Day Two: Potholes, Boardwalks, And Another Beach

" Let's go on a hike," said my fourth-born. "A proper hike in the Cascade Mountains."

Yes, What a grand and glorious summer bucket list idea. So we brought out the mountain hiking guide books, studied and strategized, and laid in a plan for a thoroughly challenging hike to a mountain lake.

Little did we know the complications that were about to unfold.

Read the full adventure here:

Day One: The Gulch And A Great Beach
Day Two: Potholes, Boardwalks And Another Beach
Day Three: More Potholes And A Perfect Alpine Lake

* * * * *

Day Two began with plenty of promise. With our backpacks loaded, lunch packed, and big red pup ready and raring to go, we headed north out of the city and east into the Cascades.

Our sights were set on the Ashland Lakes trail, a five-ish mile long moderately difficult climb up to three alpine lakes. 

Everything was going according to plan till we turned off the Mountain Loop Highway and onto the dirt road that would deliver us, five miles later, to the trailhead.

Now, first let me say I'm rather fond of dirt roads. 

In Michigan lake country, where I grew up, dirt roads were a dime a dozen and just a normal part of life. Observant child that I was, I learned all the secrets of driving on dirt roads long before I got behind the wheel

Slow down.

Stay out of the dust.

Watch out for washboards.

Beware of soft shoulders.

Use the whole road to your advantage. 

Drive around rather than through pot holes.

Never, ever drive through a puddle if you can't tell how deep it is. 

And so it was with great confidence that I swung a right onto a dusty ol' logging road, ready to put my experience and confidence to good use. 

But I was not prepared for what came next.

Five meters beyond the end of the pavement, we were met by our first two potholes. Each easily a meter wide and half a meter deep, they sat side by side, two gargoyles cautioning us to turn back now or regret it.

Ha. I steered the car over the top of them, and laughed at them in my rear view mirror. 

But they were only the first two demons to beset us. As we drove on, the potholes continued to come at us, thick and furious. Ranging in size from reasonable to outrageous, they were mostly dry, though some had a bit of water in the bottom. Still, I could easily estimate their depth and felt comfortable driving on. 

It was about a mile in that I met my match.

Slowly creeping up to a tight right turn in the track, I spied a huge puddle, extending easily three or four meters long before it disappeared around the corner. It covered all of the road, from side to side, except for about a half meter of loose and fluffy sand on the left shoulder.

And, you know, if I had a couple of testosterone-fueled twenty-something young men in the car, who could have pushed my noble CRV out of whatever mess may have lurked beneath that pale muddy water, I might have considered going for it. 

But my daughters and I were not up for pushing.

Nor were we up for flooded floorboards, wet engines, or heaven forbid, broken axles.  

After a quick consultation, our decision was unanimous. 

Hell no.

And so we decided to head back into town - Granite Falls - to pick up some cell service and plan another hike.

Such was our luck that by the time our Plan B was firmly in hand, the sun was long past the yardarm. 

"It's too late," I called it. But let's come back tomorrow and make this hike happen."

Reluctantly, my daughters agreed.

But I was not about to deny us a walk in the woods. So it was back to Mukilteo (Everett, technically) and in the shadow of the largest building in the world (by volume), we hiked the lovely Narbeck Wetland Sanctuary.

Back in the 1990s, when our very own Snohomish County was looking to expand the runways at nearby Paine Field, their plans called for them to "impact," or more bluntly, pave over several wetlands on the property. To make up for that, the airport built up and set aside this lovely parcel as Washington's first so-called mitigation bank.

What that means, in simple English, is that sandwiched in between the Boeing colossus and the local county airport is a dream of a natural hideaway.

^ The main trail loops around the perimeter of the property. Most of the 1.3 mile track is well maintained under a lush green canopy of young trees. Weirdly, there are two short sections of the perimeter trail that edge out onto the city sidewalk before ducking back under cover. It's a bit jarring to step from the secluded forest into Boeing's transit center during shift change, but you know, we rolled with it. 

^ Shorter but oh, so much more sweeter are the interpretive trails that crisscross through the center of the wetland. Though they're only about a half mile long, there are lovely sections of boardwalks and bridges that make my heart sing. 

I love a good boardwalk. 

Gracie also adores them, happily trotting ahead on her long leash and then twisting back to make sure I am still coming along. She keeps a close eye on me.

My previous dog was less impressed. For reasons we never understood, Ranger hated any sort of boardwalk, elevated walkway, or bridge. When we brought him here, he refused to participate in the stroll along the boardwalks. Solving his problem nicely, he simply hopped over the edge and walked along next to us on the boggy ground. He was such a good lad. 

^ But here's something Gracie and Ranger could both agree on: swimming! 

Well, I exaggerate. 

What my dogs actually like to do is wade out into a body of water, the murkier and muckier, the better, and settle right down for a good drink. 

Gracie brilliantly demonstrated this technique and lapped up a good half gallon before hauling her muddy self back up onto the trail. 

^ I distracted myself from her swamp queen antics by admiring the flowers. 

* * * * *

And so our quiet interlude at Narbeck helped to take the sting out of our second round of hiking setbacks. Just to be sure we weren't suffering too much, it was decided that we make one last stop at Mukilteo Beach for a round of fish and chips and a bit of beach adventuring. 

^ Thus Day Two ended with still with no mountain hike but fresh air in our lungs, food in our bellies, camera rolls full of beautiful shots, and a dog covered in a curious mixture of swamp mud and beach sand. 

Not a bad day's work.