Bailey Range
Traverse, Olympic National Park, Washington
8/9-17/97
AUthor:
Mike Sullivan
Participants: Peter McLachlan (leader),
Dan McLachlan, Liela McLachlan, Mike Sullivan
The Bailey Range is
situated between Mount Olympus and the Pacific Ocean on
Washington state’s Olympic Peninsula. The range offers
unparalleled scenery, spectacular mountain topography,
abundant wildlife, and countless miles of wilderness
trekking, often on undeveloped routes. Peter and Dan
arranged a plan to traverse about half of the range in a
south-north arc. Our route would start at Sol-Duc
Valley, climb to the crest of the range, traverse along
a half-dozen peaks sitting opposite Mt. Olympus, then
gradually descend down to the Whiskey Bend trailhead on
the Elwha River. We expected to take 7 days to complete
the route.
After a flight to
Seattle and an overnight stay in Olympia, our trip
started with a very scenic drive out the peninsula to
the National Park, and a car drop at Whiskey Bend. We
then drove to the Sol-Duc Valley, bought a $50 trip
permit, and started our hike in. The trail climbed
steeply up through huge forests of old-growth redwoods,
passing many creeks and small waterfalls. After four
miles, we arrived at our campsite at Deer Lake, and were
immediately assaulted by hungry swarms of mosquitoes. We
took refuge inside tents and bivy sacks, and began
counting the hours until we could resume hiking in the
morning.
The second day put us
quickly above treeline, where the mosquito hazards were
slightly less. We were rewarded with jaw-dropping views
of Mount Olympus and our upcoming route over the
Baileys, with the Pacific Ocean on one horizon and the
spectacular Cascade Range on the other. We traversed the
High Divide trail, with a short hike up Bogachiel Peak
before camping in Cat Basin, where we were assaulted by
another bloodthirsty gang of mosquitoes. We spent a few
hours playing cards inside Dan and Liela’s tent,
listening to the frustrated buzzing on the other side of
the bugnets. Peter’s knee was troubling him, so we
briefly discussed contingency plans in case it grew
worse.
The next day’s hike
brought us past more views of Olympus, plus many alpine
meadows blooming with columbine, beargrass, and many
other flowers. We also passed right by a black bear,
placidly munching new shoots next to the trail. That
afternoon, we reached the dead-end of the official
trail, at a narrow 3rd class ridge traverse called The
Catwalk. Peter’s knee was indeed worsening, and Dan and
Liela were having minor foot problems as well. (I think
Dan was actually fine, but felt obliged to accompany his
wife through thick and thin.) We held a long discussion,
and finally agreed that I would continue on solo, as the
others turned around. We sorted gear, and took a few
photos… Dan called them “memorial service parting
shots.”
I trundled off onto the
catwalk, with a mixture of euphoria and trepidation at
the thought of 4 day’s worth of solo bushwhacking over
difficult and completely unfamiliar territory.
Meanwhile, the McLachlan clan headed slowly back to the
trailhead over the course of the next two days. I set up
camp that evening on a snowfield high on the shoulders
of Mount Carrie, wondering and worrying about how the
route would go. As I contemplated the maps, a pair of
mountain goats wandered down off the summit and – much
to my surprise – hung out with me for the next hour.
They wandered around, grazed, and posed for two rolls
worth of photos, all the while making me feel very
welcome in their home. Much more relaxed, I enjoyed a
glorious blazing sunset over the Pacific, and turned in.
(It wound up being the only skeeter-free camp of the
trip!)
Early the next morning,
I found myself standing on top of Mt. Carrie and
examining the ridge in front of me. The next peak was
Mt. Ruth, composed of an evil looking shard of crumbly
basalt that stuck alarmingly out of steep glacial
snowfields. Oh shit! Ain’t no way I was gonna solo that
puppy. Even the traverse along the top of the glacier
looked very questionable, so I was forced to cross the
ridge over to the southeast slopes, and try to work a
traverse out from there. I lost my footing twice during
the traverse and both times had to perform long, sliding
self arrests with my ice-axe, which I found to be very
difficult with a full pack. A nearby herd of goats
seemed to be rather entertained by the whole affair.
I eventually dropped
low enough to find a workable route, and slogged my way
around the black snag looming above me. I regained the
ridgetop by climbing a sharp buttress, hoping that Mt.
Ruth would be the last obstacle. Not a chance! I
explored further along the ridge with a daypack, trying
to find a workable route for the next day. The ridge was
covered with krummholz thickets interrupted by blades
and spires of rotten basalt. It took me an hour to
travel a quarter mile of ridge, which left me exhausted
and wigged-out due to the awful rock quality. The route
would be pretty close to suicidal with a full pack. I
returned to set up camp, resigned to descend for another
traverse the next day. That evening, I saw a large herd
of Roosevelt elk moving across a snowfield about a mile
below me. The spectacular surroundings helped ease my
mind about the route and the persistent mosquitoes.
I dropped back down
from the ridge the next morning, descending into the
Cream Lake basin via a steep gully brimming with
wildflowers. The basin was spectacularly beautiful, but
swampy areas brought the mosquito problem to critical
levels. If it wasn’t for the weight of my pack, I think
the little shits would have carried me off to a more
convenient place to butcher me and drain my blood. As it
was, I slogged on wearing a self-defense layer of full
gore-tex, getting soft-boiled in the warm and sunny
weather.
That afternoon I topped
out onto the very scenic Mt. Ferry, where the altitude
and breeze allowed a return to non-skeeter-proof
clothing. From the summit of Ferry, my route broke off
of the main Bailey crest, and headed northwest out to
Ludden Peak. The terrain eased for a while here, and I
had a few hours of pleasant hiking along the ridgetop.
The scramble up Ludden was more fun than scary, as I was
mostly able to patch together stretches of clean granite
and avoid the basalt that I’d come to fear and loathe.
Another bugfest bivy site on top of Ludden led me to
decide that I would push out the remainder of the route
in one day instead of two. Late that afternoon, I
scouted out the 4th class descent off the back side of
Ludden, so that I would be able to negotiate it more
easily the next day while wearing the full pack.
A dawn start down
Ludden led me to another narrow ridge traverse, and then
back out to an actual trail, the first I’d seen since
our group split up. Later that morning I even saw
another party, and was glad for the opportunity to chat
with other folks for a bit. I don’t remember much of the
rest of that day, except that it was a very long-ass
walk back out to the trailhead. A great stroke of luck
led me to meet up with the McLachlans that afternoon, as
they were finishing their first vigil at the trailhead
in anticipation of my return. We filled each other in on
the details of our adventures, and I learned that they
had chartered an airplane that day to see the sights and
look for me (or my remains!) along the route.
For our “bonus” day, we
all went for an awesome day hike out to Cape Alava on
the Pacific coast. It is part of the National Park, but
borders one of the indian reservations. The route
followed a boardwalk through dense, mossy forests for a
mile or two out to the coast. The shoreline was quite
beautiful, with huge craggy sea stacks, an indian
archaeological site, and thousands of shore birds
feeding along the kelp beds. It was a fun and relaxing
day, and provided a great contrast to all of the rock
and snow of the previous days.
In summary, the trip
was a wonderful adventure. I wish we could have stayed
as a group for the whole traverse, but it was very nice
of the rest of the crew to give me the option of
continuing solo. We continue to talk about returning for
another try, armed with better knowledge of the route
and its quirks…
Anybody know where to
get bug repellent in 5-gallon buckets?
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