Canoeing the North Cascades - To Desolation Peak & Back

After a scouting trip to Diablo Lake in the North Cascades last year, we discovered on the topo that Desolation peak, the same one that Kerouac spent 3 months atop in 1956, was just around the corner. Since reading his Dharma bum adventures in high school, it had become a personal goal to climb Desolation. Evidently the time had come. Nestled just 6 miles south of the Canadian border, the “Easiest” approach to the trail head is via Ross Lake. However, this presented its own difficulties. There is one boat ramp with car access to the entire 23mi lake, and it resides in Canada. Without proper passports, we opted for the alternative. Put in Diablo Lake and portage up the dam to Ross.

The majority of our first day was spent driving up to the North Cascades from Olympia, at least several hours depending on Seattle’s traffic. We hit Diablo Lake in the midafternoon, locked down the truck and hopped in the canoe. There is something about the color of the water of Diablo Lake, a glowing emerald green, it is unlike anything else we’ve ever padded in. This is attributed to glacial flour, or powdered rocks associated with the movement of glaciers. This effect is intensified, as Diablo Lake is bottom fed by the dam, taking the coldest water where particulates have settled from Ross Lake. As a result, Ross Lake has a more normal hue of sea blue, and is also much warmer. That afternoon we made our way across the lake, setting up an early camp at hidden cove. I have to say, camping in the North Cascades is great, our permits were free, parking was free, and at every campsite we stayed (some very remote) they were equipped with bear boxes, picnic tables, and an outhouse. As far as I’m concerned it was luxurious. Especially when it’s a single camp, and you get it entirely to yourself –like hidden cove. After eating dinner we bedded down for an early morning departure to Ross Lake.

With first light we were back in the canoe, and paddling up the narrow canyon to the dam. Here there is a portage service offered that is well worth it. Teaming up with other paddlers, they charged $20 for the mile long trip with 500ft of gain. For single crafts they charge $30.  Being in the first convoy, we dipped into Ross Lake around 10:00 in the morning. We then paddled another 4 miles to our next camp at McMillan. The camp featured a nice long wooden dock that provided great views of the water as far as the eye could see. With fires raging in Eastern Washington, visibility was limited to a couple miles at best.

The going was very smooth as we met little wind and calm water. The days were hot, but jumping in the lake was a great way to cool off. The next day we explored the Devil’s Canyon on the way to our next camp. As soon as we entered the canyon walls, the temperature dropped dramatically and our breath became immediately visible. Everywhere we looked, the water was teeming with fish of all sizes. After a couple of tight maneuvers around a few log jams, we came to a small waterfall, marking the end of our route (see picture below). A couple miles further, and we landed at 10 mile Island, our next campsite. Across the water to the west, one could hear the constant roar of Skymo falls shooting down the cascade’s face. Drawn like a bug to the light, later that afternoon we paddled over and inspected the falls in person.

On day four we continued North to Cat Island. Here we would set up shop for a few days, acting as our base camp to Desolation peak. This is when the wind began making its introductions. The following morning we got up very early, paddled the mile to the trail head and started hiking. The trail was 9.6 miles long round trip, with 4,500ft of gain. It was steep, but eventually opened up into vast alpine meadows that gave views of the lake below, Canada to the north and glaciers to the south. On the summit still sits the same fire watch tower that Kerouac lived in, still used for the same purpose. The ranger happened to be off duty while we were there, so we had the summit to ourselves. We enjoyed it, ate lunch, took pictures and sang at the top of our lungs. Coming back down we drank up the last of our water, making for some thirsty miles. Eventually we came to a small spring in the mountain side, trickling out water with a slow drip. Patience vs. thirst. Probably took 5 minutes to fill a half-litre bottle. We made do, and continued on down the trail. By the time we made it back to the canoe, the wind had picked up significantly creating white-caps on the water. Reluctantly, we slumped into the canoe and began our very slow voyage back to Cat Island.

In the distance, we could make out one other paddler on the water, whom we both assumed was paddling towards us. As we trudged on and came closer, we realized they were going the same way we were, but the wind was prevailing against them. An older women paddling alone, she was barely dipping her paddles into the water. Despite the fact that we were hardly making headway ourselves, we quickly decided to throw her a line anyway, which she tied on to the front of her kayak. We began paddling as hard as we could, despite being exhausted from an already long day. Nonetheless, we made our way towards Cat Island, one stroke at a time. When we made it to the dock, the Women’s paddling companion was waiting for us, leisurely enjoying himself from land. He didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that this women had a migraine, and had zero interest in paddling in the wind any time soon. She briefly thanked us and then laid on the ground and took a nap.

Thankfully we had planned for a zero day on Cat Island. Even better, it happened to correspond with a powerful thunderstorm that rolled through the canyon. We took shelter, and enjoyed a day of nothing strenuous but listening to thunder echo. The moisture also drastically increased the visibility. All of a sudden our surroundings seemed brand new. The moss was greener, the peaks more crisp, the water more blue. However, the wind never stopped blowing against us, making our return south considerably more difficult. We spent another night admiring Skymo falls from 10mi Island, and then continued south to rainbow point. From here we made a day trip up big beaver creek to an amazing old growth cedar stand. Very rarely do I see this level of old growth left in a contiguous stand that stretches for miles. Two miles down the trail, the stand climaxes with 2,000-10,000 year old trees that line the wetland.

