A full week backpacking in the Olympic Mountains and another ten days or so drifting through the Northwest sounded like just the thing I needed before returning to classes in the fall of 2018. I yearn for time outdoors, in the wild — something scarce once the semester begins. My father and I planned to drive out across Minnesota, North Dakota, Montanna, Idaho, and Washington to spend seven days in the backcountry of Olympic National Park.

The West was Burning

Checking and tracking the status of active forest fires as they crept towards (and closed) highways is not something I usually associate with planning a backpacking trip, but has become necessary as our climate continues to change. During the summer of 2018, the West was burning. Wildfires raged from Mexico to Alaska. We started to see smoke as we crossed Minnesota and it thickened as we reached the Red River valley and North Dakota. We passed near the first visible fire in western Montana and saw the devastating aftermath of another in Central Washington (the highway there had been closed the day before as the plains blazed on both sides of the freeway). Smoke hazed the sky and intermittently added an acrid tang to the air for most of our trip.

A view from our Hotel patio in Port Angeles, WA.

On the Straight

After a few days driving, and an impromptu circuitous detour in western Washington to escape a major traffic snarl east of Seattle, we reached Port Angeles, the gateway to Olympic National Park. Located on the Strait of Juan De Fuca across from Victoria, BC, Port Angeles feels part college town, part hostel, part tourist trap, and part small town. We had to stop by Park Headquarters to pick up our backcountry permits, which gave us a chance to head up Hurricane Ridge and stretch our legs on a day hike.

Above Hurricane ridge — Looking towards the heart of the Olympic Mountains from Hurricane Hill. The trail we hiked to the top is visible on the ridge below. The wind was blowing in from the Pacific on this day, improving visibility, but smoke from fires in British Columbia still smudged the air.

Hoh Hoh Hoh

Olympic National Park is LARGE. It was a 90-mile drive from Port Angeles to the trailhead at the mouth of the Hoh Valley. During the most scenic part of the drive, the road clings precariously to the serpentine southern shore of Lake Crescent; I was driving while my dad gripped the armrest. The view was spectacular and would have been more so had the wind not shifted, smudging the air with smoke from the fires in Canada.

We arrived in the Hoh River Valley in the afternoon and had to park on the edge of a service road since the lot was overflowing. The Hoh Rainforest is one of the most popular attractions in Olympic National Park, and several short trails near the visitor center draw crowds. It was also the head of the trail heading up the Hoh Valley to the slopes of Mount Olympus: our route. Since we were only planning on hiking about six miles upriver to our first camp, we had plenty of time.

Will Seehawer — Garth Seehawer backpacking in the Hoh Rainforest

Hoh Valley rivulet — One of many small tributaries of the Hoh River

Will Seehawer in the Hoh Rainforest — Garth Seehawer in the Hoh rainforest shortly after leaving the day-hikers behind.

Will Seehawer day 2 — Garth Seehawer the second day ascending the Hoh Valley.

Will Seehawer at the Hoh River — Garth Seehawer on a gravel bar in the Hoh River valley, looking for a fishing spot.

Will Seehawer fishing the Hoh River — Garth Seehawer fishing in the turbulent waters of the Hoh River below the shoulder of Mount Olympus

We spent three days in the Hoh River Valley. Night two we camped at a gravel bar along the Hoh River. As soon as we reached the campsite, I immediately headed to the river to try my hand at fishing (I made sure to pack a compact rod and lures). The water coming down from the glaciers of Mount Olympus was frigid, silty, gray, and very turbulent and swift (and apparently fishless). After reaching the foot of Mount Olympus, we headed for the Sol Duc Valley and the Seven Lakes Basin

Seven Lakes and the High Divide

I just realized that that last sentence just didn’t capture the true flavor of our third day of hiking. We hiked twelve miles back down the Hoh Valley to our car, drove 73 miles to the Sol Duc trailhead (giving us time to stop to pick up some more fishing lures and allow our muscles to stiffen from the two-hour ride), and hiked another 4 miles to camp at Deer Lake. The last three miles were gorgeous and painful: gorgeous because they traced a creek-carved canyon ending in a waterfall, and painful because they climbed a few thousand feet. The trail was a LONG sinuous series of stone steps. Imagine climbing three hundred flights of large uneven stairs with a 40 lb. pack on your back after hiking eleven miles. Dad really struggled. I ended up carrying his bear can partway to lighten his load. We reached Deer Lake just before sunset. We slept well that night.

The next morning, we started our climb to the high divide and eventual descent into the seven lakes basin (descent even steeper than the trail to Deer Lake).

Will Seehawer on the High — Garth Seehawer pauses to wait for Dad while backpacking above Deer Lake in the Olympics.

