I say “we” because I gotta share some credit with the great friends who joined me on so many of these modest adventures., including a few who could not join us today, though they assured me they were there in spirit. That alone put an extra spring in my step, and I’m grateful.

I was originally aiming for a grand finale snowshoe hike to Pump Peak above the Mount Seymour Ski Area near Vancouver. Hike up for sunset, return with a rising full moon. Rain and clouds, however, had other ideas. So rather than head up there at the risk of being socked in with slugbelly clouds and flurries, it seemed Pump would be better left to a day when we could enjoy the reportedly awesome views.

My back up plan for a lower-elevation hike near Hope was thus deployed. I’d recently discovered that a new trail was built by volunteers up a lumpy ridgeline called Dragon’s Back. The indigenous name is Kw’okw’echíwel Stl’áleqem, meaning “Lookout of the Two-Headed Serpent.” The trail only opened two years ago, and the four-mile round trip and 1,400-foot elevation gain sounded delightful. Trail descriptions warned of some extra steep trail sections, but counterbalanced by some great views at the top.

We left Bellingham before 9:00 am, crossed the border at Sumas, then headed east on the Trans-Canada Highway. I finagled a stop at Bridal Veil Falls east of Chilliwack and we hiked up to the big view at the base of the falls. Impressive.

We continued to Hope and found the sign to the trailhead minutes away. The access road was steep and snow-covered, so we opted to park at the bottom. A short hike up the road led to the empty trailhead. As soon as we entered the woods, the snow disappeared and we found a major portion of the way up to be snow-free or nearly so. MicorSpikes and YakTraks came in handy near the top.

The trail can be quite steep in some sections, but there are hundreds of stone and wood steps to get one through the steepest areas. Easy stretches break up the more difficult stuff at nice intervals. A bridge over a small creek offers an excellent view of a waterfall above, with tons of ice still clinging to the rock from the recent deep freeze. We were duly impressed by the excellent design work on the trail, and of course, the hard labor it took to build it in such a rugged setting. (Improvements are ongoing.)

Two viewpoints at the top look up and down the Fraser River, while also overlooking the city of Hope. Trail signs and beautiful rest benches are in all the right places. As we sat and snacked, I couldn’t help but wonder about the countless thousands of prospectors we’d have been looking down on had we come here 166 years ago during the Fraser Canyon Gold Rush of 1858. (I’ve been reading up lately on the gold rush and Whatcom Trail and will be posting a story on that topic shortly.)

As we circled around from the northerly view point, I looked for the official highest bit of duff or rock to claim as my summit. I finally found it not too far up and off the trail. After I got back down to my waiting friends, we began our descent at a good pace—till I suddenly realized my left YakTrak had fallen off my boot. I backtracked to my off-trail summit scurry, and could see that the tracks going up had the imprints of two YaTraks. The tracks coming back down showed no YakTrak on my left boot. Aha! I followed the suspect prints upward and found the elusive YakTrak lying in the snow on the summit. So of the 70 peaks I ascended, this is the only one I went up twice.

The rain somehow held off until we were back in the truck and westward bound. We capped off the day and the milestone at the excellent Greek Islands Restaurant in Chilliwack. Thanks for the treats, y’all!

When I wrapped up my 60 summits quest almost exactly 10 years ago, I wrote the following:

What a great feeling. To set a goal, in this case a reasonably achievable one, and then, well, achieve it. But all it was was me out doing what I like to do. Hiking. A lot. Seeing new places. Moving upward and looking back down. Meeting other trailsters. Manufacturing endorphins. . . Although I would have enjoyed more company on the trail, and it was great having Kris along when she could join me, the lonelier hikes were also very fun and scenic and appropriately self-indulging. And scintillating. Oxygenating. Life-enriching. I think I’ll do it some more. And hopefully again when I’m 70.

The sentiment still applies. Will I do it again at 80? I’m thinking probably so, assuming I’m still upright. It’s either than or 80 lines of bowling.

Thanks all for cheering me on! May the trails be with you! —Ken

In the first five months of my crazy little quest for 70, I made it to just ten summits. Not so great. But the pace picked up in the summer and went into overdrive this fall and winter. Over the past five months, I’ve scampered up forty.

Oddly enough, this month, January, has been the most productive, with a total of 11 summits reached in the first 14 days, and one more on the horizon. I was having doubts early December whether I could succeed this time around, especially with all the other stuff I’ve had going on at the same time. But rather than wimp out, I shifted things into high gear. The renewed focus has obviously paid off. That said, I do have to credit the mild weather for giving me plenty of windows to get my butt out there. And Kris too for putting up with all this peaknuttery.

After a couple of days of record cold, the forecast today called for moderating temps—meaning highs in the teens and 20s rather than single digits at elevation. And sunny and calm to boot! With most of the coming week looking like significant rain and snow, how could I not run up to B.C. again and snag one more?

Not long ago, My buddy Mitch had suggested that lower B.C. might just save me. He was right. This month, seven summits, including today’s, were in Canada. Since I’ve hiked up most reasonably accessible peaks near Bellingham, and quite a number between here and Mount Rainier, I realized just how numerous the options still were north of the border. Many I’d never hiked are within easy driving distance.

So today, sights were set on Sunrise Hill in Belcarra Regional Park northwest of Port Moody, with a backup plan for the much easier High Knoll near Coquitlam. It must have been 9:30 am when I left the house, and I was at the trailhead near Buntzen Lake at 11:00 am—my first time visiting the area.

Sunrise Hill is better known as the Diez Vistas Trail, as in ten views. However, I’d read that only the first view (from the south) was really worth the trouble. It was just beyond the summit, so there was my plan.

As I’d read online, the trail was a bugger, with plenty of roots and rocks to clamber among, and more than a few patches of water ice. Then it got really steep toward the top with gnarly switchbacks, though nothing an experienced hiker in reasonable shape can’t manage. Only a handful of others were on the trail today.

The view was just as advertised and well worth the trudge. After a ten minute break, I was already cold, stuffed half my sandwich back in my pack and headed back. I tagged the actual summit this time, a few paces off the trail: Number 68! I was back at the truck by 2:45 pm. The five-mile round trip hike had a total gain of around 1,600 feet.

Given our short winter days, I presumed I was too late to make it up my backup peak, High Knoll, also. This little objective is within Minnekhada Regional Park, only a 20-minute drive away. I should at least go take a look, I thought. When I arrived and did a quick calculation . . . three-miles round trip, 600-foot gain . . . I realized I had just enough time to go for it. The catch was that the gate would be closed and locked at 5:00 pm. No dilly-dally allowed.

I zoomed through the woods, over good trail and bad, up a nicely constructed stone staircase, and upward to a fabulous view atop a rocky crag overlooking the Pitt River. Mount Baker lit up the horizon to the southeast. Beauteous. I’d managed another B.C. twofer and Summit #69.

I should note that when I was reading up on this hike, there were a great number of reports of bear sightings this past summer and fall, including sows with cubs. One guy was apparently charged by a bear. The info kiosk at the trailhead also mentioned abundant habitat for bear and cougar and posted warnings.

Where the trail circles below the high rock face, one wonders if all that talus and the grottos that I saw might provide some nifty bear dens for these furry beasts? I wasn’t about to go looking, even if the critters were likely to be snoring their paws off this time of year. But something to keep in mind should you/we go up there in warmer climes.

Bottom line: Just one more summit to go! I have some ideas, but may wait a week for the grand finale.

You can read the first installment of my 70 Summits whiz-bang journey here.

Big Bend National Park

By mid-January I’d gained 50 summits in my quest for Sixty, but with only two weeks to go, how was I ever going to manage ten more? I started scanning the map of the good ol’ U.S. of A. for sunny winter destinations with affordable airfare. My pointer finger soon landed on Big Bend National Park in west Texas. It should be sunny and 60s in January, I learned. That was all I needed to know.

On the one hand it seemed a bit frivolous to jet over to Texas for a few days of hiking. But on the other hand, I was on a mission and hadn’t been on such an adventure in a beauteous new place for way too long. Most of my vacation time seems generally consumed by domestic duties and the like, with a day or two of fun tossed in here and there for sanity’s sake. Kris was also traveling to Seattle for a 10-day winter break with family, so I figured I could tack on a couple of vacation days to a three-day M.L. King weekend and flew to San Antonio on January 16.

After a long drive west from San Antonio—and a near accidental detour into Mexico after missing a turn—I arrived at the Chisos Basin campground just after dark. For the next four days, it would be total Blissville, with five new summits added to the count. I had to consult my rule book a few times to be sure a couple of them would qualify. But since I write the rules, I figured the chances were pretty good.

51. Casa Grande (TX) - January 17, 2014

I crawled out of my frosty tent early dawn for my first good look at the Chisos Mountains, having arrived under stars the night before. The mountains surround Chisos Basin like a giant caldron, and in fact, the place owes its existence to several large volcanic eruptions 30 to 60 million years ago, plus some artful erosion in the years since.

Imposing Casa Grande rose high above and grew more impressive with the advancing morning light. It is thought to be a remnant lava cap that flowed over more erodible ash and sandstone. At the time, I wasn’t even sure yet what mountain I was looking at, given the sparse research I’d done beforehand. But after a morning stroll to the ranger station up the hill and a look at the map, I learned its name—and also discovered that there was a steep, unofficial trail to the summit. After some book browsing and putzing around, I was finally on my way.

The climbers’ path leads west from a mile up the Lost Mine Trail. A jolly jaunt led along the easy ridge, then the grade steepened as I clambered up light brush, rocks and scree to the first false summit. The trail faded through a gentle saddle then reappeared for the climb past rock towers to the next false summit, where a natural arch added an extra flair. After slogging over the crest, I was a little surprised how distant the summit still appeared. I kept on, feeling a little lonelier as I climbed far above the surrounding desert.

Despite a perfect, 70-degree day, I saw no one else on the route. I began to wonder about the super-abundance of warning signs throughout the basin and at trailheads going on about the risk of mountain lion encounters, since they are frequently spotted in the Chisos. But they only hunt early and late in the day, right? Black bears too. I marched on.

