It's January, and it's the perfect time for a backpacking trip in the Pacific Northwest. The slate gray clouds are bunched high in the sky; the rain is holding off. It's an El Niño winter this year. The moisture that usually drenches Washington is in the southwest, causing floods in California and Arizona.
When you are looking for a winter backpacking destination in NW Washington, Baker Lake is first on most lists. Low elevation to avoid most of the snow? Check. Easy access? Check. Beautiful old-growth forest, along the banks of a pristine aquamarine river? You can count on it. It's a picture-perfect introduction to the temperate rainforest of Western Washington.
Saturday morning, 9 a.m. My partner and I pack up and stack our packs in the back of a van the same slate gray as the sky. Most important items: extra socks, tent, thermos of chicken soup, puffy jacket, and three cans of coconut milk.
The signs of civilization start to dwindle as soon as we reach Burlington, an agricultural hub turned strip-mall that hugs the north shore of the Skagit River. We head east from here, winding through Sedro Wooley and onto the North Cascades Highway.
Baker lake is a two-hour drive from Bellingham, and after an hour or so we are cruising up the Skagit Valley. Small farms line the road, and the steep hills on either side rise sharply and are cut by deep valleys. The checkerboard of clearcuts on the flanks of the hills is a constant reminder of this culture's impact on the land here.
"Forests to precede civilizations, deserts to follow." That is what the founder of the Romantic movement, François-René, wrote in 1840. His words ring true as we turn north, up the Baker River valley, passing dessicated clearcuts that wrap around hills and following the twisting path of the river deeper into the rainforest.
At the border of Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, the trees change. Four or five old, long dead trees stand to the left, and the canopy closes in over the road. The road changes to gravel before too long, and then the lake is there, suddenly and brilliantly. The water is low and turquoise, exposing the shallowly sloping lakebed dotted with massive, gnarled stumps.
Baker Lake is not entirely natural. In 1925, a 285-foot dam was built further down the Baker River Valley, creating Lake Shannon, a population fishing and recreation destination in its own right that sits just to the South of Baker Lake. And Iin 1959, the 312-foot- tall Upper Baker Dam was built to expand the size of Baker Lake and provide hydroelectric power to businesses and residents of Skagit and Whatcom Counties. The dam provided easy transportation for timber cut from what is now the bottom of Baker Lake.
A few miles drift past in a blur of water and thick trees and roadcuts, and we reach the parking lot: the end of the road. Moss hangs like drapes from branches lining the trail. A Western Red Cedar, perfectly circular and 10-feet-thick, marks the place where the path narrows and begins to wind along the river, slowly gaining elevation.
Our destination is less than three miles upstream, so we walk slowly, taking off our packs to explore caves made by the jumble of boulders. On a sand bar jutting out into the river, coyote and bobcat and elk have left their footprints. A cedar tree clasps a boulder like a octopus gripping a crab firmly in it's tentacles. Licorice ferns spill out of cracks and crevices in the rocks, or attach themselves to the maple trees that cover the floodplain of the river.
The trail meanders though thick trees, with occasional views across the river to the hulking foothills or to waterfalls cascading down red and blue striped cliffs. A wetland created by beavers marks the last section of the trail, and a small sign proclaims we are leaving the National Forest and entering North Cascades National Park.
A few minutes later, we reach our campsite at Sulphide Creek, a murky place that takes its name from the tributary it sits beside. Here we discover the importance of good packing: we had packed two tent rainflies, but no tent body. Two hours and a good bit of ingenuity later, and we have a somewhat functional shelter - providing it doesn't rain. Bellies full of coconut curry a few hours later, we turn in, the sounds of the water pulling us gently into sleep.
In the morning, after a brisk dip in the creek (accompanied shrieking and the nice views of the Cloudcap Peak to the north), the walk back to the parking lot seems a quick jaunt. But the car ride back to civilization - and back to work - seems long. Come spring, I'll be back.
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