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D-day had finally arrived. I was abuzz with nerves and plenty of caffeine, a hiker’s must before any adventure, but especially an overnight one I’d decided. I might have to pee a lot now, but my other system would thank me later for the pre-hike cleanout perks of drinking coffee, if you know what I mean. If I was lucky, I could escape the horrific-sounding experience of having to cart any used TP covered in you-know-what back down the mountain with me (please refer to my first post if you are unclear what I am referring to).
As I pulled into my parking space where we were meeting, I decided on a whim to do a crash-course last viewing of the videos our leaders had sent on shelter creation. This felt a bit like overkill, since their mention of the YouTube tutorials seemed like a bonus optional activity, not an essential one. The video demonstrated no less than four different ways to arrange your magic tarp, depending on whether your highest priority was shelter from wind or rain, or whether you wanted one end more open to enjoy a view. I’m more of a hands-on learner and the process seemed far too complicated for my brain to memorize so, like every wise outdoorswoman who has ever gone before me, I closed the window on my phone and decided I would “just wing it when I got there.” Surely the leaders would be setting up our church-provided shelters on site, right? We probably just needed the video knowledge “in case we felt like helping.”
After one final gear check as a team, we were ready to head up to Snoqualmie Pass where we would begin our ascent to Kendall Peak Lakes from a private backyard. The hike itself was slow-going but mostly uneventful. It took us much longer than expected to make the trek up, but we all stuck together and cheered each other on during the segments where chit chat was encouraged. Our guides paused at various points along the hike to point out the curiosities of nature, encouraging us to also spend time in silence, pondering specific questions they posed along the way.
We were required to leave all watches and technology at the trailhead (the photo above came from a leader's watch and was provided to us AFTER the trip). So, we were at the mercy of our senses and the sun in the sky to determine how long we’d been at our trek. At what I would guess was about 3 hours in, we were only a little over half way. It became apparent to our guides that we needed to abandon our plan to wait until we reached our destination to eat our last meal before we began fasting. We pulled to the side of the path and picnicked on the trailside, filling our bellies with a lovely spread of charcuterie and crackers. Some of us honed in on the cheese, stuffing ourselves with unwholesomely large servings in hopes of keeping us good and stopped up for our night without toilets in the woods. (You’re welcome for that complimentary hiking hack).
For the majority of our climb, we trekked along a wide forest service road. Once we got high enough, we took a sharp left onto a road less traveled. I would venture to say very much less traveled. We pressed suddenly into a thick clump of trees, and I giggled to myself as I plowed through the brush, thwapping my hiking mates behind me with the branches I pushed out of the way and then released. There was really no way to maneuver the situation gracefully. Was this actually a trail? What had I been expecting? Maybe more carved wooden arrow signs that read “Kendall Peak Lakes this way?” Even without clear markings, I felt my sense of adventure sparking as I experienced the excitement of this I-think-we’re-on-the-trail-but-who-can-say-for-sure style of hiking.
After hopping over some felled trees (surprisingly harder than you’d think when wearing a heavy backpack), and climbing a steep final hill, we reached our destination for the night, the second of the Kendall Peak Lakes. We dropped our packs and followed our fearless leaders as they led us around the area, pointing out good “campsite” options (read: patches of flat-ish, bare-ish ground, approximately the size of a human body). Again, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Perhaps a Ranger doling out papers with our last names and the date range of our planned stay to clip on our shelters? Or maybe wooden posts toting the campsite numbers? A list of campground rules and published quiet hours? But there was none of this. Just a beautiful sparkling lake, and total, unadulterated freedom. Glory!