The plan was to head up the Company Creek trail, cut off to head up to Bird Lake, and then contour across the hillside to Blackberry Creek and come back down to the valley floor along that drainage. Mark hadn't done the entire route from Bird Lake to Blackberry Creek, but he had done parts of it and thought it seemed doable.
Though Colter's optimistic weather forecast was rain and snow, with a bit of drought thrown in, the morning was clear. We made steady progress up the trail and crossed the creek at 5 mile on a log (which looked more slippery than it was) before lunch. Though we did find some of the brush we had expected along the trail, it wasn't bad and even the occasional stinging nettle didn't dampen our spirits. Mark shared stories of cabins, trappers, and mining claims, drawing from his memory and reading the signs of the valley's history in a flat campsite or a crumbling rock wall. He also whistled; the song of the day was "Ten Thousand Reasons," and soon Colter and I were humming along too.
We plunked ourselves down along the trail for a lunch break, savoring chicken and bacon sandwiches (well, some of us savored them. Others made quick work of packing them away). Then we filled our water bottles and left the trail behind, heading up towards the pass leading to Bird Lake. Mark led, and the brush seemed to give way as he picked our route up the hillside. It was steep and he stopped for short breathers fairly often, but the pace was doable for all of us and we stayed together, me in between the boys. Light cloud cover kept us out of the eye of the burning sun. Every time we turned around to look back, we could see further down into the valley or a new line of mountains would appear on the horizon. Ahead, the ridgeline steadily approached.
And then, we entered an area of lovely streams and gentle grassy basins. When we reached one such place, Mark said, "I think we should camp here!" Colter and I didn't argue, but slipped off our packs and took in the beauty of the spot. After a rest, snacks, and a coffee break, we were ready to leave our packs behind and see what lay beyond the ridge above. There was still one more steep pull to get up the hill, but beyond that was an expanse of meadow and stream that delighted all of us. Then we reached the top of the ridge, and beyond that lay Bird Lake, tucked under the shelter of the rugged Devore Peak.
To the other side lay White Goat, and beyond that, Tupshin; across the valley we could see the Sawtooth range.
Behind us, over our gentle ridge, we could see Bonanza, McGregor, Agnes. We talked about not going down to the lake, but then kept going, down the gentle slope, around the lake, out on various little viewpoints. It was hard to leave, but the sun was hiding behind Devore's jagged ridgeline and there was a cooling breeze in the exposed areas. Our foil packets began to sound quite tempting, so we turned towards camp. It was easy going across the basin, and though the steep stretch on the other side seemed longer than it had on the way up, we did reach camp with plenty of daylight left for cooking dinner.
While the packets sizzled on the coals, Mark set up a tarp for shelter -- though the sky was clearing again, he decided it would be better to set it up before bed than in the middle of the night. But he set up his bed in the open, for better star gazing. I found another little grove of trees for my bedroom, and Colter decided to set up under the tarp. The foil packets were satisfying and delicious, and it was also satisfying to remove that much weight from our packs.
We talked around the fire a bit, but as the first stars came out we made our way to our nests and settled in for the night. I had one visitor -- a buck who apparently wasn't expecting to find me, judging by the quick crashing escape he made when he discovered me. But we all slept well, and the night was quite mild.
The next morning dawned clear, glorious. Morning camp routines of fire, coffee and tea, breakfast, washing up, and packing were completed. The day was upon us and we were eager for the adventures it would bring! We began by heading back up the hillside towards Bird Lake, leaving our packs in camp.
Once at the top, there was talk of bagging a peak. Devore and White Goat looked a bit rugged, but perhaps we could travel along the ridge to Tupshin? We headed that way, stopping to savor the new views that peeked out from behind each rocky outcropping.
