Lisa and Will have crossed the equator - read on to hear about the Northern leg of the Pacific Adventure!
We made it! After an 8 hour red eye from the 31°C heat of Papeete, Tahiti, to San Francisco and a 6 hour lay over, we arrived in 14°C Seattle. Picked up by our good friends Holly and Cliff, we were whisked away to Mercer Island, where we will be staying until the end of May, when we start our cycle trip. Mercer island is a little haven of tranquillity, just 3 miles to the East of Seattle, right in the middle of Lake Washington.
We first came here back in 2017, when Lisa was doing an internship at the University of Washington and the Gates Foundation during her PhD. Back then, we couldn't find anywhere to live before coming out, and so wandered homeless from airbnb to airbnb until we met Holly and Cliff through a friend of a friend who called around asking for accommodation on our behalf.
In a strange turn of events, we ended up staying in Holly and Cliff’s house for 3 months with them coming and going. In an even stranger turn, they didn't seem to mind having an odd British couple tramping around their house, leaving everything in the wrong place, and generally being a nuisance. We have been friends ever since.
This part of our trip has been postponed twice, from Summer 2020 to Summer 2021, and then to Summer 2022. So we were particularly excited to be back in the Pacific Northwest to see them.
Springtime in Seattle is characterised by rhododendrons. In 1892, the Pacific rhododendron was chosen as the Washington state flower. They are everywhere.
One of the things that was high on the to do list was a visit to our old local, the Roanoake Inn, an old-style bar on Mercer Island with a jukebox and fantastic (very hoppy) West Coast IPAs that we fell in love with last time we were here.
We were also finally reunited with our bicycles!!! After putting them together (and Lisa spending 2 hours washing off rock hard sugar syrup from her bike from an exploded gel), we had a celebratory ride around the island. We both agree that it's one of our favourite places to cycle. On a clear day, Mt Rainier (the closest volcano to Seattle) dominates the view to the south, snow-capped and majestic, standing almost 3 miles above the ground (and we mean the ground - it's the most 'prominent' peak in the contiguous USA).
This was one thing that took us ignorant travellers by surprise the first time we came here. Washington State has volcanoes. Lots of them. Technically, the whole of the Cascade mountain range is volcanic. But more specifically, there are five big 'uns that get government departments interested enough to monitor constantly. Given that we've just spent 5 weeks sailing and cycling around volcanic islands in the South Pacific, it's starting to feel like more than a coincidence...
Mt St Helens
If you were educated in the UK in the 1980’s, you may remember learning about the eruption of Mt St Helens. It lost 1,000 ft of elevation in one go when its north side disappeared.
Our friend, Kirk (another Brit, living in Seattle now for 9 years), suggested that we take a trip to walk up it and then ski down. Although neither of us had done any backcountry skiing before (or had packed any cold-weather kit), ‘how hard could it be?’ we thought.
Having super outdoorsy and generally awesome friends really pays dividends at times like these: we borrowed everything from Holly and Cliff.
Cliff is a snow patroller at a local ski area. When he insisted we take shovels, body probes and avalanche transponders, we wondered if this was going to be a bit more serious than we had thought.
Kirk came to pick us up in the rain in his minuscule Mazda with half-functioning windscreen wipers, and we went to pick up some back country skis from a local shop. With Will wedged in the back seat with ski poles jabbing him in the ribs, we then drove the 250 miles to the cabin Kirk had rented for the night. It took 5 hours as the traffic was so bad. When we arrived, it turned out that most of the reason there was no room in the car was because Kirk had made enough pasta to feed 20 people and had brought all kinds of cereal bars, breakfast and stuff to make sandwiches. We also had mission-critical beers for a post hike celebration the next day.
A later night than we had intended and a horrible night’s sleep followed. The alarms were set for 5am and after a huge breakfast of porridge, we set off to the trailhead start. For those of you who have never backcountry skied, you have normal-looking ski boots and normal looking skis but the bindings have 2 settings: one where your heel is free to move up and down so you can walk, and another setting where your heel is clamped down so you can ski. On the way up the mountain, you need to put skins on your skis. As the name suggests, these were animal skins back in the day, but are now synthetic, with a pile that runs freely in one direction and sticks in the other. Assuming that you’ve put them on the correct way round, this will allow the user to walk uphill on snow and not slide backwards. At the top of the mountain, you then take off the skins, clip your heel in, and ski gracefully down.
