Since the North Cascades Highway opened in September 1972, I’ve explored the trails and waterways along its route from Cutthroat Creek to Thunder Creek at the Colonial Creek Campground. My friend, Heather Swanson, who retired last year as the lead packer for North Cascades National Park (NOCA), now joins me, recreating in the park for the first time after more than 20 years of leading pack strings up and down its trails. Her vast familiarity with all the flora and fauna, plus stories about her adventures and misadventures during her tenure with the Park, make her an awesome hiking companion.
Sadly, parked cars now plug many of the trailheads, and thieves often target them. Still, I consider the Greater North Cascades Ecosystem — one of the most intact wildlands in the contiguous United States — my home turf, outstandingly beautiful and rugged, despite the trailhead chaos.
Last week, we made arrangements with the Ross Lake Resort to hire their water taxi to take us to Big Beaver boat camp about 8 miles up the west side of the lake. We would hike back to the trailhead on the west bank of Ross Lake on the Big Beaver trail, crossing the Skagit River via Ross Dam.
After being dropped off at Big Beaver boat camp, we headed to the Big Beaver trail, where it veered off the lake and headed northwest up the Big Beaver Valley. Mostly in the shade, high above the lake, and crossing bridges over rushing streams, the route was a welcome relief from the blazing sun. Heather identified the nearby birds by their songs; I used my Merlin bird app. After hiking for about an hour, we encountered Doug.
A reclining body with a huge pack sprawled out beside him blocked the trail. Heather, who was ahead of me, called out but initially received no response. When we finally roused him, it was clear that he wasn’t understanding what was happening. Our first aid training kicked in as we asked him the standard questions: Can we help you? Are you hurt? Do you know where you are? We identified who he was by his backcountry permit and spent an hour with Doug, encouraging him to eat and drink. Gradually, he became more coherent and convinced us that “he would be alright.” He was headed for the Big Beaver boat camp, but we were still concerned about him. Heather planned to notify the Park rangers to look out for Doug as soon as we arrived within cell service range.
We reached an area of the trail that looked newly rebuilt. “This is where I had my wreck last year,” Heather said. She told me a harrowing tale, summed up in a text after our return home: “We had nine animals. Four went over (as the trail gave way beneath them.) The cause of the wreck was trail failure, after a night of heavy rain had lubricated the soil-over-bedrock tread. It was largely Alex (her wrangler) who saved the day, but the excellent outcome was also due to the quick and effective response by NOCA park rangers, NOCA maintenance crew, and Ross Lake Resort crew.”
In her text, Heather didn’t mention how she kept more animals from being pulled down by managing her well-trained lead horse, or the hours of hard labor she spent building a crude trail to get the animals out.
After trudging a mile up steep (very steep) Happy Flats (what a misnomer!) to the trailhead, we reached the end of our hike. But my car keys that I’d stashed behind a car tire were gone! With no cell service to contact anyone, Heather offered to drive 150 miles round-trip back to Winthrop to pick up my spare set of keys.
At Washington Pass, flashing lights from dozens of emergency vehicles halted our progress. As we were flagged through, I spied the burnt-out remains of a car that had left the road at the top of the big curve, landing and exploding into flames halfway down to the lower half of the big curve. The driver died in the accident. It was a grim reminder that life is tenuous; make the most of it while you can.
Heather’s text a few days later included information about Doug’s fate: “NOCA rangers went looking for him the next day and got him the care he needed.”
