Raraa!

Reckon I'll tell you the tale of Barclay Lake. Maybe later you could get on the horn with us if you have time.

It was a cloudy morning in the Cascades. The dew on the pine needles was thicker than the fur on a coon's tail.

I rode to the trailhead with a curmudgeonly old coot who knows these mountains like the back of his age-spotted hands. Rattlesnake Ledge? He's done that one 20 times over the past 30 years - knows all the trail changes since 1970. Granite Mountain? Did that one 20 years ago. "What's that waterfall?" I asked. "Bridal Veil Falls," says the old-timer. "Comes from Lake Serene. Lot's of folks used to die on that trail," says he. Now there's a REAL mountain man.

At the trailhead we split into two parties - those who would hang out at Barclay Lake and botanize and another group who would attempt the more strenuous route from Barclay to Eagle Lake. With Old-Timer prodding me, I opted to go with the fast crowd and real he-men to Eagle Lake. Old-Timer opted to botanize. So we headed out moving faster than a polecat with a wolf panting down his neck. In the lead was a real he-man named Cindy who was recovering from hip replacement surgery. Not that it slowed her down much. There was also a 60+ year old lady marathon runner and a 30 something Canadian dude who could go up a slope like a cheese-headed mountain goat. We hiked on over hill and dale, crossing a log bridge, pausing occasionally to point out native flowers and various kinds of mushrooms and other assorted mold. After an easy walk, we got to Barclay where the campers were thicker on the ground than the poison ivy.

At the communal toilet (which looked to be a wooden box sitting there in the woods) we turned left and started up the mountain towards Eagle Lake. It started to get hairy then. The trail was marked with red ribbons tied to tree branches so it took a real mountain man like yours truly to find the way. Steep? Raraa! You bet your flannel underwear it was steep. Mighty Douglas firs, fallen giants of the forest blocked our way. Did that stop us? Not on your life missy. We crawled under, over, went around - you name it. The womenfolk are havin' a hard time cleaning up the old buckskins, let me tell you. Finally, we reached a boulder field and took a break for lunch reclining on convenient rocky chairs with the clouds for our dining companions. Yessir, that roasted squirrel tasted mighty good cooked up with a little forest mushroom for topping!

Our leader declared that we had gone far enough then and we hiked on back to the lake. When we got back we noticed that some damn-fool foreigners had left their campfire burning and high-tailed it out of there. So we got water from the lake and drowned that sucker as best we could using water bottles and plastic bags. If we hadn't, that old fire could have spread to tree roots and started a conflagration that would make the gates of hell look like a warm summer's day (which this day was not). Down the trail a piece we asked a dude with about six hyperactive kids to put the little tykes to work hauling more water out of the lake to really put a damper on the damn-fool foreigners fire pit. Like a good mountain man he agreed right off and put the hellions to work pronto. So we moseyed on out of there and got back to trailhead where I met up with old-timer. We rode on back to town as the sun finally came out from behind the mist.

That was one helluva time, let me tell you.

So... Get on the horn and give us a shout there, little lady.

Raraa!

(legacy post from 8/3/2008)