Exploring the Mt. Adams Wilderness
Mt. Adams is the largest (by volume) and second highest volcano in the Cascade Range of Washington. Often overshadowed by its neighbors, Mt. Rainier, Mt. St. Helens, and Mt. Hood, we’ve taken a liking to Adams in part because its trails tend to be relatively deserted and in part because we have a fantastic view of the mountain’s east face from our neighborhood in the Yakima Valley. Recently we had the chance to complete a short backpacking trip on the north flank of the mountain which allowed us vantage points that far surpass anything we’ve seen on previous day hikes.
Our hike began and ended at a trailhead (Killen Creek) that is, as the crow flies, just 57 miles from our front door, but takes more than three hours to reach by car, giving some sense as to the relative remoteness of this area. Most of our ~20 mile loop was within the Mt. Adams Wilderness, a 48,000 acre wilderness area designated in 1964 with the original passage of the Wilderness Act.
On our first night, we camped at just under 7,000 feet on the north flank of the mountain in one of the most spectacular alpine meadows I’ve seen. No matter which way I turned, the views were extraordinary. To our south, the crumbling volcanic edifice of Mt. Adams loomed large, with the Adams Glacier descending in a stunning icefall from the summit plateau. To the north, broad expanses of dense evergreen forest stretched off into the distance, leading the eye to the massive Mt. Rainier and the rugged skyline of the Goat Rocks on the horizon. To the west, the truncated cone of Mt. St. Helens was backlit by the setting sun. Several lingering snowfields surrounded our campsite, providing a nice source of clear, cold water. A variety of diminutive alpine wildflowers were in full bloom, and the low rumble of rock and ice fall high on the mountain occasionally punctuated the silence, with clouds of dust the only clue as to their location. While this location is reachable by a long day hike, spending the night and being able to explore and photograph in the late afternoon and evening light is one of my favorite things about backpacking!
On Day 2, we descended to the Pacific Crest Trail before working our way around to the northeast side of Mt. Adams, passing through a series of wildflower-filled meadows and crossing several inviting streams cascading down from melting snowfields and glaciers higher on the mountain. These meadows also hosted a robust population of mosquitos and other biting insects….not unexpected for the Cascades in July, but an annoyance nonetheless, especially for an Arizona-born desert rat like me!
We had shared the trail with quite a few other hikers and backpackers on Day 1, but saw only a few other people from this point forward. Camp on night two was in a small clump of trees on the edge of a relatively recent lava flow. In contrast to the verdant alpine meadows of night one, this landscape was much more rugged, barren, and stark. After setting up our tent, we proceeded up the trail (with much lighter packs!) to find a spot for dinner. We quickly arrived at a stream crossing that we didn’t feel comfortable fording, so we left the trail behind and proceeded to pick our way up the rubbly bank until we arrived at a small knob with a spectacular view of the glaciers on Mt. Adams’ northeast face (Lava, Lyman, and Wilson). Here we enjoyed a delicious meal of instant mashed potatoes mixed with green chiles and an entire bag of bacon bits while listening to the roar of the creek.
Our best wildlife sighting of the trip actually occurred on the drive to the trailhead, when we happened upon a young barred owl sitting in the road. As we approached it flew into a nearby tree where it watched us warily for a few minutes before fleeing deeper into the forest:
Aside from this, we saw surprisingly little wildlife on this trip (unless you count mosquitos): only a few birds, chipmunks, squirrels, and a single marmot and mountain goat in the far distance from our first camp.
From our second camp, we were in a great position to catch sunrise on the final morning of our trip. There aren’t many things I’ll get up at 5:15 am for, but a Mt. Adams sunrise is definitely one of them!
After packing up, we hiked the eight downhill miles back to our car and drove back into the 100 degree blast furnace that is the Yakima Valley in late-July. We are thankful to have beautiful places like Mt. Adams so close to escape the heat this time of year!
Mountains of Summer
Tahoma dominates the skyline as seen from a ridge above Spray Park in the northwest corner of Mt. Rainier National Park. The boggy area in the lower right was filled with splintered tree trunks, likely the results of a good-sized avalanche this past winter.
As temperatures and cloud covers takes a decidedly fall-like turn here in central Washington, I’ve been looking back on photos from a whirlwind summer. While we were on the road for a good portion of the summer, we were able to make time for a few brief excursions to our “backyard” mountains: Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and the Goat Rocks. Here are some of my favorite images from those trips:
Traversing the Nisqually Glacier on the south side of Mt. Rainier in early summer. I had the opportunity to take a basic mountaineering course this past spring, which culminated in a beautiful day on the ice in mid-June. A great way to kick-off the summer!
