Three Lakes and a Gap, or Three Field Repairs and a Hail Storm

August 22-25, 2014

My annual backpacking trip with my son, now soon to enter his junior year in college, took us back to an area that was the site of our first overnight trip 14 years ago – Tonga Ridge. Only this time we had a grand plan to visit Marmot and Jade first by way of the Deception Creek cutoff, then follow the ridge to Terrace Mountain and Terrace Lakes, on to Ptarmigan and out via Fisher. Ha! Best laid plans…

My son is averse to long drives, so the relatively short sprint out to Skykomish was an attractive feature of this plan. I failed to factor in the seemingly interminable dirt road from Foss River up to the cutoff, which added a good 45 minutes to the drive. Nonetheless, even with our leisurely start, we were on the trail before noon on Friday. The drive had begun somewhat auspiciously by me slamming the car door on Maxie Dog’s pack as we loaded the car, breaking one of the clips, and my hastily grabbed bag of miscellaneous webbings, clips, buckles and cord failed to yield a replacement mate, thus I was not able to execute a repair en route to the trail head.

The weather was nice and the bugs few as we cheerfully signed in at the registry and marched down the cutoff toward the Deception Creek trail. This trail heads steeply down to join Deception Creek, losing precious elevation. Once on the DC trail, we made good time despite what seemed to be dozens of stream crossings, including three of Deception Creek in rapid succession. None of the crossings would be particularly challenging if the rocks weren’t deceptively (ha—appropriately named creek!) slick, resulting in more than one wet shoe. G’s big hiking boots stayed at college this summer, so he adopted my minimalist approach and wore his “trail runners,” reminding me on numerous occasions how inadequate they proved to be for this trip. Meanwhile, the clouds had been moving in and the forecasted 40% chance of showers had begun to materialize. By the time we reached Deception Pass the drizzle had turned to rain, then to a full-on downpour, such that we sought refuge in a copse of trees by the side of the trail and waited for it to diminish. Or rather, we waited until we were too cold to stand around much longer and things didn’t seem to be improving a lot. The trail after Deception Pass is significantly nicer—both better maintained and far more scenic. 

We dropped down into a meadow flanked by a solid cliff with waterfalls that was really quite stunning, though our now thoroughly soaked shoes and socks prevented us both from fully appreciating its splendor (or take photos as you'll notice). The trail continues down for another mile-ish before it heads back up toward Marmot Lake. When we reached Marmot on this rainy Friday, it was quite a surprise to find no less than a gazillion others camped there. After considering one of the lesser attractive sites at Camp Marmot (not waterfront), which was at least large and flat, but also alarmingly close to the “Toilet” sign, we opted for a more makeshift site higher up from the lake which afforded us a bit of privacy with the tradeoff of a rather small and sloped tent site. At least by this time the shower had passed and the sun, while low, made the world a happier place, soaking-wet shoes notwithstanding.

I grumbled about the loud guffaws, endless chatter and whistling (!) coming from Camp Marmot, and G reminded me that I was a bit of curmudgeon when it comes to sharing my camping space with others (I was quick to point out that it’s only when they are annoyingly oblivious to the volume of their own voices), which further motivated me to dismantle the rogue campfire ring marring the ground at our site, grumbling righteously all the while. The bugs weren’t too bad, but after my summer of miraculously bug-free backpacking, I definitely noted their presence. My next disappointment came when we walked down to the lake to pump water and I discovered that my filter had been a casualty of my prior trip in the Sierras, when my cousin elected to drop his pack (with my filter) down a steep cliff before climbing down himself. One of the plastic clips securing the hose had broken off, necessitating holding the hose in place while pumping.

Still, here I was at a beautiful place in the mountains with one of my favorite people in the world for four days, undistracted by our computers, school, work and complicated relationships. We slept well, as one does when the stars are close and life’s annoying distractions are far away, all despite finding myself wedged down at the foot of the tent every time I awoke.

Double Buckle

 In the morning I let G sleep while I rifled through my repair supplies and set about fixing Max’s pack and the filter, all the while relocating our shoes to patches of sunshine filtering through the trees.

