Jeeping in the Wenatchee National Forest

Exploring my world.

One of the things I love about this area of Washington is the variety of landscape and terrain so close by. I’m surrounded by farmland, orchards, desert, rivers, steams, lakes, forests, and mountains. All of these things are within a 30 minute drive from my home — it just depends on which direction I drive.

Beehive Reservoir
Behive Reservoir isn’t anything special, but it’s a short drive away, up in the mountains south of Wenatchee.

The other day, I briefly explored the area around Beehive Reservoir. I’d driven up there with the goal of checking it out as a possible kayaking destination. The lake I found was small and rather uninteresting. Penny and I walked around its one-mile circumference before continuing up the road. We found a far more interesting web of forest roads that I ached to explore. But without a decent map, I wasn’t comfortable going very far. I decided to return better prepared to explore.

I had a 3-hour window of time on Monday. Penny and I, joined by a friend, climbed into the Jeep and headed out. This time, I had a Wenatchee/Leavenworth trail map with me that clearly identified all the forest roads. We drove up to Beehive Reservoir and kept going.

Our intended destination was Cashmere, on the other side of the mountains. A road numbered 7100 wound through the mountains and a canyon to Cashmere. I’d been on part of the road two years before, picking it up from Number 2 Canyon Road in Wenatchee. It was a relatively easy drive in the Jeep; I figured this would be the same.

But Road 7100 was closed to motor vehicle traffic. They were making improvements somewhere along the way.

Mountain View
I couldn’t ask for a better day — or better views.

So we followed Road 9712, which went west and then mostly south and east. It climbed pretty steadily into tall pine forest, often skirting the edge of a steep cliff. Every turn offered magnificent views. Although I tried to follow our progress on the map, using turns and trailheads as landmarks, I soon lost track of exactly where we were. That wasn’t a big deal — we could always get back because we didn’t make any turns.

We passed a family of three on mountain bikes: mom, dad, and a girl who couldn’t have been much older than about eight. A strap tied dad’s bike to the kid’s. I guess the logic there was that if the kid went over a cliff, her bike would be saved because it was tied to dad’s. The kid, of course, wasn’t tied to the bike so she’d be lost. Maybe that was the idea. We didn’t see them later on the way back, but their car was still there. Maybe they all went over a cliff. It was not the kind of road suitable for a family outing on bikes. I wonder, sometimes, whether people know how to use their brains.

It was after we made a turn down a steep hill that I got the idea to turn on tracking on my iPhone. I use an app called GPS Track that can keep a breadcrumb trail of where I’ve been. It can also display my position (and track) on a map — if I have a 3G or LTE connection. Since I wasn’t sure whether the road we’d turned down would offer other turns, I turned tracking on. Even if I couldn’t see where we were on a map — which I couldn’t — I’d still be able to follow the track back, even after making a bunch of turns.

At the top of the World
I used my phone to make a panoramic image; my friend used a phone to take a photo of me.

The road we were following descended steadily and then came to an abrupt end in a wide circle with a fire pit in the middle of it. A pickup truck was parked there, but there was no one in sight. We stopped the Jeep and got out to admire the view. We were at about 5,000 feet in elevation and the spot we were on offered a completely unobstructed view of the eastern side of the Cascade Mountains, still blanketed with snow. A variety of wildflowers grew in clumps along the edge of the cliff. It was beautiful and peaceful.

We got out of the Jeep to stretch our legs and take in the view. It was the kind of place that you find it hard to believe exists, a place you know you’re lucky to have stumbled into. I often find places like this when I go exploring in my Jeep. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I like doing it so much.

Panoramic View
Not a bad photo for a phone. (Click it to see a larger version.)

Burned Forest
There was lots of evidence of last year’s fires.

We turned around and headed back up to the main road, then turned onto it and continued on our way. The road wound through more forest, up more hills, and over more loose patches of volcanic rock. In some places, the forest was burned out from the previous year’s fires.

The well-maintained road gave way to a narrower, less maintained track. I decided it might be a good idea to figure out where I was. I stopped the Jeep right in the middle of the road — after all, there was no one around — and pulled out my map. I lamented to my friend that I wished I could find a good GPS app for my phone that enabled me to download detailed topo maps so I wouldn’t need a cell signal to use them.

Motorcycle Guidance
We ran into a pair of motorcyclists who helped us figure out where we were on my map and then recommended a great back road driving app.

I was rather absorbed in my map study when two motorcycles came into view in front of us. The riders were completely geared up and riding good bikes with camping gear fastened to them. I moved to the side to let them pass. They came up beside me and must have noticed I was looking at a map. They stopped and asked if we needed help.

