We'd gotten up with the sun at the Farnham Emergency Hut and it wasn't yet 7:00am when we departed our 7,300-foot camp site for temporarily lower elevations. It was there - at 4,800 feet - that we'd disembark from our American Hiking Machine (the Tacoma) in favor of our own two legs, regaining all of the elevation we'd lost - and more - as we fought our way through the 10-mile trek to The Lake of the Hanging Glacier.
A perfect day on Horsethief Creek.
After hiking the Conrad Kain Hut during the afternoon heat of the previous day, temperatures were refreshingly cool as we got underway, the Tacoma once again protected from the marmots by a skirt of chicken wire that we found abandoned in the parking area.
From the trailhead, we climbed up and over a short washed-out portion of the road - Horsethief Creek had completely ravaged the old roadbed - before rejoining the old logging road for 2 km. This part of the hike was pleasant, the dappled light filtering through the trees and the undulating trail easy on the knees.
Of course, it turns out that flat portions of a trail that ultimately gains 3,000 feet are a double-edged sword. Nice at the time, but only as long as you don't internalize the consequences: the rest of the trail is necessarily steeper. Soon, the trail narrowed and turned upward, eventually reaching a cascading waterfall that seemed to extend the entire length of Hell Roaring Creek.
Most of the creek seems to be a single waterfall.
Hell Roaring Creek is crossed by a temporary footbridge, only in place from July to September.
Following our first creek crossing, the trail continued along reasonably level terrain - something we were lamenting in real time given our realization of what it meant for the remainder of the hike - for 1 km before a much more substantial bridge across Horsethief Creek presented itself.
A mere 2-feet wide, we joked that this narrow crossing was placed as a gatekeeper. If you don't fit on the bridge, this isn't the hike for you.
The amount of water rushing down the valley was no joke. Downstream (left); upstream (right).
Pure torture at this point, the trail continued - relatively flat - for an additional kilometer before starting to switchback steeply alongside the cool cascades of the creek. For the next four kilometers we would suffer mightily as we worked our way up. And up. And still more up.
Really though, if I had to compare it to the hut hike the previous day, I'd say this one was easier. That was largely due to the fact that we tackled it during cooler morning temperatures, and that it was almost entirely through mature forest, the tall trees offering welcome shade.
This little white flower carpeted the mossy floor of the forest.
For almost the entire length of the creek, the water crashed down narrow channels of granite. It was massively powerful.
These were the first purple mushrooms we've ever encountered. Cool!
By 11:30am, we'd climbed nearly the entire 3,000 feet and the trail was once again starting to level out. We hadn't done this all in one go - not by a long shot - but we'd only taken a single extended stop on the edge of a roaring fall on our way to the top. There, we'd enjoyed a lunch of sandwiches and chips as an endless mist - shooting in all directions from the plunge pool - refreshed us for our continued climb.
The hike was mostly viewless until the trees thinned as we neared the top.
One more moraine between us and gloriousness!
We'd come from way down there, and now we had the wilderness all to ourselves.
We didn't really have the wilderness all to ourselves. Or at least, not for more than about 17 seconds. Just as I was staging @mrs.turbodb for a photo of the valley in which we'd begun our hike, another pair of explorers popped out of the woods. They'd be the first - but far from the last - that would show up while we were at the lake. A popular place, this.
Still, the fact that we didn't have the place to ourselves - while slightly inconvenient because it meant that we had to be on our best behavior - wasn't an issue at all. All of us - to a tee - were likely feeling the same way as we gazed out over the turquoise waters of The Lake of the Hanging Glacier...
Tired. And perhaps a little miffed that there was no glacier hanging over the lake, though that was easily forgiven as we soaked in our surroundings.
Understandably admired.
As we sat there on the edge - there was a single question going through our minds: were we going swimming? Surely we'd have gone if we'd been alone, but with no swimsuits, we'd have to decide if we were getting indecent, wandering out in our undies, or skipping the activity altogether.
Well, the last option wasn't something @mrs.turbodb was considering, and before long, she was stripping down and tentatively tip toeing into the glacial melt.
It took some doing, but she eventually got in far enough for a photo!
Next - following more of a "rip the band aid off as fast as you can" strategy - it was my turn.
I have to say, swimming what was - not long ago - a glacier was a special experience. Sure, it was refreshing given the lengths (and heights) we'd gone to in order to get there, but it was also cool to think that the jewel-colored pool had originated on the distant hillsides several million years ago.
Neither of us spent long in the water, and as we dried off on the warm rocks at the edge of the cool pool, we sent our little buddy into the sky to have a look around.
Shadows dancing across the surface.
At the far end - another two miles from our stopping point - a glacier does hang above the waterline, a few small icebergs floating nearby.
More quickly than we'd have preferred - and in order to protect ourselves from the countless horse flies that seemed to descend on anyone silly enough to make this trek - we were back in our hiking attire and enjoying a final glance out over the water that we'd worked so hard to reach.
The Koots sure are impressive.
It was precisely 1:00pm as we started back down the mountain. As we did, a series of shrill screeches erupted a few feet from the trail.
Whiskers was worried that we were wandering too close to his hole. But he was also quite curious.
It doesn't feel good to lose a staring contest to a squirrel, but sometimes it's better to give the little guy a win. At any rate, we'd already begun to lose elevation when suddenly I remembered that I was old. I'd mentioned as much when we'd begun the hike, and I'd made sure that there were a few Advil with my name on them - metaphorically - that I could preemptively consume in order to stave off the stiffness and pain - after two days and 5,500 feet of "down" - that I was sure to feel in my knees by the time we were back to the Tacoma.
And then - with lots left to do before we were done for the day - we raced toward the bottom. Well, not raced so much as waddled given our age and fitness level, but we made it, nonetheless.
These little Bunchberry plants looked like miniature versions of the Trillium that we have at home.
It was just after 2:30pm when we arrived - sweaty again - at the trailhead. Within minutes - as had been the case on the way up - everyone else spilled out of the forest as well, the lake's quota for the day, achieved.
It was time to go find camp. And more than a little excitement along the way!
The Whole Story
did the chicken wire encircle the whole truck??
Sure did! Gotta keep those porcupines (apparently, it’s not marmots we need to worry about) at bay!