Brought to you by Megan L. and Christof T.
Contextual Preamble
I was in Tahoe sipping Perrier L’Orange when Christof proposed the Alpine Lakes Grand Tour as an “excellent idea and birthday event.” Although I appreciate excellence in ideas (and although we do share a birthday week), I wasn’t immediately persuaded. Perrier L’Orange isn’t really an ambition kindler; on top of that, I still had some lingering puff ’n’ peeling from my Sinister 7 slog two weeks earlier.
Christof persisted. “It’s a very scenic route,” he messaged. “We could do it in 30 hours.” Then he sent a pace chart, a link to some pizza joint, and finally: a screenshot of his registration for the UPWC event. And so it was decided.
Ursina and Christof met me on Friday morning, their Jeep laboring under the weight of Christof’s 17 gear tubs. Fortunately I’d brought only a modest hydration pack and end-point shirt change. I wedged both under my feet and we left, stopping for tots, pizza, and other delicious accoutrements at McMenamin’s—Kalama Harbor Lodge.
The Grand Tour
The Alpine Lakes Grand Tour was initially proposed by Erich Sach as part of the 2014 UltraPedestrian Wilderness Challenge (UPWC). The (tor)tour starts on Snoqualmie Pass, leads through the majestic Alpine Lakes Wilderness, and ends at the Snow Lakes trailhead just outside of Leavenworth. It can obviously be done the other way around as well. It is advertised as 75 miles long with about 22,000 feet of elevation gain. We naively believed this, although, during our own mapping efforts, the route already appeared to be rather 82 instead of 75mi.
Alpine Lakes Grand Tour route map.
Alpine Lakes Grand Tour elevation profile. The further you go, the more challenging the climbs become.
Snow Lake (the first) to Dutch Miller Gap (DMG)
Friday afternoon traffic trimmed with poorly managed lane closures kept us well behind our ideal schedule. Megan coped by taping her toes and introducing Ursina to some luxury body wipes. Christof spent the time tending to his bursting blood vessels.
Traffic notwithstanding, we arrived at the first Snow Lake in time to leave by 6 p.m. Excited (for different reasons), we left quickly and in a cloud of cheerful dust. Christof—with his new and now tethered-to-his-pack GoPro—was mostly still in shock after just learning that Megan had packed 35 strawberry waffles. No wonder her pack was just about 10 pounds heavy!
The first 20-ish miles to the gap were fairly ordinary. “Save it for Aasgard” was our mindset. Somebody rolled an ankle and somebody else kept having to stop to deposit things behind trees. Overall, though, the section was smooth and straightforward. Among bushes, trees, and rocks, we came across some cold hot spring pool and a lonely shower in the forest. The number of cold, accessible streams was dreamy—as were our few glimpses of stars.
DMG to Freaking Cathedral Ridge Trailhead
After the gap there were some dumb, brushy switchbacks—some up, some down—a few nice downhill cruises, and the eventual intersection with the PCT. We moved steadily past tents and stuff, stopping at judicious intervals to consume spicy tomato-laced jello (Christof) and waffle-wrapped jerky bites (Megan). As the night dissolved, so did the clear skies. At first, the precipitation might’ve passed as a pleasant morning mist. By dawn there was no pretending: it was raining. It was around 30 miles when we donned our rain gear. We wouldn’t remove it for hours.
In the early morning hours we stopped at the top of the ridge for some breakfast and gazed gloomily at the cloud-obscured Cathedral Rock. Spirits were not particularly high, but we tried to revive them by pretending to see blue sky across the valley and above the next pass. After that effort, we began a fairly miserable descent to the trailhead. We made this in silence; Megan suffering from the early symptoms of early-onset foot rot, Christof suffering from some sort of intestinal rebellion (perhaps incited by lack of waffles). We stopped at the bottom to regroup—poke holes in skin flaps with sewing needles, eat baggy-fied jello, etc. It was also still raining. The closed bathroom at the trailhead did Christof no good.