I told them that we weren’t lost but we didn’t know exactly where we were. I know that sounds silly, but in my mind, “lost” means not knowing how to get where you need to go. I didn’t need to go anywhere in front of us and I knew how to get back, so I wasn’t lost. I just didn’t know exactly where I was. Makes sense, no?

One of the guys had a GPS and tried to point out on my map where he thought we were. I told them what I’d been telling my friend: that I wished I had an app that would download maps.

Gaia GPS,” one of the guys said immediately. “It’s $20 but worth every penny.”

They went on their way. I had a good LTE connection, so I downloaded Gaia GPS on the spot. (I figured that guys outfitted like that had to know what they were talking about.) I used it for the rest of the drive and even saved a track from it for the trip back from our farthest point.

Flower along Road
This flower caught my eye as we drove past; I stopped, got out, and took a photo. It’s nice not being rushed by an impatient companion when you’re out for a drive in the forest.

We continued on our way. Soon, however, I was watching the clock. I had a doctor’s appointment at 3:45 and needed to be home by about 3:00 to drop off my friend and make the trip down to Wenatchee. Not sure how long it would take to get back, I set a deadline of about 1:30 to return. It was about 1:00. That gave us just another 30 minutes to explore.

The road continued to wind through the forest, often with sheer cliffs on one side or the other. When we got a good look out to the southeast, I realized that we were on the far side of Mission Ridge, almost at the same altitude. The valley we looked out over was hazy from the smoke of the Colockup Tarps fire, which had started two days before.

I was looking forward to a particularly steep drop-off alongside a section of the road up ahead — that’s what the topo lines showed on the map, anyway — when I realized it was past 1:30. We had to head back. I’d have to make another trip to continue exploring. I marked a waypoint in Gaia GPS so I’d know where I left off and turned around.

Flowers and Burned Trees
Less than a year after the fire that burned thousands of acres of this forest, flowers were blooming.

The trip back, of course, was much quicker. It always is. We stopped for a nature call and I got some mildly interesting photos of flowers blooming among the burned out trees in the area.

We were back at Beehive Reservoir before we knew it. And back on Squilchuck Road soon after that. In fact, we were back home well before 2:30. We could have stayed out longer after all.

It was a nice trip out — I say that all the time, probably because I enjoy exploring by Jeep so much. I’m looking forward to going out again, perhaps with a hearty picnic lunch, to follow that road to its end.

Buying the Land for My Next Home

It’s a done deal. I’m a land owner!

Back in the summer of 2011, I had a chat with a friend of mine from the east coast about my summer job. I told him him how much I liked the Wenatchee area of Washington where I was working. As he reminded me just the other day, he said to me “Looks like you found your next home.”

I didn’t think much of that idea then. After all, I was married and living in Arizona in a house that would soon be paid off. Although I wanted very badly to move — and even started looking for a new place to live as far back as 2005 — my husband was firmly entrenched in a 9 to 5 grind after bouncing from one dead-end job to another. His only two suggestions for a new place to live — Santa Fe or San Diego — would simply not work for me or my business. So in 2011 I was stuck there in Arizona, waiting for him to wake up and dig himself out of the rut he was living in.

But in the summer of 2012, things were different. First, my husband announced that he wanted a divorce. That got me thinking about a life without having to wait around for him to start living again. Next, I started doing a lot of winery tours, including a flight to a winery along the base of the cliffs in Malaga. The winery was on Cathedral Rock Road, a 2-1/2 mile stretch of winding gravel with 10- and 20-acre residential lots overlooking the Wenatchee Valley and Columbia River. What a nice place to build a hangar home, I thought.

I had a friend who owned land along that road and one day, on a whim, I called him to ask who his Realtor was. I told him I was interested in possibly buying a lot on that road.

“It’s funny you should call right now,” he replied. “My wife and I just decided the other day to sell our lot. Do you want to look at it?”

I did. He described which lot it was and I easily found it from the air. I landed there one day, shut down, and got out to walk around. It was amazing.

Two Helicopters
On July 5, 2012, I met my friend Don at the lot — we both flew in by helicopter. I wonder what the neighbors thought?

Over the following weeks, I brought other people to see it. My friend Pete. My friend Jim. My friends Don and Johnie. The day I met Don and Johnie there was the same day I flew in with the owners, Forrest and Sharon. We had two helicopters parked on the driveway. Turns out, Don had worked for Forrest’s dad when he was a kid. Small world, huh?