I was eager to move our camp despite having proposed we use Marmot as our base camp and explore with daypacks (something G was quick to remind me of—the impermanence of my “plans”); Marmot felt too populated and I knew that it would only get worse on a Saturday. So, we packed up and headed up to Jade, but not without my requisite dip in Marmot (accompanied by G’s requisite eye rolling). The route was not hard to follow, though it was fairly slow with our canine, who needed to be lifted (thank goodness I’d fixed that clip on his pack/hoisting handle) over the boulders and logs. We gained the ridge and the first lake within an hour. No Name Lake is pretty enough in its own right, but once I saw Jade I understood why this one hadn’t even warranted a name. Alone, it would stand out as a calm blue pool in a lush green meadow, but flanked by its stunning neighbor, it was rendered altogether plain.

See the fire ring and burnt log?

 Jade has but one campsite and—yes!—we got it.

 Sitting by the turquoise waters of Jade in the sun,

we found escape from the mosquitoes (significantly more of a presence here) and I briefly considered executing my Thermarest rafting plan (despite warnings to the contrary, I have found my neo-air to be a rather dandy flotation device), until I did a trial dip in the glacial waters and concluded that it wasn’t worth the effort of inflating. I wavered between the temptation to laze about in the sun with G and the desire to climb the snowfield to Dip Top Gap.
G was loathe to risk wet shoes again (oh, the really nice thing about waterproof boots!) to join me, so I set off by myself, or rather, with Max, who despite his venerable age of 13, would require physical restraint to be left behind. The jaunt up to Dip Top proved to be one of the highlights of the trip, and I regretted not having employed greater coercion skills to induce G to join me.

Too many times I’ve coerced people to join me in dubious undertakings, so I no longer trust my own assessment as to the likely success of my endeavors.

Getting to the snowfield is a bit tricky, and in hindsight I should have simply gone straight down the scree field from atop the bluff rather than trying to traverse it and intersect the field higher up.

The goat is there, right in the middle!

This part was particularly tough for Max, who kept sliding and sending down rocks. Once on the snowfield I ascended easily, marveling at the exposed blue glacier to the right, spotting a mountain goat on a ledge and frequently looking back for views of Jade and No Name.




The view at the gap is awe-inspiring: Mount Daniel and Lynch Glacier to the south, with the perfect blue pool below (I later learned this is Pea Soup Lake and that pre-global warming it was glacial green with ice bergs...)

and Jade and Marmot to the north. I discovered a windblock neatly erected at the gap and mused at the prospects of camping there, but noted that the orientation and the high cliffs east and west would mean little sun.

The way down was a blast. The snow was perfect consistency to glissade/run down, sparing the knees all jarring. I took a side trip to Pea Soup via a less than ideal route, again involving traversing scree, and found a disappointing, mostly snow-covered greenish pool.

Pea Soup (NOT! I thought it was but unbeknownst to me I'd already gazed at Pea Soup and this was just a hairy scramble for naught... or "not") with White Sauce

Back to the snowfield and down all the way to the shore of Jade

this time, climbing instead to the north of the bluff. Also quite steep and not something I’d hesitate to do with a pack.

When I returned, I found G asleep in the tent, having both erected it and sought refuge from the bugs inside it.  We spent a lovely evening together (draped in the smoke of mosquito coils), watching the changing reflections on Jade as the sun set behind the ridge.

In the morning I undertook yet another campsite amelioration project, carefully removing the campfire ring as well as the charred remains of a former ring scarring the site. It was a laborious process trying to get rid of the coals, but the morning was chilly (thankfully too chilly for the bugs), and it kept me entertained.

See? No ring!

