Kendall Katwalk
August 24th, 2005. Pictures
This was a nearly perfect outing. It was a cooler day for August, and clouds occasionally obscured the nearby peaks. Right out of the parking lot, we dove into old-growth forest with huge hemlocks, skunk cabbage, devil's club, foamflower, and salmonberry, with many small streams trickling by. After a couple of switchbacks, we came to an open boulder field with a nice view of a neighboring peak, which might have been Guye Peak, judging by the map. We saw lots of fireweed, and just a few paintbrush. The forest switched from hemlock as the dominant species to Silver fir as we went from 3,000 to 4,500. When we broke out into the open again, the rocky slide areas were populated by marmots. I wouldn't have known they were there if they hadn't given their chirping warning calls. Kendall Katwalk was just an easy stroll to get across, but I held the dogs' leashes securely and didn't look down too much. If one were to fall, there'd be no stopping for about five hundred feet. There would have been room to pass somebody, but I was glad we had the whole path to ourselves. I didn't stop to take a picture until we got to a wide spot on the far side.
We went on to Ridge Lake, about 6.5 miles of trail from the trailhead, about three miles as the crow flies. The dogs went swimming and fetched a stick, and then Tessie got out of the lake and rolled in the dusty dirt, giving herself a coat of mud. Stretches of trail were very dusty and dry, and ten feet trudging through it stirred up a cloud of dust that hovered around us as we walked. By the time we got back to the truck, I was a different color with the coating of sweat-glued dust. I was using my GPS toy to navigate, but it wasn't necessary because I could see I-90 in the distance from near the top, even though the cars looked like ants, and I could hear the constant roar of the freeway as we got closer in the dense woods. It would have been hard to get lost on that hike. On the way back, there were hawks or something up on the ridge above the trail, and they had very piercing calls. Their calls were directional. I could tell they weren't far away, but I couldn't see them when I knew I must be looking right at them. They would aim their calls at me every once in a while, and it was like being shot with a sonic arrow. Then they would turn their voices away and it would fill the whole hillside. I got the impression they were telling the cougars and wolves where to find me so they could pick my bones clean after the predators had done their dirty work. When we got back to the truck, Tessie collapsed on the seat and wouldn't make room for Porter. Usually, it's Porter sprawling across the entire bench seat with Tessie jammed up against the passenger door, but she was so tired that, since she got there first, she wouldn't budge, and Porter was too tired to make her move. He drifted in and out of sleep standing up. They woke up when we reached the McDonald's at North Bend, and then as I ate while driving, Porter laid down with his chin on my knee, looking like the sweet sort of dog one might give a bite of sandwich to. Tessie echoed his position and expression by curling around the same way and resting her chin on Porter's back, and looking up with her sweet puppy eyes, saying, "I'm a good dog who deserves a snack." Most of the couple dozen people I saw on the trail had full backpacks and were going to or coming from overnight camping trips, but I was very glad to have a hot shower and a soft bed at the end of the day.