Forrest pointed out the boundaries of the 10-acre parcel. It sat on a shelf on the river (north) side of the road. A hill on the west side shielded it from the homesite on the next lot — which had also belonged to Forrest and Sharon. There were expansive views to the northwest to southeast — 270° — that included the city of Wenatchee, the river, the airport, and countless orchards. To the south were tall basalt cliffs. Although the land sloped down toward the river, at least 80% of it was completely buildable with a minimum amount of earthwork. Electricity, water, and even fiber-optic cable were already at the ideal homesite. Quiet and private, it was exactly the kind of place I like to live without being too far from town. And with friends living just down the road, it was a real win.

But it was the views that got me. I’ve always been a view person.

I knew before the middle of July that I had finally found the place I wanted to make my next home.

The Deal

The sellers told me what they’d planned to ask for the property and agreed to reduce that price for me since a Realtor wasn’t involved. I would, however, have to cover all the closing costs. I did some math and decided that the cost was reasonable and within my means. After all, my husband had told me he wanted a “fair and amicable divorce.” If we couldn’t patch things up when I got home in October — which I still had hopes we could do — I’d take my share of the value of our paid-for house in Wickenburg and apply it to my new home in Malaga.

Of course, this was before my husband got a lawyer and some very bad divorce advice. Before we began the year-long battle to settle. Someone’s idea of “fair” wasn’t very fair at all.

As far as the land deal was concerned, I wouldn’t be able to close until 2013 anyway. The sellers had sold another lot — the one next door — in 2012 and didn’t want two sales in the same year for tax purposes. Even though things on the divorce front looked bad, I figured that my husband would eventually get smart and take my very generous counter proposal.

I was wrong.

The Long Wait Begins

When Christmas came and went and my husband’s lawyer managed to postpone the court date from January to April, I realized I wouldn’t be closing as soon as I’d hoped. The sellers were very patient, though. We chatted once or twice on the phone during the winter. They weren’t in any kind of rush to close the deal.

In January, I flew out to Wenatchee for a week to see what the place was like during the winter months. I was a bit concerned about that big cliff on the south side of the property, knowing that the low sun angle and short winter days that far north could leave the land in complete shadows for days, weeks, or even months at a time. But in January, the lot did get some sunlight. There was snow on the ground that week but the road was passable — even in a rental car. I only got stuck twice and managed to unstick myself both times by myself. Driving up there in the winter would be fine in my Jeep or 4WD truck.

I got to experience the winter fog so many people had told me about. It hung over the river, right about the level of my lot. I went to visit a friend in Wenatchee Heights and got the pleasure of climbing above it, seeing the Wenatchee Valley as a white puffy blanket of clouds beneath the high hills.

I also talked to a builder and a septic system guy.

In late February I returned with a friend. I had to drive my truck up from Arizona to get my avgas fuel tank installed in the truck bed and move my RV down to California for a frost contract. My friend was very impressed with the land and shared my excitement about moving there.

Time moved on. There was a lot of talk on the news about property values recovering. I knew that property values in Washington were already healthier than those in Arizona. I worried that the owners would change their mind about selling or change the price. Several of my friends had already asked me if I had a contract to buy and I admitted I didn’t. I decided I needed to change that.

Fortunately, the sellers lived in Arizona in the winter, not far from my home in Wickenburg. In late March, I drove down to Sun City to meet with them, bringing along a standard real estate sales agreement I’d picked up in a stationery store in Wenatchee when I was last there. We filled out the form and I gave them a check for $5,000 in earnest money. The following week I opened escrow with Pioneer Title Company in Wenatchee. We’d agreed on a closing date on or before June 30, 2013. My birthday.

Financing Woes

Meanwhile, my divorce dragged on. My husband rejected every attempt I made to settle. He apparently thought he could get more if he let the judge decide.

The divorce put a stain on my finances. The legal fees drained my personal savings and began tapping into my business savings — the money I was setting aside for the helicopter’s costly overhaul. I had originally intended to pay cash for the land and finance the building, but now I didn’t even have enough cash for the land. I had to finance it.

And that was the challenge. Everyone told me I should get a construction loan, but no bank wanted to finance the land and building with the type of building I’d decided to build — a pole building with living space. Understand that my first priority was to get storage space for my helicopter, RV, and vehicles; I’d build temporary living quarters above the garage to live in until I could afford to build a “real” house. I did not want to live in my RV year-round. But banks wouldn’t finance that kind of building because they couldn’t get comps for it for appraisal purposes.

