I know people back East are groaning under snow, but for us, it seems like we just haven’t had the chance to experience winter this year. Heavy rains are what took their toll here, washing out the only access road to Hurricane Ridge. Crews worked fast and furious to get it back open ahead of schedule, and we waited awhile after that to let the crowds die back, because parking at the top is so limited. Last weekend, though, we figured a trip to the Ridge was long overdue.
I dug my Merrell boots out of the back of the closet. It’s time to get them out, anyway – spring hiking season is here. With advanced planning, I might have greased them down with a little Nikwax or Sno Seal, but a lot of our getaways are last-minute decisions, so I just pulled them on. They seemed a little snug, but when I stood up and walked around, it was like old times. I tend to have weak ankles, so I appreciate “snug.” I love my Merrells. Seriously. Something about a comfortable old boot. The right shoes can make or break a trip. My original Merrells carried me all over the Pacific Northwest and many places in Alaska as well. We hiked 70 miles together down the Pacific Crest Trail, to many hidden lakes in the Alpine and Pasayten Wildernesses, through dry ghost towns, down muddy rainforest trails, and across frozen tundra. When the soles finally started separating away from the main part of the boot, I glued them back together and wore them some more. I was living in the back woods and literally lived in my boots. I eventually bought a new pair of Merrells and also some Merrell hiking shoes. These have cushioned my step through assorted hikes in the Olympics, where I now call home. They make a lot lighter boots now than they used to, but I’m sticking with my old ones because they just give me a secure feeling. It’s like a hug around my foot.
The Hurricane Ridge webcam must be buried in snow, which can be 20-feet deep in a wet year. It has been a complete blur. We could see clouds moving in to the Olympics from our living room window, though, so if we were going to go, best to throw a few snacks in a bag and get with the program.
Seemed sunny and dry enough as we climbed the road. We could see a few peaks here and there. However, when we got to the top, we were immediately reminded of why it is called “Hurricane.” Those snowboarders and skiers are hardy souls. The ski lift is on such an exposed face, and the wind comes whipping up the side of the mountain and just blasts them.
We knew conditions would be calmer in the protection of trees on the trail to Hurricane Hill.
The trail is easy and well-groomed. One side is for cross-country skiers, and the other for hikers and snowshoers. We’re low-key hikers. The main idea is to get out, feel the sunshine on our faces, enjoy the view, listen to the wind. We were getting a late start to go all the way to the top of the hill – so without any real destination, we just trucked along, following the trail with occasional short sidetrips. Our snowshoes are rather loud. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. We have to stop walking to listen. The wind makes a low whooshing sound that rises and falls as it swishes in and out between the trees. We snap a few pictures and drink a little hot cocoa.
We notice the wind is picking up stronger, so we decide to head back. The weather here can change quickly. A viewpoint where we could see the San Juans just a short while earlier is now completely socked in. By the time we get back to the lodge, it is almost complete whiteout conditions. The wind is whipping up clouds of snow and swirling them about. It carves the edges of small ridges. My face is so cold, it stings. Yep, this is experiencing winter, alright.
Boots, thank you. Once again, you have carried me well. And now that we’ve done the “experiencing winter” thing, oh yeah, I’m ready for spring.
And in case you’re wondering about my original Merrells….old boots never die, they just turn into planters.
I know people back East are groaning under snow, but for us, it seems like we just haven’t had the chance to experience winter this year. Heavy rains are what took their toll here, washing out the only access road to Hurricane Ridge. Crews worked fast and furious to get it back open ahead of schedule, and we waited awhile after that to let the crowds die back, because parking at the top is so limited. Last weekend, though, we figured a trip to the Ridge was long overdue.
I dug my Merrells out of the back of the closet. It’s time to get them out, anyway – spring hiking season is here. With advanced planning, I might have greased them down with a little Nikwax or Sno Seal, but a lot of our getaways are last-minute decisions, so I just pulled them on. They seemed a little snug, but when I stood up and walked around, it was like old times. I tend to have weak ankles, so I appreciate “snug.” I love my Merrells. Seriously. Something about a comfortable old boot. The right shoes can make or break a trip. My original Merrells carried me all over the Pacific Northwest and many places in Alaska as well. We hiked 70 miles together down the Pacific Crest Trail, to many hidden lakes in the Alpine and Pasayten Wildernesses, through dry ghost towns, down muddy rainforest trails, and across frozen tundra. When the soles finally started separating away from the main part of the boot, I glued them back together and wore them some more. I was living in the back woods and literally lived in my boots. I eventually bought a new pair of Merrells and also some Merrell hiking shoes. These have cushioned my step through assorted hikes in the Olympics, where I now call home. They make a lot lighter boots now than they used to, but I’m sticking with my old ones because they just give me a secure feeling. It’s like a hug around my foot.
The Hurricane Ridge webcam must be buried in snow. It has been a complete blur. We could see clouds moving in to the Olympics from our living room window, though, so if we were going to go, best to throw a few snacks in a bag and get with the program.
Seemed sunny and dry enough as we climbed the road. We could see a few peaks here and there. However, when we got to the top, we were immediately reminded of why it is called “Hurricane.” Those snowboarders and skiers are hardy souls. The ski lift is on such an exposed face, and the wind comes whipping up the side of the mountain and just blasts them.
We knew conditions would be calmer in the protection of trees on the trail to Hurricane Hill.
The trail is easy and well-groomed. One side is for cross-country skiers, and the other for hikers and snowshoers. We’re low-key hikers. The main idea is to get out, feel the sunshine on our faces, enjoy the view, listen to the wind. We were getting a late start to go all the way to the top of the hill – so without any real destination, we just trucked along, following the trail with occasional short sidetrips. Our snowshoes are rather loud. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. We have to stop walking to listen. The wind makes a low whooshing sound that rises and falls as it swishes in and out between the trees. We snap a few pictures and drink a little hot cocoa. We notice the wind is picking up stronger, so we decide to head back. The weather here can change quickly. A viewpoint where we could see the San Juans just a short while earlier is now completely socked in. By the time we get back to the lodge, it is almost complete whiteout conditions. The wind is whipping up clouds of snow and swirling them about. It carves the edges of small ridges. My face is so cold, it stings. Yep, this is experiencing winter, alright.
Boots, thank you. Once again, you have carried me well. And now that we’ve done the “experiencing winter” thing, oh yeah, I’m ready for spring.
And in case you’re wondering about my original Merrells….old boots never die, they just turn into planters.