Artist's Point

The aptly-named endpoint of the Baker Highway 542 is a must-hike spot if you are ever in northern Washington.

 

Starting at Bellingham, WA, home of the historic Fairhaven district, which I am in love with, as detailed on www.youngbrokeandclueless.blogpspot.com, my other blog all about food, goes around 60 miles (depending on where you count it as starting) through small agrarian communities first, home to fruit farms, wineries, and the like, and offers pretty farm scenery and then pretty mountain scenery.  Hiking opportunities are spaced out and abundant, with mountain peaks and ridgelines, forest hiking along a turquoise river, and of course, the mountain splendor around Artist's Point.  I drove in after a good meal and a relaxing afternoon to spend the night in my car, or out on a trail somewhere.  I had no real plan in place but intended to scope out Mt Baker as a potential spot and expected to climb Mt Shuksan, a spectacular and fierce mountain I have seen pictures of, much taller than anything else in the area, other than huge Mt Baker, which is more of a routine straight smooth glacier run.  Storms were swirling all around, nothing threatening, but all a bit ominous and so several possibilities for that afternoon were off the slate.  I stalled for a good hour by taking the trail at Horseshoe Bend along a pretty shining river, glittering like a diamond in the sun as clouds swallowed the tops of all the peaks around me.  The trail is easy and flat for a mile, and then starts climbing.  Most people quit at the mile, and I advise that too.  If you want to go up steep hills, do it someplace where the final payoff will be a mountain with views.  The area made me less enthused to go see rainforests, because between Horseshoe Bend and and Ohanapecosh at Mt Rainier, I was pretty sure I'd seen two of the prettiest short forest hikes possible on this earth. 



Also nearby to this trail are Nooksack Falls, along an easy and good dirt road.  Well worth a short side trip.  Many of the following pictures were illegal, because "no trespassing" signs are posted all over this area as the cliffs are slippery and people have a tendency to fall off them.  But I figured what is dangerous for other people is not for me and did what I wanted.  I thought the cliffs were quite reasonable to walk around, as long as you don't try climbing over the fence to reach them.

 

Church Mountain, which requires a drive along a steep and rugged dirt road and is not much of a mountain.  Skip it if you want my advice.  And there is Excelsior Peak and Ridge, another not too impressive mountain that can be accessed from pavement, making it more palatable.  The views should be good if you aren't too spoiled from other better views in your life, as I am.  I skipped that trail too, in favor of Goat Mountain a few days later, which was probably a worse trail and worse views.  Goat Mountain is along a gravel road of pretty good quality, though it is narrow, and given that it is in Washington and involves Washington drivers, you take your life in your hands to go anywhere near it.  Hiking down Goat Mountain, one of my least favorite hikes in all my life, the highlight of the day was being 200 feet above the road, almost back down around noon, when I saw an SUV and a Subaru Outback both speeding recklessly and not paying attention as they nearly smashed into one another.  My schadenfreude (spelled that right on the first try; yet I can't spell in English!) would have been dampened when I realized however that I was now trapped in the area until tow trucks and ambulances could be found to clear the wreckage out of my way.  So happily, the two just squealed their breaks, looked at one another with pure Pacific Northwest hatred and holier-than-thou-itude, and then backed up at the same time until one of them found a pullout and that was that.  Goat Mountain trail goes up an ungodly number of switchbacks, probably at least 100, through a dry, ugly forest with a ton of avalanche debris, no creek crossings larger than a trickle, on a narrowing trail, which gives way after miles to a hideous and sun-exposed section of brush, and meadowy-crud, where there are more insects than I thought the universe held.  At no point is the trail pleasant or fun, and even on top, you are just on a shelf of a mountain, a long way from the several summits of the true massif, which I knew going in.  I planned to bushwhack up the rest of the way to a real summit and thought from my recon the day before and photos I snapped that this would involve climbing on good real rock slabs and walls.  But I must have had a wrong guess about where Goat Mountain trail fed out.  The bushwhack is, either impossible, or nearly so, and would be a torture hardly worth it, I am sure.  How much would you pay in your own blood and sweat for a view into Canada to the North?  I wasn't willing to waste the next 6 hours going a mile and back to find out, and I am sure the ugly squat bushes and pine trees are happy with my choice.  The view from Goat Mountain is bad, and as far as I can guess, the reason "everyone" (the info desk ladies' word when they successfully talked me out of a suicide run up Shuksan which was quivering with avalanche snow) is that the trail was melted out while better trails were not.  As a public service gesture, I beg you: do not waste your time and knees on Goat Mountain!  The trail was so vile that I kept shaking my head over it for days.  Every time the rest of the week I was tired, I would ham it up Charlie Chaplin kicking a pebble style and sulk: "I'd still have some knees and pop in my calves if not for Goat Mountain."

