August 11th - Mount Townsend

Getting the band back together

Early on in this endeavor, I'd started an annual tradition of heading out on an annual hike with my son, Declan, and my nephew, Dirk. This happened in Mason County in '15, in Chelan County in '16, and again in '17 to Gothic Basin in Snohomish County, a trip that at least got a reference, if not a full post in my summary of that year. 

High Steel Bridge, nearly 
ten years ago!

Life got a little crazy in the intervening years, and in other years I had good reasons - the loss of my father during my year in Klickitat - fires near Douglas County, and a lack of mountain hikes that might pull some interest from the boys.

Between Kitsap and Jefferson Counties, there was no lack of places to hike. In this case, Mount Townsend in the Olympic Range kind of volunteered itself. I'd had an idea to do a pretty optimistic backpacking trip, heading up to Townsend, around the horn to Marmot Pass, and finishing twenty miles later in a glorious four-day, three-night loop. I honestly still love the idea of that trip, but it got whittled down to a three-day, two-night trip up to Marmot Pass (or at least that's the current plan!). 

Mount Townsend was left out of the loop, so this was an easy choice. I've been in the Seattle area for years now. The Olympic Range has been there throughout that time. On the horizon as I worked the ticket booth at Pacific Science Center, decades ago. On the horizon every time I made the drive down Benson Road in Renton. It actually has bugged me that I can't look across this view and name every peak. I needed to summit one of them, and none is as easy as Townsend.

Incidentally, my year list sat at 182 for Jefferson County before this trip. And I really had hopes of adding species on the trip. Ruffed Grouse, Clark's Nutcracker, Mountain or Western Bluebird - any of them would have been reasonable finds on this trip. And. . . oh to dream. . . I could have found a Townsend's Solitaire on Mount Townsend. Let that sink in. But hey, spoilers. I found no new species on this trip. Read my lips. No. New. Taxa. 

I have drawn a Venn Diagram in my head - people who get the historical reference, and the people familiar with the biological term. . . For those of you in that little sliver of overlap. I hope you enjoyed that one. It's been in my head for weeks now. 

Up and at 'em

Any hike. Any hike? Yeah, I think any hike is best done as early as possible. Getting all of us out the door and to the trailhead to Townsend was an oh dark thirty endeavor. Three A.M. alarm. Packing. Potatoes. Coffee. Road. The sun came up on our drive out. Hood Canal Bridge - we talked about the Mason County trip from nearly a decade earlier, and continued on to Quilcene. 

As I got closer to Quilcene, I popped Penny Creek Road into my GPS. I followed it... to a gate. 

Penny Creek Road can be reached via Lords Lake Loop Road
or at least that's implied here? I got gated, and I think it happened on the dark blue.

Returning to the freeway, I told Dirk and Declan that I knew the roads well enough to get us there. I got on Penny Creek Road and followed it... to a dead end. Now, for what it's worth, we did get to see a bear on this side trip, galumphing across the forest road as we descended. 

Third time was the charm. Phones. Smart phones. Once we got service back in Quilcene, we got the route put into the phones and got directly there. (Noting each sign pointing to the Mount Townsend Trailhead along the way. Reading. Smart Reading. It's another option).

The up

Indian Paintbrush

Four miles, and 3000 feet of elevation gain. This was a nice step up from previous hikes during the year - the Hoh River Trail, Gold Mountain in Kitsap, Mount Walker along Hood Canal, and North Beach in Port Townsend. It may even have been a step up from the Spotted Owl trip, or maybe it was a shorter hike? Can't say!

Flowers were in bloom - Indian Paintbrush was by far the most abundant and recognizable one for me. As we hit some openings, we occasionally caught little clusters of butterflies. One of them in particular caught my eye - a large white butterfly. On closer inspection, I saw these butterflies had black and orange markings on them. Nothing like I'd seen before! Apollo butterflies, it turns out, were the ones I was seeing. Fritillaries, slightly smaller and orange, were everywhere as well. 

Tough to catch these butterflies being still, but Dirk did in this shot.
I think this one's Parnassius Clodius

Snowshoe Hare? Too small 
to tell, perhaps, but they might be
the only member of this family 
that is widespread in 
the Olympic Range

I snapped pictures all the way up. My snapping game was outstanding. Flowers, butterflies, peekaboo views. Imagine for a moment, the pictures that'd be here if I'd remembered to put the sim card in my camera. Magnificent to imagine. Thankfully, Dirk and Declan both took some good pictures along the way. 

The conversational map for the ... boys? Sure, I'll call them boys still ... ranged far and wide. Fitness, public transportation, intellectual assents to posited truths. This went on between them as I just focused on oxygen retrieval. I realized how I'd made it through so many other hikes this year. Going solo, and stopping for long stretches of time to listen to birds, pick berries, etc. etc. Today was not peaceful, not restful, not even particularly birdful. 

And add to this... there were arguments taking place, rife with all of the logical fallacies one might expect from a pair of zoomers, trying to spread their philosophical wings. And I was too short of breath to even interject. "Straw man! Ad hominem!" I'd think it loudly, the conversation would continue, further increasing my heart rate. 

"Stop." I told them at one point. I'd done this at a couple points, and they knew I just needed a breather. My heart rate started to decrease. 

"So, if what you were saying is true, then what would faith mean for a Hindu...."

"No, no, no like stop." My heart rate went back up, and finally slowed down enough. 