Lunch Lake before the descent into the Seven Lakes Basin. We camped on the knob to the left of the lake, overlooking Clear Lake below. Round Lake is just to the left of this shot.

Will Seehawer at camp above Lunch Lakee — Garth Seehawer takes a break after setting up camp above Lunch Lake and before setting off to try fishing ( and encountering his first marmot)

Will Seehawer on the High Divide — Garth Seehawer on the High Divide on the way to the Seven Lakes Basin, Olympic Mountains.

Dad at camp — Dad enjoying some tea in the Seven Lakes Basin

A view from Camp — A view from camp perched above Clear Lake

We set up camp high above Clear Lake, and then I decided to see if there were any fish in the crystalline waters of Lunch Lake. I worked my way around the boulder-strewn shorn east shore until I found a fishing spot. It was there that I encountered my first marmot. I didn’t know what it was at first — its call sounded like a bizarre cat.

Striking camp, the next morning, we climbed back out of the Seven Lakes Basin and continued along the High Divide. The smoke was much thicker, hiding even Mount Olympus towering just across the steep valley.

High Divide Trail — High Divide trail, Olympic Mountains

View from the High Divide — Smoke from wildfires in British Columbia hid spectacular views of the surrounding Olympics from the High Divide.

WIll Seehawer pausing on the trail — Garth Seehawer rest in the shade atop the High Divide, waiting for Dad to catch up (a common occurrence)

Heart Lake

After walking along the knife-edge of the High Divide, hugging steep slopes on the narrow trail, clambering across scree slopes, and scrambling between rocks with drop-offs to either side, we finally spotted Heart Lake in a hanging valley below the ridge. The small lake is small, clear, and a refreshing place to swim or bathe since it is much warmer than the glacial waters of the Hoh River and its tributaries. We camped high above the lake overlooking the valley beyond. A large herd of elk grazed on the steep slopes opposite our campsite.

It wasn’t until after we had set up that a herd of mountain goats came calling and grazed on the slope beneath our tent before wandering down to the lake. We had a pleasant chat with a backcountry ranger who stopped by to check our permits and monitor the goats; he suggested carrying pebbles to distract the goats’ if they became aggressive. They can be dangerous. IMPORTANT TIP (based upon personal experience): if you need to get up in the middle of the night to relieve yourself, make sure you get as far from camp as possible. Mountain goats crave the salt and will battle over the urine-soaked ground.

As we were eating breakfast a small herd of goats visited the camp and made themselves quite comfortable. Once we got used to them (they didn’t seem to care about our presence) we had a chance to commune and enjoy the chance to be a part of their world. They departed shortly before we struck camp.

WIll Seehawer communing with mountain goats — Garth Seehawer relaxes in camp above Heart Lake, communing with a herd of mountain goats,

Mountain goats at camp above Heart Lake — Mountain Goats relaxing at camp above Heart Lake

Viwe from camp — View from camp above Heart Lake. The slopes opposite teemed with elk later that evening.

All Down Hill

The skies were remarkably clear as we started down from Heart Lake following Bridge Creek as it plummeted towards the Sol Duc valley. While steep, the descent was much easier than the stairways to either Deer Lake or Lunch, Round, and Clear Lakes in the Seven Lakes Basin: only dropping 1100 feet in just under four miles.

The valley along Bridge Creek — The sky was almost smoke-free as we descended with Bridge Creek from Heart Lake to the Sol Duc River. This meadow was about halfway down the valley. You can see the creek cutting across the middle of the image,

We had a campsite reserved beside the bridge over the Sol Duc River but reached it within a few hours. A gorgeous as the spot was ( a single site in a beautifully shaded grove of massive trees beside the river) we decided that a shower was really appealing after almost a week in the back-country and decided to hike out the rest of the way (another five miles) along the Sol Duc River.

The bride over the Sol Duc RIver — The Bridge over the Sol Duc River. Our campsite was just to the right of the bridge near the falls.

Back to Civilization

We had intended to leave camp the next day, hike the remaining five miles, and then drive to Seattle for the night, but were able to find lodging in Port Angeles right on the shore (the picture at the beginning of this blog is taken from our terrace). After a shower and dinner of fresh crabs, we spent a little time at a music festival and then walked around the shoreline, speaking with crab fishermen.

The next morning, after an amazing breakfast a few blocks away, we headed towards Bainbridge Island to catch a ferry to Seattle.

Will Seehawer and Garth Seehawer on the ferry approaching Seattle — Garth Seehawer (times two) on the ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle

We stayed at a hotel in the old downtown section of Seattle (Pioneer Square) and did a LOT of walking, dined on a massive and delicious bucket of fresh seafood on the waterfront, waited for (and devoured) a sampler of chowders near the Pike Place Market, and sipped Starbucks.