Excelsior Peak will probably be similar, with long and plentiful switchbacks up a steep hill covered with trees.  This is the only way the trails can be done, but its a high toll to pay just to make a mountaintop, as you go back and forth, with no views to replenish your stores of energy or inspire you to keep going, and with no hope of any variety.  Forests are forests, but when you zig zag past the same pocket of trees for an hour, slowly gaining altitude and sweating through your clothes, its worse than ever.  The Excelsior Ridge and Peak will be a payoff though, as you can follow the ridge 2+ miles and descend a different route if you like, though that would mean walking back to your car along the highway for a few miles.  You would see all the Canada peaks to the North and especially some impressive peaks nearby in Washington, namely Mt Tomyhoi, Mt Larabee, the Pleiades, and Winchester Mountain, with an official trail and overlook, that would offer spectacular views.  Tomyhoi and Larabee involve bushwhack approaches and will be climbs, only for "professionals" or the serious and experienced mountaineer.  These peaks are accessed from the Twin Lakes area, accessible only by dirt road, and bad steep dirt road at that.  It will require 4 wheel drive, and a true high clearance vehicle, not a toy SUV like a Honda CR-V, or the yuppie Subaru Outback which for all its promotion as a compromise between sedan and off-roader, is a joke in Colorado, according to message boards I've read by the serious dirt roaders and gets only a scant precious few inches more clearance than my very low Toyota Camry.  The road was instantly and obviously nasty to me, and I did not try it.  The info desk women assured me it was terrible and that the only person they'd heard from recently was a Jeep Wranger owner who had turned back because he was bottoming out and the road was too rugged!  A Wranger!  People put up with 15 miles per gallon and bad performance in all road conditions and poor reliability with frequent breakdowns just so they can take terrible dirt roads, so how bad is this road!?  Its a shame either way as I would have loved to go up to that area, and still would.  Its an awfully long dirt road to walk though.  Looks like a good 15 miles at least on my map, and I lean closer to 20.  

 

Artist's Point was my only payoff for the whole road then.  The trail to Lake Ann, from which I planned to climb Shuksan was totally snowbound, with the lake still frozen.  This was surprising and apparently is not common, which goes to show, that even in an average snow year, there will always be spots that take a dumping.  Shuksan's cliffs and glaciers were not in condition and were quite obviously ready to avalanche.  Even novices and stoners looking out at it could see this.  I actually doubted whether the lake was completely frozen as most hikers will report a lake as "frozen" if it is not completely melted, clear of snow on the banks, and warm enough to swim in, and info people do not know the difference.  My info ladies were very nice older ladies, clearly not mountaineers, and I suspected the lake might be at least part-melted, but still, the route looked bad.  I have since discovered that at least several groups have made the climb I was intending in July and August, with online trip reports I've sniffed out.  However, their list of gear is staggering and just the bolts and screws they used would have weighed more than all my pack.  Going in teams, they used dual ice axes, double plastic boots ($400 usually), rope, anchors, ice screws, and every other kind of toy ever invented.  The description also makes it clear I would have been over my head, solo.  Sure I could have climbed it probably, had I not been killed in any avalanches (ice falls as loud as bombs/trains, and crevasses/moats, etcetera were mentioned in all reports), but coming down 4000 feet of mixed cliffs and glaciers would have been danged hard to not cliff out repeatedly, end up lost, trapped, or just down in the wrong area.  Probably would have been exhaustive, frustrating, and not a good part of a balanced and prolonged mountain trip.  But maybe someday, I will go solo the thing.  These guys were all apparently intimately familiar with the route, in standard rock climber ways, having the whole thing broken down by previous climbers.

 

Climbing today, as I've mused before, is an odd business.  Or hobby.  The approach people take is largely that of scientists doing research.  A doctor does not just start doing research without first reading all the current journals to know what has been done, discovered, etcetera.  And no one would announce results before knowing if they just "discovered" something or were confirming another's research.  Climbers do the same.  Any first ascent is like gold and honor.  To that end, all these serious climbers could do a climb blindfolded by the time they actually get to a mountain, having studied it endlessly.  They know every move so the danger is largely removed, or filtered, and the thrill is a lot like a roller coaster ride.  Almost like being on a track.  Part of this is to minimize risk of dying, I get that, but part too is so that at any point, a team can just say, go right 50 feet and know that no one has climbed this cliff, so if they do, its a variation route and they can get in a climber mag.  I can understand that too, though to me it all feels way too competitive and desperate for recognition with a community.  There are some like myself (I am sure others do this too) who just show up, take a glance, and go up, the way mountaineers used to, when they were drawing maps that did not exist, naming forests and peaks (badly too often) and then describing their routes to confirm they were really there and so others could follow.  There is more purity to that than our era, and rather than shrug, or feel hopeless and give up the idea of primacy as lost to the world and everything discovered, I (and some others I am sure) have come up with a different solution: don't read the guide books, get lost, risk everything the first explorers and wild men did, and shun the real world.  Don't brag to the magazines, or even read them.  Just go out and enjoy mountains the original and a more natural way.  I doubt I've done any first ascents, and if I have, I don't care.  I don't feel that an individual challenge is comprehended by those who try to turn it into a competitive community thing.  See I climb because I like and I like mountains.  I could care less if anyone or everyone else does it.  I mean partly I do feel that the world should be used and enjoyed, so I like going where others do not go, and I avoid crowds and all that, but my point is, I race myself, and if others happen to do the same mountains, fine.  The point is its man verses mountain, or man and mountain, if you prefer the non-combative, not man verses man on a mountain.  If I were the last man on earth, I'd still want to climb Mt Shuksan, because it looks fun, hard, and cool.

