Cascade Pass: Memorable Moments

As Dad, Mom, and I climbed the switchbacks to Cascade Pass, we wondered if John would be waiting for us at the top. He was hiking out from his summer home in Stehekin to meet us for a few days in the wilderness together. The thought of seeing his friendly face spurred our steps, and when we heard a whistle that sounded like an imitation of Dad's, there was excitement among us. Then, he appeared around the next switchback, grinning and carefree with a bear tooth around his neck. He offered to take a pack (several times, until Mom finally obliged him) and hugged us and led us up the mountain as he told us stories and news of his life. 

At Cascade Pass

 One afternoon, sunny and showery by turns, we had returned from our short day hike to Horseshoe Basin and John stirred up the coals left from the morning's fire. We dried brush-wetted pant legs, boots, and socks by the fire and then Dad and John set out to catch some brook trout. Mom and I sat on stumps and logs by the fire and journaled and read. To keep from getting stiff, we gathered fuel and broke the branches over our knees to feed the fire or, when the rain revved up, hunched under our raincoats and tried to protect our books from the drops so we could keep reading. The boys came back happy and hungry with four beautiful fish strung on a green alder twig. The fish rested in the creek until we had roasted our potatoes in the fire; then we fried them with oil and garlic on foil over hot coals and ate our dinner with great delight.

View from Horseshoe Basin

Though the weather on Friday was foggy and misty, we decided to start up Sahalie Arm and see what views could be found there. The hillside was vivid with verdant flora, and everything wore dewdrop jewelry. The mountains drifted in and out of fog and clouds. Mist turned to rain which turned to ice bits. We tucked heads into hats and hoods and hands into gloves and pockets and took it all in.

On Sahalie Arm

The third night, John and I set up our tarp very low to the ground so it could be as wide as possible (so we could be as dry as possible, which we knew from our experiences on the previous two nights was not a given). At the peak, and at the high end, it was perhaps 18" off the ground; it was quite a snake-slither to get in and out. Rain spattered and dumped on our siltarp much of the night. I mostly slept and was mostly warm, but my feet were a little chilly and I was thinking about the little Hotties I knew John had in his pack (which also happened to be his pillow). One time when I heard him stirring, I asked, "Is it close to morning?" The sleeping bag-encased collection of lumps that was John mobilized and hands and head emerged. He patted around for flashlight, then looked for his watch. "It seems like it's getting lighter," he said. "Oh. It's 12:30. Why is my sleeping bag so wet?" Then, "Ralphie?" he said, using my pet nickname. "Do you want a little Hottie?" Since it was only 12:30, yes, I did want a little Hottie or two. He fished them out of his pack, opened and shook them for me.  I tucked them into my socks. The raindrops surged louder, and we burrowed into our bags and slept again. An hour later, the sky was definitely light and he looked at his watch again when we heard Mom and Dad stirring under their tarp. "I must have been looking at the wrong time zone," John said, pushing a few buttons. "Oh, it's now 6:30."

Warming up & drying out on the last morning

As we packed up camp on the last morning, I heard a whistle above us. John had already headed out on his fifteen mile hike back into Stehekin, and I looked up to the main trail above Pelton Basin, where we had camped. There was a tiny figure, flashing through the brush. "Goodbye, John!" I called up to him.

Climbing out of Pelton Basin towards Cascade Pass