29 miles | ~9,300 ft. elevation gain | Overnight Backpack
After a 4½-hour drive, I finally pulled into the trailhead around 1:00 p.m. The last handful of miles had their share of potholes, but nothing too terrible. By 1:15, the pack was on and I was moving.
Almost immediately, I realized how good it felt to be back beneath moss-covered trees and surrounded by green forest. I’ve spent a lot of this season hiking higher alpine terrain, so I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoy walking through a dense Pacific Northwest forest. Moss, towering trees, running water—it felt good to be back. The trail, however, wasted absolutely no time reminding me that I was carrying a backpack.
The first 5.2 miles were essentially all uphill, with plenty of elevation gain packed into them. For whatever reason, I was sweating more than normal. I knew I was hydrated, but my body apparently decided it needed to cool off. Fortunately, the trail follows a stream for much of the early climb, so water access was plentiful. The trail itself was also in excellent condition, which made the steady climbing a little easier. I passed Rock Camp and Mystery Camp along the way. Neither gave me much reason to stop. I also passed a couple of hunters carrying rifles—or maybe shotguns. I wasn’t about to stare long enough to conduct a proper firearm identification. Another mile or two and the scenery completely changed.
I emerged from the trees and suddenly had jagged peaks rising on both sides of me. After miles inside the forest, the landscape opened up dramatically as I approached Marmot Pass. Near the top, another backpacker was silhouetted against the skyline. It was one of those moments where you stop worrying about the miles you’ve already climbed. The views had arrived.
From Marmot Pass, I turned onto the Boulder Shelter Trail and was very happy to discover that the next 1.8 miles were downhill. About halfway down, I could see the shelter tucked below me. I picked up the pace and reached it around 4:00 p.m. The Boulder Shelter is an old lean-to-style structure that has been maintained over the years. Inside was a large bench, a sturdy table, and enough room to provide some serious protection from the weather. Water was also available nearby. Rain was expected the following morning, and since I wasn’t completely sure how waterproof the shelter would be, I decided to set my tent up inside it.
With camp mostly established, I unloaded everything I wouldn’t need and headed toward Charlia Lake. I knew getting there would involve another climb. What I underestimated was just how steep that climb would be. I eventually reached the ridgeline and looked down toward a small pond—but not Charlia Lake. The route continued steeply downward over loose gravel. I started descending anyway. About a quarter of the way down, I stopped. The terrain was loose, daylight was disappearing, and I still had to climb everything I was descending to get back to camp. Charlia Lake would have to wait for another trip. I turned around, climbed back over the ridge, and returned to Boulder Shelter.
Back at camp, I finished setting everything up, made dinner, handled the usual trail hygiene, filtered some water, and settled in for the evening. Fog and clouds slowly began rolling across the mountains as the sun disappeared. It was beautiful. It also had me wondering whether I’d wake up completely drenched. Darkness arrived around 7:45 p.m. The days are getting noticeably shorter this time of year, and even my Garmin messages were struggling to get through the thick cloud cover.
Tomorrow was going to be roughly 16 miles, back over Marmot Pass, out toward the B-17 crash site, and eventually back toward the trailhead.
I rolled out of bed around 7:00 the next morning just as the sun was beginning to appear. Two cups of coffee followed. Because one cup is preparation. Two cups is motivating. I slowly packed everything while enjoying the morning and finally hit the trail around 8:15, heading back uphill toward Marmot Pass. Interestingly, the climb felt much easier than it had the day before. Maybe it was the cooler morning air. Maybe it was the coffee. I’m giving credit to the coffee.
Once back at Marmot Pass, I turned toward the B-17 crash site. The trail became much more exposed, but with that exposure came huge views. From the ridgeline, I could look across toward Olympic National Park, only a ridge or two away. Eventually, the trail dropped steeply back into the trees.
I passed a couple of campsites near old mining shafts—something I wasn’t expecting to encounter out here. Naturally, I had to investigate. I walked roughly 30 feet into one of the old shafts before encountering a good amount of water running through it. That was enough exploring for me. I had absolutely no desire to soak my feet this early in the day, so I turned around and headed back toward the trail.
Shortly after the first mining shaft, the trail made a sharp turn and began climbing steeply again. Eventually, I entered a small basin. And there it was. Pieces of wreckage were scattered throughout the basin. Twisted metal and remnants of an aircraft sitting quietly among the mountains. There was something strange about seeing evidence of something so violent and chaotic resting in a place that now felt so peaceful. The mountains had absorbed it.
I spent some time there, changed a layer, had a snack, shouldered my pack, and started the journey back toward Marmot Pass. Along the way, I decided to take the side trail down toward Buckhorn Lake. You can clearly see where the water level once stood, but these days “lake” might be generous. It’s much closer to a pond. Still worth checking out.
As I climbed back toward the ridgeline, clouds began rolling over the mountains. And they completely changed the landscape. They spilled across the ridges, wrapped around the peaks, disappeared into the valleys, and then opened just enough to reveal pieces of the mountains again. For the rest of the hike, the clouds put on a show.
Eventually, I reached Marmot Pass one final time and began the long descent toward the trailhead. That’s when I picked up some company. A couple of crows started following me. For several miles they crisscrossed above the trail, flying from tree to tree and occasionally circling overhead. I’d like to think they were escorting me out of the wilderness. Realistically, they were probably waiting for something edible to fall out of my backpack. Either way, I appreciated the company.
There were moss-covered forests, relentless climbs, alpine ridgelines, an old backcountry shelter, abandoned mines, aircraft wreckage, rolling clouds, and a couple of opportunistic crows. I didn’t make it to Charlia Lake. And that’s okay. Sometimes turning around isn’t missing part of the trip. It’s just giving yourself a reason to come back.