So, I gave up Mount Shuksan, the mountain I most wanted to climb on this whole trip, but oh well.  Live for another day, and I did scout the area.  Artist's Point is just a mile past the Lake Ann Trailhead and is just a parking lot with a bathroom.  This year, somehow, there is a huge amount of snow left.  Here is the bathroom:

And here is the parking lot as I left to go climb Table Mountain, most people starting home for the night:
 

Artist's Point has trails in every direction, though this time they were all hidden in snow, but that did not stop people, even women in sandals, from going up the overlook mountains.  And trying to "boot" sled down.  For once in Washington I was not mocked for my gear or preparedness and as I trudged along safely in crampons, most were impressed and envious that I had such things, and a few asked to look at them and were surprised cleats can be purchased to go over regular shoes.  I grabbed the same peak as everyone else, though I went farther, caught a family with a scared little girl, and impressed her as to the lack of danger in our situation by goat leaping down the slopes right next to them, putting distance between us quickly.  She still seemed scared though the brother little boy I think wanted some ice cleats right then and there as I bounded away from them like a jumping flea on the ice.  Sandal woman who made it all of 1 foot before falling on her slide attempt at the instigation of her boyfriend type was also a little pissed by my running/bounding past at Usain Bolt speed.  

 

Next up I axed and climbed my way up a steep snow slope to Table Mountain, finding when I got near the top there is a walking trail all the way up and mostly out of the snow on the South side of the mountain.  Now you know.  Luckily I didn't come sweating and heaving over the edge of the peak to find boy scouts looking at me like a lost fool.  I took the easy trail on the way down.  But I explored the long and flat rolling summit of Table first.  It goes for several miles and I had a great hike of it late evening as the sun was starting to set, with clouds all around, getting darker and swirling and swallowing mountains.  This would all have been pretty dangerous had the parking area not been so nearby.  But it looks dangerous in the pictures.  I had Table to myself.  I scouted mountains for next day and there were good possibilities in every direction, pretty mountains and trails to passes or else lots of snow to do what I wanted over.  I slept in the car, inside a cloud, though it did not snow, and had I admit, a complete freak out.  Coming back from the bathroom at one point around 2 am, I saw a shadow, thought it was a bear chasing me, ran by instinct a few feet, then stopped myself and faced it, before I realized how silly I was being.  My flight instinct was triggered so easily because I'd not carried my knife or axe or baton to the bathroom with me and a man stands little chance against even a small bear bare-handed.  Later in the morning a truck with trailer pulled up and some man felt the need to come over and look in on me sleeping.  Probably he wanted to make sure I was okay, but I switched the window my head was under so if he came back to shoot me he'd only get my feet and I could see him coming, which means I'm either a complete paranoid, or that I have a natural marine's mentality.  You can decide for yourself (and perhaps both are true; though that means you must sleep easy at night knowing that our nation's most paranoid are protecting us).



In the morning I felt worn down and told myself to take it easy.  With that in mind as I put boots on, though I took my pack with out onto the ice to snap quick sunrise photos of Mt Baker, I did not change my clothes, and stayed in my thermal long underwear and sleeping shirts.  But the usual happened and once I was moving, I felt as strong as an elephant and wanted to go just a little further.  Soon I was changing under a tree and going commando, down to a white tee shirt and without any water was making good time along the Ptarmington Ridge trail, which was mostly snow.  I kept going just a little further and then gave it up and decided I was just doing it all.  The trail ends at a peak that looks like the prow of a sinking ship, Coleman Pinnacle, though as I'd not studied or brought my map, I was calling it "Ptarmington Prow" as I went, and not only did I get there, but kept going, traversing another mile of glacier to target a mountain slightly taller at the end of the whole ridge, and forming a cirque to the north.  I'd seen it the night before and figured it would make for a good, but long day.  Now I was almost here.  Baker was still far away and had that quality of many large mountains of looking farther away the closer I got.  The approach from Artist's Point would be a two day affair, at least, and the way was crevassed heavily this time of year, so I gave it up content enough as I'd never planned on doing Baker anyway.  Shuksan was my grief.  The mountain I targeted I've mentioned already.  I named it "Mt Lava Forest" and your options to reach the summit are: approach from the North and take a ridge of snow all the way (this is only reasonably done from Ptarmington Ridge trail and would involve a couple extra miles of traverse around unpleasant and even sketchy slopes, either snow or scree, depending on conditions, or: don't make the summit.  From the South, it cannot be reached, short of chain saw, flame thrower, or incredible amount of grit and stupidity.  You have a choice of rotten and deadly lava cliffs, all overhanging, fall and slide prone and terrible if not impossible to climb, and a brushy pine forest so dense you are walking on pine branches, getting coated with sticky pissed-off tree sap (oh yes trees can get pissed off and if you don't believe me, just kick one until it starts oozing at you sometime), poked, torn, tripped, snared, and making no progress whatsoever, while damaging a fragile ecosystem.  The view from "Little Lava Forest" just South is just as good and count it as the mountain and move on with your life.  Below the view towards Mt Lava Forest from Little Lava Forest and my first "crevasse".  A little hollowed out channel I had to hop over on the snow.

