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Living on the PCT at Stampede Pass

Jacque Higgins-Rosebrook

It's Wednesday, February 6, 2002. The snow outside is falling lightly onto the 124 inches already there, filling up the window wells I dug the other day to let daylight into the house. There's a low overcast sky, temperature 30f/-1.1c, visibility ¼ mile and there's almost no wind. The trees are heavily laden with snow and icicles. When I open the back door, the tracks of the snowcat are at eye level up the slope of snow I shovel just about every day to keep that exit open.

Welcome to the Stampede Pass weather station in winter. It's a different world than when you came by last time, eh?

After nine years here, I've developed a sense of when it's time for the first thru hikers to appear. For me, it's become part of the yearly cycle and lately I've begun to feel like one of those keepers of the well from medieval tales.

Day hikers show up sometimes as early as mid June looking for a stretch of the PCT that's free enough of snow to make a pleasant few hours of walking. The thru hikers generally don't make it until sometime in mid July. The snow has melted by then and the garden is in and I've collected my first pickup load of snowmobiler garbage. Maybe I will have been to Tacoma Pass or Sheet's Pass and Stirrup Creek to see what there is to see there. Probably the Trail cleanup crew will have been by as well.

Hiking's not what I do. I'm more of a contemplative or explorer. I like to drive to some area and poke around, see what's growing, who's been here and on how many legs, watch the river flow, harvest berries, herbs, mushrooms, stuff like that. I'm also a lover of stories and hiker's stories are some of my favorites. It's always fun to have a group of folks or a loner come trailing up the driveway or the back road, flop down in the shade by the faucet and unwind for a minute. If I'm not busy and if they feel like talking, it becomes a nice space in the day.

Sometimes there will be a little trail magic in the big plastic tote by the faucet. The register is kept in the tote as well. Be sure to sign in. If it's lunchtime, the firepit makes a good place to fix and share a meal. If it's the tag end of the day and hiking further doesn't appeal, there's a good spot with pea gravel for pitching tents right between the firepit and the outhouse. If you're hiking the trail for the solitude, stop a mile before you get here at the bottom of Meany Ridge just before the switchbacks and pitch your tent in that magical spot. If you want to do a little exploring, follow the old logging road east downhill from the big fallen tree for a quarter mile to the landing. On the far side of the landing, a year round spring bubbles out behind some huge logs and flows out through a mass of marsh marigolds or fireweed, depending on when you get there. Don't drink from the trickle on the near side of the landing, there's false hellebore growing in it. After the first rains of autumn, you might find some oyster mushrooms on the logs along that old road.

If you have some emergency and I'm here, I'm happy to do whatever needs to be done. If I'm not here, take the 54 road at Lizard Lake down toward the highway. There's a pay phone at Trollhaugen, the Sons of Norway lodge on your right about a mile before you get to the highway. Or, try to flag a logging truck. They all have radios or cell phones.

If it's too early to stop for the night when you get here, Lizard Lake is a mile ahead and Stirrup Creek is five miles. Contrary to what the Trail book says, Lizard Lake is a lovely freshwater pond with good water for swimming or cooking and there are good-sized trout as well. It's also an ancient trading and ceremonial site of the Native people from both sides of the mountains. If it's a clear day, be sure to check out the view of Rainier through the V in the gap on the far side of the lake where Snow Creek begins its first fall toward the Green River. There's a ghost too, of an old railroad worker who was killed when a blasting cap misfired during the construction of the Northern Pacific tunnel that goes through beneath the weather station. He's a nice guy; he walked me home one November night when the truck got stuck in the snow just at the lake. The drawback to sleeping at the lake is that you'll be awakened by logging trucks as soon as the sun is up.

As you leave Lizard Lake, be aware that the hill to your left as you're climbing was brought there in baskets on the backs of conscripted Chinese laborers in the late 1890s. The hill was constructed to hold up the east end of a trestle for the railroad when it came up over the pass. If you're interested, ask. I'll pull up the photos from Seattle's Museum of History and Industry website to show you.

You are welcome to pitch your tent on the pea gravel whether I'm here or not. If the weensy Mazda is here, I'll be back soon. If it's not, I'll be back later. If I see your tent, I'll be as quiet as I can unloading the truck. If I'm not here to remind you, I'd prefer that you not use the faucet in the rockery beside the front door. Too many hikers seem to think there's no harm in planting their feet on top of things that grow in gardens. Keep going around the house to the right and on the east side, under the windows you'll find a faucet and the big green tote. It's truly the best water you've ever tasted.