In front of Tupshin
Mt Baker
Bonanza
Devore & Bird Lake
From above, Mark had looked down at parts of the route he thought we would travel and planned our course, through that strip of timber around the nose of that ridge right over to Blackberry Creek. We encountered a bit of brush, but the boys were still joking about impending blizzards, stinging nettles 10 feet high, bugs, darkness, and other disasters, so I knew all was well. The brush thickened, and it was hard to see the bigger picture of where we were headed and what the best route was. We would come to a sort of lookout, and look out to see timbered hillsides descending steeply to one side, and thick brush to the other. "Another drainage -- do you think we should go high, along that timber, or cut across here?" Down we went, then it would look more promising farther up the hillside, so we'd climb up till we reached some impassable bluff, then down again through brush that seemed to thicken the farther we went. We would lower ourselves down while clinging to fir branches and brush, scrambling over logs and rocks. At one point I asked Colter what one particular bush was that we had encountered quite a bit of; it grew out horizontally from the hillside so that some of its strong, pliable branches could trip your feet while others slapped you in the face. "I don't know; I bet you could come up with a choice name for it right about now!"
I lost track of how many times we rounded the nose of a ridge only to see there was another gulf to cross before we reached the elusive Blackberry Creek. There was talk of going back the way we had come and heading down to Company Creek, but none of us really wanted to recover all the ground we'd crossed so far. After lowering ourselves down one slightly sketchy section of rock, Mark said, "Well, we're not turning back now!" Instead of joking about how terrible everything was (or was about to become), the boys began to point out the good things about where we were -- at least it was cool deep in the brush, and we were making progress, and there's always a way, even when it looks like there isn't.
Once again we came to a decision point; the contour line we were following would take us deep into another gully before bringing us around to the point of the next ridge, and we didn't have enough hours of daylight to add those miles to our trip. So the options were to head up to the top of the ridge and follow it, or to plunge straight down (loosing the altitude we had only just gained) through a steep sea of brush, hit Company Creek, camp along the trail there, and head home on the trail in the morning. I didn't cast a vote; I trusted Mark and Colter to make a good decision for us. But I was getting tired. I noticed my thighs and ankles weren't quite as ready to steadily hold my weight when I headed steeply down, and I wondered how long before they gave out. Mark noticed I was getting tired (probably because I wasn't right on his heels anymore), and asked me if I wanted to use his poles. "I don't know," I said, meaning "would they help at this point?" and "I don't want to take them from you!" But then I suggested that maybe we could each use one, and that did help. The next time Mark looked over his shoulder he noticed the tipsy way I was walking and asked if my feet were sore. "No," I answered, "My muscles are just tired!" (To put it mildly.)
"I can take some of the weight from your pack," he said, and suddenly he and Colter were both standing there with their packs open wide, taking whatever I handed them. "I can take your sleeping bag." "I can take your water bottle, too, Julie." I had been close to tears, and their gentle kindness brought the mist to my eyes.
With my pack considerably lightened, we set out again. The skies were clear -- it truly was a glorious day -- and the sun burned hot. We drank thirstily at our breaks, and filled up our bottles when we crossed little creeks. My muscles were still wearing out, but I told them there was no option to quit here, and prayed for the mental strength to continue. At last the sun left the valley, but the evening was warm and we were still glistening with sweat. When we would take off our packs, I would always find a deposit of fir needles on the back of my neck from the branches we had plowed through.
When we had decided to head straight down the ridge to the creek, we were probably about 3000 feet from the valley floor. Our progress wasn't fast, but it was steady, and when we would get a peek through the trees, we could see the bed of Company Creek approaching. Then we began to hear its roar. The brush continued, and Mark seemed weary too, slipping more often on the steep terrain. Colter was steady behind me, moving a branch out of my way when he could, always close on my heels but never complaining that I was slow, quietly cheerful. We were almost to the creek when Mark suggested that we could camp there, instead of fighting the last of the brush and crossing the creek that night. The choice was mine, and I wanted to go on. We ducked and squinted and climbed and slid through the alders, cedars and devil's club at the creek's edge, and then I saw the water through the leaves. Lovely sight!