I got back to the parking area around 2 pm, very dried out from having no water still as I'd never crossed any, though I'd been mouthing snow the last few hours to keep from getting so cotton-mouthed I could not swallow.  I kid you not: I came over a snow crest to find the parking lot very changed and very full:



And on this hill, spontaneously or led by ranger- I cannot guess- people were holding hands and singing that Charlie Brown Christmas song, where they all tilt their heads to the sky and go ooo-ooooo-ooooooo- you know the one, I can't very well write it out, there are no words, just a sort of melody, and at this shining time of day and with so many people it was like walking into a scene at the end of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas".  I thought I was tripping out.  And then some people were asking me about trails, and if there were any, and where they were.  I pointed at the snow, and said, 10 feet under you, you're on it.  Which pleased them well as they'd thought they were lost.

Other potential trails in this area are Bagley Lakes or Chain of Lakes, both of which lead very close to the summit of a pretty mountain north of Table Mountain across a cirque named Mazama Dome which I almost climbed, but I'd already done several peaks and how much were the views going to change in this area?  The peak would involve a final rough and serious scramble or climb, up snow and rock, but could be done by anyone fit and a little daring.  If you get the shakes ever or routinely, probably content yourself with the saddle.  Official campgrounds are near Table Mountain and Mazama Dome though either is within a few miles of parking in several directions.  Panorama Dome is very close to the start of the Lake Ann Trail and could be done any season even if the trail is buried.  If you can't figure out the route, then you should not even be driving in the mountains.  Its pretty straight forward.  Good pictures can be had from anywhere, even the bathroom in the parking lot at Artist's Point.  In winter this is all a ski area.  Mt Baker is climbed most commonly from the end of a good dirt road Number 39 accessed from the 542, though I never saw the turn off.  Apparently no one climbs it from the end of the 542- the way is too long- one of the nice older ladies of the info desk said this to me as if everyone in Washington knew this but me.  They were impressed I'd even gone along the Ptarmington Ridge.  "No one goes out there," they assured me.  I saw lots of goat tracks everywhere, but no goats.  Goat Mountain as mentioned is hideous and unworthy, and I also scouted the "Nooksack Cirque trail" and was not enthused.  The road is bad with no way to turn around once on it, and the parking area is prone to break ins, with the trail requiring a lot of stream fording, and I doubt, though I did not take it, offering any stellar views.  But the road is gentle enough to take any car up.  I saw one man pulled over with a blown-up radiator much worse than mine from Montana, but if you don't run your air conditioner on high while going up the road, you should be okay.  And when finished, go eat in Fairhaven, its a dream!  And if you put a good hike in, you can eat whatever you want and not gain weight.

The Brothers and the Valley of Silent Men

My final hike in Washington is a good story, and the pictures were more easily sorted through than other legs of the journey, so I am going to write about it.  I apologize that photos posted in a jumble and I am not fixig them any further.  If its trees, its the Valley of Silent Men returning from the Brothers.  Not trees are on the Brothers.  Now, after a 2.5 day, 2 night big loop through Sol Duc and some high trails, I drove the long and ghastly way (construction zones, bleak towns, tedious weaving roads, tourist trap mainstreets) to Hamma Hamma Road, it of the cute name, skipping other sections of the park with desirable mountains due to roads being washed away, or access roads being twisty, sketchy, and dirt or gravel.  I'm trying not to abuse my car as I used to, since my car is now almost not a "teenager" anymore, and once a month, won't start without some Jedi tricks.  I have had this checked out and all I can get any mechanic to tell me is that my car is fine and not only fine, but a marvel, and the envy of new car owners who have more problems than me.  A fun story I may not have mentioned from Glacier: a fellow had to have his hopped-up pimped-out $35,000 country boy truck towed for $400 on a flatbed, then found out the reason it would not start was that his vibrator/heated seat was shorting out the circuit the starter was on, and as soon as he moved the seat back, the circuit reset and his truck was fine.  Yeah, I like a car that I drive, not that drives me.  I don't want any special robot nano-satellite linked artificial intelligence add ins, I just want to get from A to B.  And actually I am happier the less driving I do.  But road trips require it and I've climbed and hiked every decent peak within 50 miles of where I live.