Another very steep and skinny scree slope finally brought me to the top where I wandered among two gentle high points to be sure I’d nabbed the correct one. The view was tremendous and I enjoyed a 2:30 lunch gazing down on my tent from my 7,325-foot perch. I’d gained 1,600 feet over a 4.2-mile round-trip hike. Not a bad way to get acquainted with a fabulous place that had somehow evaded my radar for so many years.

52. Emory Peak (TX) - January 18, 2014

Another cold night and brilliant moon was followed by a perfectly sunny day that warmed half way into morning. I’d decided to head out early to make the 12.6-mile loop out to the South Rim, one of the park’s classic hikes. I would also add the 3.2-mile side trip up Emory Peak, the highest in the park, plus some minor off-trail wandering to total 16 miles and about 3,200 feet of elevation gain.

I hiked in via Pinnacles and Boot Canyon Trails and returned via the Laguna Meadow Trail. Half way up to the saddle, I passed a heavyset fellow who looked much younger than I and who seemed to be huffing more than he was puffing. I bid him well, quietly hoping his heart would hold out long enough to enjoy the promised views ahead.

The first half of the loop is a splendid trek through gorgeous terrain past a large rock tower shaped like a cowboy boot (it had to be in Texas) to a million dollar view of Mexico from the rim. I could have sat and stared for hours. The sidetrip to Emory was also exceptional. The exposed summit rocks were exciting enough (class 2-3) and well worth the extra push, even if a radio transmitter and solar PV panel kinda mucked things up at the apex.

On the way down from the peak, I passed my hefty friend, still truckin’ and aiming for the summit. He confided with a smile that “Climbing Emory was probably the last thing a 320-pound man should doing on his vacation.” As far as I know, he made it too, since he was getting pretty darned close at that point. I made a good trek myself that day, but I think I was outdone by the big guy.

53. South Rim High Points (TX) - January 18, 2014

After enjoying a sandwich and the views on the South Rim awhile, I figured I should get moving. I still had a good seven miles of walking to do. I wandered over to a high point toward the south end of the rim, then approached another point on the way back toward Emory. I made a short off-trail hike in light brush, partly along an intermittent boot trail to the gentle summit (Point 7395)—hardly a noteworthy accomplishment, although it was just far enough off the trail to get that lonely feeling again in mountain lion country. I tagged the summit and snapped a photo of Emory rising between the trees.

As I headed down, I immediately lost the boot track and became briefly disoriented. However, I knew that as long as I moved eastward, I’d soon stumble on the trail, which I did after a short argument with some brush. I determined that two easy off-trail high points added up to one countable summit so I granted myself a second peak for the day. Seven to go.

The scenic hike back to Chisos Basin passed below sunlit Emory and offered many more great views of the park. The miles slipped by like butter and I was back at my cozy tent well before dark.

54. “Croton Mountain” - January 19, 2014

Day Three at Big Bend was to be a mellow one, a semi-rest day, though I hoped to still get up an easy summit somewhere. I’d set my sights on Cerro Castellan, a dramatic steep-walled peak visible from great distances across the desert. My research suggested there was a steep but doable scramble route up the east face, maybe 2-3 hours round trip.

When I got there, it looked harder than I’d imagined and I let it go, fearful of breaking an ankle or bonking my bean or some other body part that might leave me stranded with no likely rescue. In hindsight, I now wish I’d given it a go and simply turned back if the going got tough. But I’d already burned up much of the day traipsing around the desert, visiting the narrows at Santa Elena and Tuff Canyons. If I was to bag a summit, there would be no time left for an alternate if Cerro Castellan didn’t go. So I moved on. What a wuss.

Cruising north along the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive, I spied several small mesa-hills that I thought might do the trick, but most seemed either too small and dainty to count or too big and hulky to ascend in the time allotted. I finally landed at a little mountain next to Croton Spring, an easy walkup to be sure. I clambered up its 400-foot-high eminence, which was like climbing a giant heap of loose bricks and baseballs (it was volcanic). I waved my imaginary sword at the top, decreeing Croton Mountain as my 54^th summit. Well, okay, it was only a mile round trip, but I’m counting it!

I celebrated a couple hours later by ordering up a burger and brew at the Chisos lodge restaurant/bar, and watching my Seattle Seahawks eke out a victory in the championship game against San Francisco. (It was a banner year for the ‘Hawks. Two weeks later, they would go on to trounce the Broncos in our first and only Superbowl victory—and on my birthday, no less!)

55. Lost Mine Ridge (TX) - January 20, 2014

Day Four was my last at Big Bend, since my mini-vacation was nearly over and I had a plane to catch in San Antonio the next morning. I also had six hours’ worth of driving to do just to get to the airport. However, I calculated I could hike up the Lost Mine Trail, another park favorite, in the morning, and either stand on the high point of the ridge or possibly wander a half-mile over to a higher high point that would earn me at least one extra brownie point.

Lost Mine Peak itself, was a much more challenging and committing hike with a 4^th class finish to the summit. It was appealing enough, but better saved (and safer) for a party of two or more. I enjoyed a breakfast buffet at the lodge, packed up the tent and headed to the trailhead.

I’d already been up the first mile of trail on Day One (for Casa Grande), so except for slowing down to ogle a few deer on the way up, I made good time reaching the saddle and chugged on. The ridge crest seemed like easy work, so perhaps the steady diet of daily hiking was already giving me some new strength.

At the crest, I realized the sub-peak I’d noticed on the map required somewhat of a brush bash to get to. It did not look highly appetizing. Lost Mine Peak looked very appetizing, but no chance now of that happening.

I also noticed a cool-looking summit rock at the end of the official trail, so that would have to suffice. To make it more official, I carefully scooted up onto it, and stared down a substantial distance at the trees below my boots. I think the couple nearby were wondering the same thing I often wonder when I see someone getting a little too close to the edge. What is that crazy guy doing up there? On the way back I tagged another pile of rocks just in case it was higher than the first, though that didn’t seem to be the case. The tally: 4.8 miles and a gain of 1,100 feet.

I’d bagged five summits in four days, had a heck of a good time in a new-to-me national park, and enjoyed a brief hit of summery weather in January. As it turned out, my flight to DC the next day was cancelled due to a major snowstorm. But the delay was manageable and the next plane made it through. It was my first time actually landing in a snow storm. And just like magic, I was back in the frigid confines of a cold, cold winter on the Mid-Atlantic Coast.

56. Minor’s Hill (VA) -

This one was a peak of baby steps, 10.5 miles worth, from our front step in Glover Park to the highest hill in Arlington, Virginia—rising 459 magnificent feet above sea level. Because of the snow and the cold and the fact that I still needed five summits to complete my Sixty with only a week left to accomplish the feat, I was getting desperate. So by my reasoning, if I walked ten miles to get up a hill, then that darn hill counts. And I won’t have to drive anywhere to do it.

On January 25^th, I walked our the front door, down through Georgetown, out along three pleasant miles of the Potomac Heritage Trail past frozen waterfalls, then west up Donaldson Run and into the burbs for my final assault on the Minor massif.

It turns out that Minor’s is an interesting hill in history. The Minor family settled it, one of whom was friends with President James Madison. Madison briefly took refuge there in 1814 when British forces set fire to the White House and Capitol during the War of 1812. He was our fourth president, the father (i.e., major wordsmith) of the Constitution and Bill of Rights, and hubby of Dolley.

The Hill was later occupied variously by both Union and Confederate troops jostling for territory during the Civil War. Today, the old stories are mostly buried beneath asphalt streets and a suburban neighborhood. I walked up to the highest bit of dirt I could find and snapped a photo just to be weird. The East Falls Church Metro station is only a mile or so down the hill, which made for an easy return home.

57. Little Schloss (VA) - January 26, 2014

Despite a week of snow on the ground in DC, not a lot had accumulated and I guessed that six inches or so might be blanketing the nearest clines of the Blue Ridge. A short hike with 1,200 feet of gain had caught my eye weeks ago, so off I went to give “Little Schloss” a try. The main roads were generally dry, but the last couple of miles into the George Washington National Forest were packed snow, with enough in the center to make me worry about dragging bottom in Kris’s car. I parked about ¾ mile below the trailhead and walked the rest.

A single line of day-old boot tracks led up the snowy trail, with dog tracks crisscrossing excitedly every 50 yards or so. The tracks only went upward, so I wondered if this hiker might have done the longer loop option that I was not planning to do. After all, I was in peak-bagging mode at this point and didn’t need no more stinkin’ miles than necessary.

Actually, it was a lovely hike and I was at the ridge in no time, looking up at the steep scramble to the summit. The snow-covered talus was no problem at all and I quickly ascended for the splendiferous view above, two miles from the car. The descent was uneventful and I was back home in plenty of time for a jambalaya dinner party with Kris’s boss and their extended family of friends.

58. Bull Run Mountain (VA) - January 31, 2014

I only recently discovered that the trails at the Bull Run Mountains Conservancy, an hour west of DC, happen to include a hike up a ridge to a high point with a view. Perfect! I had two days to go and three summits to scale to avoid a midnight self-pumpkinization on February 1^st. So, Kris and I headed out on January 31^st, a sunny and almost spring-like winter day, for summit #58.

We parked at the Mountain House and rambled along the Fern Hollow Trail past the striking remains of an old grist mill, ice well and family cemetery. The creek below us, Broad Run, was flowing, but largely capped in thick ice from an unusually cold January. We soon met the Chestnut Ridge Trail and followed that to the rocky crest. We found multiple overlooks with excellent views west-ish toward Winchester, Front Royal and Shenandoah.

I scooted up the highest rocks to be sure I’d tagged the proper one, while Kris tried to discern what kind of critter was making all that rustling noise among the giant rocks below. Nearby, a perfect bedrock couch in full sun invited a generous lunch break. I think I’d rate this as one of the best easy dayhikes near DC. It’ll be fun to go back in the spring and fall when the forest has some clothes on.

