Campsite to be Determined
A true story of the same campsite... three times.
As always - my posts are far too long for e-mail format… so click ‘read more’ at the bottom to read the whole thing!
Dear Kula Diaries,
I want to start this weekly post by saying thank you. Many people have written some unbelievably kind and moving comments in the Kula Diaries google form. I read every single one of them, and a few of them brought me to tears this week - so thank you so much for sharing from your heart. There is nothing that makes me happier than knowing that something that I wrote helped somebody, even in a tiny way - so thank you for taking the time to share your kind words with me - it means a lot!
I had originally planned to write about giving this week… but my backpacking trip last week arrived (as planned), and offered me a new story to tell — one that felt a little bit more important right now, for some reason. And so… this week, I’m going to tell you the story of one campsite… three times.
Glacier Peak Wilderness - 2009
In 2008, I climbed Mt. Baker for the first time - and something changed in my heart. I had always loved hiking, but I had never climbed a ‘real’ mountain until that trip… and, in fact, I had never even backpacked. I still remember sitting on the side of Mt. Baker… attempting to gag down my Mountain House Lasagna (which I would severely regret eating when I realized that I had forgotten to bring toilet paper on the trip)… I looked up at the mountain, looming above me and wondered: Can I do this? The next day, from the summit of Mt. Baker, I answered that question wearing a cobbled together ‘mountaineering’ outfit that consisted of pink snow googles, rain pants and a jacket that didn’t have a working zipper - but I had done it… I had climbed a real mountain.
Something happened up there that day - and I don’t know if it was just the altitude - but as I looked at the other Cascade volcanoes poking out above the low clouds, I felt a sense of freedom that I had never felt in my life - a stillness that didn’t seem to exist when I was home.
I decided that I needed to climb… everything. I started venturing out with a group of folks who all worked for Washington State Parks (where I was a Park Ranger). In 2009, our goal was to climb Glacier Peak, which I knew absolutely nothing about. Now, as a seasoned mountaineer and hiker - I never set foot on the trail without confidently researching the route and making sure that I know everything I need to know about where I’m going. In 2009, I was basically the opposite - I had no clue what I was doing, and I was relying on the unofficial ‘leader’ of our group to provide beta about climbing Glacier Peak. “Don’t bring crampons - it’s a scramble,” he said as we were about to leave the trailhead. I left my crampons in the car.
My pack was devastatingly heavy on the way to camp… most likely because my gear was a conglomeration of borrowed clothing and way too many options (note to self: you do not need to bring hiking pants, two weights of long underwear, soft shell pants and hardshell pants to climb Glacier Peak in early Fall). In addition, I carried an entire block of cheese and a mega stick of salami. My ludicrously heavy pack was only outdone by our group leader who pulled out an entire box of saltines and two cans of Cheez-Whiz when we made it to camp.
We slogged up an endless ascent to the Pacific Crest Trail and then, instead of turning south to head to White Pass (which is the normal route up Glacier Peak)… we opted to turn North to head to Red Pass… for a ‘choose your own adventure’ version of climbing Glacier Peak. As we descended into Glacier Peak Meadows, I was struck by the vastness and bigness of it all.
Eventually we located it… the campsite. A little perch on a knoll with a front row seat to Glacier Peak… except that Glacier Peak was enshrouded by clouds. I sat in the campsite that night — blissfully ignorant about how unprepared my group was… and sensing a peace that I didn’t feel at home. In the morning we packed up and headed up an off trail route to our next campsite, and I remember looking back at our little knoll and wondering: Will I ever come back here?
The next two days can only be described as the most successful cluster in the history of planet earth. We took the wrong route up Glacier Peak… I managed to ascend a dangerously steep snowfield and glacier without crampons (including a sideways ascent up solid ice, where I actually screamed the f-bomb at somebody in our group)… and we descended via a scramble route that included a VW-sized boulder catapulting at my head… but don’t worry, I dove under another giant, loose rock to avoid being struck, and nearly fell down the mountain the process. All in all - it was a great trip. Ha! First and foremost — please do none of the things that I mentioned above. While our group was miraculously successful - it was only through the grace of the Cool Glacier Goddess that we survived. To this day (and especially now that I know the actual route up Glacier Peak), I’m shocked we made it.
The chaos didn’t end after the climb. On our way back to the trailhead, we couldn’t find the trail back to Foam Basin and White Pass in a whiteout, and we ended up side-hilling on wet heather. The grassy slope was like a maniacal Slip n’ Slide that was so steep you had to use an ice axe to prevent yourself from sliding away into the void. When we made it back to the trail after our 4 day cluster — I laid down on the grass near White Pass. I was worn down… dirty and feeling pretty wrecked… but I prayed that I could stay in the wilderness longer. It didn’t matter how many crampon-less glaciers I had to climb… how many rocks came hurtling at my head… how many disgusting backpacking meals I had to eat…how many times I had to bury my poop… how many blisters were on my feet… or how much wet heather I had to cross… it all seemed a lot easier than going home.