Another aside: while in Olympic National Park, which is not it turns out, the whole peninsula as I thought, there were signs everywhere telling me to vote against national park expansion and to vote for working families.  Blah blah blah, apparently, so far as I could make out: the government wants to forcibly buy more land from people currently living in areas sort of inside the park.  These homes were there first.  Now, I found it odd passing through neighborhoods in a rainforest, but Olympic National Park is already pretty big.  Many of the mountain trails require 25 mile approaches.  That is not ideal because the legs are burned up by the time you start going up.  And few people do it.  Mostly, I only saw people within 1 mile of trailheads.  So why exactly does the park need to be bigger?  This is one park I say is plenty large enough, especially if 5 years after a flood, I still can't get to the Doswallips peaks because the road has not been repaired.  Washington seems to do a pretty good job running their forests, and every forest I saw looked danged healthy, though there are some ugly clear cut spots on the hills.  These are rotated, and my jokes and grievances with the logging trucks aside (I forgot to mention about Mt St Helens that while permits to climb the peak are strictly enforced and limited that 2 of every 3 vehicles I saw was a truck loaded with timber; and my bootprints are going to destroy the area?!  Also the ranger I mentioned giving a talk said that elk hoof prints churn the soil and promote regrowth and they are hoping more elk move in.  Yet there are signs all over to not stray from trails.  Again...how are my boot prints doing so much harm?  Wouldn't they churn the soil and promote regrowth too?  To a point?  As long as a million people don't visit per year, which they do not.)

Well, so Hamma Hamma.  Got there on a Tuesday night, a good time to arrive as Lena Lake TH parking is supposed to get fierce and competitive and the area sees lots of campers.  On-line info I had, which was scant as I don't research much, said I would walk a pretty much flat trail 3 miles with a bunch of obnoxious fatso families carrying coolers full of beer, then camp at a lake teeming with idiots who draw bears in with their improper food storing knowledge and that I would be unhappy, but hey, its better than carrying a heavy pack 7 miles to the foot of The Brothers.  So I packed my huge blue rig, the bag that weighs 5 lb empty due to steel rods in it, the kind everyone carries which I've abandoned because it blows out knees and burns up legs and lungs, all so I could carry my tent.  After all, it was only 3 miles.  Then I hit the TH, gorging on fattening soups and peanut butter of course, and read the description and look at the route map and see a whole lot of switchbacks.  Well, that trail is disgusting, heinous, and long and hard and hot.  You go up 1900 feet, its all switchbacks, with no views, and then you actually descend to the lake, so you probably go up 2100 feet.  Its not fun with a heavy pack.  I sweat through my clothes and was pushing dusk.  The lake is ugly so far as lakes go, or at least, was unimpressive. Camping was good, with toilet facilities, toilet paper (a first in Washington!  Hurrah!), nice sites, grills and fire pits provided.  I could not take the storing of food all that seriously when grills were provided though.  Really?  I should worry about bears?  When grills, which absorb flesh over every barbecue for years and are never cleaned and send out very strong odors are right here.  Please.  If bears were frequent to the area, there would not be grills.  But marmots were sneaking about my tent, so I was glad my food was creatively hidden under a log with moss thrown over it 50 feet away.

I was beat but got up dutifully early next morning, expecting a grueling time of it.  I had 3 miles of the Valley of Silent Men between me and the start of the (allegedly) 1.5 miles and 3500 feet of The Brothers.  The Brothers stand 6800 feet above sea level and the trail up to Lena Lake starts at 100 feet.  So there is almost as much up as one has to up at the Grand Teton.  Morning in the Valley of Silent Men was creepy, with no sound at all and little light.  It was ugly too, which disappointed.  I made rapid work of it, stopping for plenty of water as I did not know when my last water for the day would come.  Passed a couple of heavy sleepers who did not stir when I was 2 feet from their tent, laughing at their hanging of food from a tree: 5 feet off the ground on a branch a marmot could easily climb.  So they make their food conspicuous to a bear and accessible to a marmot.  Bury it under a rock and you'd be better off. The family next to me at Lena Lake had been doing the same thing, but I sufficiently stared at them with awe that they knew something in their technique must be wrong and moved to where I could not judge them.  I watched many people hang food in Washington and have watched it in Idaho too, and I never cease to wonder: why?  Buy a bear canister.  It hurts to pay for it the one time, but it adds little extra weight to your pack.  Lord knows most of these people are already carrying 50-80 pounds, so 3 lbs matters?  It keeps your food dry, organized, not smushed, provides a seat in camp, is waterproof, and saves you the 15-30 minutes of daily work every time you set up camp for the rest of your life.  And bears can't get your food, nor marmots, nor rats, not bunnies, nor leprechauns.  I resisted the bear can, but now I take it even when not in bear country.  It makes packing and unpacking way easier.  Enough said.

