Ranger Confidential

A half century ago, a collection of wilderness aficionados and dirtbag climbers arrived at the Lake Wenatchee Ranger Station on the Wenatchee National Forest to work as backcountry rangers, trail dogs, lookouts and fire prevention guards. With shared values and common purpose, the unlikely ensemble has endured the test of time, and we continue to meet to this day with periodic gatherings in a communion of fellowship. 

We have come to call our group the Aldo Leopold Society after the noted ecologist, forester and author who penned the Sand County Almanac. His collection of essays on natural history and wildland ecology energized the environmental movement and stimulated interest in a land ethic.

They came as far away as North Dakota, Connecticut, California and Oregon, and many had worked previous gigs in national parks like Yosemite, Crater Lake and North Cascades, and national forests like the Malheur, Gifford Pinchot and Mt. Hood. Most were were either college students or recent graduates working as seasonal employees. They all had a zest for the backcountry and a need to fund their educational pursuits.

With last year's summit meeting scrubbed due to numerous wildfires throughout the Wenatchee National Forest, this year's gathering would remain in doubt when the Little Giant Fire exploded up the Chiwawa River on July 15. During a reconnaissance mission in August, the pyrocumulus cloud (left) from the fire was clearly visible from Coles Corner.

The mission was a mixed bag. The first few days were clear and sunny, as witnessed by this shot of a Canadair C415 "Super Scooper" over Lake Wenatchee. But the last few days were not. The air quality was poor, with over 600 AQI, and I had to hunker down in our cabin. Breathing was particularly difficult at night when the smoke settled in. My lungs ached. The Little Giant Fire had grown to over 172,000 acres, or 270 square miles.

Yet by Labor Day, fire crews had substantially contained the blaze and air temperatures had cooled, so the Aldo Leopold Society reunion at the Owl Conservatory would proceed as planned.

The air quality and daytime temperatures were excellent. The view of Glacier Peak from Glacier View Campground (above) was simply stunning.

It would indeed a great couple days at the Owl Conservatory. Good conversations, good food, good times. Weather was remarkably warm and still summer-like, so we all hiked into Hidden Lake on Nason Ridge. The trail traverses through old-growth fir and large cedars, providing peek-a-boo views of Lake Wenatchee and Dirtyface Mountain.

Time Tunnel

In Midnight in Paris, Owen Wilson's character "Gil," a screenwriter and aspiring novelist, finds himself drawn to the charms of The City of Light. A nostalgia buff, he's especially enamored with that group of expatriate authors who lived in Paris, like Hemingway and Fitzgerald, from the Lost Generation. One night, he inexplicably travels back to the Jazz Age of 1920s Paris and meets both writers. Later, Gil travels back even farther in time, to Le Belle Époque period of the 1890s.

Much like Gil, I took my own foray back in time in September, first to the 1970s, joining my fellow trail dogs, backcountry rangers and dirtbag climbers from the Aldo Leopold Society for a reunion at the Owl Conservatory. Afterward, I traveled back even farther in time, to the 1960s, for a high school reunion at the Multnomah Athletic Club in Portland. Each event was an awakening. The next two posts of GonzoPR will focus on each reunion individually, in order to do justice to each.

Another Fine Day In The Flat

We kicked off summer after solstice with the first trip of the season to the Owl Conservatory for a bit of rest and reorganization. Unfortunately, the first trip always requires an exercise in spring cleaning and coordination for the rest of the season. While productive, we also made sure it was relaxing.

In years past, the primary objectives on the first week of summer prior to the Fourth of July were the pursuit of fruit and fireworks on the Yakama Indian Reservation. This year, cherries were in and the first crop of peaches as well. We passed on fireworks, which are forbidden in areas of high fire danger.

Instead, we spent a quiet few days visiting with some of the local denizens of the Aldo Leopold Society in between important chores like setting up the screen tent to provide a safe space from mosquitoes outside. Once we were set up, we enjoyed our time on the deck, along with a bit of exploring Shugart Flats and a few sauna sessions in our multi-use well house.

From Snow To Ash

Having worked for the U.S. Forest Service in college and now owning property adjacent to the Glacier Peak Wilderness area in the North Cascades, it's become increasingly clear that climate change has severely increased wildfire incidents while limiting backcountry access over the past decade. Backcountry recreational opportunities have slowed to a trickle during prime time due to longer and more severe wildfire seasons.