My New View
In April and May, my future home was covered with huge yellow flowers.

So I decided to finance the land and pay cash for the building. And I found a lender who would not only lend me the money on the land, but offer a great deal on that loan. You see, because of the size and location of the land, it qualified for farm credit. I could get a farm credit loan.

In May 2013 I finally applied for the loan. In the financial information section of the application, I listed all of my personal and business assets except my home — after all, my husband wanted it and would likely get it in the divorce. (I certainly didn’t want it.) Being completely debt-free, I look very good on paper. I was sure I’d get the loan.

But there was a snag: the lender said he could not process the loan until my divorce was finalized. I needed the divorce decree.

Once again, I found myself waiting for my husband.

The Bridge Loan

In late June, when I still didn’t have a divorce decree in hand, the owners agreed to push back the closing date to July 31. I had to cough up another $5,000 for the escrow deposit. That wasn’t a problem. I’d been working on cherry drying contracts since the end of May and had a good cash flow again.

But I was getting worried that the sellers would back out. The real estate agent who had sold the lot next door for them was nagging them about listing the lot they were selling to me. I knew that they’d be able to find another seller pretty quickly, perhaps for even more money.

Meanwhile, the lender had already told me that once they got the divorce decree and a preliminary loan approval, they still had to get an appraisal for the land. That could take three to six weeks. They refused to get the appraisal without preliminary approval, even though I offered to pay for the cost without any guarantee of the loan. The loan simply could not move forward without the decree and even when that piece of paper was produced, I could expect to wait up to two months for the loan to be finalized.

There was no way I could meet a July 31 closing deadline.

I racked my brain for options. As anyone who knows me can tell you, I’m a very resourceful person. But I was coming up empty.

Except for one option.

Early on, the sellers and I had talked about them carrying a loan on the land. I had done this with a condo I sold back in 2008 and it was one of the best deals I’d ever made. Monthly income at a good rate of return — surely two retirees would like that. Yes, they said. But their accountant advised them to not allow me to build on the land until it was paid for in full. Obviously not a workable solution for a long term loan.

But how about short term? Would they be willing to carry it until year-end? By that time I’d surely have the farm credit financing I wanted.

We spoke about it and I was frank about my concerns. They were frank about their Realtor wanting to list the land. They came up with terms I could live with. I requested that I be allowed to put a septic system on the property — the last component I needed to move my RV there — and they agreed. After all, it would increase the value of the property. We went to the title company agent and she drew up papers.

There was only one more requirement: that I get a life insurance policy for the amount of the loan naming the sellers beneficiaries. No problem, I thought.

I was wrong.

The insurance agent informed me that if I got a life insurance policy in the state of Washington I was required by law to list my husband as a beneficiary. While it was true that I could list him for just $1, I had absolutely no intention of listing him on any financial transaction I made. I was told that if I represented myself as an unmarried woman, I would be committing fraud and the policy would be invalid.

And that made me wonder about how the property would be titled if I closed before the divorce decree was filed with the court. As far as I was concerned, it had to be titled, right from the start, to me as an unmarried woman.

So I had to wait.

Closing

Meanwhile, the sellers came to the title company office and signed all the necessary papers to sell to me and set up the loan. I told the title company that I couldn’t get the insurance as quickly as I expected. (No lie there.)

Yesterday’s blog post goes into a bunch of detail about my wait for the divorce decree. It finally arrived on Tuesday, July 30, a day I now consider Freedom Day, the first day of my new life.

I spent most of Tuesday talking on the phone and exchanging email and texts. There were so many people who wanted to know the outcome, so many people I needed to talk to. It was a good day. I ran my phone battery down three times and got all kinds of good wishes from friends, family members, and even business associates.

But on Wednesday morning, I headed down to the insurance company to get that policy taken care of. It took 30 minutes and $70 to get what I needed. I decided to take it over to the title company, which was nearby, and drop it off.

Closing Papers
I’d signed half the papers before I realized I was actually closing on the land deal.

The title company agent was full of congratulations for me. We went into her office where I handed over the insurance paperwork. She pulled out a file and had me start signing papers. I’d signed about four things when I realized something with a start: I was finally closing on the property I’d been trying to acquire for the past year, the property where I planned to build my new home and life.

I voiced this realization and she confirmed it. All she needed was a certified check for my downpayment and a voided check for the automatic loan payments. I handed over the voided check without hesitation, glad that I’d brought along my checkbook, tickled that it included my new physical address as well as my P.O. box mailing address.

Purchaser
It made me very happy to see this line on the closing papers.