Our round trip hike totaled 4.0 miles with an elevation gain of 1,000 feet.

The Grand Finale

February 1^st was the last day to complete my quest for Sixty Summits. Yes, my birthday is Groundhog Day, so I’ve always enjoyed bragging that I was born on a national holiday. Living on the East Coast was also an excuse to visit Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to see if I can see my shadow and thereby predict the odds of a cute, squat groundhog seeing hers.

In any event, I still needed two more summits, so I knew at least one would have to be a shorty. I looked for the meatier one first. It had to be something substantial and special, preferably with a couple thousand feet of gain. It also had to be enjoyable and include a great view. The forecast was for a clear, 60-degree spring day—an anomaly amidst all the cold weather we’ve had.

My summit finale also had to be within reasonable driving distance of DC so I wouldn’t have to get out of bed at three in the morning. And it had to be new to me, since the deal I’d made with myself was that the summit didn’t count if I’d already been up it—Old Rag and Stony Man, for example.

I originally wanted my last hike to be Mount Rogers, the highest mountain in Virginia, as part of a multi-day race to the finish. But with only one day to do it and a five and a half-hour drive to get there, the tedium would zero out the fun factor. It was clearly more sensible to save Rogers for actual springtime when Kris and I could make a long weekend of it and see a few other cool places along the way.

So I looked for a summit farther to the north and east, preferably within three hours of home, and found several intriguing possibilities: Big and Little House Mountain, Elliott Knob and Big Rocky Row. I then began scanning for an easier summit nearby so I could bag my two-fer for the day. I noticed Big Rocky Row was popping up as a regional favorite, making somebody’s top-ten list of the best hikes in Virginia—right up there with Rogers.

Then I spotted Tar Jacket Ridge nearby, its high point not quite a mile up the trail. The trail departed from the same trailhead as Cold Mountain, which we had hiked up back in September (summit #20). Trumpets tooted and drums rolled. I had a plan. I would do the easier hike first.

59. Tar Jacket Ridge (VA) - February 1, 2014

I rolled out of bed at 5 am on February 1^st and was quickly on the road. A gas and coffee stop eventually woke me up and I continued down the I-81 to Buena Vista, with the CD player pumping out old R&R favorites. I found the trailhead by way of some kind of genetic memory, but the side road heading into the forest was still snow-covered. It was well tracked with gentle grades, however, so I made it to within a half-mile of the trailhead, before chickening out on a steeper hill. I got the Corolla turned around and parked at a wide spot, then walked up to the abandoned trailhead.

Only 100 yards up the trail, I was on south-facing, grassy slopes where the snow had mostly disappeared. There were still broad patches in the copses and it was fun looking at all the different animal tracks: birds, rabbits, deer and presumably bobcat, the prints clawless and not too big. The morning seemed amazingly still and quiet.

In just under a mile with a 500-fot gain, I reached the lonely high point looking across at Cold Mountain. I took a selfie and quickly retreated. I met two young guys heading up and we talked briefly about some of the other great hikes in the area. They assured me that my next objective, Big Rocky Row, was a good one. I never did find any info on where the odd name, Tar Jacket, came from.

60. Big Rocky Row (VA) - February 1, 2014

So it was a year ago, in honor of one of those milestone birthday things, that I promised to treat myself to sixty new summits, as in hiking up them all before my next birthday. And as I’ve noted, they all had to be places that were new to me. I would post the details and photos in this blog. I actually started this nonsense with my 50th birthday in 2003, and barely reached the finale after dark, just hours before my deadline.

My burgeoning throng of readers, having burgeoned by now to two or three family members, the occasional friend and Fuji the Cat, all of whom, except the cat, have been gripping the undersides of their seats for weeks now, in total anticipation of the climactic blog entry documenting the Sixty Summits finale. I can hear the murmuring from three thousand miles away. Is he going to make it? Gasp. Has anyone ever done this before? Gasp. Is he out of his mind? Gasp.

It was with that trembling sense of senseless anticipation, and a deep desire to not disappoint my devoted fans, especially the cat, that I parked the car at the Big Rocky Row trailhead just above the frozen James River, filled my lungs with fresh mountain air and yodeled.

Okay, I didn’t yodel, but I certainly could have. The mountains were brightly lit up, they even smelled mountainly, the day already warming up nicely. Plus I’d summited Tar Jacket Ridge that morning. Was I in the mood or what! It was a fantastic day and I was pretty much giddy the whole time.

A raft of cars at the trailhead hinted that I would have some company on the trail, perhaps even someone to boast to about my big adventure. I slung on my pack, dialed in the trekking sticks and marched past the A.T. sign.

Easy climbing led to a ridge, then a creek crossing and a trailside shelter and campsite, before the well maintained path began to climb more deliberately into the higher ground of the George Washington National Forest. Higher up, a couple of dozen switchbacks almost gave me a sense of hiking in the Cascades back in Washington State.

I have to say, the mountains here also feel more like mountains than do the various nubbins along the Blue Ridge farther north and east. Shenandoah, as pretty as it is, is mostly comprised of long ridges with relatively even tops, interrupted by rocky high points and wooded knobs. That said, they are interspersed with interesting drainages that often hide waterfalls, swimming holes and maybe a bear or two.

But in the more southwesterly parts of Virginia, and beyond in western North Carolina, the mountains feel much more like mountains. They’re not so linear. The forest is a little different there as well, with more pine and spruce to green things up in the winter. And I’ve yet to make it over to the Great Smokies, another eastern mountain mecca I’ve been dying to visit. But I’d definitely picked a fine place to wrap up the Sixty.

The trail led up to the base of cliffs (Fuller Rocks) and zig-zagged up stone steps to the ridge crest, also called Little Rocky Row. This is the scenic climax of the hike and I took a few minutes to soak it in. The James River laid a sinuous course far below with the sun reflecting brightly off the ice. To the northeast, the true summit, my big Numero 6-0, rose another 500 feet.

I continued the trek up the steepening ridge. Nearly to the top, I ceremoniously slowed for the final few steps. Two guys were there ahead of me and I had to boast, of course, of what I’d just accomplished. They congratulated me and seemed even a little impressed with the thin-haired guy humping up the trail with sticks.

One was kind enough to take my picture as I straddled two rocks that formed the highest terrafirma I could see. They agreed that the rocks under my boots contained the mountain’s most altitudinous molecules, whereupon we conjointly certified the completion of my quest. A 2,200-foot gain in 4.2 miles had officially sealed the deal.

It was kinda special stepping up on those last two rocks at Big Rocky Row—a great hike to end on. I’ll have to go back again with Kris in spring and linger longer.

The only downside of this particular trip to the mountain was that we had tickets to the Banff Mountain Film Festival at 6:00 pm that night at the National Geographic auditorium in DC. Which meant I nearly had to trot down the mountain and drive like a maniac to get back in time.

Happily, Kris held a seat for me, and I slunk into my chair a couple minutes into the first film. I had to smile when one of the later films tracked a guy who did 35 rock climbs to celebrate his 35^th birthday. Now, how silly is that?

A Final Word

What a great feeling. To set a goal, in this case a reasonably achievable one, and then, well, achieve it. But all it was was me out doing what I like to do. Hiking. A lot. Seeing new places. Moving upward and looking back down. Meeting other trailsters. Manufacturing endorphins.

In the end, there were about 286 miles walked, 71,650 feet climbed, logged over a period of 252 days, or one summit every 4.2 days. When you average it all out, it ain’t that much—under five miles per summit and about 1,200 feet gained. So I’d have to put it somewhere between a sub-Olympian speedwalk and a drunken stroll around the neighborhood, probably more toward the latter.

Although I would have enjoyed more company on the trail, and it was great having Kris along when she could join me, the lonelier hikes were also very fun and scenic and appropriately self-indulging. And scintillating. Oxygenating. Life-enriching. I think I’ll do it some more. And hopefully again when I’m 70.

Happy hiking y’all.

45. The Mummy Nubbin (NV) - December 9, 2013

Before Thanksgiving (2013), I noticed that I could fly home to DC from Bellingham by way of Las Vegas for the same price as going direct from Seattle to DC. Surely, it will be mild and sunny in Vegas in early December, right? The normal high then should be around 60. There was also an early flight out of Bellingham and a late flight out of Vegas, which gave me a 12-hour layover in the desert city, just enough to dash off for a good hike in the hills. I’d catch a red-eye flight to DC and show up at the office right on time, bedraggled, but functional. I booked the flights two weeks in advance.

My research led me to the Mount Charleston area and two attractive summit hikes—easy Cathedral Rock and modest Fletcher Peak. Maybe I could knock ‘em both out in a day, although they were pretty high up and possibly snowy and icy by now. Fletcher’s summit was over 10,500 feet.

I landed in Vegas on December 9 with a forecast high of, sigh, 40 degrees, the same as Seattle. Well, whatever. I got to the 7,000-foot Spring Mountains Visitor Center around noon, with the temperature in the low-20s. I parked in the snowy/icy parking lot, which, of course, was not a good sign for conditions at 10,000 feet.

The ranger inside informed me that, regrettably, the Cathedral Rock Trail was still closed from a July forest fire. So nix that one. How deep is the snow on Fletcher? Probably a foot or two with some drifts. That meant much of the trail would likely be obscured, and since I don’t know this area at all, heading up midday without a clear trail to follow seemed a little silly. Instead, I settled on a chilly trudge up the North Loop Trail toward Mummy’s Toe. I wouldn’t attempt the summit, since it is actually 400 feet higher than Fletcher. But I noticed an unnamed 10,089-foot nubbin on the map that was just off the trail. It would be a five-mile hike round trip.

I drove to the trailhead at 8,400 feet and found a good boot track in about a foot of snow. At 1.5 miles, the path reached a scenic terrace where most of the snow had melted or been blown away. From there, the tread morphed into wandering snowshoe prints that led upward in deepening snow to the next ridge crest above.