A view of Mt. Rainier from upper Spray Park, framed by Echo Rock (left) and Observation Rock (right).
A lone glacial meltwater pool on the slopes of Mt. Rainier.
Sunset light on the summit of Mt. Rainier, as seen from the Spray Park Trail.
Ives Peak in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, flanked by clouds rolling in from the west and a sky made pale-orange by abundant wildfire smoke.
We spent a mostly cloudy and damp evening camped on Bear Creek Mountain in the Goat Rocks Wilderness. Every 15 minutes or so, there would be a momentary gap in the low clouds passing over the peak, allowing fleeting glimpses toward the west. Here, the outline of Mt. Rainier is barely visible through the clouds at left.
Mt. Adams at sunset as seen from the burn scar of the 2015 Cougar Creek Fire. A small cap cloud hovers over the summit.
The Big Dipper over Mt. Adams.
Alaska (Part Three)
Morning clouds partially obscure the Exit Glacier, Kenai Fjords National Park, Alaska
The last destination on our Alaskan journey was the Kenai Peninsula and the town of Seward. After a few days respite from the wildfire smoke in Wrangell-St. Elias, it returned with a vengeance as we headed back to Anchorage and down to the the coast:
Wildfire smoke obscures the Chugach Mountains en route to Anchorage
After baking in the heat of the Alaskan interior for the last week, the marine climate of Seward was a welcome change. We even had a bit of rain for one of the few times in our entire trip.
While temperatures in Seward we’re somewhat more mild, the coastal location meant the humidity was not. On our first day in Seward, we partook in a brutal hike up to the Harding Icefield in Kenai Fjords National Park. The hike itself was not abnormally difficult, but we were definitely not used to the combination of heat and humidity, leaving me feeling physically ill at several points during the slog up the mountain. The day had started off overcast, but as we climbed, the clouds evaporated leaving us with stellar views of the rapidly retreating Exit Glacier and the Harding Icefield from which it originates. An icefield is essentially a large mass of interconnecting glaciers. The Harding Icefield is the largest — and one of only four — remaining icefields in the United States. The Exit Glacier itself has retreated more than a mile in the last 200 years, leaving trees and other vegetation to begin re-occupying it’s former valley.
Looking down the valley partially occupied by the Exit Glacier just a few hundred years ago.
The white and blue ice of the glacier made for a stellar contrast with the lush green vegetation of the alpine zone:
Exit Glacier, Kenai Fjords National Park, Alaska
Looking out over the Harding Icefield, Kenai Fjords National Park, Alaska
Crevasses in the Exit Glacier, Kenai Fjords National Park, Alaska
The wet climate of coastal Alaska results in extremely heavy snowfalls, making this one of only a handful of places in the world where glaciers flow all the way down to sea level to meet the ocean. Known as tidewater glaciers, these glaciers exhibit complex patterns of advance and retreat that, unlike standard alpine glaciers, are not purely the result of variations in climate. While warmer temperatures or prolonged drought can certainly reduce their mass, the movement of tidewater glaciers is also subject to complex interactions between the ice, the geomtery of the ocean floor, and the depth of the water into which they flow.
On our second day in Seward, we took a water taxi into the heart of Kenai Fjords National Park and then kayaked to within about a quarter mile of the terminus of Holgate Glacier. Tidewater glaciers have a tendency to “calve”, in which large chunks of ice break off the glacier and fall into the ocean, necessitating a safe distance. Glacier “social distancing” if you will. It is not hard to find videos on YouTube of people getting too close to calving tidewater glaciers, with quite predictable results. From our safe distance, we observed and heard several calving events in the few hours we were kayaking around the bay, but unfortunately I was not adept enough at kayaking into position quickly enough to actually capture one on camera.
Kayaking toward the terminus of the Holgate Glacier, Kenai Fjords National Park, Alaska
Tiny iceberg, Kenai Fjords National Park, Alaska
Our boat ride back to Seward through Resurrection Bay also resulted in sightings of sea lions, seals, puffins, and even two pods of orcas: an exciting end to the trip!
Orca, Resurrection Bay, Alaska
Orcas, Resurrection Bay, Alaska
Horned Puffin (from the Alaska Sealife Center in Seward, because the photo was better than the wild ones…)
Zach Schierl Photography 