Cathedral Ridge Trailhead to Jack Ridge
After a relaxing mile on the road, we turned up Paddy-Go-Easy Pass, an interminable collection of switchbacks. On this Saturday, they ascended into a bank of drippy fog, which Megan cheerfully characterized as “morning drizzle.” Christof forged ahead while Megan “saved her legs for Aasgard.” We reached the top in a decent time and avoided lingering as we were soaked (so much for the cheerful drizzle!) and not moving fast enough to stay warm. As we descended, Christof’s mood plunged faster than the elevation. We were approaching what he had inventively dubbed “hell”—a hours-long section of bushwacking, weed-kicking agony. Several bogs away from (aforementioned) hell, we stopped so he could don rain pants and ready his soul. Why he wanted his rain pants at this late moment in his already deep-reaching wetness remains a mystery.
Although everything (this far—and afterward) was longer, sloppier, and steeper than expected, “hell” was our single cheerful surprise. The sight still baffles Christof to this day: what was once a purgatory of non-existing trail was now a heaven of a brand-new single-track. The entire bushwacking section had been completely redone. In fact, it looked like we might have been the first to actually set foot on the (freshly) amazing terrain! This development probably saved us at least one hour, possibly more. Megan pointed out that this might be some sort of birthday present. We more than willingly accepted it as such.
Jack Ridge to Windy Pass
During a waffle-jello break near the foot of Jack Ridge, Christof’s quad balked. A birthday gel and jello baggy had little effect, but we continued (perhaps not optimistically) nonetheless.
The rain and fog had long fled, and the climb up Jack Ridge was a hot grab bag of uneven switchbacks, brush hops, blowdowns, and false hope. The trail left little opportunity for speed or rhythm, so we just moved. Even the top brought no celebration. Megan stopped briefly for a yet another waffle sacrament, but Christof pushed on—this time without sacrificing any of his remaining jello divinities. We met again at the bottom of the ridge, where we filled our bottles with suspicious-smelling stream water and then carried on toward Windy Pass.
The switchbacks continued and the climb seemed to go on longer than a filibustering congressperson. Then some more. We finally reached the second highest pass of our journey in 21h47min—Megan slightly behind because she lost the trail for a bit (and almost her mind) after Christof disappeared during one of her increasingly prolonged waffle breaks.
The wind (and Megan’s mood) prevented us from celebrating.
Windy Pass to Elusive Parking Lot
We left the wind behind and started our descent into what turned out to be a punishing abyss. The trail was unusually smooth (for this route), but our running wasn’t. Christof knew how endless this section would feel, yet he revealed nothing. We descended, nodded cordially to resting dayhikers, and descended some more. We tripped over rodent holes and charred twigs—and descended some more. We continued to plunge . . . .until the valley floor meant we couldn’t anymore. But still no parking lot.
Thankfully, things always eventually end (a consolation Megan did not appreciate during the ordeal). In wave of huffs and expletives, the abyss spit us out at the trailhead—exhausted, dusty, hungry, and most definitely not ready for Aasgard.
We took a quick dinner break at a picnic table. Megan scarfed more waffles and Christof was happy to have (seemingly) wrapped up his off-trail “deposits.”
Parking Lot to Aasgard
The regrouping was momentarily successful. As we began climbing yet again, Christof further buoyed spirits by happily declaring, “It’s not that far to Colchuck Lake!” Unfortunately, this soon was revealed to be a savagely inaccurate assessment. But just before dark, after stumbling over roots, rock, and legions of dayhikers, we reached the lake in time to get a glimpse of the legendary, long-awaited Aasgard Pass. Hoping for a rally before the next ascent, Christof casually mentioned the relative reasonability of the route. “It’s just a bunch of switchbacks, he remarked. “Hundreds of backpackers do them every day!”
We slowly worked our way around the lake’s various boulder fields, helped some lost climbers find the trail, and started our scramble to the pass—on what Megan noted were clearly not switchbacks. As the glow of lakeside campsites dimmed, the huffing and puffing intensified . . . and wouldn’t subside for hours.