I began punching through to my calves and a couple times up to my knees. But I was close to the top and managed the last 100 feet of vertical to the nubbin, which I proudly named the Mummy’s Toenail Clipping. But because the summit was over 10,000 feet and my nose was cold, I just had to count it as Summit #45. Only 15 to go!

46. The Priest (VA) - December 21, 2013

Back in Virginia, I’d discovered another two-fer possibility in the Blue Ridge and headed out early from DC on Saturday December 21^st. Snow and closed roads had put a crimp on peakbagging the previous weekend, but now, on the winter solstice, the forecast was spectacular, with a predicted high close to 70. Not bad for the first day of winter.

I made the long drive to Crabtree Falls southwest of Charlottesville, with my sights on The Priest and Maintop Mountain, including a short detour to Spy Rock. It was also going to be a great day to try out my nifty new Canon PowerShot-SX280HS-Wifi-HD video-GPS-20x-blah-blah-point-and-shoot-cameroid.

The 9-mile round trip hike can be shortened considerably by starting at an upper parking lot, but then you’d miss the scenic climb past the highest series of falls east of the Mississippi. Crabtree Creek drops over 1,000 feet via multiple falls and cascades. An excellent 1.7-mile trail to the top offers great views throughout. A few lingering patches of ice demanded some extra care in spots, but nothing treacherous.

From the top of the upper falls, an easy path led another mile to a fire road, followed by a short stroll upward to intersect the A.T. Hanging a left there, it was 1.2 miles farther to the summit. The high point is a rock pile in the trees, but a fine overlook awaited along the ridge a short distance below. With the 2,500-foot gain, it seemed I had the entire mountain to myself and I didn’t see another hiker until I returned to the falls. I did, however, see my first fox east of the Mississippi, right close to the summit. I figured he must have been working on his summit list too.

Note of caution: Signs at Crabtree Falls state that 28 people have died here while venturing off the trail onto rocks that are slicker than they look. The most recent fatality occurred in 2013.

47. Maintop Mountain and Spy Rock (VA) - December 21, 2013

After burning up way too much time at Crabtree taking way too many pictures with my fancy new camera, I burned rubber up to the Spy Rock trailhead behind a fish hatchery, a short drive from Crabtree Falls. It was already 3:30pm and I had, at most, two hours of good light left. The hike up and back would be a bit under four miles with 1,500 feet of elevation gain.

About a quarter mile up the private road that leads to the A.T., I met a boy of maybe six or seven running toward me looking as happy as all get-out. He came right up to me like I was his uncle and said “Deh uh voo at duh en—uh woowy guh wun!” Which I translated to mean there was a really good view at Spy Rock. I thanked him for his generous insight, then noticed the rest of the family approaching from around the bend.

Within an hour, I was atop the rock, which rises like a massive blob out of the surrounding forest. The hiker boy was right. It was gorgeous. Tiny pools at the summit reflected a darkening sky. Confederate soldiers spied on their Union enemy from this perfect vantage point approximately one sesquicentennial ago.

But since Spy Rock is not the high point, I clambered down and continued up the A.T. briefly to where a former, less obvious path climbs leftward to the top of Maintop Mountain. I presume it’s called the main top, since Spy Rock isn’t the actual top of the mountain, even if it’s the main destination for day hikers. By now dusk was approaching and the wind was howling, so I snapped a picture of my feet on the highest rock pile and skittered back down.

48. Buzzard Hill (VA) - December 26, 2013

The day after Christmas, we opted for another attempt on Buzzard Hill, a little summit hike we’d aimed for a couple weeks earlier. The narrow side road leading to the trailhead was steep and icy at the time and I didn’t want to risk it, so we bailed. This time, however, all was perfect with no snow in sight.

The trail, a section of the A.T., passed a small waterfall early on where much ice had formed during the preceding cold spell. We ogled the icicles and assorted frozen sculptures, then continued upward, landing on the summit an hour and half from the car. A big old gnarly tree gave the place a cool ambiance and we enjoyed lunch at our scenic, sunny perch on the rocks. Summit number four dozen was in the bag, which meant I was 80 percent of the way to Sixty, with just over five weeks to go.

On the way down, we passed a herd of three white-tailed deer browsing only a few yards from the trail. They spooked at first, but then decided to ignore us and went about their chewing and chomping as if we were just a couple of overgrown squirrels. ‘Twas a fine hike, just under four miles round trip with an 850-foot elevation gain.

On the drive home, we stopped for a light dinner at Clyde’s Willow Creek Farm, a unique farmstead eatery that a friend at work had recommended. Not bad and a cool place to go with family or friends.

49. Big Ridge and Cranny Crow (WV) - December 28, 2013

On December 28^th, Kris had to work so I took advantage of another gorgeous day off and raced over to Lost River State Park just inside West Virginia, though not all that far from DC. The trail up Big Ridge reached a high point with a fire tower, although it was inaccessible—perhaps too rickety for public use. Lower down, an overlook called Cranny Crow also caught my interest and offered a nice loop of 6.4 miles, with a gain of just 1,500 feet.

Once I found the park, it took some figuring to determine where the trailhead was, since the directions I found online weren’t entirely clear. The park’s visitor center had just opened minutes earlier and the kind woman behind the counter was quick to set me straight and hand me a trail map.

The hike was quite enjoyable, I thought, with several overlooks, historic homestead, the impressive tower and an old cabin at the top. Cranny Crow, was the best stop though, with an aesthetically pleasing rock shelter looking out over Duck Hollow and the surrounding hills. Who knows how the name came about? I imagine someone seeing a crow in a cranny in the rocks and sayin’ hey, lookie dat! It’s a cranny crow! Fun place. And a nice hike to end on for 2013.

50. Duncan Knob (VA) - January 12, 2014

When I came to DC in January 2011, one of the first hikes to catch my attention was Duncan Knob, a hike up a scenic rock pile that I’d noticed multiple times on the online calendars of local hiking clubs. I called to sign up once, but winter weather cancelled the trip. Somehow, it’s taken me three years to finally make my way up the knob, in January no less, which was kinda cool. Doubly cool was the fact that it would be Number Fifty in my quest for Sixty Summits by Groundhog Day.

For the ascent, I just happened to pick a fabulous winter-blue day with temps in the 40s and no snow anywhere. Amazingly, I didn’t see a soul coming or going. It felt as if I had half of Virginia to myself. Bright sun lit up the leafless forest, casting long shadows into the detritus.

A longish slog, maybe three miles, led partly along an old road and creek to a junction where the trail steepened to climb the ridge. At the top, the white-blazed summit trail broke off to the north and a steep scramble up talus brought me to the summit. A perfect, stone lunch counter invited a sandwich break capped by a big hunk of chocolate. Since I’m counting, summit #50 was eight miles round trip with a gain of 1,500 feet.

Down to the final ten!

You can find the next and final batch of 2013-14 summits here.

37. Pusch Peak (AZ) - October 31, 2013

On Halloween (2013), I flew to Tucson where my brother and I were hosting a weekend memorial in Safford for our dad and stepmom who’d both passed away in the last year and a half. My plane arrived early enough in the day that I had time for an energetic hike up Pusch Peak, a few miles north of downtown.

Pusch, at just over a mile high, is the westernmost summit of the Santa Catalina Mountains. Given the two-mile distance each way and 2,700-foot elevation gain, plus a 5:30 pm sunset to account for, I calculated there was just enough time to nab the summit before dark. The weather was perfect, sunny, not quite 80 degrees.

I hit the trail at 2:00 pm and meandered among the prickly pear and creosote into the saguaro zone, with the rocky summit looming dead ahead. As warned, the climb was steep, but the trail was in better shape than I had imagined from the descriptions online. It was just a matter of upward trekking as the valley beneath me slowly fell away from one turn to the next. I saw no one else on the mountain, though Pusch is surely a popular weekend hike.

I was on the splendid summit by 3:50 pm, which allowed for a short rest and still the hour and a half I’d budgeted to descend before dark. From the top, the views into the Santa Catalinas and out across Tucson and Oro Valley were fabulous. Although I was a long way from Mount Lemmon, the high point of the range, I enjoyed once again, one of those top-of-the world moments that make peakbagging a more sensible and honorable endeavor than some might presume.

On the way down, the brilliant light of the low-angle sun turned the mountain to gold and lit up the stately saguaros like little monuments. This one was going into the journal as one of the most enjoyable of the Sixty.

38. Mount Wrightson (AZ) - November 1, 2013

I was meeting my brother and others in Safford Friday afternoon (November 1st), so the morning gave me a suitable time window in which to trudge up another mountain, to sneak a peak, so to speak. My research led me to Mount Wrightson, a highly regarded objective south of Tucson. At 9,453 feet, it’s the highest summit of the Santa Rita Mountains. Its more famous neighbor, Mount Kitt, lies just to the west. With an elevation gain of just over 4,000 feet in five miles, it is also one of the more ambitious day hikes in the region.

The weather could not have been more perfect. I left the trailhead in Madera Canyon around 10:30 am, opting for the more direct Old Baldy Trail, rather than the gentler but longer Super Trail. Both converge at Josephine Saddle, where a marker denotes the tragic demise of three young boy scouts who became lost in a snowstorm near the saddle a half century ago.

The trail continued up the ridge and into an upper basin with occasional views of the valley below and the peak above. Yellow crags jutted up from the forest where a series of short switchbacks brought me to the high crest north of the mountain. The final scenic spur to the top gained the last 800 feet in less than a mile, and I was on top by 2:00 pm.

There I met two couples, including a mother and son repeating a hike they’d done when he was a kid. She rightly (Wrightly?) bragged that her parents had also made the trek when they were in their 70s. I wanted to stay, but alas, I had obligations in Safford that I was already running late for. There are other good hikes in the area and I will have to return at some point. For now, I raced down the mountain, happy that my knee was still holding up well despite the abuse.

Dad’s Farewell (AZ) - November 2, 2013

Dad and Clarice (our stepmom) had a lot of friends around Safford and we’d meant to hold a memorial gathering for them in town last spring. But life got in the way. Summer’s way too hot in the desert, so we planned an event for the fall while the weather was mild.