Afterward, I went to the bank to get the certified check. I’d already transferred the necessary funds into my personal checking account, so it only took a few minutes. I then drove back to the title company and dropped off the check.

Done.

The deal was filed with the county on Thursday. I’m now the proud owner of 10 acres of view property in Malaga, WA.

Next up: getting a septic system installed, power turned on, water turned on, and bids for my building. You can bet I’ll be pretty darn busy over the next few months.

News I Could Use

I’m finally free.

Regular readers of this blog know that since the end of June 2012, I have been going through an extremely ugly divorce.

I won’t summarize the outrageous chain of events again here. If you want to get an idea of the crap I’d been dealing with for more than a year, read “The Divorce Book” post and follow some of the links in it. Then read any post tagged divorce that was posted afterwards. Give yourself about eight hours — there’s a lot of material to wade through.

Our case went in front of a judge in May. The second of two half-day court dates was May 31. As I left the court with my lawyer, family, and friends, we were happy, in a weird sort of way — more relieved, I guess — that it was finally over.

But it wasn’t. They dished out some more crap, like fish that had flopped themselves out of water, thrashing a few more times in a futile attempt to — well, I really don’t know exactly what they expected to accomplish with that final bit of harassment.

The Wait

The judge told us on May 31 that it would take 2 to 3 weeks for a decision. I waited anxiously, completely unsure of my financial future.

In the meantime, I was chomping at the bit, eager to get on with my life. I’d been in escrow for 10 acres of view property since late March. I couldn’t get financing without a divorce decree. I couldn’t put in a septic system or enter into a contract with a builder until I owned the land. I was living in a fifth wheel travel trailer on a friend’s land. That was fine during the summer months, but what would I do later in the year if I couldn’t get my home completed before it got cold and the snow came?

My anxiousness over the waiting was a strange thing. At first, my attitude was hopeful, sure that my future would be decided any day now and prepared for the worst.

Then, when the third week rolled along, I started getting worried. It would be this week. What would he decide? Could I really deal with the worst? Would that be what I faced?

When the third week passed without the judge’s decision, I felt sort of relieved. And even though I expected the decision any day, I continued to feel sort of relieved every day it didn’t come.

But time was not my friend. No matter what the judge decided about the division of assets, I needed that piece of paper to get on with my life.

The Deadline Approaches

The law gave the judge 60 days to make a decision. As we got closer and closer to that deadline, I started to stress out again. Had the judge forgotten us? Why did he need so much time? I called my lawyer and he had his assistant follow up. That was on Friday. That’s when I did the math on timing. The 60th day would be Tuesday.

By Tuesday morning, I was a nervous wreck.

I had a charter on Tuesday morning. I had to be at the local airport with the helicopter at 9:30 AM to fuel and wait for my passengers. They had a meeting at 11:00 AM 60 miles south. I was trying very hard not to think about what I should learn that day. I was trying to stay focused on the charter flight before me, thinking about the TFR we’d have to avoid on our way south, thinking about my fuel load with four people on board on a warm, humid day.

My phone rang at 9:17 AM, just as I was heading out to the helicopter. It was my lawyer’s assistant.

“I got the judgement,” she said. “Do you want to hear it?”

I immediately began to cry. It was finally over, but did I want to hear what the judge had decided?

“Is it good?” I asked through sobs.

“Yes,” she replied. And she began to read.

The Result

It was good. The judge had done the right thing, the fair thing, the thing we expect judges to do.

Throughout this entire ordeal, I had been plagued by unfairness, dishonesty, and a complete lack of ethics and morals from a man I’d loved and trusted for more than half of my life. As I prepared to turn my fate over to a judge, I feared that the legal system would fail me, too. I knew the law, and I knew what was fair. How would the judge interpret the law in our case? Would he allow my husband’s lawyer to wield the law as a weapon against me, forcing me to give up so much that I’ve worked hard for my entire life? That was my fear.

But the answer was no, he would not allow it. He made a decision based on the reality of the situation. He did what was right and fair.

As my lawyer’s assistant read each paragraph of the divorce decree, I sobbed. I cried for joy, mostly — at least I think it was joy. I cried to release the anxiety that had been building up for the past few weeks. I cried because I knew that my year-long ordeal was finally over and that I could get on with my life.

