

Getting Clean the Hard Way

On our way to Stanley, we saw a sign for showers. Note for future: if a place offering showers has a for sale sign out front, just keep on driving. The coin operated shower gave you literally a few seconds per quarter. It took two quarters to get tepid. And then… it got ice cold. Fortunately, there was a sink right next to it with piping hot water (???) so we were able to get the soap off of our bodies. Stunning views here, but not worth it for the worst shower experience of our lives.

Distance and Perspective

An anonymous question about visibility and distance was posed in a comment a few days back. Perspective is hard to come by out here. Mountains are just in the background. Sometimes the maps are hard to read so we don’t know which mountains we’re looking at. We can drive a long time and they don’t appear to get much closer. We got lucky, though, when we pulled into the Galena Overlook, which had both an interpretive sign pointing out the various peaks on the Sawtooth Range and a USGS map of the area. Some extremely scientific measurements (thumb and forefinger) tell us these mountains are 15 miles away.