So there we were, Lisa, Kirk and Will, skinning up in a car park at 6am.
The snowpack reached all the way down to the car park trailhead and so off we went! We had picked the best day. It had snowed overnight, enough to make everything look like Narnia, but not enough (Kirk said) to be a really high risk of avalanche. Now we had clear blue skies and sunshine.
Oh. My. God. Backcountry skiing is hard work.
Carrying 3 litres of water, helmet, goggles, waterproofs, snacks, sandwiches, 1lb of M&M’s, a snow shovel, body probe, transponder and walkie-talkie each, we trudged uphill through sparkling woodland, shedding clothing as we sweated through baselayers.
After about an hour, the volcano became visible through the trees. We were making great time, possibly even going a bit quickly. We had a little rest every 40 minutes or so and the tamaño familial (family size) cookies we brought were quickly depleted. When we were over the tree line, other peaks became visible. We had Mt Hood behind us and Mt Adams to our right, piercing through the clouds which rolled in below us as the morning wore on.
The word gets overused, but magical was really the only way to describe it - especially as the elevation mounted, and we got a little delirious from the oxygen deprivation. The last 500ft or so of elevation (~200m to those of you metrically inclined) were a real mental battle. Zig-zagging our way up (a lot of the latter part of the climb was too steep for a direct ascent), we both resorted to counting each step as a way of maintaining focus.
And then, suddenly, we were there. Thanks to 1980, we had 1,300ft less to climb. And the peak is no longer pointy like you'd expect from a mountain. It's a long horseshoe ridge. So you reach it almost expecting a false peak (though again, that was probably partly due to brain fog!) We could see the cornices (the mass of snow which accumulates on an edge, hugely unstable and likely to give way at the slightest invitation) on both sides around the ridge, so didn't get too close to the edge. It was likely the cornice ran all along, plus it was a 2,000ft drop down into the crater below, so a fairly big decision to get wrong.
Instead we took a few steps back down, dug down into our packs, and feasted on sandwiches, snack bars, and frankly anything of calorific content still in there.
As picnics-with-a-view go, it ranked right up there with the very best.
Then, it was time to switch the ski bindings to downhill mode, and off we went down the volcano, passing by hikers who watched enviously as we zipped past them, our hard work over.
Mostly.
Because it turns out the snow they get here isn't like alpine snow. It's heavy. It's laden with moisture.
They call it 'Cascade Concrete'
And mid-May temperatures mean it's even heavier/wetter. Each turn takes a serious amount of effort to push the skis through and round. They don't drift effortlessly from side to side. So our 6 mile, 5,000ft descent was not a one-shot wonder - we took our rests going down too!
Nonetheless, it took us 6.5 hours to get up, and about 45 minutes to get down.
We got back down to the parking lot, clipped out of our skis, and had a big spontaneous group hug.
We had made it and, as Kirk said: on Friday 13th, of all days, with no injuries or scares or even minor mishaps. In fact, we smashed it.
Feet now feeling very sore in our rental boots, we hobbled over to the car and peeked eagerly through the windows at the cooler of beers sat in the back seat, while Kirk dug out his keys. We'd earned these.
An expletive from Kirk broke the reverie.
"My jacket's gone."
"I'm sorry, what now?"
"My jacket. I strapped it to the back of my pack as we were skiing down. My keys were in the jacket."
We assumed this was a poorly-judged wind-up. But a look at Kirk's ashen face told us instantly. This was no joke.
With barely another word, Kirk spun around, and trudged back to the trailhead, skis in hand.
Perhaps it had fallen out in the last few minutes. Or perhaps someone coming down the mountain behind us would have seen it and picked it up.
Lisa and Will were by now pretty useless to him: we'd taken off our rental boots, and discovered that what used to be toes were now mushy red lumps, and our shins were rubbed raw.
We stayed in a crumpled heap by the car, and in twos and threes, people came off the mountain, having encountered Kirk on their way, and offering us everything from sympathy to food, water, and even lifts to nearby (and some not-so-nearby) towns.
The kindness of strangers really was quite humbling. I suppose it's the nature of the mountain community - people look out for one another. Nonetheless, we were incredibly grateful for all the offers. We just wished that one of them had been carrying Kirk's jacket!
Kirk rejoined us about 45 minutes later. There was still no sign of the jacket, and we were starting to get cold.
Exhausted in body and mind, it took us a while, but we formed a plan. We needed some agency here. Waiting for someone to find and return the jacket was the most appealing (and least effortful) option, but it could be another minute, another day, or even never.
