Old Friends

Day 289: I haven't been to Carbon River/Ipsut in over a decade, too afraid of what I might find in the aftermath of the 2007 floods. I had heard all kinds of stories, and every one of them made me want to cry. But let me back up a bit to explain my connection with this special place.

When my uncle Gus was in college, he took a seasonal job with Mount Rainier National Park as a ranger at Carbon River. The family made a few trips up to see where he was working, and in those days, it truly felt like we were voyaging into the Back of Beyond. The road to the Park crossed the Carbon Canyon on a high, rickety one-lane bridge planked lengthwise with timbers spaced such that a car's wheels would just fit. The under-layer of the bridge deck was made of similar timbers at 90 degrees to those on top, but spaced so widely apart that when you were on the bridge, you felt as if the car would slip between them if it should happen to stray from the lengthwise planks. My mother was terrified of it, but Gus piloted the car across with ease and we continued up the south side of the river until we reached Ipsut Campground. There, I experienced a great disappointment. Gus had explained that the Carbon River looked muddy because it was full of glacial silt; I misunderstood the word, and expected to find SILK fibers on my fingers when I withdrew them from the water. But I was entranced by Ipsut and Carbon River from my very first visit, probably because Gus was my favourite uncle.

That year or the next, my father passed away. I was only nine, and it hit me hard. Gus, still working for the Park, managed to wangle permission from his superintendent (or so the story goes) to take me in with him to stay at his duty station at Lake James for ten days. That term in the backcountry set the tone of my life. More than anything else, I wanted to be a ranger (preferably one who was somehow involved with science).

Many years later, I started working at Carbon as a winter volunteer. By then, I had hiked extensively in the district and knew it like the back of my hand, both on trail and off. We'd had a number of things stolen from the Mowich cabin (our Stokes litter, a 400-pound wood stove, all our first-aid gear), so I became the winter "presence" to keep the thieves at bay. I didn't keep a regular shift, but when I snowshoed into Mowich, I generally stayed at least 10 days in a cabin almost entirely buried in snow. In all the years I pulled this duty, I never saw a soul. I also worked at Mowich in the summer.

Aside from the professional connection I have with Carbon, I also have a deep personal attachment to the area. I don't expect most of my readers to understand, but those of you who are closest to me will know what I mean. It was that which kept me from visiting Carbon these last ten years: a fear that I would find devastation among my dearest friends and family: the roots and rocks and trees who figure quite centrally in my life.

If it hadn't been for a report of a rare plant along the Carbon road (now a foot-and-bicycle trail), I probably would have gone the rest of my life without facing the demons looming so largely in my mind. However, I was dispatched to search for it, and if possible, obtain an herbarium specimen. Armed with very scant information as to its location, I set off for Carbon today, trying to bolster myself to face the unavoidable. In that, I had quite a surprise. The flood damage was no worse than what I had seen in prior floods except at Chenuis (the pretty bog survived) and at Ipsut Creek (there's a new bridge, but the old one still spans the creek's previous channel). There are some twists and turns in what used to be the Longest Mile, but I'd call that an improvement! I did not go farther than my old campsite in the campground, so I don't know what condition the trail might be beyond that point, but by and large, it's the same old Carbon.

I'll sleep a lot easier tonight, and I'll certainly be making a return trip to visit those old friends along the road. I never did find that darn plant!