Lake Angeles Trail, Olympic National Park

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Las Tou

Alpine Lake ✔

Snow capped mountains ✔

28 degrees ✔

Missing key hiking gear–poles and spikes ✔✔

What could go wrong? NOTHING! EVERYTHING! Something. 

I had a work trip in Seattle and wanted to take one day and visit one of the places I hold very near and dear to my heart. Having lived in Washington during my younger, more formative years, I spent a good bit of time traipsing around national parks in the state. And, upon hearing I would be in Seattle for work, my dad asked if I could take pictures of it all and send them to my mom because it would make him smile. I was all about delivering some joy to my dad. 

After much scouring of the Internet,  I landed on Olympic National Park. My recall of any of the specific trails was non-existent but my mom did have photographic evidence of me standing on a trail that she said was in the national park. My mom also has other photos of me in other national parks, or so she says, and I can’t confirm the veracity of these statements because I truly have no memories of them. However, after conferring with the always helpful Google, I realized there was much to see and do in this national park and the mountains were calling. 

Olympic National Park  did not disappoint, even with only 24 hours to spend in the area. Unfortunately, between early snow and an onslaught of rain over recent days, some roads had been washed out and snow forced the closure of others so my options were limited.  I, however, was not to be deterred.  

I found a lovely AirBnB in Port Angeles, on the northern tip of the national park, and quickly gathered some maps and recent trail information so I could plan my next day’s tromp up a  mountain.  Given points a and b above, I was limited; however, a park ranger suggested trying one of the trails off Hurricane Ridge Road.  The ranger gave me a once-over:-trail running shoes, running pants and a wool sweater and noted there might be snow and ice higher on the trail, but again, this type of challenge only motivates me further.  

I drove about five miles up Hurricane Ridge Road and hit the point where the road was closed for the winter, but I pulled into the Heart ‘o the Hills campground area and found the Lake Angeles Trailhead. I was excited, curious, maybe a touch under-prepared but thrilled to be taking on this challenging hike with beautiful skies overhead. 

This 3.7 mile trail (actual distance inconsistent across trailhead signs and documents) takes you up about 2,500 feet pretty quickly. It is a constant but steady, always going up kind of hike. But you are surrounded by the peace of the forest with the only sound being the roar of an overflowing stream slicing through the air.  It’s the kind of place that reminds me just how far away from everything I was but also how surprisingly close. 

Let me not over or understate this. This hike is not difficult but it remained consistently challenging.  I found one of my most challenging sections to be an iced-over log bridge crossing a roaring stream. With only one handrail made of another iced over log, I had a moment or two where I considered turning around.  I don’t have the best balance, and I can sometimes be clumsy.  I reminded myself that if I were fearful, I would surely fall. I resorted to blasting Def Leppard’s “Photograph” from my phone stuffed into a side pocket of my leggings and hoped it would motivate me across.  (The roar of the stream meant Def Leppard was drown out, but good thought anyway). 

As I made my way up the trail, I passed a few couples and groups who eyed my getup rather suspiciously. All had hiking poles, and most had spikes strapped onto their shoes.  One seemingly nice gentleman asked me my destination. This trail really only had one destination.  He proceeded to tell me it only got worse further ahead and urged caution. I quickly acquired a large stick nearby and only worried a little bit. 

As my watch beeped at the 3-mile point, the tops of  Mount Angeles and Rocky Peak came into view. While they aren’t nearly as high as many of the other more famous mountains to the east (Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens or Mount Baker), the jagged snow-covered peaks were equally compelling. As I made my way around a bend at about 3.45 miles, I started to see the places where summertime hikers would be pitching tents with an alpine lake just around the corner. I could not wait to see it. 

I was staring straight into the sun but I saw the shimmer of the iced-over lake with dark blues and greens almost matching Caribbean Sea water. I looked up and saw the mountains. All around. I had made it all the way up and hadn’t wiped out. I was calling this one a W.

I was alone, at least for a few minutes, and sat on a snow-covered log and took it all in. It only took about two minutes to realize I wouldn’t last long on the snow-covered log, at least not seated, but during my moments of solace, I could hear the ice cracking across the lake. It was kind of eerie but in a cool kind of way. This was exactly the kind of place I would have gone with my parents during our Washington years. I can’t even count the number of times we trudged up a mountain, loaded down with gear to find our little spot in the woods convening with nature. 

My protein bar was frozen solid, so I rummaged around my running pack and dug out old gels. I guarantee they had been there AT LEAST three years, probably five. But, it’s just a shot of sugar, so it couldn’t be that bad. I tucked the packaged protein bar into my sports top with the hope it would thaw out a bit.  While I could have stayed there for hours, I still had to get back down over the ice and drive to Seattle. My time at Lake Angeles was short-lived but memorable. I couldn’t have asked for more.  

Me, my slowly thawing protein bar and my handy stick started to make the way back down the trail. As hikers (and runners) often say, going down can actually be harder than coming up.  True statement. Since I have a propensity for wiping out, I tried to navigate the trail by going around it and walking through snow. While this did alleviate some of the challenges associated with walking on a downward sloping ice trail, it did mean my handy running shoes were getting soaked. And at this point, I was very cold. Cue Def Leppard. 

After slowly navigating through the icy section, I had a sudden realization that I was, in fact, in bear country. I had failed to read that sign before heading out as I was bursting with excitement about the hike. Were they up this high? Was it bear season? Was I supposed to make a lot of noise? No idea. Since I wasn’t remembering the finer details (not taking it lightly at all) of what to do, I switched my playlist over to Adele and and Sara Bareilles and serenaded any potential bears with my failed attempts to keep tune. Good news. No bears. 

Being in the woods and on mountains gives me so much time to think and reflect, and on this specific hike, I tried to remember all of the hikes I took with my dad in the national parks. My mom was sometimes along, but she often had to stay behind to deal with my very unruly younger brother and sister. My dad and I bonded over the packed lunches my mom had made and I always took comfort in knowing he was looking out for me.  I think my adventurous spirit is a direct resort of all of those hiked trails in the Pacific Northwest and my dad’s desire to see and do it all. While in some ways we are very different, in this way, we are exactly the same. 

As I was trucking down the trail after hitting the dirt path, ironically, it wasn’t the icy, slick part that made me bust it and wipe out, it was a root along the trail. Me, my camera, and my backpack went flying as per usual. But then again, it wouldn’t be a hiking trip with Kim if there wasn’t a wipe out along the way. 

Sir Edmund Hilary once said, “It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” While I desperately wanted to make it to the top of this mountain, truth be told, I find I learn a little more about myself each time to take it to the top, and there’s so much learning yet to be done.