Mark investigated a log upstream, but deemed it unsuitable and came back to where Colter and I were waiting and where we would wade across. The boys just plunged in in their boots, but I took mine off to go barefoot. Colt took my boots, and Mark stood in the current waiting for me so we could go through together. It was just shy of waist high, and in the thick of the current it was a good thing he was hanging on to me, or I wouldn't have kept my footing. Colter followed behind, so that when I slipped on the slick rocks in the shallow water he and Mark were both close at hand to reach out and steady me, keeping me upright. We had made it across! A little revived by the refreshing water, and the knowledge that a trail was close at hand, I patted my feet dry and put my boots back on, first emptying out pine needles and leaves. Then we charged into the brush once again, but it wasn't long before Mark gave a triumphant cry and we were tramping along the trail. Our pace smoothed and quickened, and we skimmed along the trail as dusk fell on Company Creek valley. I think it wasn't more than a mile when Mark called to us again and we knew that we had reached Cedar Camp, our home for the night. All of us were quite ready to call it a day. Colter was dreaming of his Backpacker's Pantry Beef Stroganaff; I said I was dreaming of a bench. "Good luck with that," he said. "I'm not picky!" I responded.
As we poked around the camp, we found, towards the creek, a lovely area under a vine maple and alder ceiling with a fire pit at the center and, just as I had requested, three benches. Mark got a fire started; Colter gathered wood; I filled the can with water and then headed back to the creek to wash up and change into dry clothes (the bottom half was wet from our wade; the top half was at least as wet with sweat). Mark and I laughed when Colter pulled out his fresh clothes and said with dismay, "I put my clean socks and underwear on the wrong side of my pad -- they were against my back and now they are just as sweaty as the ones I have on!" How delicious those freeze dried dinners tasted! We finished off with cookies and Cliff bars and then, as the fire was dying down, the boys headed back towards the trail where they planned to throw down their sleeping bags. I cozied up there by the dregs of the fire. The night was quite mild, and I sat and journaled for a few minutes to capture some of the day and to wind down for bed. Then I turned out my flashlight and slipped into my sleeping bag. I could see stars winking between the leaves of my roof, and the ground was soft under me. One mouse came dashing by as I was drifting to sleep, but he moved on and I was soon deep into dreamland. I woke a few times to turn over, but slept deep and sweet.
In the morning, I watched the last stars die out, dozed, and then watched the sky turn pale. I turned on my light so I could read Psalm 138, and gave thanks to the Lord along with the writer of this ancient song. "My strength of soul you increased," the Psalmist said. That's what He had done for me the day before, too. "The LORD will fulfill his purposes for me. Your steadfast love, O LORD, endures forever; do not forsake the work of your hands." Part of His provision for me had been in the kind, gentle care and happy companionship of the two men on the trip with me. Soon I heard cracking in the woods and first Mark, then Colter appeared with an armload of firewood. "You even have a fireplace in your bedroom!" Mark told me. Then I had tea and breakfast in bed, too. Quite deluxe! We enjoyed the morning but didn't linger around camp; soon we were all tucking wet clothes and our sleeping gear back into our packs. At 7:03 Mark was hoisting the last pack onto his back as we stood in the trail. It wasn't hot yet, but the morning was certainly mild, and the clear skies promised that soon the day would be toasty.
We limbered up our well-worked muscles and Mark set a steady pace down the trail, under and over occasional logs and between gentle arms of brush. But it was easy traveling after the day before. There were a few songs, jokes, and words between us, but mostly quiet camaraderie as we tromped the final descent to the Stehekin valley. We passed Jonathan and his dogs out for their morning hike. The trail flattened out, and I knew the road was close at hand. And then, we could see the red truck, and Logan, driving by. Civilization had returned. Though none of us were sorry to offload our packs and take a seat, neither were we sorry for the trip we had set out on, or the adventures we had found.