My attempt at The Brothers was an old-school one.  I had a puny and insufficient map which told me little other than at the end of a 6 mile trail to the Northwestish were 2 large mountains named "The Brothers."  I did not pull it out all day.  I had read enough and viewed a few pics to have the following advice in mind: "when in doubt, go right", and "your options are steep snow, or steep rock, just grab a gully and go".  My impression was this would be a climb at some point, you know, like up cliffs, and slabs, and so I wore my approach shoes, a low cut hiking shoe with sticky soles, ideal for leaping, springing, jogging, well really any move, but not for carrying a heavy pack 3 miles to a lake, and not for sinking into mud or scree.  These were the wrong shoes.  I will not go into a complete detailed description because less than 500 people per year make an effort at The Brothers, I expect, but I will provide generalities.  There is a trail all the way to the summit (s), and to a saddle I wound up on.  These various faint trails are not maintained, but neither really is the trail through the Valley of Silent Men, despite what the park claims.  There are ribbons blazing the way through the valley, and you will need to climb over some large fallen trees, do some route finding, cross a creek probably once without a bridge, and go around some washed out sections of cliffy trail.  Its easy to follow, if you follow faint trails for a living, like me, but if you are an occasional hiker, take your time and look for ribbons and cairns.  There are ribbons blazing the trail all the way up The Brothers too.  Some are orange, some silver, some pink, most red.  They stand out if you know to keep looking for them, but there is room to get lost or stray between them.  There are cairns where ribbons cannot be hung.  Some tape has been put down where ribbons could not be hung; strips of red or orange as Xs on rocks.  These will get moved about.  The route is intuitive once you have done it, not before.  Do not listen to anyone who says the route is intuitive the first time.  I've climbed/hiked near 100 mountains and have never been so lost as on The Brothers, and if you heard about my experiences last year with a couple of 18 hour days and 4 mile creek bushwhacks, then you know that is saying something.  There is no climbing involved, unless you are playing, or lost.  There is scrambling, and steep hiking.  You cannot pick out the summit(s) of The Brothers.  There are a ton of jagged peaks and spires which from various angles look like the high point.  Don't bother unless you know which one is really the true high point (again, that means prior experience in the area).  In spring or early summer, you would follow ice channels and snow up for a long steep way in cleats with an axe.  In August, its a gully run.  You follow gullies up the whole way for quickish climbing and will have to leave them now and again to avoid melting and dangerous snow.  Do not bring climbing shoes, or wear anything other than ankle-supporting clunky boots.  Not doulbe plastic, but solid hiking boots.  Something you don't mind getting dirty or scratched up.  Also, wear pants.  There are thorns, fire ants, hornets and that ilk, thick brush, fallen trees, avalanche zones, fire zones, jagged rocks, and more.  Long sleeves are good too.  Water is available the whole way, every 1/2 mile or so at least and almost up to the summit(s).  A straw filter is ideal as a backup as some pools are too small to filter from, but if you have a straw type, as pictured below, you can slurp up a sip anytime you need to, in under a minute.  In late summer there are some ice caves to cool off in.  Use them.  They are cool.  And at the first one, you need to go left, through the burn zone.  Do not try the mossy slabs and cliffs, and the trail traverses through the worst of the fire zone.  The route is actually two gullies.  Leave the first and connect to the second to the west.  About 1/8 between, I think.  This was where I got most lost and did the most wrong things trying to find a route, since I did not know there was A route, marked the whole way, and the only real plausible single way up, give or take some straying.

Go to frontier-filter.com for the straw filter I describe and show, or find an Emergency Essentials store or type of store near you.  I paid $6 for mine at one of Utah's many disaster preparedness stores.  This model filters up to 6 gallons of water, and is ideal as a backup (1 oz!), or as a cartridge saver, which I am now using it as more and more.  Basically, using any product ruins it, but with a water filter especially, the dirtier the water, the faster you need a new cartridge.  So when I'm looking down at a mud hole now, I use the straw even if I could fit the filter in and pull out a liter.  A new cartridge is more than a new straw Frontier Filter.  This will stop working when shot, by jamming.  So if you suck and nothing comes out, throw it away and buy a new one.  Or replace it every 6 months of hiking or so rather than trying to keep track of how many swallows of water you've taken and how many gallons that adds up to.

You can camp on The Brothers.  There are campsites at the end of the official trail which are nice and near water, but I also found camp signs very near the summit.  Again, there is water the whole way, so this can be done.  Do not carry a heavy pack, or even a tent.  Unless you are going for a week.  Near the summit(s) there are many walls, spires, and towers which would make good day climbs and short adventures for a few hours.  Frankly, for all the misery of going up there, you ought to savor it and make it worth the stress on the knees.  And at one point, I just said "screw this, water knows how to get down, so I'm going to follow these waterfalls", and I did, going up steep wet rocks, which was a real change from going up steep dry rocks and dry gravel for the last several hours.