Glacier Peak Wilderness - 2015
I never thought I’d get divorced. I was raised Catholic, and divorce was a ‘mortal sin’ - which meant that I’d be going straight to hell. At that time, I believed that hell was a place… I didn’t yet realize that it was in my own mind… and that I was creating it. After only a few years of marriage in 2011 and getting laid off from my job as a park ranger, I felt like I had sunk into an unrecoverable abyss. I was so humiliated and embarrassed about getting a divorce that I didn’t tell anybody - including some of my closest friends. I deleted all of my social media accounts and went into hiding. I felt like a total fraud and a failure. I didn’t know why I wasn’t ‘happy’. At first, climbing seemed to help - but very quickly, it became a way to avoid everything in my life — masquerading as a ‘hobby’. If you looked closely, you would have seen the sadness. You would have known that the photos I had once shared excitedly on Facebook about all of my adventures revealed a sad truth in my eyes.
During my divorce, I realized that I was completely addicted to climbing and that I was using it to avoid dealing with anything in my life. My adventures were getting more and more risky… and nothing was ever ‘enough’. I was on the summit of one mountain… already planning for the next one, because I couldn’t bear the thought of not having a climb to obsess about - because that meant that I would have to confront something far more painful than 5,000’ of elevation gain. After a particularly brutal climb that put me out of commission for a few weeks, I decided that I needed to temporarily take a hiatus from hiking and climbing so that I could focus on going to therapy and finding a sense of peace without needing to destroy myself in the wilderness.
When I met Aaron, he had never climbed a mountain - in fact, his knees and feet hurt him so much on our first backpacking trip that I wondered if he would even want to keep hiking with me. Within a few months, we had climbed Mt. Adams together - and he was hooked too. Suddenly, I had an adventure partner - something I had never experienced before - and I was excited to show him all of the climbs that I loved so much. Aaron wanted to climb all of the volcanos, which meant that we’d need to go back to Glacier Peak… and I knew exactly where I wanted to camp.
In August of 2015, Aaron and I left the trailhead and hiked to the campsite. Amazingly, in all of its picturesque glory, it was vacant - and we nestled in for what we both hoped would be a spectacular, bonding evening of watching the sunset. We sat on the signature ‘landmark’ of the campsite - the giant Douglas Fir tree log - and soaked in the view. For dinner that night, we both had brought a ‘make your own’ dehydrated pizza — dehydrated pizza fixin’s were added to tortillas for a scrumptious meal… or at least I thought it was scrumptious, until my stomach started to grumble. “I’m just going to take a TUMS,” I said begrudgingly as I started to rub my stomach. Ugh - just what I needed… heartburn in the middle of the woods. Within a few minutes, the pain intensified a little bit and I started to get concerned: What was going on?! Within about 20 minutes, I had entered a new realm of consciousness by way of the most excruciatingly agonizing pain that I have ever experienced. Grabbing my stomach, I limped away to secluded spot in the trees and somehow managed to ‘evacuate’ every orifice in my body simultaneously… I swear, if you have never snotted… puked… and pooped simultaneously, you are really missing out on a peak experience. I crawled back to the campsite and laid in the fetal position on the dirt - shaking, trembling and writhing in agonizing pain. It is, without a doubt, the closest I have ever come to pressing the SOS button on my satellite beacon.
Aaron sat with me the entire time - making sure I was OK and seeing if I needed anything… the entire incident was just as terrifying for him. What I know now, but didn’t know then… is that I was having a gall bladder attack. I’ve had one additional attack since that date, and it is a transcendent experience than can only be described as ‘spiritual’. After about an hour, the pain began to dissipate and I started feeling slightly human again. After sleeping all night… I woke up the next day with no pain. We kept going… and climbed Glacier Peak together the following day.
This time, we went the correct route to the summit… wore crampons on the glacier… and ascended so swiftly that we even had time for a 45 minute nap on top. As we descended that day, the clouds snuck in behind us - obscuring the place we had been and hiding it from the rest of the world - as if it was a secret that only we knew that day.
Glacier Peak Wilderness - 2023
I’ve thought about that campsite a lot - and I’m not sure why. When I got my shoulder surgery in 2013, the anesthesiologist said, “Tell me about a place you love,” and as I drifted off into dreamless sleep… I described that campsite and the summit of Glacier Peak, “It’s my favorite place in the w…….”, I said.