My sister picked up sandwiches and cookies on her way down from Phoenix. My brother flew out from Philly and grabbed the ice and beverages, while I arranged with Ponderosa Aviation at the Safford airport to hold the event in one of their spanking new hangars. We set up the tables and chairs and I picked up some flowers at a local shop for the occasion. I had also enlarged some pictures of Don (my dad) and Clarice and brought along my dad’s photo albums and log books from his sailboat and airplane days to share.

Dolan, a friend who did a little work on Dad’s airplanes as well, brought the model of the Great Lakes biplane that I had given him last year as a memento. We set it next to the flowers. Dad built the model after also having built the actual airplane and flying it around the West for about three decades. It was a familiar sight over Safford and everyone wanted to go for a spin in the open cockpit, hand-cranked, bright yellow airplane. I flew in it once, wearing a leather jacket and matching leather helmet. I sat in the front and enjoyed my dad’s piloting like a carnival ride. After some acrobatic maneuvers a few thousand feet up, he said, okay, you take it! So I did, for about ten thrilling minutes.

Dozens came to the memorial, including a family friend and hospice nurse, Mary, who gave the greatest of care to Don and Clarice in their final year or so (Clarice passed only a few months before Dad). Many others came whom I’d never met, but whose names were in the address books I used for sending out invitations. All thought highly of Don and Clarice and a few good stories were told.

My long lost aunt Marilyn came with her husband Herman and we enjoyed a lot of catching up over dinners on two consecutive nights, whereupon I learned a great deal about her and my longer-and-loster Wilcox cousins (I grew up with my mom and as a kid had never met my dad). Marilyn was married to Uncle Jack who passed away in 2000. My dad’s only sister, Marion, passed away a few years ago. Her husband, Grant, is still going to the gym in his 90s and now living in Kentucky. Marilyn gave me the run down on all of my cousins to boot (both her kids and Marion’s). I’ll look forward to meeting some of them, perhaps on my next trip out west.

The American Legion surprised us with a moving tribute to Don, a Navy veteran. After a prayer and recognition for his nearly twelve years of service, riflemen fired shots into the air and a trumpeter flawlessly performed Taps. Behind them rose the Gila Mountains, a perfect backdrop for a final send-off to Don and Clarice. It’s still hard to believe they’re gone.

Kirchner Caverns (AZ) - November 3, 2013

The day after my dad’s memorial in Safford, I headed back to Tucson for a flight home the next morning. On the drive west, I stopped at Kirchner Caverns in time for a 90-minute tour of the Big Room. Wow, very cool.

Unfortunately, no cameras are allowed, not even the cell phone kind, since people have a habit of absentmindedly (or intentionally) taking flash photos when asked not to. The light damages the delicate ecosystem of the cave and, of course, disrupts the ambience of this mysterious underworld. Kirchner was discovered just a few decades ago and has emerged as one of the more coveted caves in the U.S., and certainly among the best preserved.

Day of the Dead (AZ) - November 3, 2013

Serendipitously, I arrived in Tucson late afternoon, the day after my dad’s memorial service, just in time for the annual Day of the Dead parade, which I only learned about after noticing people were parking their lawn chairs along the curbs as I headed to my motel.

For some, the parade is a solemn sign of remembrance for those who have recently passed from this world to the next.  For others, it’s a hell of an excuse for a zombie party. I walked in the parade as a non-zombie for a few blocks in remembrance of Dad and Clarice. Altogether it’s become quite an event, reportedly 35,000 strong. The night culminates in a fire and brimstone visual and auditory grand finale with an eclectic mix of dancers, drummers, fire artists, acrobats and zombies all doing their best to be solemnly odd, and succeeding at it pretty well.

While the end of it might have been a little overdone, I was moved by the act of so many who took to the streets to remember the loved ones lost. And happy I could participate so unexpectedly.

39. Sentinel Peak (AZ) - November 4, 2013

Above my motel room in Tucson rose tiny Sentinel Peak, also known as A Mountain, due to the giant white “A” plastered across its face (one of those college things). Coming into town after my dad’s memorial, I thought I might have just enough time to run up the peak before dark and thereby add one more baby summit to my list. After driving around in figure-8s lost for a while, I found the correct sideroad leading up the hill. But police had the road blocked and shooed me away.

Early the next morning, my brother agreed to a drive up the hill before heading to the airport to catch our flights back east. This time, we made it up and I hopped out of the car at the bottom of the “A” and walked the last 0.3 mile and 100 vertical feet up to the top. Okay, it was a wimpy summit hike, but it was such a gorgeous morning I had to count it. I zipped down the other side to meet my brother and we scurried to the airport.

40. Robertson Mountain (VA) - November 9, 2013

This fun little summit is located adjacent to Old Rag Mountain 90 minutes east of DC and has been on the list from the start of my quest for Sixty. I was late getting out of Dodge and arrived at the Old Rag trailhead at 2:00 pm on Saturday. That gave me about three hours to complete a seven-mile loop with a 1,700-foot gain before dark.

As I headed up the access road from the parking lot, it was apparent that masses of people were strutting back to their cars after a glorious day on Old Rag. So I started counting. In the mile from the car to the former trailhead, I passed 151 people. Whoa. My turnoff for Robertson was a mile farther and by the time I reached that junction, I’d passed a total of 334 fellow hikers all headed for the cars. Whoa again. I seemed to be the only one hiking upward. (Speaking of which, www.hikingupward.com is a great website I’ve used many times to come up with destinations and directions for dozens of hikes in the region.)

Once I was on the lonely trail to Robertson, I passed only one solo hiker and a couple coming down from the top, plus a large gaggle of some tired looking Boy Scouts lugging overnight packs. I thanked their leader for flushing the bears off the trail and continued to the craggy, scenic summit.

I hopped around on the highest boulders to be sure of tagging the highest one. I could have hung there for an hour and soaked it all in, but for the lateness of the afternoon. I continued down the other side to a fire road and a junction with another trail leading me along Brokenback Run back to the start. I hit the access road well into dusk.

Of note, on the way in and not far from the parking lot, I had passed a guy under a canopy selling apple cider. On the way out, he was still there, sitting in the dark picking his banjo. I asked if he still had any cider left and he said absolutely. He asked if I wanted it hot or cold. Whoa again. By then the temp had dropped considerably so it was hot cider for me (and the young couple behind me as well), which made for a very pleasant walk in the dark that last half mile or so to the car. I thought about those 334 hikers I’d passed—and 1,000 more I did not pass—and figured the cider-banjo entrepreneur must be doing alright.

41. Kepler Overlook (VA) - November 10, 2013

This was another hike I found at hikingupward.com and it sounded like a good choice for a cool-ish fall day for Kris and I. It took us a couple wrong turns to find the trail, but we eventually got there and suffered a not too interesting ascent to the rockily scenic ridge crest. It wouldn’t take much to improve the trail to the best view point with a nice sitting area and I was tempted to give it a go right then and there. But lacking any tools to flail around with, I conceded it would have to wait for another day.

A quick lunch and a few pics later, we were downward bound, having chalked up another summit for Kenny Boy. Interestingly, the 1,200-foot elevation gain over 3.3 miles to Kepler put me at exactly (more or less) 50,000 feet and very nearly 180 miles. That’s an average of just over 1,200 feet and 4.4 miles per summit. Nothing superhuman about it, but hey, it’s exercise. I’d originally thought I might hit 100,000 feet, but a handful of itty bitty summits with 100 to 300 feet of gain are scrunching my averages. Guess I better lay off those.

42. Buzzard Rock - November 16, 2013

This easy hike to a very scenic ridge near Shenandoah had eluded me previously because it did not appear to entail a summit. On a second glance, I noticed that the trail, namely the Massanutten Trail, continued along the ridge to and over the highpoint a mile south of Buzzard Rock. So I reckoned that even if the summit was in trees, there would be an excellent view to enjoy both coming and going.

The path lazily climbed to the ridge, steepened briefly, then straddled the jaggy crest with fabulous views from the top of a 100-foot wall of near-vertical rock. I marched on and was soon at the high point, and the views were not half bad after all. I reversed course and stopped on the return to watch a couple of rock climbers ascending the slabby wall. Gotta take Kris up this one, ‘twas quite enjoyable. The tally: six miles total with an elevation gain of 1,400 feet.

43. Kennedy Peak - November 23, 2013

With 18 summits left to scale and less than ten weeks to get ‘er done, I was duly motivated to find myself another twofer—two summits in one day, that is. The weather looked good for a November 23rd outing and my sleuthing led me to Kennedy and Compton Peaks, in and near my old standby for dayhikes, Shenandoah National Park. I might as well get my money’s worth out of that annual pass.

The three-mile hike up Kennedy, west of the park, was easy, pleasant and lonely. I forwent the easier start at a ridge crest parking area and instead launched at the trailhead a mile below in order to enjoy some semblance of a workout. The trail gained 1,300 feet to the crest and rambled along an old jeep road with lots of sun lighting up the hardwoods. My pyramidal objective rose dead ahead.

At about three miles, a final huff upward led to the highest rocks and summit overlook, an elevated platform that presented a mostly unobstructed view. The stairs and handrails were sketchy but the aging deck felt solid enough for a sandwich break. Yup, that’s Virginia alright. I hate to admit it, but these views of the Shenandoah were starting to feel a little too familiar. Halfway back to the car, I passed a handful of hikers and one squirrel. I still had just enough time to zip over to Compton.

44. Compton Peak - November 23, 2013

Entering the park from the north, I needed to continue ten miles south to the trailhead at Compton Gap. Once there, I had an hour and a half of daylight left and a round trip of just 2.4 miles to cover, so no problem. The hike to the summit requires no description, other than to say I gained 800 feet and it was getting rather cold and windy about the time I arrived. That other sandwich would have to wait. Nice view though.

