My last “real hike” (defined in this case by wearing a pair of hiking boots) was July 25th.  It was on that 5 mile loop that I stepped on a large volcanic rock and rolled my foot backwards, thereby injuring my fascia and aggravating a chronic case of plantar fasciitis.   It would be until mid-September before I could walk more than a mile or two without severe pain.  While in Port Townsend, I was finally able to complete a good distance hike by walking four miles along the beach to the Point Wilson lighthouse.  I was elated at being able to walk again!

And then…I broke my toe.  Literally that same night, I got out of bed in the darkness and stepped on something that should not have been left in the floor.   Four toes went in one direction, while the “pinky” toe went in the other.  I have broken this same toe before, so I knew instantly I was screwed.  It would be another two weeks before I could even put a close-toed shoe on.   Instead of the orthopedic shoe prescribed by the doctor when I broke this same toe the first time, I knew the only “cure” was time and a pair of hard-last Birkenstocks.

So the Maple Pass hike holds a lot of significance for me.  Back in 2014, it was also a significant milestone.  At 2,100 ft elevation gain and over seven miles, it was my biggest hiking achievement yet.  I had gone the distance on the 11 mile hike with Nina to the Dungeness Lighthouse, but never had I done a hike with this great of an elevation gain.  But having Gayle along encouraging me from the top of the summit, I was able to complete the climb.

Now, Maple Pass is once again a daunting hike.  This time last year, I could have done this hike for breakfast.   But not this year.   Now that my feet appear to have finally healed, my lungs and legs have become the slackers.   But Maple Pass is one of my favorite hikes of all time.  So what a fitting place to try to regain my confidence.  The hike has everything I love. Forest, mountains, lakes, high alpine meadows, and views of glaciers from the summit.  It’s a loop hike, so the scenery is bountiful in both directions.  And it’s downhill all the way home.

The trail starts from the Rainy Pass trailhead, up through deep old growth forest that smells like the Home Depot outdoor lot of freshly cut fir trees in early December.   The switchbacks start off early, so it’s not long until it opens up onto a wide concave stretch of meadow created by what appears to have been a landslide.  In 2014, this area was lined with bright fuchsia fireweed in bloom.  So I tell myself not to expect much color this year, as the fire weed has long gone by this time of the year.

But as soon as I reach the clearing, rather than pink fireweed, I am treated to a display of brilliant gold.  I had been seeing quite a bit of fall color throughout the North Cascades, but it was mostly a few hardwoods mixed in with a whole lot of evergreen.   But now at higher elevation (the trail starts at 4,800 ft) I am now seeing rows of golden alpine larch trees.  The first time I saw a larch tree, I was saddened to think the forest was dying.  But then I learned the larch is the only evergreen that turns color and drops its needles in the autumn.

As I continue on through the next stretch of forest, I see the sign for Lake Ann, so I know it is coming into view soon. The trail skirts the rim around Lake Ann for a good bit of the uphill climb, so I am looking forward to some nice views to distract me. But when I come through the clearing, my jaw drops. It looks like the whole freekin’ rainbow has deflated, and is now laying across my path!

I literally stop dead in my tracks.  I’m not the only one stalled out.  This stretch of the trail has more hikers on it than I have seen all morning…..all standing still in awe, snapping photos like the plant paparazzi.   Rows of purple, deep crimson, fiery orange, butterscotch yellow, lime green line the path.  I turn to the guy standing next to me and say, “Now I know how Dorthy felt when she stepped out of the black and white house into living technicolor!”  Once the crowd clears, I can’t resist the urge to belt out a few verses, “Some…wheeeeerre over the rainbow, skies are blue…”

After sitting on one rock after another, just marveling at the fields of variegated colors, I finally have to move on.  I have told Don, patiently waiting back at the Lone Fir Campground, not to come looking for me until dark (there is no cell signal on the eastern side of the park.)  I don’t want to leave this magnificent field of “poppies,” but I still have five miles ahead of me, almost half of it uphill, and if I don’t start moving, he’ll come looking!

I stop to eat half my favorite hiking lunch of choice, PB&J on Heather Pass, though much of the beautiful meadow is now closed off for “heather restoration.”   Still, I am able to get partway across the meadow for some good views of the Cascades range.

Finally I can see the tiny signpost at the top of the hill, and know I am near the summit.  Although the hardest part is in front of me, I am almost half way with no foot pain!  It is at this point that I realize I have a good chance of completing the entire loop, which gives me enough mojo to motor on up the steepest part of the summit.

Rather than continue down along the loop, I continue on up the trail as far as I can go before the trail ends at a rock face.  From here with the rock at my back, I can see 340 degrees of views of nothing but mountain peaks.  I check the Delorme and see I am only 50 feet from 7,000 ft elevation.  I think about scrambling up the exposed rock face another 50 ft just to round it off, but decide that is a stupid move just to watch the altimeter click.   Besides, now it is starting to SLEET!   Big pellets are pounding down on me. But I don’t care.  I sit at the rock at the highest point I can safely go, and savor the second half of chunky peanut butter slathered in Marionberry jam, and revel in the fact that nothing could feel or taste any better!

It’s a long haul down the mountain through evergreen walls with tedious switchbacks that travel way too far for what feels like an inconsequential drop.  I thought I would be able to make up some of the time I spent taking over 200 photographs on the way up.  But the rapidly melting sleet has made the trail slicker than the proverbial “owl shit,” and I have to go down almost as slowly as I came up.  I am nervously watching the clock, worrying that I spent too long in “Emerald City,” and the forest is getting dark fast.  But thankfully, the last mile is an ADA trail, so I am able to speed-walk back to the now empty parking lot, high on having completed the loop, still pain-free!

Along the drive back to Lone Fir Campground, I see a remaining portion of the rainbow I left behind back on Maple Pass…

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh, why can’t I?