Aasgard to Snow Lakes (the second)
Christof was beyond nervous as we approached the top, the scene of some, well, significant errors several years ago. Christof stared at his two GPS watches and Megan squinted at Gaia to make sure we stayed on track. We did.
Near the top of the pass, the wind surged and the cold bit through our jackets. We sheltered briefly behind a boulder to layer up with dry (thankfully) gear. The next challenge became tracking the millions of elusive cairns camouflaged by snowfields, granite fields, and the black night.
Progress was . . . scarcely perceptible. Though we were happy to have two pairs of (more or less) functioning eyes, our brains were increasingly less useful. In fact, as the granite precipices stretched on, Christof lost nearly all awareness—and (simultaneously) Megan began to lose her beloved waffles. We picked our way through the difficult (yet, folklore tells us, magical and beautiful!) landscape, Christof fending off total insanity and Megan to vomiting violently into the brush. Were any mountain animals awake, they had quite a show!
Despite our afflictions, Christof was still hoping to finish before sunrise. So we pushed on through the rugged miles as recklessly as we were able.
Snow Lakes (the second) eventually appeared, and with it improved constitutions. The still pitch dark night didn’t help to make this section any easier, shorter, or faster—but Christof knew with certainty that it was exactly 5.9mi from there to the fin. A sunrise arrival still seemed almost possible, and so we picked up our pace (at least in our minds) and thought happily about the luxuries waiting at the trailhead.
Snow Lakes to Fin
Though it was not immediately clear that Christof was mistaken about the 5.9-mile home stretch, dawn unceremoniously disclosed the news. Unfortunately, Megan’s phone played dead, so we couldn’t use Gaia to figure out how far out we still were. But as we were still high up and deep inside the valley, with no Icicle Road in sight, it was pretty obvious that we weren’t going to be done in the next hour. It probably took us another three to escape the wilderness. We did not take any breaks and our feet did not thank us.
In the meantime, another day had arrived. We were only moderately thankful, as our eyes hurt and hallucinations surged. Sleeping dogs, bottles of salad dressing, and kettle bells scattered the path—distracting (at least Megan) from the painfully “jarring and pounding” slog.
The parking lot was nearly as elusive as the Colchuck Lake trailhead so many hours ago. We scanned the forest for the glint of car windows, but were disappointed so many times that we thought we may not even finish in under 36 hours. Fortunately, we did finally reach the bridge to the trailhead, snapped a quick selfie, and wheezed up the last 100 feet to the Icicle Road lot. It took our weary eyes several minutes spot the Jeep and Ursina, who had been waiting for hours because she’d been told that once we cleared the Snow Lakes, we’d be done in no more than 2 hours.
We stopped our devices at 35 hours and 44 minutes, concluding the adventure. Christof was beyond enchanted that he would not have to make a 5th attempt, that he’d avoided a new concussion—and that the new GoPro was still tethered to his pack. Megan could not believe she’d agreed to such an endeavor.
The trailhead was buzzing with fresh-smelling and motivated hikers, many of whom (we were certain) would later regret their Snow Lakes trail experience. We smiled and left in a reeking cloud of relief.
Lessons Learned
- Hofstadter’s Law: It always takes longer than you expect, even when you take into account Hofstadter’s Law.
- Aasgard’s Law: It is more grueling than you expect, even when you take into account Aasgard’s Law.
- Enchantments-at-Night Law: It is harder to find the cairns than you expect, even when you take into account Enchantments-at-Night Law.
Stats and More Details
- Announcement: News: 4th Alpine Lakes Grand Tour Attempt
- Athletes: Megan L. and Christof T.
- Style: unsupported
- Start date: Jul 26, 2019
- End date: Jul 28, 2019
- Total distance: 83mi (according to Gaia recording)
- Total elevation gain: 20,725ft (according to Gaia recording)
- Elapsed time: 35:44
- Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/2571636907 (1min recording interval)
- Gaia: https://www.gaiagps.com/datasummary/folder/93c37516-eca6-4615-9cbe-907165ce23f9 (1s recording interval)