I did manage to make the stair-steppy side-trip down to the oft-touted columnar jointing outcrop of Catoctin lava, an added visual treat and worth the effort. Reportedly, the lava cooled more than a half billion years ago, which is somewhat more than a wee bit on the Gregorian calendar.

With the promise of some seriously cold weather moving in by late afternoon, I also realized I needed to get down to Anacortes to plug in a small heater in a shared sailboat (freezing pipes and all). I sent a text to Keith. Ginnett Hill near Anacortes? Yep, he was up for another hike.

I think he saw what I saw--the temp about to fall below freezing and not rebounding till next week. And wind with sub-zero will chill. We may as well get out there while the gettin's still good.

We drove to the trailhead at Pass Lake near Deception Pass State Park and began our trek in sub-comfortable sunshine. We followed the John Tursi Trail, one of the very few trails within an hour of home that I'd never been on. However, Keith was already familiar with the area and offered insight on some interesting geology.

A beautiful walk among sizable Douglas firs with deeply furrowed bark gave way to openings of moss-covered bedrock rimmed with charismatic Madrona trees. An out-of-place looking concrete slab with a view marked the location of the former Ginnett homestead. An old mine shaft of the same name is along the trail nearby.

John Tursi, I should note, was a CCC worker way back in the day. More importantly, he was a major advocate for Fidalgo Island trails and conservation, and the largest donor in saving the Anacortes Community Forest Lands. The Tursi trail also doubles as a segment of the Pacific Northwest National Scenic Trail, which I’ll be writing more about soon.

At the Ginnett’s old rock quarry, Keith pointed out the unusual red rock, known as tuffaceous argillite, a kind of hard, metamorphosed mudstone that originated as volcanic ash millions of years ago. The quarry was the source of the red rocks found in the mosaic walls of Causland Park in Anacortes. Very cool.

We soon left the trail to look for the top of Ginnett Hill several hundred feet above. And we found it, of course, despite some annoying sticker bushes en route. We lunched atop my 67th summit just long enough to get chilled, as the arctic weather began to move in. We began the trek back to the truck, diverting briefly to see a giant red cedar tree, eight feet in diameter. Totals for the day: around five miles round trip and 1,100 feet ascended.

By the time we reached the boat at Cap Sante Marina, the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped significantly. Fingers froze in the time it took to retie a fender, unlock the cabin top and plug in the heater. We were quickly done and on our way, with the boat smiling back at us.

Donat Hill, it’s been called, though not sure why. I suppose we can call it a Chuckanut outlier that rises 1,000 feet above the north shore of Lake Samish. The climb itself is closer to 700 feet in about two miles. We mostly walked the logging roads, plus a bit of unofficial trail near the top. There are good views of the lake on the way, but nothing more exciting than a radio/cell tower at the summit.

One notable thing is the abundance of conglomerate rock layered in with the sandstone more commonly observed in the Chuckanut Formation. The rock is often visible along the road cuts and at a quarry we circled around to after claiming the summit. Bedrock and boulders were riddled with rounded cobble and coarse gravel-sized rocks that had obviously been deposited in a riverine environment tens of millions of years ago. Glacial striations are also visible at various locations where bedrock is exposed.

We noted a web of mountain bike and motorbike trails in the woods and recently cutover areas, so much exploring is possible. The sign at the gate on Lake Samish Drive (a little north of the gas station at the North Lake Samish I-5 interchange) suggests such use is not allowed, but might be tough to enforce. Boots are cool, however.

Fun to visit a new local high point—#66! And we saw no one else in the 2.5 hours it took to saunter up and back.

Mission is a little north of Abbotsford where I snagged #63 (McKee Peak) yesterday. We reached the unofficial Iron Mountain trailhead on Matheson Avenue around 10 am, to the hum of a motorcycle looking ready to embark. We hoped they would not be swarming around us en masse. As it turned out, the guy only went up the trail a little before turning around and leaving. Too steep, he said. And we saw no others.

The trails are rough and rocky and apparently popular with mountain bikers as well, although we saw none of those guys either. Just a handful of hikers and a few soaring eagles the rest of the morning. At first, we didn’t think much of the “Outer Limits” trail, but it quickly became much more interesting. Nice forest, giant boulders and a moderate grade overall.

A right at a fork took us up to the lower overlook, then the more impressive upper overlook a short way up the ridge, with a great view of Hayward Lake and the Stave River below. Mount Baker poked its blunted head over the hills to the southeast. It was a great spot and hard to leave, as we watched the sun turning a trace of fresh snow into wisps of vapor rising from green mossy rocks.

We continued easily up the stony ridge, where the trails become something of a maze. However, we had no problem finding the top, marked as it is by a tall radio tower. We snapped a couple of hero shots and returned to the car via the Outer Limits.

Next up was Heritage Mountain, just a 20-minute drive eastward to the other side of Mission. We parked at the sprawling Fraser River Heritage Park, which hosts the annual Mission Folk Music Festival in July. A maze of trails lead up Heritage Mountain close by.

We mostly stayed on the Gondola Trail going up and Hannah’s Trail coming down. We found the excellent viewpoint of the Fraser River just below the summit, before climbing the last bit to claim credit for #65. There are shorter alternatives for the return, but we quite enjoyed the loop we hiked.

The trails were in great shape, well signed, and seemed to have been recently improved. Recent hiker reports suggested crummy trails and no signs, but we found just the opposite. It was also pretty nice to see clean restrooms open in January, as well as a cute cafe that I’ll need to take Kris to one of these days. A civilized place to be sure.

With a coffee and cocoa to go, we were set for the drive home. Again, there was no wait at the Sumas border crossing. Things got even better south of Sumas when we encountered a large flock of snow geese doing their thing over the green fields of Whatcom County. Always great fun to watch.

Tally for the day: Iron Mountain around 3 miles with a 700 foot gain, and Heritage Mountain about four miles with a 500-foot gain. Plenty of good hiking for a fine winter’s day.

Not even an hour from home in Bellingham, today’s destination led me to some wonderful trails near Abbotsford, B.C. Not sure how I missed them all these years. Blame it on the border, I suppose, and the fear of long backups. But that’s not usually an issue in winter. And since lower B.C. indeed has a ton of great winter hikes, I finally made it a point to hike up the not-quite-towering 1,535-foot McKee.

I left home at 10:30 am and was at the “Lower Sumas Mountain Park” trailhead on Sandringham Drive at 11:25 am. There’s plenty of shoulder parking immediately east of Whatcom Road. The trailhead, by the way, is only ten minutes from the Sumas border crossing. (There’s also a north trailhead off McKee Road that apparently gets a lot of local use, although a No Trespassing sign is posted there.)

The summit of McKee Peak is nothing too special, but some of the trails leading up it are fabulous and offer excellent views. If you’re a Bellinghamster like me, think Rock Trail at Larrabee State Park in the midst of Galbraith Mountain, but without the signs and maps to guide you. So you will definitely want a GPS app on your phone (I mostly use Gaia and AllTrails), and plenty of battery.

Except for a few slippery bridges and steps, the trails are generally in fine condition, with lots of little ups and down, in both young and maturing forest. Some paths run close to the edge of sandstone cliffs so you might want to keep the kids close. A few short sections can be quite steep, but I had no problem cruising along with trekking poles.

There are a ton of mountain bike trails on McKee Peak, but much of the area is totally hiker friendly as well. Just keep your head up and be ready to step aside as a courtesy if a bike approaches. That said, I only encountered two cyclists today and maybe 15 hikers, including a cute crew of 3 to 5 year-olds, plus two wiener dogs.

The gravel path at the start is obvious. I followed it up and under a transmission line, across a minor road, then northwest-ish another 0.2 mile to a sharp right on the Autobahn Trail. I did not do the suggested loop on the AllTrails app, and instead worked my way up to the Upper Ambidextrous Trail and the Thunderbird Caves. Grottos, tafoni holes, ledges and bulging cliffs might be a more accurate description than caves, but quite scenic nonetheless. The rock is predominantly part of the Huntingdon Formation, similar to our Chuckanut sandstone but a little younger.

There are a lot of different options you can take to reach the top, but I ended up on the Flintstones Trail to Hidden Valley and Mike’s Trail. Both GPS apps include trail names and viewpoints, but trail locations are not 100 percent accurate. You’ll need to keep tabs on your location so you can backtrack if needed. Someone reported not long ago that they got disoriented late the day and spent an unplanned night on the mountain. There were also a few harmless bear sightings last summer, but that’s kinda par for the course in lower B.C.’s smaller mountains.

Off Mike’s Trail, you’ll find a large, gently sloping field at around the 1,400 elevation contour that offers a big view to the west. From there, it’s a quick walk to the summit (my 63rd). I met the two cyclists there, Gary and Chuck, who obviously know the mountain well. I asked about a good route down to complete a loop. Gary insisted I try the Xcellorator Trail, which I did. Great trail, often along the foot of high mossy rock walls.

My total round trip was about five miles with an elevation gain of around 1,200 feet, completed in a leisurely three hours. I was back home before 4:00 pm. Good to have #63 in the bag. The forecast is calling for snow and a deep freeze to hit later next week, so I’ll be off to Canada again tomorrow for hopefully two more high points. Sure am lovin’ these new-to-me adventures north of the border!

Since I’ve been running out of easier winter summits to claim south of the border, I’ve been looking to the north more. Browsing for options, I found two that looked pretty accessible: Teapot Hill and Mount Thom. Not too long, not too short and not too far apart. We could easily reach them both from the city of Chilliwack. Despite a good hike yesterday and a bit of rain in the forecast, Kris agreed to join me once more as I inch closer to the big 7-0.

First up was Teapot. The wooded knob rises about 1,000 vertical feet above Cultus Lake and is within the provincial park named for the lake. We found the hike pleasant enough, a little steep overall, but worth the views near the top. Nothing too spectacular, however. The bigger prize was the forest, with thickly moss-covered trees lining the path, indicative of a true temperate rainforest.

