September 20th - Marmot Pass and an Accidental Ascent (Morning Wordle)

The rocky slopes of Buckhorn Mountain from Marmot Pass

Breakfast at Mystery

A shelf for my coffee - very
welcome discovery

Need to catch up on your sleep? Camp in September in a place that doesn't allow you to build fires. Half the day is dark, and your sleeping bag is the most comfortable place you can find. I made one necessary trip outside of my tent around 4 AM, and then slept until civil twilight (that lovely time before sunrise when you can see well enough to walk). 

Getting out of my tent for breakfast involved a lot of slow decision making. I was sore from the hike up, and honestly didn't want to get out of my tent and stand up if there were still things inside my tent that I needed. No more squats. Once I'd chucked out those important items, I got out of the tent and strolled over to the spot where I'd hung my food bag. It was still there, unmolested. Phew!

I got my coffee and oatmeal out, as well as my snacks for the morning hike, then searched the grounds for a better branch for hanging the food. It may not have been super-necessary in this semi-open habitat, but better safe than sorry. I found a tree with some higher branches, although they didn't extend far from the trunk. On throw number one, this was the outcome: 

I briefly wondered how getting it down was going to go. . . but was otherwise happy with the outcome. I packed things up in the misty morning, rolling up my sleeping bag and pad. My intention was to set out from camp, head up from my camp (5300 feet) to Marmot Pass (5950 feet) in a little under a mile. I'd have a couple hours to poke around up there before coming back to have lunch, pack up, and return to the car. 

The start of the hike - I brought no sunscreen, although 
this was only a mild regret by the end of the morning.
Incidentally, I had *no* bug problems on the entire trip.

Buckhorn Mountain from 
the trail

Heading out of camp, I realized that there are actually quite a few campsites at Mystery. Heading up in September on a Thursday, I'd had the entire place to myself, but I could imagine it filling up in other seasons. Varied Thrushes and Canada Jays were common on the hike, and early on I also got a new species for the year list - Pine Grosbeak! (187 for the year, a tally I'll keep adding parenthetically) The bird was out of sight but gave several of its cheerful warbling calls before taking flight. 

These trips, mind you, have been undertaken with a sense of humor. Yes, I'm hoping to find two hundred species by the end of the year. Yes, when I hiked up Mount Townsend with my son and nephew and found no new species, that did not help me towards my goal! But. . . I got up Mount Townsend with my son and nephew, so the goal helped me towards what I really want - joyful exploration of this beautiful state. 

Keeping that in mind, there was a list of birds that were possible adds on this trip: 

Clark's Nutcracker and Pine Grosbeak - I saw both as likely.

Gray-crowned Rosy Finch, Townsend's Solitaire, Mountain Bluebird, Golden Eagle - I saw as less likely but possible. 

Ruffed Grouse - I saw as a bird I'd missed for the year. Easier in the spring when they're drumming, or in the mornings on gravel roads, especially on the west side of the county. Here I was on the east side, and probably with these birds hidden all around me!

Canada Jay

If I came back from the trip with two new species, I'd probably be on track to fall just short of my goal. Three? Now the goal would still feel in reach, so I needed some good surprises. lol "needed". . . you know what I mean. 

As I slowly ascended, I enjoyed the comfortable morning, and I started to get views of Buckhorn Mountain peeking out from behind the trees. The path took me to a large meadow at one point, apparently this is the home of the marmots (Olympic variety here), which live in burrows, and sometimes come out onto large rocks to enjoy the sun and the scenery. I didn't see any on the trip but enjoyed the *idea* of them perched on the rocks. I could, at any rate, hear the first human voices since I left the trail the afternoon before - campers up on the ridge ahead.

The low easy path to Marmot Pass is visible here.

I hit a little spot that looked campsite-ish, and there were two paths leaving it. One going up the ridge directly in front (west) of me, and the other heading parallel to the ridge (north). I sighed as I looked ahead to the ridge but tried to put the steep direct climb into perspective. I'd been up and down many flights of stairs earlier in the week as I moved my daughter into her college dorm. I could do this. 

I took that path instead

Amazing view! I was a little puzzled, trying to figure out if I'd made it to Marmot Pass, but I just took a few pictures regardless. From there, I continued along the ridge to the voices I'd heard. They belonged to a couple of mountain goats. Not actual goats, but two older guys who had been backpacking for several days up here, and who seemed completely at home. 

It was fun to chat with them for a bit, to talk about their trip (which included Constance Pass the day before), and eventually about birds. Pine Grosbeak and Clark's Nutcracker both came up as birds that they'd seen and heard on the trip. This gave me some hope!

I had to at least get the picture of his hat
This Chimacum grocery is 
highly recommended

As I wrapped up the conversation, one of them suggested a little side trip. "See that rock over there?" I nodded. "You really should head over there. Great spot to have lunch, and the views go all the way down to Port Angeles." "Yeah, but. . . " I gave him a look that communicated, "Dude, I'm still feeling lucky to have made it up here and am not sure I want to push my luck." "I understand." he said, fully understanding, "but seriously, it's not a hard walk.

I considered this as I started down the north end of this ridge, ending up at the "road signs" at Marmot Pass. It was such a nice morning, such a great open spot. I just sat and sipped some water, nibbled my snacks. It was 9:30 something, and I decided to see how I felt about the northward trail by 10 o'clock. Clouds sometimes drifted up towards me at the pass, but for now they balked at cresting the pass completely. It was fun to see clouds doing the same thing on the far side of the valley (the Copper Creek Valley? I think so).