Over tea and coffee

we discussed options and decided to pack out back to Marmot, since it would give us the opportunity to explore Clarice and Terrace Mtn, as well as shorten our final day. It was Sunday and I assumed (silly me!) that Marmot would now be deserted. On our way back to Marmot, we discovered another nice campsite at the south end of the lake, very close to the water, slightly below the main “trail.” The only disadvantage to this site is that it would get very little sun. When we reached Camp Marmot there was just one tent (where there had been five), but still we were hesitant to set up camp there on top of our neighbors. We continued north to the one separate site located immediately as the trail reaches the lake. It had been occupied on Friday, but was now free. Packing up our daypacks, we headed off toward Clarice with the intention of exploring that lake and climbing the ridge to Terrace Mtn. We’d gone no more than 10 meters when we heard a clap of thunder. Maybe it will pass, I thought, and we continued. Another 10 meters and the first drops hit us. Another 10 and it was full-on raining. Okay, not a great plan, we thought, and sprinted back to our campsite, where we very hastily erected our tent and managed to throw everything inside just before the torrential downpour assailed us. The rain soon turned to hail that pelted the tent with such force

Accumulation of hail outside the tent

that I seriously questioned if it would hold (this was my brand new Tarptent Double Rainbow on its second ever expedition). In our haste, we had neglected to ensure that our Tyvek ground cover was neatly tucked inside the perimeter of the rainfly and within minutes there was a pool of water between it and the tent floor. Despite our efforts to squeegee the water out from under the tent from inside, we soon had a pool of water beneath the floor, jiggling like an ice-cold waterbed. The weather onslaught continued until we had no choice but to venture out and attempt to create some kind of makeshift drainage system. Not wanting to get his clothes wet, G stripped to his underwear (where was my camera???) and sandals before exiting, followed by me in my shorts and rain jacket. While we frantically dug and tightened the fly, more peals of thunder exploded in the sky and Max, whom we’d left quaking in the tent so as not to add smell of wet dog to the already dank interior of the tent, pressed his snout against the mesh of the tent foot. Before we could do more than admonish and supplicate, there was a loud ripping sound, followed by a head, and soon Max’s entire terror-gripped torso emerged from the tent via a gaping hole in the netting of the door. I tried not to dwell too long on my sadness at the damage to my new tent, long coveted and purchased with Christmas money from Mom. Instead, I looked at it as a diversion throughout the remainder of the storm, stitching it up as best I could from my awkward position inside the tent,

Max looks on unperturbed

which now smelled of wet dog and still jiggled under us like a waterbed. Field Repair number 3.

Once the storm passed and the sun re-emerged, we no longer felt like trekking even as far as Clarice in the sopping brush (yet another lamentation over the missing waterproof boots), and spent the remainder of the afternoon drying out the tent, then reading a very mediocre short story aloud by the water. The waning afternoon sun warmed and cheered us, to the point that the waters of Marmot began to beckon me, giving rise to a familial (and all too familiar) power struggle regarding the merits of first finishing the three remaining pages of the story vs. taking a break to get in the water before the sun disappeared behind the ridge or another cloud, the differences in our temperaments brought once again to the forefront. I never think of myself as lacking in plans, but when compared to my son I am downright whimsical.

On our last day, G got up practically at sunrise (8:10) after my prodding, and we had an unusually early start (10:15). At the intersection with Clarice, we dropped our packs and made a quick side trip to Clarice, where G indulged me with a nano-second swim in its clear green waters, made somewhat eerie by the huge number of floating logs at its outlet.

Watching Max discover that the logs were not fixed, but floating, as he attempted to follow me into the water, was somewhat comical,

but probably less so than the sight of me in goggles, earplugs and a neoprene cap (okay, I dislike water in my ears, like to see under water and don’t care for brain freeze). 








The rest of the trip was reasonably uneventful. We had accomplished maybe half of what we’d set out to, but I noted in myself far greater acceptance at the prospects of saving the other lakes for another journey. At Deception Pass we caught up with a pair we had met at Marmot contemplating the predicament of a delaminated boot sole. G and I quickly went into problem-solving mode (a trait we do share), offering zip ties, cord and duct tape, I thinking all the while that I might have a fourth major field repair on my hands, but they declined, and we parted ways here.  We made it back to the car quite quickly, though I was well aware of how much slower I’ve become, of some recurring mysterious aches in joints, of bugs and heat, overwhelmingly grateful nonetheless for another adventure we’d shared. Worthy of note: our trip to Tonga Ridge 14 years ago was made memorable by endless games of gin rummy inside the tent listening to the rain.