We crammed in a camping trip to the Winthrop area last weekend, and with rain looming this weekend, I am so glad we did. I got my last blast of heat (mid-90s) before the fall weather sets in.
We camped up the Chewuck Valley north of Winthrop at a forest service campground, which Leah was dreading because she likes to shower every day, and pit toilets are notorious for spiders. Amazingly she did fine—she encountered no spiders—and willingly washed her face in the river at the edge of our campsite every morning and brushed her teeth strolling among the pines. Although she brought a mirror along (that proved indispensible for my contacts), she’s more of a camper than she realizes.
Besides river play, biking, and ice cream in Winthrop, we drove up to Harts Pass one day, the highest elevation you can drive to in the state. A stunning place, truly. If only the drive weren’t so epic. If you don’t like heights—and I don’t—this is one road to avoid. Of course, by the time I figured this out, we were in the middle of it with no turning back.
In truth, most of the (unpaved) road is fine, but there’s a narrow stretch called Dead Horse Point (we learned this afterward—probably a good thing) that hugs the cliffside for half a mile, zigging and zagging around the curve of the cliff with alarming frequency. A posted warning sign tells drivers of the “Hazardous Driving” ahead, but as far as I’m concerned the heads-up only amps the stress. Luckily I was sitting in the back seat on the inside and didn’t bother to look over the cliff out Ty’s side (“Don’t look, mommy, you wouldn’t like it”). Sheer drops, no guard rails, lots of fallen rock and gravel, many blind curves, and all kinds of potential (it seems to me) for slippage. What, I wondered, do you do if you meet a car coming the other way?
At the top, I was very surprised to see so many people, ranging in age from two to seventy-two. How did they get up here? Who drove? Well, I couldn’t help thinking, if that old couple there can drive up here, we can certainly drive down. Seeing all the visitors helped me relax into the spectacular views of the Cascades and (mostly) stop thinking about the drive down. Really, the views don’t come any better. Slate Peak, at 7488 feet, is just a short jaunt from the parking area and here you can see far into the wild blue yonder. We also hiked out along a high ridge line trail, which we had almost to ourselves.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get to bask in the wilderness quiet for long. That evening, a group of what I can only call party animals rolled into the unofficial campsite across the river from ours. They blasted 70’s rock, mostly Led Zepplin, from their truck stereo and laughed and cackled at top volume while their tiny children meandered down to the river and back. My kids were intrigued at first—Ty mostly with the swearing—but by the next morning they were appalled. Thankfully the local sheriff shut the party down around 9:30pm so we got to sleep at a reasonable hour before the tunes started at 7:30 the next morning.
When the party left the next day by about noon, Ty and Leah, personally affronted, hiked up their shorts to stride across the river and do garbage pick-up because, they said, surely there will be all kinds of trash. They were right. We carted it to Winthrop before heading home.
Ah well. You never know with car camping. Which is why I’m silently plotting to get our kids into the backcountry next summer (Curt will be thrilled to hear I’m thinking along these lines). I'm guessing there won't be spiders to contend with, but I’m hoping Leah won’t freak too much about the idea of bears.