July 2, 2018. Blue Sky Creek junction with Forest Road 114
I woke up feeling pretty good. I packed quickly and noted the weather was slightly more sunny than cloudy. Today would be up along the ridgetops. These kind of hiking days are love / hate. If the weather is clear, they are lovely with views to the horizon. Stormy and you hate almost every minute.
The snow mounds were limited at first. Limited to trees and northern areas. Indeed, the views were pretty good. Once I came to my first ridge, I could see the trail going up the next ridge in the distance.
On a whim, I turned on my phone and got reception. It is very random how connectivity appears on one mountain and not another. I did the only reasonable thing I could and that was check social media.
I started cruising along the ridges. From the footprints, it looked like two people were about three or four days ahead. That was a relief from a route-finding perspective. The snow became almost continuous on the ridge.
After about 30 minutes, the footprints were overlapped by a more recent traveler: a bear. It was cool to see how the bear used the trail, even following on switchbacks. I presumed it was not stalking the others and it did not seem fresh, so I was not worried.
It started drizzling. The views disappeared. I stopped for a snack and had a hail storm roll over. The hail turned to graupel then snow. I entered an area that had burned the prior year. It felt eerie. The ground was charrred and skeletons stood, half burned, large charcoal logs. The white snow contrasting with the black reminder of what must’ve been a hellacious fire
I stopped just short of the top of Mt. Locke, 7,200′. The wind really picked up, driving the snow almost horizontally. I made a sarcastic video about the elements and wondering why more people don’t go backpacking. Within 20 seconds of finishing, a massive lightning strike hit nearby. “Holy Mary Mother of Jesus” ( I’m paraphrasing). I knew this was very bad and I had to get down.
I sprinted the 50 feet to the summit, following a clear trail. However, the trail stopped at a sheer dropoff. There were the obvious remains of a former lookout tower, two sheer sides, and the slope I came up. I was stumped and a little panicky. “Where the f*** is the trail?” Please understand that at that moment I am the tallest living thing around and I am carrying two carbon fiber hiking poles in a backpack with small aluminum stays.
I whipped out my map, but it didn’t help. I ran down the trail, resolving to take my chances in the charred landscape I had just come through. However, out of the corner of my left eye, I caught a small flat spot on the blackened ground. I looked and sure enough it was the trail leading away from the top.
My mind kept up the refrain “This isn’t good. I’ve got to get lower.” For my age, I did a pretty good job running down the foot-wide path. However, the trail was only about 30 feet below the descending ridgeline. In short, while I was losing elevation, I was still relatively exposed to the high point. Soon, I saw a sequence of trees along side the trail. I set my sights on the shortest one. First, I stashed my hiking poles. Next, I dumped my backpack. Then, at last, I assumed the position near the short tree. Supposedly, you should squat down as this creates the least amount of body for a lightning bolt to transit. (Not to be cynical, but I did try to imagine how much chipper I might be if lightning only traversed a three foot squatted me versus a six foot standing me.)
Unfortunately, another bolt struck. It was close. Deafening. It made the air smell weird. You know that thing where you are supposed to count “One Mississippi ” to gauge how far away the bolt struck? Well, this was at “O”.
Considering my age, the fact I was squatting, and the proximity of the strike, I was proud that the only thing to come out of me involuntarily were some swear words.
Hoping that the electrical component would move on, I decided to wait 20 minutes. No more lightening occurred and the storm’s fury eased noticeably. I grabbed my poles, backpack, and pep-stepped down the trail, eventually reaching a junction that would pull me off the ridgeline. Ironically, I was now on the Bluesky Trail.
The next two hours were spent descending a steep trail in a slow persistent drizzle. I stopped to put on my rain pants and noticed how scarred and blackened my legs were from climbing over charcoaled trees in the burn area. I also realized I had lost my glasses in my panicked run.
After the steep trail and clambering over blow downs, I came to an abandoned road that was now the trail. Oddly, about 5 miles from the parking lot at the start of this trail, I came across an abandoned wheelbarrow.
Those last miles were wet and slow, but around 6:00 I reached the parking lot, came back up the trail a bit, and set up a soggy campsite in a meadow. Almost 11 hours to cover a lousy 19 miles, but I was glad to be alive.
backpacking over the hill 