Pike PLace Market — A familair view of Pike Place Market

This is part of the Market Theater Gum Wall, a “community art installation” and idiosyncratic Seattle tradition missed by most visitors to the Pike Place Market.

A view from the Pike Place Market looking towards Post Alley (which veers off to the right). Pike Place Chowder is a short way down the alley: look for the line.

We discovered that downtown Seattle is quite different at night than it is during the daylight. After dark, the homeless and desperate seem to outnumber the up-and-coming on the streets; the number of discarded syringes increases and walking becomes decidedly more dangerous. Down in Pioneer Square, the lines for the nightclubs grew, and the park benches filled with the supine. We walked quickly past vociferous arguments in doorways, in the streets, and on the sidewalk outside a shelter, and at least one lurker with a knife. The gap between the have and have-nots is stark and separated by the wispy veil of a few hours.

Orphan Girls and Last Stands

The next day we drove as far as Missoula Montana (my birthplace). After fishing for a while in the Blackfoot River, we headed down to the University District to eat, and unexpectedly, spend time at a music festival. The band and atmosphere were superb and kept us there until the last set around midnight.

Butte, Montana was our next stop. In case I haven’t mentioned it, Dad is well-versed and extremely interested in history and geology, which makes any road trip and educational experience. We toured the World Museum of Mining and met up with a guide to descend into the (unflooded level) of the Orphan Girl mine — most of the mine (3,000 ft deep) is filled with water.

Orphan Girl Headframe — The headframe of the Orphan Girl Mine. The cage is visible hanging above the collar next to the skip. (I needed to throw in a few mine terms to see if you’re paying attention)

Orphan Girl Hoist Station — A hoist station in the Orphan Girl Mine. The water level in the shaft is just s few feet below this level.

We didn’t stay in Butte; we continued to Billings to spend the night. The next day we got off the beaten path and headed south to the grassy hills overlooking the Little Bighorn River and the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument. I did mention that Dad is a history buff, which makes side trips like this quite a bit more interesting.

The saga of Custer’s last expedition in 1876 actually started in North Dakota, so on the outward leg of our journey, we were discussing and imagining what it would have been like for those troopers in that vast hostile landscape (not difficult to imagine even today since the area is so sparsely populated). Visiting the battlefield on the way home was part two: the finale. We drove and walked around the grassy hills and gullies with Dad acting as a tour guide.

A portion of the Little Bighorn Battlefield. The stones mark the locations where the bodies of troopers were found. The marker with black belongs to Custer. Custer isn’t buried here; his body (or what was thought to be his body) was removed and buried at West Point. Custer wasn’t found here either: his body was found on top of the Hill near the obelisk marking the mass grave.

Little Bighorn Monument — This Obelisk marks the mass grave where the remaining bones of the fallen troopers were buried. Custer and his brother were actually found about six feet to the right of this monument (not where the stone with his name indicates on the slope below)

Dad doesn’t “learn” history, or “talk about” history — he says that history is experienced, not studied. He’s always claimed the more details you absorb about events and people, the more real they become. I believe it goes beyond that. When we stand together at a historical place like these desolate, grass-furred hills, he doesn’t just spout dates and facts about a battle that raged more than a century ago; he describes what he sees. It isn’t reciting; it’s historical memory. When I see a deep, weed-choked drainage ditch with an informative plaque, Dad sees sweat-rimed men and horses of company E struggling in a panicked knot, while screaming Sioux crowd above, shooting, creating layers of bloody, writhing death twenty feet below. Dad describes what he is seeing; that is what it means to have him as a tour guide.

We originally planned to push on to Sioux Falls for the night but decided to take our time and only go as far as Rapid City. Being raised in upper-middle-class suburbia, traveling through the Crow and Cheyenne reservations was an eye-opening experience. Otherwise, most of the stretch between the battlefield and Rapid City was “big sky country”: miles and miles of treeless miles and miles.

We intended to spend part of the next day in the Black Hills, but the smoky haze from ubiquitous wildfires once-again smudged the air, so we decided to just head home with a stop in Sioux Falls.

This was my first extended backpacking trip, and I’d certainly repeat it. In fact, I’ve placed a trek from the north side of Olympic National Park to the south along the Elwha and Quinault rivers on my to-do list, though that would be a longer 7-10 day backcountry hike and would require some creative transportation. The only disappointing part of the trip was the ever-present smoke from the wide-spread wildfires. There weren’t any days with truly blue skies, the best were bluish-gray fading to an azure zenith. Views that should have been magnificently expansive were reduced to intimate and mysterious. We couldn’t see Mt. Olympus, the highest peak in the Olympic Mountains, from the summit of the High Divide just across the Hoh Valley.

The only other way the trip could have been improved would have been more fishing (and fish).