The other indicative thing was about teapots, as in the dozens of them perched on rotted stumps, logs and rocks, hanging from branches, etc. It seems to be a thing, that when you hike up Teapot Hill, you bring along an old teapot or a mug and leave it along the trail somewhere, perhaps as a token to the forest ogres and trolls who presumably roam the hills. Actually, I made that up. No ogres or trolls. But the teapots are unique offerings that help to distract from the uphill drudgery.

From there, we returned to Chilliwack, where Kris opted to enjoy some quiet time at a coffee shop while I ran off to summit #2, or rather #62: Mount Thom. I found plenty of parking at the trailhead on Sylvan Drive. And no rain so far.

Not much to say about this one, other than it begins with 130 stair steps (they’re actually numbered), and a well maintained trail that obviously sees a lot of use. There was a bunch of unexpected ups and downs, which probably put the total gain over 1,100 feet. But no biggie. I found the trek up Mount Thom easily worth the excellent views of the city and surrounding hills, as well as Cultus Lake and Teapot Hill to the south. I passed a few folks on the trail, but was alone at the summit. And lucky me, the rain held off till I was back at the truck. Then it rained all the way home.

The outing reminded me that British Columbia really is an enormous place. I think maybe next summer it’ll be time to visit a whole lot more of it.

With a cloudy forecast and no rain expected on the first day of 2024, Kris, Mitch and I aimed our boots and poles to Anacortes for a mighty ascent of both nubbins. As it turned out, we enjoyed a brief bit of sunshine and a whole lot of solitude (or triplitude?), since we only saw two other hikers all day.

As for the peaks, I hadn’t missed much all these years. The apexes of said nubbins were just brushy, gentle knolls hidden among the trees. However, the hiking was the thing, all in nice forest and quite enjoyable.

The two summits are not too far apart, without much elevation difference, so I chose to take credit for just one summit today. On the return leg of our loop, we found a reasonable lunch spot at a viewpoint overlooking Lopez Island and the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

All in all, a pretty nice day. Or, as Mitch would have it, the birds shined and the sun tweeted—a fine way to kick off a new year, and to finally get to 60. Only 10 to go!

However, I did stumble on a report from someone who walked up Clear Lake Hill near Sedro Woolley, well under an hour from home. It was new to Keith as well, and he agreed we could give it a go. It’s really just a hike up a logging road, four miles round trip with an 800-foot elevation gain. Perfect. Recent logging promised big views.

We parked at the gate off Morford Road just east of Clear Lake. So nice to see a sign on private timberland reading “Walkers Welcome.” We presumed that included hikers, so off we went.

The best views are from spur roads on the left leading into the cutover areas, although we kept to the main road to the top to make it official. A partial view there is rapidly disappearing behind a new batch of trees.

Back down the road, we wandered out a couple of those spurs to check the views. It seemed we could almost toss a stick into Clear Lake. Low clouds obscured more distant features, and I was oddly stumped for a moment trying to identify some of the nearby hills and communities. For a minute, I had the Skagit River below flowing backwards, before I finally figured out what direction I was looking.

Clearcuts are not normally my most coveted hiking destinations, but the novel perspective and a chance to close out 2023 with my 59th summit, was reward enough for the effort. I’ll take it.

I had some business in Seattle till 2:00 pm, so it was cutting it a little close on daylight. But with 1,200 feet of elevation gain and about four miles round trip, I figured I could knock out a loop hike in two hours and be down before dark. I hit the trail at 2:30 in a light shower.

Named for the legendary climber, Jim Whittaker, the trail starts out fairly steep, though not grueling, and crosses a bridge over Wilderness Creek. The first half-mile weaves among nice Douglas fir trees. At a junction, I chose the steeper, shorter leg up the mountain, later descending via the longer, more moderate return.

The rain let up and I passed a few folks coming down, and two more near the summit, though I seemed to be the final customer for the day. I reached the foggy summit, as planned, in one hour and one minute. The indecisive rain picked up again under a leaden sky, so I hustled down to complete the loop while there was still good light.

I love the place names here, including Shy Bear Pass (didn’t see any, shy or otherwise) and Gombu Wilderness Cliffs. Tent mates Nwang Gombu and Jim Whittaker reached the summit of Mount Everest together on May 1st, 1960, with Whittaker being the first American to summit the Earth’s highest peak. Gombu later became the first person to summit Everest twice. He was also the nephew of Tenzing Norgay, who accompanied Edmund Hillary in 1953 on the first known ascent.

So, this wasn’t quite Mount Everest, but ‘twas another enjoyable hike to keep the knees oiled and bones a-jangling. And #58 to boot. That leaves me an even dozen to go, with 33 days to get there. Can he do it? Can he do it? The imaginary crowd grows restless . . .

I randomly chose the Cable Trail to quickly gain some altitude, then diverted to the Tiger Mountain Trail, crossing High Point Creek on a stout bridge. From there, a moderately steep ridge hike led to the summit of what’s dubbed West Tiger #2. The top 100 feet or so was entirely and recently clearcut, so once your eyes made it past all the stumps, turned-up ground and a towering tower of radio stuff, the place offered a pretty amazing view. I stepped on a high bit of dirt next to the security fence and called it a summit—my 57th.

From there, an easy road walk, mixed with a bit of new trail, squiggled down to a saddle and briefly up again, all in clearcut, to West Tiger #3. The view here was almost as good, though a couple hundred feet lower in elevation. The effort was too little to claim credit for a second summit, plus I’d skipped the uninviting tower-strewn crest of West Tiger #1, even though it’s slightly higher than the others. Thus, it would be a one-summit day, though quite an enjoyable one at that.

As knees began to whine a little, I headed into the woods, down the steep Section Line Trail to the Talus Trail and hung a right. This was all new ground for me, so I wasn’t going to pass up a trail named for rocks. Good choice. The path slithered among some house-sized boulders for a short distance—a scenic and curious stretch. From there, I took the Nook Trail down to the bottom of West Tiger and skipped on back to the truck. The loop ran about 6.5 miles with 2,800 feet gained.

Issaquah Alps is the name for these hills (Tiger, Cougar and Squak Mountains) originally applied by the legendary hiking guide author, wilderness geek and dedicated rabble-rouser, Harvey Manning. I was fortunate enough to know Harvey, to work with him at the North Cascades Conservation Council (NCCC), and to help publish his conservation history of the North Cascades, Wilderness Alps, in 2007.

Thinking of Harvey, I drove into Issaquah to the bronze memorial in his image. I’d been there for the unveiling, so it was nice to finally stop in again. I thanked him for his tireless work helping to secure these places for all. I should note that Wilderness Alps is a timeless great read, richly illustrated, and as entertaining as it is informative throughout its 480 pages. New members of the NCCC can enjoy a free copy here.

Clouds swirled around us on the way up, but the blue was breaking through. By the time we reached the big view, wisps of clouds were rapidly clearing out, revealing the lake below and even Glacier Peak in the distance.

On the way down, with the clouds now out of the way, we also enjoyed a great view of Bald Mountain (below), a striking knob of ancient seafloor lava rising about two miles to the north.

Access to Mount Cavanaugh is easy to find on the south side of Lake Cavanaugh Road about nine miles east of SR 9. We found plenty of room to park near the gate. Simply cross the bridge over Pilchuck Creek and walk up the main road to the top, generally keeping right, but left at a rock quarry. The summit is state land, but the lower section may cross private timber land, so respect signs, if any, and don’t block the road.

When you reach the top, continue south-ish on a narrower path (old road grade) to see the lake below. The true summit is close by to the northwest, but nothing special and no real view. For a shorter walk and almost the same view, one could hike just the first 1.5 miles to a switchback vista and turn around there.

Driving up the road system, north and east of Racehorse Creek, we encountered a bit of intermittent snow and ice at around 2,300 feet, then crossed the creek where the road remained passable to 2,900 feet. We parked there. It was a 2.5-mile walk and snowshoe to the 4,500-foot ridge crest, plus a half-mile more to the top with widening views.

Logging and a broad landing at the summit provided a 360-degree view, from Mount Baker and the Twin Sisters to the western lowlands of Whatcom County and Salish Sea. Many peaks of the North Cascades and B.C. Coast Range also marked the horizon. Even the Olympics were fairly clear, and Mount Rainier poked her noggin over a ridge. Great spot—and great company—for my 55th summit this year.

Of note, we passed all sorts of animal tracks, including some very recent bear tracks that were an impressive six inches across. A smaller set appeared farther up the road. There were small canine tracks (without humans), snowshoe hare, possibly a bobcat (which I’d also seen in the same area a couple of weeks ago), a probable raccoon, and squirrels. No deer this time. Lastly, as you close in on the summit, there are rocky outcrops on the left with abundant leaf fossils if you look around a bit.

This really is a great snowshoe hike, although a much lower snow level could stretch the distance considerably. The map below shows the spur up the peak in red lower right. The road in is generally good, but becomes steep and high-clearance after crossing over Racehorse Creek.

Once at the ridge crest (before heading up the summit spur), drop down slightly for a good view and possible turnaround, or hike northwest on a level road for a short distance to a landing and more views. Or for the summit, ascend that steep spur to the southeast. Beware of some major dropoffs at the summit if you happen to have kids along.

We were five hours up and back (from 2,900 feet), including about 40 minutes for lunch on top. This could also be a worthy hike earlier in fall or late spring when the snow’s gone, unless there’s active logging underway.

Ladyface Mountain still beckoned, with a trailhead less than three miles away. A crag near the summit resembles the profile of a woman resting her head, thus inspiring the name. A local brewery aptly shares the label.

Coffeed up, we're were soon huffing up the steep trail, eyes and ears peeled for rattlesnakes. Mike learned me up some on the habits and thrills of rattlesnakes, though I was quite content not to see one. Up close anyway.

The trail runs the spine of the mountain, gaining 1,200 feet in under two miles. Wide views are continuous, as was the view of my feet, which helped ensure I didn't step on anything exceedingly memorable. I let my trekking poles lead the way, just in case.