Our last day was spent paddling the 12 remaining miles back to the truck. We portaged back to diablo lake with a few canoe enthusiasts, whom we shared good conversation. After making it back to the open waters of the lake, we parked the canoe on a small island and jumped in one last time. We forgot just hold much colder diablo lake is. Jumped in, jumped out and dried off. 10 days paddling roughly 50 miles and 10 additional miles of strenuous hiking had come to a close. Till next time!

Through Paddling the Betsy River

When you drive a canoe across the country, you best make use of it. Especially if it means almost having your topper ripped off by a tornado in Iowa, but that’s another story.

After reviewing a couple local paddling guides, we settled on the Betsy river in lower northwestern Michigan. With ample experience paddling on the Salish sea, and little to none with rivers, we thought we’d start easy. The trip consisted of roughly 40 miles of meandering slow moving river taking us through wetlands and nature preserves.

The trip began at Grass Lake, the headwaters to the Betsy. Parting the bugs and reeds to get the canoe into the river, it was so slow moving we couldn’t determine the direction of flow. After getting our bearings, we made our way downstream honing our techniques for quick maneuvers around tight corners, bends and numerous logs. In hind sight a kayak would have been better suited for this endeavor, but we made it through just fine. The going was slow as we constantly adjusted our trajectory around the obstacles of low water in July. If there was any question about our compatibility as paddling companions, it would have quickly become evident on this day. Despite the buzzing veil of mosquitos that never subsided, we paddled on. Not all canoe side companions were a nuisance however; beautiful neon blue dragon flies swarmed the river in a few sections, occasionally so thick that they would land on our hand and shoulders as we paddled.

We made camp along the river that night, and then paddled another long day. We only covered roughly 20 miles in those two days, but we worked for every one of them. Instead of searching the banks for another suitable campsite, Amanda was lucky enough to have a family friend with property on the river. Unfortunately our only directions were street directions, so after paddling under the nearest bridge, we hiked the canoe up to the road and down the street to her friend’s house, arriving at sundown. After making our introductions, we cooked up some quick dinner and fell fast asleep. In the morning we were treated like royalty, as we woke up to fresh coffee and a vegan-gluten-free breakfast complete with coffeecake, hash browns and homemade strawberry basil jam. On top of it all, Bob & Tina helped us shuttle our vehicle from Grass Lake to our terminus. Feeling good, but reluctant to leave, we loaded up the canoe and continued downstream.

Another long day of paddling was broken up with an exciting find. Out of the decaying roots holding the river embankment, the largest natural reishi colony I have ever seen. In all fairness, I paddled right by it, but upon Amanda’s request to turn around a take a closer look, I was quickly jumping out of the canoe to personally inspect the mushrooms. Known to the Chinese as the mushroom of immortality, its medicinal qualities are too numerous to list. After covering ourselves, canoe and gear is spore dust, we paddled on, spreading it everywhere we went. As the sun was setting Amanda got stung by a flying insect on the neck, and we decidedly made for an early camp. That night we fell asleep to the sound of beavers hard at work, smacking their tails back and forth. Our last day we were able make better time down the river as we approached Lake Michigan. Along the way I spotted Inonotus obliquus (chaga) growing off of a birch looming over the embankment. Determined to take some home with me, I shuffled up the tree, hatchet in hand, and precariously hacked off a few small chunks. Incredibly dense, it’s comparable to stale hard-wood. Satisfied, we paddled our remaining miles, and took out before we hit the urban development of Elberta, where the river is united with Lake Michigan. 

Superior Lakes & Pictured Rocks

          Excited to get to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for Andy’s first time, we drove straight to the edge of the Pictured Rocks wilderness on the edge of Lake Superior, arriving fairly late in the evening.  We spent the night in the truck on a two-track forest road, got up early the next morning and went into Munising for a wilderness pass. We parked the truck at Beaver Creek, and hiked East till we hit Lake Superior for our first camp. 

         Unfortunately, as we got into camp, I developed a migraine, and had to make camp quickly; the constant bombardment of mosquitos certainly didn’t help. Sleeping under a tarp, I have never been so thankful for the rectangular mosquito net we picked up at the last minute.  The Upper Peninsula’s famous mosquitos are no joke, although I still think Minnesota is worse ;) As I laid down, Andy set to sewing birch bark he had collected along the way, making little bark boxes. Camping next to us, a boy and his father made for very entertaining company. The little boy told us all about his wilderness skills, camping experience etc. consistently reiterating that he wasn’t even a boy scout.  Later that night, the boy came across a little tree frog that he thought would make for an excellent pet. Needing a container for his new friend, Andy gave him the bark box that he had just finished.

The next day, bright and early, we hiked West toward the Coves camp, a short 3 or 4 miles down the trail. As we began to set up our camp and prepare for our day hike to chapel rock, we were surprised to find the boy and his father coming around the corner. The little boy had insisted on saying goodbye before they hiked out, and knowing our itinerary, knew where they could find us. He thanked us again for the bark box, saying it would be the center piece of their fireplace mantel. After saying our goodbyes, they departed for the trailhead while we made our way further down the trail. Another 4 miles or so and we reached our prized destination –chapel rock. Carved out by Lake Superior, this rock out cropping had been disconnected from the mainland, with a large hole carved through the center. Atop of the rock, grew a large white pine, with roots extending through the air back to mainland. One of nature’s finer master pieces, we sat and watched as waves crashed through the rock.

               We hiked back to camp, along the waterfalls and cliff sides, slept like rocks. In the morning we hiked inland to Beaver Creek eventually making it back to the truck. We made our final goodbyes, then headed on toward Marquette and the Western Upper Peninsula.