I didn’t know if I’d ever go back, but last weekend - amidst trying to pick the ‘perfect’ trip for my annual backpacking trip with my mom… I felt like we needed to go to the spot again. Honestly, I had a little bit of anxiety about picking a specific campsite - because it puts a lot of pressure on the trip itself. I didn’t really even tell my mom about the campsite, because I didn’t want to ‘jinx’ our chance of getting it. But, as we made the familiar steep ascent to the PCT, I felt a nagging worry… would the campsite be available?
‘Campsite to be Determined’ is what I wrote in my post last week… but what I really meant was, “I know exactly what campsite I want to stay at, but I’m secretly afraid it’ll be occupied.” I had such a specific idea of where I wanted to stay in order to give my mom the experience that I wanted her to have… that I spent way too much time worrying about whether or not the site would even be available. As we were hiking, I started to think about all of the backpacking trips we’ve been on… and all of the different places we’ve camped: near frozen lakes, on a snowy ledge, by a desert lake, in an unexpected blizzard… and in hail and wind. I mentioned this story in the Kula Cloth newsletter this week … but I thought about a night in the Goat Rocks wilderness when my mom woke up and thought she saw red eyes peering into her tent at night… only to discover that they were red hot coals from an illegal campfire that had reignited in gale force winds.
Actual footage from aforementioned Goat Rocks Wilderness Backpacking Trip with my mom.
On one trip to the Desolation Wilderness in Lake Tahoe, we were camped in what I thought was the perfect campsite - a granite gem of a spot, nestled on the shore of Lake Aloha. Well, it was the perfect campsite… until a sideways rainstorm arrived and turned our campsite into a brand new alpine tarn. I looked out of my tent and saw one of my Crocs floating by… and I knew we were in trouble. Desperately, Aaron and I tried trenching around the campsite to divert the water - but our efforts were thwarted by the pooling stream that seemed to be intentionally rushing towards our campsite. In an act of unprecedented desperation, we unstaked the campsite and the three of us - carrying fully loaded tents - sprinted across the granite landscape in the dark to find shelter in the trees. We re-pitched our tent in a spot that was only slightly drier than an absolutely soaked wet sponge… and the next morning when we woke up, my pants were frozen solid… and my mom’s tent zipper had broken. We raised the white flag on our trip… and walked back to the trailhead before finding salvation in an AirBNB for the night. That night, we sat in the AirBNB … crouched around my cellphone… it was the night that the very first story about The Musical Mountaineers aired on television. If we had still been on the trip, we never would have seen it live. Exhausted from our frigid night in the the storm… I watched the little episode on King 5… and cried.
As I reflected back on these adventures with my mom, I realized something that should have been more obvious to me: the campsites that we stayed in were not what made the adventures memorable or special. Even amidst the worst conditions… even when we had to bail out of the most perfect campsite… things always worked out the way that they needed to.
Here’s the King 5 video, if you’ve never seen it - this is from 2017 (after I left my job, but pre Kula!) and I love it!
This past weekend, as we descended into Glacier Meadows, I was excited for my mom to experience the Glacier Peak Wilderness — and I was nervous to see if the campsite would be available again… what were the odds that I’d get to stay there for a third time? As we approached a knoll - my heart sunk… I could see a blue stuff sack and a bear wire hanging in a tree… “Is this the right spot?”, Aaron asked. “I think so,” I replied, feeling a bit disappointed, “Let’s just keep hiking and see what’s up ahead.”
And so we meandered through sprawling meadows - watching marmots playing in the distance - and eventually we came to an obvious cluster of campsites. A small knoll piqued my interest…. was this the campsite? In my disappointment, had I forgotten that it was actually further down the meadow than I had remembered? Excitedly, we scampered up the trail and suddenly… there we were… almost 15 years after I had first slept in the campsite… I was back again, for the third time. Glacier Peak rose in the distance - perfectly framed by trees. I pointed to a flat spot, “That’s where I camped the first time I was here!”… and then cringed… “And that’s where I got sick in the woods.”
The next day, we followed the same path that I had followed two previous times - a rarely used, mostly off trail route to access the White Chuck Basin - the starting point of the Glacier Peak climb. My mom, at 67 years old, cruised up the steep ascents as we moved from lush greenery into a desolate, barren landscape of rocks and milky alpine lakes.
I don’t know why that place… that campsite… or that mountain is so special to me, but there’s something about being there that I can’t quite articulate. The first time I was there, I had no idea what I was doing… and I escaped unscathed with what felt like my first real adventure deep into the wilderness. I remember telling somebody, “I never knew that the mountains had so many layers. When you look at them from the highway they seem so flat… but back there… they go on forever.”