And I cried from sadness. I cried for the man who had been tormenting me for the past year, the man I still loved, knowing full well that he would have been so much better off financially if he’d simply accepted my very generous counterproposal back in October. I cried knowing that if he’d just sat down with me in October with our lawyers and we’d hashed this out then, we could have gotten on with our lives — perhaps even as friends — without the heartache and financial burden he’d forced on both of us. I cried knowing that the man I’d spent 29 years with had a sense of morals and ethics that would have prevented any of this from happening — and that that man had been smothered out of existence by the greedy and vindictive old woman he’d chosen to replace me. I cried because she’d made his bed — by running his side of the divorce for him — and he’d slept in it — by letting her have complete control — and now he was paying the price. I cried because I knew he hated me for reasons they had cooked up to justify his treatment of me — delusions that had taken over his mind. I cried because I felt so sorry for him.

Yes, I cried for the inconsiderate bastard who had asked for a divorce on my birthday, the man who’d locked me out of my only home, the man who had been harassing me for the past year, the man who had dragged me through a costly legal battle to protect what was rightfully mine.

Love is strange.

When my lawyer’s assistant was finished and I hung up the phone, I cried a little more. Then I pulled myself back together, dried my eyes, and headed out to the helicopter. I needed to put the past behind me. I needed to stop thinking and worrying about a person who didn’t give a damn about me and get back to the business at hand: making my new life.

Ball and ChainAt 9:45 AM, I was on the ramp at the airport, waiting with my helicopter for my passengers. It was the first day of my new life as a free woman.

A Walk in the Woods

Another day, another hike with new friends.

One of the few things I miss about Arizona is the hikes I did with the Phoenix Atheist Meetup Group (PAMG). This 1700+ member group has a small subgroup that goes hiking in Arizona almost every single Sunday of the year. I began hiking with them when I returned to Arizona in September 2012 after my fifth summer work season in Washington and hiked with them periodically throughout the autumn, winter, and spring months. With them, I explored the area around the Superstition Mountains, Sedona, Prescott, Flagstaff, and even Wickenburg. They’re a great group of people — smart, friendly, educated, and open-minded. I made a lot of new friends that last winter in Arizona and already miss some of them very much. If you live in the Phoenix area and are looking for a group to hike with, I highly recommend meeting up with them. Tell them Maria, formerly of Wickenburg, sent you.

Although there are plenty of hiking opportunities here in the Wenatchee area of Washington, finding folks to hike with wasn’t quite as easy. Wenatchee is a much smaller city than Phoenix — although it’s much larger than Wickenburg — and there aren’t as many meetup groups. I did join a few that sounded promising. Among them is the NCW Freethinkers, which is based in nearby Cashmere, WA. (NCW, by the way, stands for North Central Washington, the commonly used label for the area where I now live.

At a recent pot luck BBQ meetup in Wenatchee, I told the group about my hikes with PAMG. Another member had been thinking of hiking as a group. He rose to the challenge and came up with the hike we did Sunday, to Clara and Marion Lakes.

Getting There

Lupine
Lupine is still blooming in the higher elevations near Wenatchee. A splash of sunlight illuminated this plant while leaving the forest behind it in relative darkness.

Western Monkshood
According to the National Audubon National Society Field Guide to the Pacific Northwest, this is Western Monkshood.

Heart-Leaf Arnica
According to the excellent Washington Wildflowers iPhone app, this is Heart-leaf Arnica.

Purple Monkey Flower
This Purple Monkey Flower was past its peak of bloom alongside a stream. Still beautiful, though.

Getting there was quick and easy for me — I was less than 10 miles away.

The trailhead is at the Mission Ridge ski resort’s lower parking area. Just take Squilchuck Road until it turns into Mission Ridge Road and keep going to the end. I currently live about two miles off Squilchuck so I was likely the closest hiker.

The road winds up into the canyon, past orchards and into the tall pines. There are amazing views back into Wenatchee from most bends in the road. Along the way I passed the turnoff to Beehive Lake, which I’d explored by Jeep only a few days before, and another trailhead I’d hiked with Penny the previous year. It’s amazing to me how much there is to do outdoors so close to where I live.

I arrived right on time after handling a few bee-related chores earlier that morning. Four other hikers were waiting for me. There were two other dogs, too — a 120-pound Rottweiler and a smaller Border Collie mix that reminded me of my dog, Charlie, left behind in Arizona. (Poor Charlie probably spends far more time curled up on a dog bed in front of a television in a Scottsdale subdivision than running around, off-leash, in the woods.) While I chatted with the other hikers, Penny tried to make friends with the other two dogs. The Rottie ignored her completely while the Border Collie immediately began playing with her.

I could tell then that it would be a good hike for both of us.