I spent 14 hours round trip leaving from Lena Lake and returning there, with about 800 calories of food and drinking about 1/2 gallon of filtered water, which was not enough.  The trail is hot, exposed, tedious, and torturous and it sucks until the very end.  Again, if you are climbing, it should be for play.  It won't get you anywhere near the top.  I had to backtrack almost every cliff I did and some of those were hard.  The rocks are often slippery, and when not, are crumbly.  The character of every gully is different.  The main gully is the one to follow, as it leads all the way.  Stay close even when you have to get around the snow.  As for when in doubt, go right: I'd provide this rule: When in doubt, go right, then try left, and then check the middle.  Probably they are all bad options.  If you are stupid, stubborn, or can't bear the thought of returning to your life as a mild-mannered, average-looking middle-class nobody, then keep forcing your way up, if not, turn back like most climbers do, and lie.  Say you were on top but your camera jammed, or lie that you ever tried to do The Brothers.  Also I would add that no one should try to solo The Brothers unless 2 or more of the following apply: 1) you are a psychopath, 2) you already drove all the way to the trailhead to meet a friend and your friend never showed, then you got a text saying your friend died and to honor your friend's spirit, you proceed alone no matter the risks, 3) you want to die, 4) you have a lingering grudge against your knees because your knees stole your best friend's girl and then broke her heart after impregnating her and refusing to pay the abortion so you want to destroy their cartilage as fast as possible so they can't ruin the lives of anymore sweet young maidens, 5) you are one of the greatest mountain climbers alive and want a challenge, 6) the thought of returning home after being wild and free for 16 days is repugnant because you like being dirty and are at home a mild-mannered, average-looking middle-class nobody who was supposed to be a big deal according to standardized tests and the opinions of every grade school teacher you ever have but enjoying life and climbing mountains and writing poems you don't let anyone see because "Van Gogh never sold a painting" sounds like failure to these people, whom you mostly avoid anyway, and didn't ever like much even, but still! 

I will let you decide which of them applies to me.  Did I make it to the top?  Well I did, but my camera jammed...nah just kidding.  Its shockingly worth it for these views and for having clouds brush and waft slowly through your outstretched fingertips:

Film does not do them justice.  I did not think anything could redeem that slog.  I went up moss-covered cliffs, hacked with an axe through a burn zone of dead and falling trees, tripped and fell more than I ever have on any trail (other than The Secret Garden Trail at Sol Duc two days before), got bit by several kinds of things, lost a half dozen times, even on the way down, almost fell off a couple of cliffs (more so than usual), got cliffed-out multiple times which is the worst, had to invent several moves to make it back down some of these danged gullies and cliffs, and hated every minute.  I kept thinking of a Michael Jordan interview where he said the first championship was not the hardest though it took him 7 years and everyone said the whole time he was over-rated and would never get one, and couldn't do it, the last was the hardest b because he already had 5 and it was easier to rest on his laurels, and he had to fight with himself to find the hunger and not be tired.  I felt like that.  I had every reason to turn back and give up.  I meant to a dozen times, but then I started to smell the peak, and it didn't matter that I had done 12 mountains and 150 miles even without these summits, I just started yelling at the mountain:  I will not give up.  You will lose.  I don't care if I die.  You'll have to kill me.  If it takes me till sundown, then I will camp up here and dance all night to keep warm like John Muir used to, when he had no sleeping bag and it started snowing and his friend got frostbite and lost a foot.  Nothing will stop me.  Tell me I'm the best you've seen.  Tell me I'm the clumsiest but I try hard.  Tell me I'm the dumbest.  Tell me I'm something!  (Clearly, I was either overheated or I have emotional problems, but then we all knew this since I solo climb mountains most professional climbers do in teams with safety gear and rappel down)

