An early start in the dark got me to the top of the first and toughest climb as the sun cleared the peaks to the east. Tink and I caught our breaths and looked south to Tahoma. Beautiful.

It was hard not stopping all through the basin and past the tarns. Every bush was heavy with blueberries. The good ones. The banana berries. The ones I've made myself sick eating. The ones I still have a handful or two left in the freezer for a special occasion.

At the summit we were treated to epic views all around. The smoke gave the peaks to the east a mystical feel. To the west the marine layer blanketed the lowlands. The clouds were high enough to hide the freeway and ski lifts across the valley. It was just us in all this wonder.

I could have returned the way we'd come. But where's the fun in that? I've always heard there's a way down to Lake Lillian from the ridge. I've seen tracks from people that have done it. Why not me? Perfect day for it. Sure.

I found a spot that looked reasonable to start descending. There were even tracks. It had to be the right spot. Except it wasn't. I was early. I dropped a few hundred feet on slick grass and loose dirt before I got a glimpse of Gold Lake. I mean, Gold Lake is lovely and all that, but it ain't Lillian. And if I continued down I might get cliffed out and would definitely have to climb back up.

So I turned around and climbed back up to the ridge. Ugh. I traversed across the ridge a bit more. I crossed some mossy rocks. Descended a couple of rocky steps. This must be the right spot. Lots of switchbacking and hopping from rocks to rocks.

I finally found a shallow gully that allowed me to move quicker. And of course then I slipped and landed on my butt. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I saw stars. I think I hit the back of my head on a rock, but there was no rock there. Just grass. I do know I managed to flip a couple of blueberries down the back of my neck. I don't think they were the source of the tweety birds, but they did stain my shirt.

I popped out of the brush right next to the occupied camp site on the shore of the lake. They were a bit taken aback, but responded appropriately to my, "Good morning."

Same for the parties I met crossing the rock slab. They were heading all over, but none of them had been up the Gully of Doom™️ before. I did my best to give the info they needed without scaring them off.

I figure that's now my job as the old guy on the mountain. Others did it for me. It's only right.

📍On the lands of the Snoqualmie people.