Hiking in the North Cascades complex today. It’s a ‘complex’ because there are a number of regulatory jurisdictions there. A national park, a national recreation area, the national forest, a national scenic highway, and so forth.
Right in the heart of the North Cascades complex is a man-made lake called Ross Lake. The level of Ross Lake fluctuates with the previous seasons’ rainfall and the draw down needed to power the turbines. It’s a beautiful place, if you’re into man-made lakes with power lines running around it. I can only imagine how impressive it used to be, back before it was full of water. Then again, it’s also nice to have power to run my computer right now; Ross Lake Dam and the two other hydroelectric dams up there power Seattle.
Stretching south of Ross Lake is the Thunder Arm. It’s a section of the lake that used to be Thunder Creek, before it flooded. There is also a Thunder Thumb (I’m not making this up) which is a thumb-like chunk of land that, well, I dunno what it’s about. I just know there’s a nature trail there.
But I didn’t hike that nature trail. I didn’t hike it because I read about a really cool trail that heads south along Thunder Creek. For six miles it’s flat, with no abrupt elevation gain, following the creek through the bottom of the valley. Various other valleys head off to the sides, each with their own pass into some other valley on the other side of the watershed. But Thunder is the real downspout of the North Cascades, bigger than the other creeks, and a big part of why the place is a national park to begin with.
At slightly higher altitudes, the valley takes on the characteristic glacial U-shape, and hosts an amazing diversity of wildlife. All of this happens beyond the six easy miles, but just the thought of it made the hike seem attractive. Maybe catch a glimpse. Peek around the corners and see all those other trails in all those other valleys. Take a moment and consider this valley as a transitway, a place where you could, with relative ease, hike to the lodge at Stehekin on Lake Chelan, in only a few days.
But here’s the catch: My guidebooks are old. I buy them at the thrift store because they’re $.49. In 2003, the bridge over Thunder creek washed out, leaving only the first mile accessible without, well.. swimming.
I didn’t want to swim. I’m certain someone has blazed an unofficial trail on the far side, but I didn’t want to find it.
A nice hike nonetheless, but a little short. So with some time left in the day, I headed towards a place I’ve wanted to go, but which I never thought would justify the effort: Rainy Lake.
Rainy Lake is the easiest hike in the Cascades, and it’s designed that way. It’s accessible to wheelchairs and moms with strollers. It’s paved with asphalt. It’s a mile in, with interpretive plaques here and there to teach you all there is to know about the wonders of nature. It’s a pleasant enough path, crossing rushing streams and alpine seeps, through old growth and nice flowers, and finally reaching a tiny lake in a cirque. There’s a waterfall at the far end. But the end of the trail is the end of the line — you reach a sort of viewing area that’s paved, and has some benches, and is bordered by a foot-high stack of railroad ties, presumably there so people in wheelchairs won’t roll off into the water.
Accessibility is always an interesting topic to me. I’m sure this lake was chosen as the accessible trail since it’s pretty enough, and there’s no elevation gain. But really: This little lake doesn’t begin to give a sense of what’s out there. So does it really make the complex accessible?