Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Wet Week, Day 3

Well, then, at least the trees liked it.

Lush, leafy, howling with green.

Walk this way...

Hiking here is a lot like entering a tunnel and hoping that it's not a foliated digestive tract.

This could be Camp Pleasant.

Pleasant enough. Quiet. Deserted, in fact.

Complete with furniture.

And at only $2 a night, it's a steal, if slightly moist around the edges. And on top, and on the sides.

And then another tube to enter.

At least things were mostly dry by this time. I'd walked the better part of two days sloshing in Gore-Tex booties, and my feet were shot. Sore spots all over. Borderline.

Alder tangle.

And this was supposed to be well into a sunny weekend. Go figgah. I kept waiting for the telltale pitter-pat upon my noggin — and then kept waiting some more.

Alongside the trail, more greenery.

But the rain didn't come, just more acres of foliage, humming a happy tune.

Nine Stream Camp.

With the North Fork of the Skokomish River ever-present, the only thing a camper needs is a camp. That's where the camps come in. I didn't, personally, need it, but it was nice to know it was there.

A bit the worse for wear, but you get the idea.

If somewhat dampish and gloomy. Nice otherwise

Banana slug.

Stay in a place like this and you get to watch everyone else on the trail chug through your bedroom. Including six-to-eight-inch-long slugs (150 - 200 mm)

This here is real country.

In case you've never been here, take this as an example of what the trees are like. My trekking poles usually hang out at 135cm. These buggers are tough to climb over, so it's nice that there is such a thing as trail crews.


I guess everyone was glad that the rain had passed. All the locals were out happily noodling around.

Anonymous falls.

The place is full of little streams like this, going splashing their way down the mountainsides. You never lack for a drink.

Nother passerby.

I have no idea what this is. It didn't mess with me, and I didn't mess with it.

Two Bear. Finally.

Kind of off to one side, more in the trees than some of the other camps, but still with little privacy, which is why I prefer hammocks and stealthing it.

OK, getting spooky here.

Another leaf-muncher.

Afternoon sun.

For those who say it doesn't get any better than this, here's a photo of a sunny day in Western Washington.

Add'l proof.

See? It isn't just me.

Near First Divide. Mt. Hopper is way over there somewhere.

And then you run out of trail. I.e., make it to the top of the Skokomish drainage and prepare to drop yourself into the Duckabush drainage. It never ends, this.

Waps. In rest mode. A resty waps.

Even the stingie critters were so mellowed by the idea of departing rain that they just sat around humming happy tunes.

This is it.

Top-a-the-world, also known as a local maximum. Good enough. Officially 1433 m, with a flat spot on top.

Additional guidance.

I wonder if something scratched its back on this sign. Eh. Still works, and without batteries.

More dim hiking.

The Duckabush drainage wasn't all that different from the Skokomish, except that evening was coming on. Still gray. A low, dark gray.

The camp was occupied, so I headed the other way...

Walk this way.

...a little upstream, where I found a decent hammock hang well above the trail. And that was about it for the day.

For the previous post, go here