I set a few things straight, got them back on a conversational road of some sorts. I smiled, "Continue." and we walked and they talked. 

The views started to open up. Not immensely. Understand that we left Renton in clouds and sprinkles. I had no belief that we'd even stay dry during the hike. Blue skies above, and clouds below. So, the views didn't include Seattle in the far distance, as it might on some days. Just layers of mountains with mountains behind them, and mountains behind them. 

Admittedly, the flies were a little problematic. I killed one on the entire trip. It was a joy. And I never did get any bites. The bulk of the fly experience was experimental. I of course tried to take some swipes at them, but usually missed. I tried ignoring them, and they'd land on my hands. In one of the more daring experiments, I tried converting my trekking poles into dual helicopter blades of doom - each spinning wildly around my wrist where the strap anchored them. Surprisingly, this was perhaps the worst of all of the efforts. The flies actually became very focused and aggressive. 

So, how do you keep these flies from circling you? The solution is breathtakingly simple. Just walk close to a tree. It interrupts their circle, and it must disorient them somehow, because they don't immediately rediscover the circle. And there must be something about the tree's immobility that reduces the suspicion/frustration/anger response that the Polecopter 5000 elicited from them. There you go. Use it and enjoy good things on your hikes.

It does get to a point where you can just see the top. This was our stopping point. I got some water, including some with electrolytes that Dirk had brought. I tried to do some of the sandwich I'd packed, but gosh. . . chewing on bread, when your fluids are a little down is just a little more work. But we got to feeling a little refreshed and made the final push to the top. 

The top

There's an area that is a clear high area for Townsend. Additionally, there's a group of rocks that were pretty clearly the high point of that area. And there was a group sitting around it having a picnic. And I mean, hats off to them. Five friends making it to the top of Townsend on a beautiful day and enjoying views deep into the Olympics. I did hope to get a picture from The Top, but figured I could wait for them to wrap up, and I could look for some birds in the meantime. 

From the tippy-toppiest point

Red-tailed Hawk, Common Raven, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Northern Flicker. That was it! I'd had hopes for so many birds - not fully expecting any particular one of them, but figuring *something* interesting would be at the top. Nope. 

And ten... fifteen minutes later? I finally did the thing. "Hey! I'm so sorry, but I was hoping to get a picture from the top there. It's like. . . right in the middle of you all. Do you mind if we do that really quick?"

Silent digestion of the question. . ."Uh. . sure."

Silence. . . and a little more.

"Uh, do you need us to move?"

"I mean. . . unless you wanted to be in our picture?"

I still go back and forth over the decision. It's an extra foot or two - and you've got the exact same views from many surrounding spots that *don't* involve picnic relocation.

But then also. . . it's the top of the mountain. You've hiked this far, it's kind of the feeling of accomplishment. And part of me really wanted to believe that they might process the request, and see this? And think "Oh. . .maybe other people besides this guy might want to do the exact same thing, obviously." and like. . . move the picnic to one of the surrounding spots that have the exact same views and *don't* involve a siege of the summit. But they just kind of moved back after we got our shots. 

Much of the talk on the way down was about Millennials. lol. I'm not proud that I carry around frustration towards a generation. As I processed the interaction, and the reaction from this group, it just felt like it all tracked. I'm not saying that this is true of Millennials, or that it was good for me to think it, but in the spirit of transparency, my hypothesis: I think that large groups can sometimes have trouble seeing things from the perspective of smaller groups. I think that they often don't need to engage in this perspective-shifting, because they are less likely to encounter other perspectives. And in those situations, larger groups can set up structures that meet their needs, and find a lack of mobility, when it comes to making adjustments that might help others meet their needs. 

It's a big jump to make from two feet of mountain and a three-minute interaction. And I try every day to see things that don't fit this idea. But we've had the boomers, and their kids are largely millennials, and there are times where their echoes are deafening. I've noticed it. I wonder if the patterns actually help define the generation. If so, I wonder if it could or should change. 

Or. . . Tim. Or is this just a natural resentment that people feel about any other generation? Of all of my wonderings, that's the one that I can actually control. Focusing on things you can control is *often* the best course!

The down

It was naturally a little faster on the way down. Fewer breaks. I anticipated some knee pain on the trip down. This has been the normal thing over the course of many years. And yet, come to think of it, I'd felt none on hikes in the previous year. The year before? I had to stop and think back to any significant hike where I'd been that uncomfortable. At least five years, maybe more. I can't say that I've gotten that much fitter over that time! But maybe a change in footwear has made the difference? That's my best bet, but it was just very encouraging. 

Dinner

The plan had been to stop in at Quilbillies in Quilcene - a place I've really come to love as a stop, both for the food, and for the people who work there. But as we arrived, we found the restaurant was closed for a leak of some kind. 

In the end, we went to another place I've visited a few times - Finnriver Cider in Chimacum. Pizza, cider, and live music. And all food tastes better after eight miles of hiking up a mountain! I slowly felt my spirits return, my generosity, my charitability. The ferry ride was similarly restorative. There's something about being on the water and having the wind on your skin.

Dirk's photo

And honestly, despite my efforts to paint my temporary discomforts in comical tones, it really was an amazing trip. Zero new birds, a failure to put my sim card in my camera, getting lost a few times, cloud obscured views, monstrous flies, and gasping breaths aside, it was so great to get the band back together, share some love, and conquer a mountain together.

Dirk's photo - on the Bainbridge Ferry - a first for the year!