Occasional flat spots allowed for a rest, while temps soon approached 80 degrees. We gazed across the Santa Monica Mountains as Mike pointed out a few favorite areas for hiking. Having recently retired from the film industry, he also pointed to locations where they'd set up for movie and television shoots with the stars. He also had some pretty good stories to share. But then he went and traded it all in for hiking, camping and fly-fishing, the poor guy! (Not.)

After a final bump on the ridge, we were at the summit, peelin' oranges and takin' pics. In the distance was Sandstone Peak, the high point of the Santa Monicas, where Mike and I had hiked back in April (my fifth summit).

I knew Mitch was patiently waiting at the house for us to get on with it, so we hustled down for an afternoon at the beach. About halfway down, however, we were suddenly buzzed. A rattlesnake in the brush, three feet off the trail. I sailed past, catching a glimpse of the critter coiled and ready to assert some authority. That was all I needed to see. One snake in seven days was plenty for me.

We were next off to the beach with Mitch, though a cool sea breeze made it slightly less inviting than it sounded. We took a hike up Dume Point for the big view of Santa Monica Bay, then lounged by the surf a while with our backs to the wind.

To celebrate the end of a fabulous week in sunny southern California, Mike's generous hospitality, and my 54th summit, we beelined it to the Ladyface Brewery in time for happy hour and a toast to Ladyface. It happened to be trivia night, so we did our best to guess enough wrong answers to secure a lock on last place. Our team's name: The 3 Amigos. Indeed.

NEW: To better appreciate those who support my work, paid subscribers at the annual rate ($50/year) will now receive a free signed copy of one of my latest guidebooks: Hiking Whatcom County, 7th Ed., or A National Jaunt: Footster’s Guide to Washington, D.C., including free shipping (U.S. and Canada). I’ll be in touch once you subscribe. Enjoy! —Ken

We drove into town midday, snagged a campsite at San Jacinto State Park, and actually relaxed a bit. I have a habit of arriving at campgrounds around or after dark, so it was a nice change to pitch the tent in daylight and laze a while in Idyllwild. Somehow this intriguing village 5,000 feet above sea level had escaped my radar on prior trips to Southern California.

We wandered the town, it's center a copse of tall trees impressively decked out with long strings of Christmas lights. I'd expected a good number of tourists in such an attractive, almost unassuming place, but only a few others like ourselves were out and about. We found a Mexican restaurant that had been recommended by the campground staff, and later loitered at a simple bar before ambling back to our tents.

We strolled around again in the morning, this time finding the historic Red Kettle Cafe for a mandatory coffee and breakfast. We also spent a couple minutes deciding which peak to slog. Tahquitz Peak was a slightly longer hike to a higher summit than Suicide. Since we had all day to do it and most of our knees were still operable, Tahquitz won out.

The drive to the trailhead revealed that Idyllwild was much larger than it seemed, with perhaps hundreds of cabins tucked in the trees. We discovered later that Mitch had some in-laws who owned a cabin here in the past and loved it. A multitude of celebs have spent time here as well, from Clark Gable, Dolly Parton and Michael J. Fox to Sean Connery and Timothy Leary, who was soon to be followed by a throng of hippies in the late '60s. More recently, a golden retriever, Max, has served as “mayor.”

The hike up the mountain keeps a moderate grade with frequent views, including the imposing face of Suicide Rock, a rock climber’s delight. We ascended into some snow and ice below a saddle on the ridge crest where we'd intersect the PCT.

Strutting down the trail were four PCT through-hikers about 180 miles shy of completing a six-month southbound trek from Canada to Mexico. They were about to enjoy a rest day and a hot shower in Idyllwild. One was from Australia, one from Russia, another from Louisiana, the last from Olympia, Washington, not far from our own home in Bellingham. They'd all met on the trail and teamed up for the grand finale.

Once on the ridge and now above 8,000 feet, snow cover was more continuous, though never more than a few inches deep. We passed a couple coming down and inquired about the conditions above, knowing the last pitch was north-facing and probably still frozen. Steep snow and ice, they said, adding they would not have done it without Microspikes, which we hadn’t bothered to bring. We said we’d go have a look, and fortunately found the going not so bad.

We arrived at the summit lookout a little before 2:00 pm, our unofficial turnaround time. Now in full sunshine, most of the snow had melted away on top. The view was among the best of the trip, as was the satisfaction of reaching an 8,800-foot summit in December.

We reversed our way down the steep snow and ice section—certainly no place to slip off the trail—and paused for a late lunch on flatter ground. The balance of the hike down was straight-forward, but beautiful in the low-angle light. We marched into the sunset, just able to reach the car without pulling out the headlamps.

Later, I did some checking on the name, Tahquitz. It turns out to be the name for an evil spirit that lurks in the mountains here. A native Cahuilla legend says that when Tahquitz turned his powers from good to evil, he began to steal people, steal their souls and devour them. He was banished to a cave beneath Tahquitz Peak, and would unleash his anger as fireballs and thunder erupting from the mountains.

Happily, we seemed to have climbed the peak on an off-day for that bad boy, our souls still intact as best we could tell. That said, the sun setting over Idyllwild became quite the fireball during our alpenglow descent.

NEW: To better appreciate those who support my work, paid subscribers at the annual rate ($50/year) will now receive a free signed copy of one of my latest guidebooks: Hiking Whatcom County, 7th Ed., or A National Jaunt: Footster’s Guide to Washington, D.C., including free shipping (U.S. and Canada). I’ll be in touch once you subscribe. Enjoy! —Ken

In any event, we devoured Mike's pre-made dinner, and shivered around a “community” campfire after a minor kerfuffle with two young women who insisted they had dibs on the firepit. We saw just two other guys staying at the Rose, one of whom was from Canada. He and Mitch had much to talk about, having both attended the University of Calgary.

We all shared stories around the fire of travel to exotic places, Mexico in particular, but not the places where tourists often go. Our new geophysicist friend shirked a lucrative career in the oil industry for travel, living for a time in the mountains of Chiapas, then the Baja, selling solar panels to gringos. It was clear from his teasers he had some wild stories to share. He thought he might write a book.

We planned our Sunday adventure over breakfast. Objective: Lost Horse Mountain in the western part of Joshua Tree National Park, an hour's drive from camp. It would be nice being back in the park. I'd hiked up Ryan Mountain to the north of Lost Horse back in April, only my fourth peak of the lot. Sunday's summit would be number 52.

A seven-mile loop hike with around 1,200 feet of elevation gain awaited our intrepid team. The weather was perfect on arrival, and we quickly reached the old Lost Horse Mine about two miles in. The stamp mill where they crushed the ore a century ago was largely intact, with enough artifacts remaining to tantalize the curious. The name derives from the legend of the accidental discovery of a vein of gold when a cowboy, Johnny Lang, was out looking for his horse. The find would ultimate produce over 9,000 ounce of gold.

Just beyond the mine, a short, steep fork led us to our peak. We found a perfect perch for lunch there, along with wide views of a beauteous place that seemingly couldn't decide if it wanted to be mountains or desert. Adding to the confusion, a conspicuous volcanic intrusion known as Malapai Hill rose from the desert floor two miles to the east.

Returning to the mine trail, we continued the loop, a little down, a little up, then a long, scenic stretch among hundreds of Joshua trees, yucca, juniper, and bright, stony hills that glowed in the late afternoon sun.

We were back at the Desert Rose at dark. Fearing another long, cold night, we opted to fritter away some hours at a local bar and restaurant called the Spaghetti Western. It was a perfect choice. Not just because of the beautiful wood interior and local desert ambience, but because it happened to be open-mic night. Well over a dozen brave souls kept the crowd entertained with guitar pickin’ and strummin’, piano and blues harmonica playin’, and scratchy and lily voices singing of struggle, peace and love.

We returned to the Desert Rose around 10:00 pm. The atypical campground also warrants a word or two. The sites are reasonably spaced and fine for tent camping, but don't expect a picnic table or firepit. Instead, the artful-eco-nonconformist drive behind the Rose is all about community. The central area is laid out with copious recycled tables and chairs, funky open-air kitchen and bar areas, composting toilet setup, i.e., a bucket behind a curtain, two community firepits guarded by a Buddha, and a cacophony of artifacts seemingly rescued from the surrounding desert. If that's your thing, man, then go.

So our little peak wasn't quite the harrowing epic to write home about, but our two nights in the desert made it all quite memorable.

NEW: To better appreciate those who support my work, paid subscribers at the annual rate ($50/year) will now receive a free signed copy of one of my latest guidebooks: Hiking Whatcom County, 7th Ed., or A National Jaunt: Footster’s Guide to Washington, D.C., including free shipping (U.S. and Canada). I’ll be in touch once you subscribe. Enjoy! —Ken

If I was bein’ honest, I'd admit we actually took the 101 to the 210 toward the San Gabriel Mountains to waffle up a little mountain called Glendora. But when we encountered some knee-high brush goin’ up it, I got a case of the rattlesnake queezies and decided that rather than get bit while gettin’ my skin peeled, I'd be happier doin’ Potato Mountain.

The mash-up we cooked up would be an easy one, and we certainly weren't gonna get bit, boiled, baked or fried doin’ it. Temps was cool on the shady fire road approach, then after we mustard the gumption to go on up the steep part, it was warm and flat as a potato pancake on top, presumin’ said pancake's been sittin’ on the plate a while.

Somebody even left some whole taters up there. We didn't bring any cheese or ketchup so we let ‘em be. I think them taters had seen better days. But it's the thought that counts, I guess. Anyway, eatin’ ‘em mighta given me the chives.

So we did a little mash potato dance at summit #51 and hashbrowned it back to the car.

NEW: To better appreciate those who support my work, paid subscribers at the annual rate ($50/year) will now receive a free signed copy of one of my latest guidebooks: Hiking Whatcom County, 7th Ed., or A National Jaunt: Footster’s Guide to Washington, D.C., including free shipping (U.S. and Canada). I’ll be in touch once you subscribe. Enjoy! —Ken