Mt. Ellinor Climb 6-6-2014

I had the day off Friday so I thought I’d do a solo trip up Mt. Ellinor in the Olympic Staircase area. I used Google Maps to guide me to the trailhead. I use that whenever I want to find an alternate route to a destination I’ve been to many times before and want to explore. This sent me off on a logging road exploration along the Skokomish drainage.  The Google Map lady had me going slight right and slight left at areas where either alternative would have been a woodland bushwhack excursion through the forest where there wasn’t even a hint of a ghost of a distant memory of even a game trail or a plunge over a cliff. I spent about two hours crisscrossing gravel back roads where 4 wheel drive and high ground clearance on the Ford Escape was, if not required, at least highly desirable. At the point I thought I might be close to the destination Google sent me down an overgrown road that was more of a trail, noting this was 22 minutes shorter than the much better road. I plowed ahead with alder branches slapping both sides of the car. 15 minutes later the Google Map lady indicated 2.7 more miles straight ahead. I got out of the car and look over the abyss that was in front of me. I decided to forgo the well-meaning advice and not plummet to my death down this road. Perhaps it was a gateway to an alternate universe, but my desire for a little adventure was overcome by my selfish desire not to die.

 

I backtracked out to 101 and Hoodsport and turned off the Google Map lady. I missed her company and her complete confidence in her route finding skills. I found the upper trail head without incident despite my failing memory and the fact the people had been using the signs as target practice for high powered deer rifles, assault weapons, shotguns, for what appeared to be several years of enthusiastic exercise of their right to bear arms. It made me proud to be an American and regretful that I’ve yet to fill out my NRA membership application. At two O’clock I parked in the upper trail head for the hike, checked my old log book for that last time I did this and noted it took me 1:40 min to reach the summit in 2008. The faded sign from 2012 noted that the trail was closed due to aggressive goat activity. The lady at the Ranger Station didn’t indicate that the trail was still closed and 8 or 10 cars in the parking lot seemed to confirm no actual closure was in effect.

I started booking up the trail, jogging the flatter sections pacing myself not look too much like a wheezing geezer. Folks I talked to indicated that the winter route up the snow chutes was getting thin, so I choose to take the summer route. About 15 minutes past the summer winter trail split the summer route trail became snow covered and essentially disappeared. I pulled out my beat up old ice axe and headed up the steep chute. As it steepened and I had to kick steps, I was wishing I’d had the crampons I’d left in the car along with the glissading pants for the trip down. The clouds started to roll across the summit ridge but it was still pleasantly warm and relatively wind free. I made the summit in 1:09 minutes passing a couple groups of young men so I was feeling pretty good about myself.

 

Two goats, a Mom and last year’s kid were grazing about 25 feet from me on the backside of the summit. I watched them and took some pictures and video. After about 10 minutes they moved on and a minute or so later I saw them 400 yards away crossing a snowfield toward Mt. Washington. How do they do that so quickly?

 

I had a snack and headed down. Between the goat trails and random hiker paths through the snow it is next to impossible to retrace your steps. I wandered a bit but came upon the correct trail without the help of the Google Map lady. The snow ran out and turned to dirty ice before terminating at the base of a 6x6 step held in place by re-bar. I managed to slip fall on my ass and slide out of control for about 10 feet. That is when I realized the re-bar sticking up about 2 inches above the wooden step was in direct line for my family jewels. All of a sudden I had a vision of a torn scrotum and my testacies wrapped around the rebar dangling like a pair of fuzzy dice on a car mirror. With not a millisecond to spar I rocked up on my left butt cheek and lifted my leg like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant just clearing the hazard enough to only feel the top of the rebar slide past my right butt cheek. Thus I avoided the nickname of the gilded geezer and my wife will not have to contemplate leaving me for a more fully equipped man.
 

I posted a short 2:00 minute video on YouTube for those who can’t get enough of my long winded ramblings. http://youtu.be/rJzF8PdtZPY