But it was all worth it on top.  Again, did not think that possible.  I wish I had had more time up there.  The descent went much much faster and was not so bad.  I divided the whole way into little segments, which is the way to cope with bad situations.  My friend, the last time I went out with someone, was very impressed.  He was thinking: its getting dark and we have 8 miles to go, we're lost, the conditions are bad, there is no water on route, and we're both worn down and we will never make it.  And I would say, well its not even a quarter mile to the end of this snowfield.  And we made it, eventually, at midnight, after 18 hours.  And we still talk.  Sort of.  So I divided the long painful slog into sections.  Get to the bottom of these cliffs and then things aren't so bad.  1/4 of steep sliding scree to that second ice cave, then 1/2 mile to the first one.  Cool off and get some water at those.  Then back to the fire zone...and so on.  I knew the way now.  The only real adventure was a goat stalked me.  This lady goat watched me starting slides with each step down the scree, and I thought she was thinking: "what a clutz!  How much noise!  I always get the worst neighbors!"  Then in the ice cave, the whole world began to shake and I froze and thought: avalanche!  Do I stay in here?  Will it hold?  And what do I see?  That goat leaping out of the way after triggering it.  So maybe she was thinking the whole time that I moved good for a three legged goat (I had my alpine axe and was stopping all my falls with it).  Then she came to the mouth of the cave and stared at me, so I moved, she stepped in to cool off and get some shade, then followed me.  This went on for a half hour and 1/4 mile of the gully.  She got very close several times and even passed me once and all the while blinking at me, with flies taking her apart.  I finally made some quick climbing moves that spooked her to go away, or convinced her I was not just a shy three-legged potential mate but a man-cub, or some other goat boogy beast.  But it creeped me out.  Okay, you're lonely, I get that, your biological clock is ticking, but come on.  I had to keep close eye on her horns incase she went crazy and charged me, and I was glad once again to have that alpine axe there.  A fine weapon when needed.

Above: My goat stalker becomes the prey.  She proves she trusts me by turning her back to me while contemplating the long way down I had to go yet.  The Valley of Silent Men starts heading West (to the right) where the trees meet the creek long past the burn zone at the foot of the facing mountain.  Perhaps she was trying to express with body language: "the way is long, hard, and unpleasant, stay with me, we will go bowling," or some such feminine mystique.  This may have been the Jane Austen of mountain goats for all I know.  The close ups are not zooms.  Animals, eight year old girls, and married 40+ year old women love me!  Everyone else...well my mom says I'm cool.

The campers were gone when I made the river, but the Valley of Silent Men now had late evening light and was gorgeous!  A wholly changed environment, not sinister now, even when the creek went underground and the air became echoingly still.  Most of my pictures did not come out as it was too late.  There is one gorgeous waterfall in the area, and lots of mossy mounds and nursery logs (old trees now sprouting with grasses, moss, flowers, and new trees as they compost), which can be had in other parts of Olympic and Washington and Oregon, but I was really floored with hills of ivy and some of the spots I passed through.  These are the few photos that came out decently.  I was pushing dusk again when I hit Lake Lena and stayed up eating until about 11 pm.  I knew my next day was just hiking out.  I had planned to go 10 more miles round trip to do Mt Lena, which offers the best views of The Brothers and can be approached from the camp I already had, but my knees were done.  I woke up having a dream I was being tortured actually and had to slowly straighten my legs.  Then I rested until noon before packing up and heading down because my knees and feet needed it.  Actually 10 days later I am still moving around like Bruce Wayne in the latest Batman movie, before he, you know, grows new cartilage and becomes Batman again with the cane forgotten, before his back gets broken and an Arab played by a white guy (one of 3,000 in the film) punches his back whole for him so he and his regrown (is that even possible?) cartilage can make the leap of faith and save Gotham on the very last day at the very last hour of 5 months after being saved by Catwoman at the very single instant when she could do so without killing both Bane and the other chick but before she was too late...not that I'm questioning that movie, not at all.

Actually, I'm glad to be limping around.  If I'm not injured, then how hard did I really work?  And was anything I did really worth it?  Funny.  I just read some guy/kid's trip report of solo climbing the Grand Teton, one spot I'm heading next, and saying he thought the idea was insane and he would die, and then after he did it, he thought, well if I did it, it can't have been hard and I shouldn't be proud of it.  That's how I always feel after a climb too.  Maybe everyone feels that way, and its coming down from the adrenaline.  But The Brothers were a great send-off.  I was able to keep pressing because they were last.  I made them the grand finale.  Had I gone there first or in the middle, I'd have quit and saved my legs.  So I am proud of those peaks.  You have no idea what it took to get these pictures...well I guess you do actually.  Missing Mt Lena was not too big a deal.  Some chubby whiny girl had sprained her ankle at the lake and was milking it, sobbing up a storm and making every stranger wait for her.  I refrained from sharing any of my pagan and old-world suck-it-up suffering makes us better philsophies.  I made some friends too.  A co-ed doing surveys for the park and a nice man who kept calling himself fat and wanted company after not reaching the lake before giving up (recent heart attack and his doc said stop when you get chest pains, but get active) until I mentioned I was from Utah and then he said if he didn't manage to lose the weight he wanted to, he could just move back there and look thinner.  So we shared Utah jokes.  And I think I embaressed him a little when I told my co-ed surveyer that I had put in 14 hours screaming and sweating to the top of The Brothers and that I refused to turn back for anything.  But mostly we shared Utah jokes.  Good times.

Seriously, last warning: The Brothers is not only not for anybody, but not for most.  The Valley of Silent Men is not named that on maps, but is appropriate, because silent, and frequented only by rugged mountaineers, not men of many words...before the advent of blogging anyway.  To visit the Valley, camp at Lena Lake and spend an afternoon there.  The last mile of trail is the best section.