The Hike

When it became clear that a sixth hiker who’d RSVPed would not be showing up after all, we hit the trail. It immediately began a relatively steep climb with occasional switchbacks in a dense alpine-like forest. There were pine and other trees and dense underbrush. The air was cool and the sound was hushed. Wildflowers typical of the Pacific Northwest — which I still need to learn! — added splashes of blue, yellow, red, and white along the way.

I took up a place near the rear of the group, stopping more than a few times to take photos along the way. Although my uphill hiking endurance is far better now than it was when I was a fatty, I still need an occasional rest stop to catch my breath on steep climbs. Framing shots with my camera offered a good excuse to do so.

The Rottie and his owner led the pack, setting a brisk pace for all of us. Meanwhile, Penny and her new friend, now off-leash, began a chasing game up and down the trail. I swear those dogs covered three or four times the terrain as the rest of us.

The trail leveled off when it intersected with the Pipeline Trail. That’s also where it crossed a small rushing stream of snowmelt coming from somewhere high above us on the mountain. After taking a short break near the stream, we continued the climb on the narrow trail up to the lakes. Either it wasn’t quite as steep here or I was getting used to it because I had no trouble keeping up and needed fewer and fewer photo/rest stops along the way.

After a while, we came upon an open marshy area. We thought it was Clara Lake, dried up. But a post-hike examination of my route (tracked via GPS) shows that it was just an unnamed marshy area.

Near Clara Lake
Silly us. We thought this beautiful, flower-filled marsh area was a dried up Clara Lake, but that lake was still ahead of us on the trail.

Clara Lake Shore
Along the shore of Clara Lake.

Swimming Rottie
Not only did the Rottweiler (appropriately named Tanker) like to fetch sticks, but he didn’t mind swimming to get them.

Penny the Adventure Dog
Penny, as usual, kept ahead of me on the trail. It was such a pleasure to walk in the cool shade of the forest. When I lived in AZ, I dreamed about hiking in places like this.

The lake we came to a short while later was Clara Lake. Surrounded by tall pines and bordered on one side by a slide of volcanic rock, the small lake featured clear clean water and a collection of floating logs. We paused for a while and watched Mike’s dog swim to fetch large sticks, then moved to a shady area on the other side of the lake for a rest and snack. Some of us wandered around the vicinity.

Because we thought we were at Marion Lake — the second of two lakes on the trail and our intended destination — we didn’t go any farther. Looking at my GPS track now, I see that another 1/4 mile up the trail would have brought us to another lake. Oh,well. I think I’ll make that another hike, perhaps in the autumn when the trees are changing color. There’s another trail to the lakes down from a forest road that’s not quite as long or steep.

We headed back the way we’d come a little while later. It was a lot easier — almost all downhill. But steep! My knees really felt it. (I fully expected to be in serious pain the next morning — especially in my calves — but my body surprised me and took the workout without complaint.)

As usual, the hike back was quicker than the hike up. We passed several mountain bikers along the way — they were all walking their bikes up the steep trail. I wondered where they planned to ride and whether the ride down would be as wild as I envisioned. I also thought of the trail’s winter use — for snowshoeing. That’s a sport I might need to explore if I decide to spend winters here. I’ve already decided to get a new set of cross-country skis and explore trails in the Leavenworth area.

Back at the trailhead, the group split up. Although I was invited to join the others for beers at a local microbrewery, I decided to head home for a shower and a little R&R instead. I’d been running myself ragged for the past week and needed a break.

Besides, I’d promised a winemaker friend that I’d come visit her for a tasting that weekend and the weekend was almost over. I still had plenty on my calendar for the day.

My Jeep Gets a Name

Courtesy of the State of Washington.

I’ve owned my 1999 Jeep Wrangler since June or August 1999. I bought it new from a Scottsdale dealership. The man who would become my wasband was away (again) at the time, so I made the purchase alone and picked it up with a friend.

The Black Junker

It wasn’t my first Jeep. I’d bought the first used, at my wasband’s recommendation. “Don’t buy a new one,” he’d told me. “It’ll just get all scratched up and you’ll be upset.”

So I bought a used black hardtop Jeep without air conditioning from one of his friends in New Jersey. We drove it across the country to Arizona together. I got sick along the way — it may have been altitude sickness from our drive through Colorado or dehydration because I simply don’t drink enough — and we wound up spending the night in Winslow, just four hours short of our final destination. (Or maybe I’m confusing that trip with the time we drove his old Mustang across the country?)

