Out/Back: Dusty Lake Trail to Ancient Lakes
Back in April, I left my home in Renton before the sun could begin crawling across my dashboard. After a long, wet winter, I was itching to get outside to hike. As I drove over Snoqualmie Pass (a drive that still steals my breath) toward Othello, WA and the Potholes State Park region, I found ample time to think. This quiet solitude in the car is often my favorite thing about these journeys. With three hours between me and my destination, I tossed big questions back and forth in my mind like a kitten with a ball of yarn.
As I considered returning to the trail for the first time in months, a painful thought struck me. Not that long ago, hiking was my entire personality. Between 2017-2020, I spent almost every day dreaming, preparing, planning, scheming, saving, and discussing the Pacific Crest Trail. I talked about it with anyone who would give me the time of the day. Hiking photos and videos endlessly filled my social media feeds. I longingly watched as other thru-hikers traversed my dream trail. I spent weekends hiking and camping. When a trail wasn’t stealing my attention, I shopped, refined gear, and researched.
Much like our Sun, hiking and backpacking were the center of my solar system, and then they weren’t. A pandemic forced me to stop chasing my all-consuming dream. Asked to leave the Pacific Crest Trail, I was sent in another direction. While the Colorado Trail seemed like a worthy replacement, it wasn’t the same for me.
My gear was lovingly placed in a bin. The bin was shoved in a dark corner of my closet. Since life has returned to normal, my backpacking gear has made a few appearances. My daypack has been seen a little more often, but the excitement, joy, and limitless possibilities offered by the Pacific Crest Trail were gone. The passion I felt for backpacking, hiking, and exploring the great outdoors was replaced with cinema, books, and other creative endeavors.
As I thought about stepping onto another trail, the eastern expanse of Washington State unfolded before me like a golden blanket of high desert adventure. In this moment, I felt a sense of sadness for my former self. His ambitions and dreams were never realized. I have no way to know what the future holds, but I seriously doubt they will ever be realized. The same insatiable passion that drove me to the southern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail is gone, and I don’t need to rediscover it anytime soon.
This doesn’t mean I don’t find joy in the great outdoors anymore. Nothing could possibly be further from the truth. Every time I tie up my trail runners and lock my backpack into place, I feel a sense of luck to be at the beginning of another trail. Even on trips such as this, when I find myself betrayed by the lack of a Discover Pass kiosk near the trailhead, I feel excited to get outside. Even on trips such as this, when I find myself lied to by the All Trails app, as it describes a trail that doesn’t exist, I feel reconnected to a purer version of myself. Hiking may not be my entire personality anymore, but it still inspires me nonetheless.
And now, the trail.
Dusty Lake Trail to Ancient Lakes is within shouting distance of the Columbia River Gorge. This part of the state is vastly different from the Washington State you might imagine when you picture rainy Seattle. Gone are the endless oceans of evergreen trees and jagged mountains. Instead, much of this part of the state is defined by rolling hills, high desert, and treeless expanses. Politics isn’t the only thing separating western and eastern Washington. With the Cascade Mountains running down the center of the state, their landscapes couldn’t be more different. This difference has always made hiking on the east side of the mountains interesting and intriguing to me. Every year, like clockwork, while rain steals weekends in western Washington, I traverse the pass for some new trail on the other side of the mountains.
For its part, this trail scratched almost every itch I had after a long and dormant winter. Hiking through glacier carved canyons, turning corners to see explosions of wildflowers, discovering solitude and moments of contemplation, and drinking in expansive vistas served as a reminder – a reminder of why I let hiking define my character for so long.
Then, an afternoon of quiet, relatively flat hiking turned into a challenge. As I made my way back to Ancient Lakes after a self-imposed detour, I noticed All Trails wasn’t syncing up with the trail I found before me. At first, this was an annoyance than anything else. I could see the trail. I wasn’t lost and without direction.
Then the trail began following the shore of the lake, and then it began cutting across the lake. My annoyance grew, and then it morphed into anger as the trail disappeared into a boulder field, requiring steep climbing up toward a waterfall that feeds both lakes. Running dangerously low on water and exhausted by the heat, I could have turned around and retreated to the trail that delivered me to the valley. I chose to push forward with a promise to stop anytime I felt too hot. I stopped a lot.
As I climbed higher, I kept pausing to rest and take in the valley. It took me nearly two hours to cross the boulder field and climb up the waterfall. By the time I reached the top, I was absolutely spent, and I could be heard cursing All Trails (not the first time I have done such a thing). Out of breath and thirsty, the entire valley was before me. I found myself cursing my misfortune, and in the next breath, I felt lucky to be in that moment.
Drinking in the scene one final time, I began making my way back to the car. For another hour, I hiked rolling hills, around ponds, and walked the road leading to my escape.
As I sat in the back seat of my car, changing my shoes and shaking off the dirt and grime of the day, I remembered why this was so important to me. While priorities and passions have shifted, I recommitted myself to getting out here as much as possible. I live in a beautiful corner of the world, and I want to see as much of it as possible.
Be good to each other,
Nathan
As a member of the factory, you are taking a stand for human powered creation.