By this point, everyone in the parking lot - perhaps twenty people, knew about the 3 stranded Brits. We'd handed Kirk's phone number out, hoping eventually someone might find the jacket, and get in touch. Some people had only just arrived in their cars, and were setting up camp, to tackle the mountain at first light tomorrow - so there would be people at the trailhead throughout the evening and night.
There was no phone reception at the parking lot, so Kirk got a lift with someone a few miles down the road, found some signal, and rang a garage. They could get us into the car, but stopped short at helping us hotwire the car.
If we could get back to Seattle (250miles away), Kirk had a spare key at home. He could come back tomorrow (somehow) and pick up the car.
An incredibly kind group of people who had been celebrating a friends birthday offered to take the three of us 90 minutes down the road, to Portland airport, with another of the group taking our skis, poles and boots to the same general area. Airports have 24/7 car rentals.
After we'd been going about an hour, Kirk got a message on his phone. Someone had found his jacket. They'd stashed it in his car.
Kirk excitedly rang the unknown number back. But it turned out they were just relaying a message from someone else - because, of course, no-one at the parking lot could send a message, as there was no signal there!
So was the car now locked up, with the keys inside it (safety-conscious, but very unhelpful!)?
Or were the keys now in someone's hands, awaiting our return?
Our driver/saint, Diego, immediately offered to turn round and take us right back (bear in mind he actually lived in Portland, so he was offering to add a 2 hour round-trip to his Friday evening for total strangers). But we simply couldn't let him do that for us. Especially when we didn't know what awaited us back at the car.
So on we went to the airport.
While Kirk trudged off in his (now completely soaking) socks to the rental desk, Lisa and Will slumped into some seats in the departures area, in our ski gear and wet socks, with mountaineering equipment (shovel, helmet etc) strewn around us. Couples and families walked past with quizzical looks on their faces, ushering their loved ones to take a wide detour around us. A security team approached, and we thought they may have decided we were too dishevelled for their airport. But thankfully Portland is known for tolerance, and they walked on by without comment.
Kirk arrived back, and we packed ourselves back into the rental car, picked up the skis, boots and poles from our other saviour Christina, and drove the 90 minutes back to the parking lot where his car remained, ostensibly undamaged. He tried the handle, the door opened, and there on the driver's seat was his jacket, with the keys in.
It was now 8pm. 5 and a half hours since we'd come down off the mountain, and a full 15 hours since we'd climbed groggily out of bed that morning. The euphoria of being back in the tiny car packed with our stuff was mingled with exhausted delirium.
All we had to do now was drive both cars (the rental was to be returned to Seattle airport. Smart thinking, huh?) 3 hours north to Seattle.
Since that seemed like a daunting prospect in our current states, we agreed that food was our first priority. We went back to the place we'd left at 5am that morning, and gorged ourselves on enormous quantities of pizza, and that long-overdue celebratory beer. Then we drove - and to keep us from falling asleep, Will pulled out one of our great friend Dave's legendary pub quizzes* from his email and, over the 2-way radios we'd brought for the climbing, ran a mini pub-quiz just for Kirk and Lisa.
We pulled up back at Mercer Island around 12.30am, absolutely shattered, but so, so happy to be home. Kirk would go on a little further to his home in his car, and catch an Uber back in the morning to pick up the rental, and return it to the airport. We unpacked our stuff from both cars (everything had got pretty jumbled over the past 36 hours!), and said our goodbyes. We just wanted to do one last sweep of the rental car, in the dark, so asked Kirk to press the unlock button... at which point the alarm went off like a klaxon.
Sorry neighbours!
That was the end of our St Helens epic adventure. We went to sleep, knowing we would not be waking for some time.
We hope you have been entertained!
*Dave deserves a Wikipedia entry all of his own. He is a bit of a legend back home in Oxford, where he runs an entertainment company which, amongst other things, provides pub quizzes to (seemingly) every pub in a 30 mile radius. More importantly, he hosts our local pub quiz, and is far and away the best host we've ever seen.
We've known Dave about 20 years now. He came to our wedding, and ran a Will & Lisa-themed quiz there (of course!) When we told him we'd be going away for a few months, he insisted he would keep us in the loop, sending us the weekly quizzes the morning after he ran them. They've kept us entertained on our long Pacific crossing, through the islands of French Polynesia, and now, quite literally saved our lives in Washington state. Thank you Dave!