Mount Townsend

Summit #11 of 70--June 30, 2023

Alright, alright, I'm behind on my goal to visit 70 new summits this year while at the ripe young age of 70. And of course, I'm still in denial about the getting older thing. I prefer to call it middle adolescence (Kris seems to agree). Nevertheless, it feels good to have a goal that will keep me hopping through the summer and fall, if not winter as well.

So I'm five months into this peak bagging program, with only 10 mountain tops under my belt. At that rate, I'll be lucky to hit 20 by Christmas. Not a good pace. However, I do have a couple tricks up my sleeve to possibly catch up. A few multi-day backpacking trips, for example, should give me a chance to knock out a clutch of summits in a hurry.

I'd read recently that the winter snows were melting rapidly in the Olympic Mountains across the big water from our home in Bellingham. I poured over the maps for a good multi-day destination.

I haven't climbed a lot in these mountains, though I've hiked around a bit... Seven Lakes Basin, Mount Carrie, Hoh River, Royal Basin, the Bailey Range, Lena Lakes, Mount Ellinor, Hurricane Ridge and others I know I'm forgetting. And twice I've climbed the crowning glory of the range, Mount Olympus.

While the million-acre Olympic National Park may be the major draw for most mortals, countless miles of hiking trails and nearly 100,000 acres of National Forest wilderness abut the park to the east and south. One of those perhaps?

I browsed for an area I'd yet to visit, to seek a new scene with some new scenic scenery. It didn't take me long to zero in on Mount Townsend, a popular hike with a good trail all the way to the summit, a tantalizing 3,000-foot climb. The summit ridge also forms the northeastern boundary of the Buckhorn Wilderness, at 44,000 acres, the largest of the Olympics outside the park.

Townsend had been on my to-do list for decades. Despite being just 20 linear miles from the Victorian city of Port Townsend, which I've visited numerous times, the mountain of the same surname, and probably the nearest alpine meadow to the historic downtown of Washington's second oldest settlement, the peak had somehow evaded me. Or me, it. Until now.

Three other summits close by looked well within reach of a central base camp. A couple would involve some exposed scrambling, maybe a little routefinding, but nothing epic, horrendous or technical. Since I'm often out there alone, I try to err in my ambitions on the side of safe and sane mountaineering. Adventurous, yes. Heroic, not so much. These four peaks seemed to fit the bill: Mount Townsend, Silver Lake Peak, Hawk Peak and Welch Peaks. I calculated I could probably do all four in three days.

After a brief consultation with wilderness buddies Jim and Kiko, we agreed to head west for the drive into the eastern reach of the Olympic Mountains. Our trailhead was just west of Quilcene, an old logging town of 500 residents near the shore of the Salish Sea, or Hood Canal's Dabob Bay to be more precise. Given the excellent forecast, it appeared we were in for three days of knee-pumping fun in the sun.

We met at the trailhead early. Jim was hot to trot right out of the car, so I grabbed my pack and we headed up, leaving Kiko to leisurely enjoy his morning coffee hour. We'd meet up at camp later, a mere 2,000 feet up the mountain.

Unexpectedly, a mass of non-threatening clouds arrived at camp about the same time we did. The impolite fog fell over the woods, the cliffs and ridges and would remain there, virtually stationary, for the rest of the day. So much for sunny day number one.

After a few hours of reading, relaxing in camp and sharing stories with Jim, Kiko had yet to arrive, so I decided to head up Mount Townsend anyway, to at least check one peak off my list and perhaps photograph some fog, or better yet, wildflowers. The forest quickly gave way to the kind of subalpine paradise that drives my addiction to mountains.

Paintbrush, lupine, cinquefoil, harebell, phlox, the usual suspects, were sparse but showy much of the way. A couple of snowshoe hare made an appearance too, bounding up the slope to watch me amble by. Ah, so that's who's digging all those holes. I also passed a few hikers heading down--nothing but clouds and fog on top, they said.

As I reached the higher meadows near the summit, a tiny patch of blue sky to the northwest rapidly opened up, and within minutes, a hidden orchestra blurted out the theme to The Sound of Music as the entire west face of Mount Townsend was awash in sunshine. My timing couldn't have been better.

I joined a small gaggle of hikers on the main summit to enjoy the music and the cosmic unveiling of the Buckhorn Wilderness and national park beyond. To the east, it was still billowing whiteness. I continued along the meadowy ridge to the north summit. And that’s where I found Kiko, grinning from his tent at 6,200 feet. He'd slipped past the subtle turnoff to the campsite hours before, and rather than give up the elevation he'd gained, kept hiking till he found his perfect perch on high.

Despite bright sunshine on top, the windless sea of clouds held stubbornly to the east. To the west, however, the clouds were still backing off, revealing the snowy crags of Mount Deception and Mount Mystery, respectively the second and sixth highest peaks in the Olympics. I’d almost forgotten what a beautiful range this is, and knew I’d be poring over maps again soon for an even bigger adventure later this year.

Though it was no great feat of climbing prowess, my objective was obtained, and more. Kiko hadn’t decided whether he’d join us in the morning for the next summitly excursion, but no need to worry. He’s as intrepid as they come. I bade him farewell and returned to camp, sinking smugly into the fog and winking at the hares, with summit #11 now under my belt.

Up next: Silver Lake Peak.

Mount Townsend summit (6,280 feet)