The second time on Glacier Peak, I learned that I was not invincible - but that I was strong. I could go through something difficult, and I could be OK. Unthinkable pain nearly crushed me… but I still managed to climb the mountain - and it was the first time I was able to share that place with somebody that I loved. Aaron loved being at the summit of Glacier Peak, and I remember watching him take photos as we ascended the Cool Glacier — it was the first time in my life that I felt like somebody else understood why I was out there. In my previous marriage, I had felt very alone - my ex had no interest in hiking with me, and I had never shared the experience of climbing a mountain with somebody that I loved. Aaron and I went on to summit all 5 of the Washington volcanoes together. A year after we finished our volcano climbs, I decoupaged our summit photos with a quote and the date we climbed the peak onto 5 wooden coasters. Those coasters sit on our dining room table today - small mementos of a shared wilderness that can never been taken from us. Even in our darkest moments - we have still climbed mountains together.
Last weekend, I sat with my mom and Aaron on a trashbag in the campsite and we drank powered A&W root beer mixed with spiced rum (seriously, try it) and ate a homemade lemon-glazed cookie. A lot has changed in my life since I first visited that place - the campsite looks the same, but even it has changed too. The once robust log that bisects the flat area for tents is now decaying - but the view remains the same. Glacier Peak watches over its meadows, as it has for eons. The animals roam, the waterfalls flow and the clouds come and go. Everything is always changing, but nothing is changing all at the same time.
Over the past 15 years, I’ve experienced some of the highest highs and the lowest lows in my life… I’ve gotten divorced… been laid off… worked as a railroad police officer… become the ‘parent’ of three cats… almost died… quit my job with the railroad… been estranged from family members… started an outdoor gear company… felt very alone as an entrepreneur… failed at a lot of things… been overwhelmed… felt lost… felt exhilarated… climbed mountains with my violin… felt disappointed in myself… done things I’m really proud of and things that I’m not proud of… started dancing… retired my husband from his job and started riding motorcycles together… and, most recently, started writing again. And through it all - that campsite was there… not doing anything at all… just being there.
I think about that a lot - that the places we’ve visited are ‘out there’ - even once we leave. You spend time in a place and you soak in the view and the experience… and then there’s a moment where you pack up your tent and you leave. Back at the trailhead, I sometimes wonder, “Did that even happen? Was it all a dream?” I drive away … dirt roads giving way to pavement… and rural landscapes giving way to small towns and roads. I want to take a piece of that place with me and say, “No, it’s real! It’s real because I was there and I saw it with my own eyes! A place that beautiful does exist!”
My life is so different now than it was in 2009 and 2015. I no longer backpack to ‘get away’ from things - I do it because I genuinely enjoy it, and I love spending time outside in beautiful places. I enjoy connecting with the people that I love and sharing those memories in a meaningful way. And yet, I have to admit that there was a part of me that needed to see that campsite just one more time. Maybe that’s why I wanted to go back… not because I needed to get out on a backpacking trip to escape my life anymore… but because I just wanted to make sure it’s still there. The campsite silently says, “The things you have experienced in your life may have happened, but the view can still be beautiful. Storms may roll through… lightning and thunder and wind may arrive… but the next day, the sun can shine. The darkness of winter might creep in… but will give way to spring and an infinite expanse of colorful blooms.”
This past week, I pointed out the log to Aaron and my mom, “I sat there to eat dinner when I climbed Glacier Peak for the first time!” It wasn’t until I got home and compared photographs that I realized how much that log has changed in almost a decade and a half. I try to think about all of the people that have used that log as a spot to eat dinner and breakfast while contemplating the mysteries of life hidden in the mountains. How many people have watched the alpenglow from that exact spot and wondered what their tiny place in the universe meant? That rotting log in the campsite is saying something that I sometimes try to avoid, but deep down, I know: Nothing is permanent. Time is passing…. but you have this moment to exist and it is real and so are you. This sunset is real. The earth beneath your feet is real. The people around you are real. The love you feel is real. This place and the mountains are alive… and as long as they are here for you to see… so are you.
Friends - it’s been a pleasure and a joy to reflect back on this special campsite … and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about it as much as I have enjoyed writing about it. I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face - feeling so unbelievably grateful to have had the privilege to spend three different trips in such a special location. If you get a chance - take the time today and ask yourself this question:
What is the place that makes me feel the most alive?
There isn’t a right or wrong answer - just let it come to you, and see how it makes you feel knowing that you have that place stored in the very fabric of your cells. I am sending you all infinite peace, joy and ease today and all days. Thank you for being here.
Love,
Anastasia
P.S. Please feel free to submit a question or comment anytime using my anonymous google form - I answer an AMA (ask me anything) question every Wednesday!
To be honest, all of our campsites over the years have been perfect because we shared them. I will admit though, this campsite stands out for me not only for all the reasons you mentioned, but I could share your enjoyment of being back, being happy with who you were and who you were with (Aaron) made for a perfect trip. Wonderful AMA
This was so beautiful. Again. Your writing is really special. 💖