Spectacular, huh? Too bad it's 17 miles from the trailhead.
Way deep in Olympic National Park is Mount Olympus. (What's the original name for Mount Olympus? That's complicated.) It's the tallest mountain in the Olympics and the heart of Olympic National Park. Unfortunately, it's buried so deeply in the Park it's hard to get to and not often seen from outside its neighboring peaks. To get there, you've got to put in the miles.
15 miles, to be specific. No problem, right? After all, it's pretty much flat for the first 12 miles as the trail winds through the Hoh Rain Forest along the Hoh River. It's the miles that wear on you while you're carrying a multi-night load. Oh, and then a couple thousand feet of gain right at the end before you get to camp.
The boy was doing fine. I was hammered.
It used to be I was stronger, faster, could hike farther and carry more. That's no longer the case. What I excel at now is suffering. I can put in the miles and get where I'm going simply by refusing to give up. None of the kids have developed the ability to divorce their mind from their body to allow them to do what they shouldn't. It won't be long, though.
In the meantime, I'm going to be smarter about what I choose. 15 miles and 3,000 feet of gain in a single day is now officially my upper limit. Thankfully, we had an easier day two planned.
After breakfast we packed a light load (leaving most of our overnight gear at camp) and headed up the trail. It alternated between tight switchbacks and mellow traverses. We were in the trees with only occasional glimpses up the valleys. When it did open up it was only because the trail was gone.
Not "gone" like "I can't find it" but "gone" as in "GONE". Completely destroyed. Like the Death Star had targeted it and blown it away. Sure, it would take 1000 ships with more firepower than... yeah. Gone.
In its place is a deep gully with a "sand ladder" to allow passage. What's a sand ladder? Take two ropes and thread them through 2x4s about every three feet. Lay your ladder down the steep, crumbly slope of dirt and rock and VOILA! A "sand ladder".
I descended first while HOS waited at the top before following. By waiting, the couple of rocks he kicked loose tumbled harmlessly past me as I watched from outside the fall line. Unfortunately, the next hikers weren't so conscientious so the boy had to shelter on the ladder a couple of times. Hmph.
Shortly after, we passed through the Glacier Meadows campsite (not so meadowy and without a view of the glacier) and finally broke out of the thick forest. Still no big views, but hopping rocks and pushing steeply higher without trees around was a big difference from the previous day.
"WOW" That's a direct quote from the boy as we crested the lateral moraine and got our first views of Mt. Olympus. It was a worthy exclamation.
We stood atop a 100 foot slope. Directly below us was the long, winding Blue Glacier. The glacier is unlike most of the other glaciers in Washington. Tahoma hosts a ton of huge glaciers, but most are on such steep slopes they feel more like steep snow than the frozen rivers of the high mountains. The Blue Glacier is definitely of the latter type. It flows down the valley, wrapping around cliffs.
Beyond the glacier, jagged peaks tear through the snow and ice to claim their titles as the highest points in the Olympics. In fact, we couldn't even see the true summit from where we were, but what we could see was plenty inspiring.
After recovering from our shock, we found a spot to sit and watch the high clouds flow down the valley. It was mesmerizing. Even more so in a timelapse.
How long did we stay? Long enough for the guided group that arrived after us to have 12-course meal. Suddenly, I'm seeing the benefits of hiking with a guide. We returned to camp just in time to beat the rain. (Blue sky and rain? What? Well, it is a rain forest.)
Morning and it was time for the 15 miles back to the trailhead. We'd be going back the same route we came in so very little would be new and novel. Maybe we'd get lucky and we'd see some animals, but mostly it was going to be a slog. Still, it was almost 100% downhill so how hard could it be?
Ugh. Plenty hard. The first bit was easy peasy as we let gravity do its work. We started encountering other hikers on the end of their climbs. They looked rough, but in better shape than I did at that point of the climb. On the flats we met people who looked entirely too fresh. These were the smarties who had hiked in a ways, but then camped before the big inclines. They were making their way up with minimal gear. I envied them.
We were making great time trudging along. We talked little and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Creeks we had so carefully crossed to keep our feet dry were like puddles to a toddler; we walked straight through them. We tried to recall landmarks like the shelter that ruined a friendship or the blowdown blocking the trail.
All our tricks eventually failed and we just ground out the remaining miles. We rolled through the trailhead looking like an example of two hikers who had pushed themselves too hard. And yet, we still glowed from exposure to the high country.
If you go, book a site near the High Hoh Bridge. That's still 13 miles from the trailhead, but it's far more reasonable because it sits just before the big gain. If you want to push higher (to set up a summit climb or just to have more time up high), camp at Martin Creek. Definitely don't bother with Elk Lake. It's a brushy hole. When you go to the glacier, be sure to visit the terminal moraine as well as the lateral.
And no matter where you go, remember you have limits and those limits change as you do. It took a brutal weekend for me to come to this conclusion. Don't be like me.