I sold the hard top and traded the full doors for half doors. We pulled out the boom box speakers — which I gave away to my neighbor’s kids years later. I may have replaced the stereo, which never worked quite right. I don’t remember. Frankly, I don’t want to remember that vehicle.

All I do remember is that damn thing absolutely refusing to start more than a few times when I drove it around town. If it wouldn’t start in front of the supermarket, it might not start 15 miles down a two-track, out of the cell phone service area. I wanted a Jeep for off-roading and it needed to be reliable. This one simply didn’t fit the bill.

Some advice is just plain bad. (I shudder to think of what my life would be like now if I’d taken all of my wasband’s advice over the years. After all, it hasn’t done much for him, either.)

I sold that black piece of junk before owning it even a full year.

The Red Jeep

Jeep and Windmill
When I “rediscovered” photography in the late 2000s, I used the Jeep extensively to explore the desert with my camera. Windmills were one of my favorite subjects.

I replaced it with a brand spanking new 6-cylinder, 5-speed manual 1999 Jeep Wrangler with a soft top and air conditioning. It was “loaded stock” meaning that I got the best transmission, suspension, tires, etc. that were still considered stock. Afterwards, I added door steps, installed by my wasband. (I’m surprised he didn’t submit a bill to the court for labor.) I also bought a bimini top, but I only used it one season.

Jeep in Snow
My Jeep had no trouble driving 5 miles to a mesa top on unplowed gravel roads in 20 inches of snow.

I gave that Jeep quite a workout over the following years, taking it as far as Moab for some slick-rock climbing. I beat the crap out of it regularly. It’s been on back roads around Wickenburg and near Prescott and at the Grand Canyon. It’s been in deep snow and across flooded creeks. It’s been places I probably should not have taken it. But then again, isn’t that what a Jeep is for?

Most of the year, the side and back windows were off of it. It got rained on and in a lot.

Jeep Roads
Jack the Dog was a frequent companion on my Jeep excursions.

Sometimes I took off the doors. In fact, I lost the bolts that hold the door hinges on. Every time I took the doors off before driving up to Prescott it would rain or hail.

Oh, yeah. I scratched it, too. But I haven’t shed a tear about that. Arizona pinstriping is what those off-road scratches are called and my Jeep wears them like a badge of honor.

When I went away to Washington in the summer starting in 2008, I missed it. After all, I was stuck driving a big diesel pickup for months on end. I’m a small vehicle person; I like a short car with a narrow wheelbase and tight turning radius. The Jeep was all that and more. It was always good to come home to it and get it back out into the desert. This past winter, in fact, I even joined a local Jeep club and joined them for a few desert drives.

Jeep Drive
My Jeep, with me and Penny the Tiny Dog aboard, was one of about two dozen 4WD vehicles on this rainy drive through the desert near Wickenburg’s Vulture Peak in January 2013.

The Jeep Moves North

Through Nevada
You don’t know straight, flat roads until you’ve driven north or south through Nevada.

I drove the Jeep from Wickenburg, AZ to Quincy, WA in May 2013. It was not a drive I was looking forward to and it was not a drive I enjoyed.

You see, a real Jeep is plenty of fun on dirt roads and two-tracks out in the desert or in the mountains, but it’s no fun at all on highways. My Jeep’s soft top tended to flap at highway speeds. The interior was loud. The ride was stiff.

I made it tolerable by wearing earbuds attached to my phone and listening to podcasts and music along the way. Penny just slept. I wondered whether the 1200 miles with noise like that would damage her hearing, but she seems to be okay.

Once I got the Jeep to Washington, I drove it almost all the time, leaving my big truck parked. It wasn’t a gas mileage thing — my truck gets way better mileage than the old Chevy I drove in previous years. It was just such a pleasure to drive something small and nimble. Something easy to park.

And, of course, once I got the Jeep to Washington, it made sense to register it there.

Alf the Jeep
Here I am with Penny just yesterday after a drive around the forest not far from my home in Washington.

And that’s how it got its name: Alf. See? It’s right on the license plate.

Yes, the State of Washington issued plates for the Jeep starting with ALF. That’s Alf. Obviously that has to be the Jeep’s name.

You see, unlike some other people I know, I don’t name my vehicles. How can I? No name jumps out at me so I simply don’t give them a name.

But this name did jump out at me. And it’s easy to remember. And, somehow, it’s suitable for an off-road vehicle that gets the crap beat out of it regularly.

My Jeep has 52,000 miles on it and it’s 14 years old. I think we’ll be sharing a lot of adventures — now up here in the Pacific Northwest — for many years to come.