Carne Mountain

The larches are turning and the mountains are closing down for winter. When it was clear that good weather and a nearly full moon were meeting up with the larches over the weekend, Hans and I reckoned to be there too. Even though Carne Mountain had been highlighted as a place to catch the show, we gambled that it wouldn't be too busy, and weren't so keen on driving to outposts North and East. As it was, from our inconvenient location near the 45th parallel, it took seven hours to the Phelps Creek Trailhead, where we arrived about ten, with just a few convenient parking spaces to spare.

It was cold as we donned hats and scarves and gloves, and stuffed more clothes into our packs. My hiking poles apparently had other plans for the weekend, so I annexed a walking stick a quarter mile into the hike, where 1508 to Carne turns East from the trail (1511) to Spider Gap. The initial long switchbacks on the route are pretty gentle, and as the path zig-zags up, the views improve steadily to the West. As we got closer to the basin, stretches of ice and snow encroached on the trail, but footing wasn't an issue, at least on the uphill tack.

We ultimately emerged into the larch-dotted, snow-filled basin and looked for a place to tent. Our off trail explorations on the knob to the North revealed a few flat, but snow-covered sites, so we descended to the basin to eat lunch and reconnoiter. After considerable deliberation, we picked the one five by seven foot bare pre-existing campsite in the basin and set up shop. Since we had whittled away a fair amount of the afternoon, we then hurried to trace the footsteps of day-hikers up to Carne Mountain. As we trekked up through the snow, we crossed paths with a dozen or so day-hikers, and were infiltrated by the magical scenery. Buck and Clark Mountains and the snow-blanketed Chiwawa Ridge occupied the balcony above sparse groves of austere, brightly lit, pumpkin-colored larches. Once the path to Carne cuts left from the Rock Creek Trail (1509) and attains the ridgeline, the views are unencumbered: East across Rock Creek valley to Fifth of July and the Rampart Mountains; North along the Entiat Crest, with Maude and Seven Fingered Jack, the Ice Lakes basin, and hints of the Leroy High route; and then West, past Chiwawa Ridge and the White Mountains, beyond Glacier Peak to the sun sinking below the clouds. We surveyed the distant lands with the last of the day-hikers, and clicked more pictures as clusters of larches whispered among themselves.

We returned to the basin at dusk, filtered water from the snow banks of the meandering stream, and put on clothes. I counted three pairs of socks, five layers of pants, nine layers on the top, and a hat, scarf, and mittens; but Hans beat that with an additional scarf and two hats. Thus fortified, we sat down to cocktail hour, dinner, and dessert. The skies were cloudy, but the moon climbed above the pass to join us for our night time constitutionals. Eventually, stars to the North came out, telling us it was time for bed.

On Sunday morning, we lounged till nine and had a leisurely breakfast. We packed up and picked our way down through some initial icy patches, greeting a dozen day hikers along the way. We got to our car, celebrated with a beer each, and drove home with the elegy of autumn in our minds.