Osprey in migration over Buckhorn 

The trip up. You can see trails
crossing at Marmot Pass below

Ten o'clock arrived, and I felt good. I took the trail north in the direction of the rock I thought the old fella had been pointing at. Along the walk, I got another. . . expected surprise? Sure. A Clark's Nutcracker (188) flew past silently. Is it weird to be disappointed at a seen-only bird? So many birders will note that a bird has been "heard-only" if they don't get to actually see the bird. The supposition is that without visual confirmation, identification becomes tricky. In many cases, this is true, but this is a bird with such a cool, distinctive call - a harsh nasal call that I automatically associate with high and dry habitat. 

The views slowly improved, especially to the south, where Warrior Peak started to peek out. Then I got to a parting of the paths. One went straight ahead, and one angled upwards. I looked up and thought I was looking at the rock that I'd seen earlier. I debated it a little bit and decided to take the upward path. So that's how I ended up accidentally going halfway up Buckhorn Mountain, just for clarity. 

Things got very talussy... talusful? There was talus. Loose rocks that sometimes meant the loss of some progress as I went up. Once or twice, I got a little off trail, but rejoined it, keeping an eye on the rock formation ahead. As I went up, it was also fun to look back at the marker for Marmot Pass, appearing lower and more distant over time. 

I honestly almost got to the rock in question, but at this point, I could start to see around the corner, and the valley was full of thick clouds below. My hopes for actually looking out at the Strait of Juan de Fuca were not great. I stopped to breathe for a minute before heading down and got my first *real* surprise of the day, a Gray-crowned Rosy Finch! (189) There have been sightings up here, but most of the descriptions had placed the birds in the talus on Buckhorn Mountain - something I of course had not planned to climb. Haha. Ha. 

And then as I started down the hill, I nearly bought the farm on the first step I took. The rocks gave way under my step, and I regained my balance. I stopped, steadied myself, and thought about how lucky I was that I hadn't gone tumbling down the slope. The second step that I took? Exact same thing. Goodness. 

Far enough

So, this essentially became my morning wordle. My brain, presented with the fact that I had to map and plan out every step on the way down, got engaged in a happy familiar way. Honestly, despite memories of someone breaking a leg on talus on a hike with me many years ago in the Olympics, this was a lot of fun. 

I got into a good routine, finding big rocks, when possible, for sure footing. No big rocks? I looked for plants. Neither? I looked for medium sized rocks, and kind of . . . surfboarded them, for lack of a better term. I'd push them down and push forward, letting the rocks slide, but also bringing a lot of rocks up in front of it. No medium rocks, and I'd just scan ahead to my next secure footing, then let my shoe be the surfboard, pushing it down at an angle, so that rocks would build in front of it as I slid down a little. 

That was pretty tedious, I understand. But I've gotten very interested in what hiking does to my brain. I'd love to see brain scans in *all* of the following situations. I know it's not possible, really, but I know it'd be interesting and different for each: 

• hiking in silence
• hiking surrounded by birdsong
• hiking up a long climb with no end in sight
• hiking up a long climb with an end in sight
• hiking switchbacks that each appear to be the end of a climb
• hiking with others in silence
• hiking with others who talk a lot
• getting off trail on a hike
• and this - hiking when each footstep needs to be planned out

There are so many little games out there that help to keep our brains sharp, therapeutical methods to soothe an anxious mind, activities to make us feel exhilarated, anxious, or outright panicked. Hiking can bring all of these things in little unexpected doses. I'd say as long as you don't die doing it (as I have not. . . yet), that it's probably a good thing for keeping that brain healthy.

I was pretty satisfied when I made it to firmer footing. I took some more sips of water, looked at the time, and started back to camp. Three birds added to the list! Not a bad morning. 

Golden-crowned Sparrow, 
offering no directions

As noted above, I firmly believe that the second you're off the path on a hike, one's brain goes to a different (and not entirely bad) spot. I had brought a map with me, and just could not make sense of the direction it seemed the path was supposed to bring me back to camp. This was at the spot where I'd earlier decided to head up the ridge, but. . . how had I gotten there? I could see that Camp Mystery was below me and to the East, however, so in the end, I followed something akin to a deer run through the thin forest - easy walking that brought me back to the trail and the meadow. 

I'd hit noon at this point, and I started seeing hikers occasionally. None on the way down were backpackers - all of them just up for the morning. I got back to camp, boiled my water, had my ramen, packed up and returned down the hill. I tried to pack things a little better for the return trip. I'd had things become loose on the way up, and it had gotten annoying. I fixed some problems, but created others, carrying my sleeping bag in the end, but only for the last quarter mile or so. 

Chestnut-backed Chickadee, checking on my well-being at Camp Mystery

Gosh it was nice to get back to the car. I can also report that my knees and toes were magically intact. I still can't figure out what exactly has improved. I don't think my overall fitness is much different, so I'm just chalking it up to footwear? I'm not looking this gift horse in the mouth, at any rate. Just glad it didn't end the way this trip or this trip did! 

I drove the long winding roads back, and at some point had a moment of silence as I realized I was on the last gravel roads I really planned to see in Jefferson for the year. No Ruffed Grouse, it would seem! But on Penny Creek Road, in the *very* last twenty feet of gravel, a Ruffed Grouse flushed up from the side of the road and flew off into the forest. 190? 190! 

Evening included "the usual" - a trip to Finnriver Cider to pick up my quarterly six bottles, and a night at the Port Townsend Inn.