This fire season, by far the worst in the past 10 years, wildfire activity started prematurely with the Pomas Fire on Entiat Ridge near Lake Wenatchee, burning more than 3,000 acres in the Glacier Peak Wilderness Area. The lightning-caused fire, first reported in June, immediately closed the Chiwawa River Road for the remainder of the season, blocking access to some of the most spectacular wilderness country in Washington.

By July 4, as campfires were banned throughout Chelan County, backcountry access became severely limited. Then, in September, lightning storms sparked more wildfires of major significance in the Wenatchee Valley, such as the Lower Sugarloaf Fire (above, as seen from Leavenworth), the Labor Mountain Fire and the Wildcat fire, producing unhealthy air quality throuough the rest of the season.

While individual fires used to be the norm 20 years ago, overall trends in wildfire today are consistent with climate change projections and what can be expected in the future. Furthermore, climate change will play a role in the frequency, size and severity of wildfires in the Northwest. Until we started taking climate change seriously, backcountry recreation opportunities will become just a fond memory.

Last Canyon Next To The Mountains

(Editor's Note: This article is reprised from a previous GonzoPR post and celebrates my new coffee table picture book titled "Aye, Chiwawa: Wilderness Photography" published in January, 2025.)

The Chiwawa River (above and below) flows into the Wenatchee River below our property in Shugart Flats near Plain in the North Cascades of Washington. So it was only fitting that friend and frequent climbing companion Steve Still and I explore the headwaters of the Chiwawa in the Glacier Peak Wilderness during the week of August 11-18.

The river, which takes its name from the Native American (probably Wenatchi, but possibly Salish) expression for "last canyon next to the mountains," has a low valley -- 2,000-3,000 feet -- and is surrounded by 6,000- to 9,000-foot peaks in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Because it resides in a low valley scoured by Ice Age glaciers, the Chiwawa River is a delightfully meandering stream that provides a white sandy beach at the base of our property where our kids would frolic in the hot summer sun where the Chiwawa joins the Wenatchee River on its way to the Columbia River in Wenatchee.

Back before we had kids, Rebecca was the Rock Creek Prevention Guard, patrolling campgrounds in the Chiwawa Valley, while I was the wilderness ranger for the Chiwawa and Napeequa drainages.

As the eyes and ears of the U.S. Forest Service up the Chiwawa River, we were based at the Rock Creek Guard Station about halfway up the valley on the way to the road's terminus at the old Trinity mine.

Glacier Peak (below), known to the natives as Dakobed, or White Goddess, is the most remote and inaccessible volcano in the Cascade Range. The broad massif looms large over other significant peaks in a vast wilderness that covers over a half-million acres.

With deep valleys carved by glaciers, forbidding cliffs and ominous ramparts of ice, the Glacier Peak Wilderness is only a place for those who are willing to brave its precipitous trails and high routes.

After quietly pouring out lava for most of its long existence, Glacier Peak burst into violent activity about 12,000 years ago, expelling immense quantities of ash and smoke.

Prevailing winds carried the ash hundreds of miles to the east as far away as Montana and Alberta, Canada. In the post-glacial period in the U.S., only Mt. Mazama (Crater Lake) covered a larger territory.

And so it was on Thursday, August 11, Steve and I departed for Owl Farm to prepare for our wilderness sojourn.

Too Close For Comfort

A lightning bust sparked a wildfire on Bee Sting Hill across Shugart Flats from the Owl Conservatory on Saturday, August 17, initiating an evacuation notice for homeowners. The fire initially covered 10 acres when firefighters and air support from the State of Washington Department of Natural Resources and the U.S. Forest Service arrived to battle the blaze.

The fire grew to 15 acres before saw crews dug fire lines along the irrigation ditch on the west side of Bee Sting Hill.Other firefighters prepared buffer zones around nearby structures. Fire activity then moderated with heavy rains. The next morning, a Forest Service air tanker strafed the fire with water from Lake Wenatchee to dampen the flames down more.

Initial attack crews then fell hazard trees and reinforced existing control lines for the rest of the week before establishing direct control lines and mopping up hot spots and heavy fuels. The steepness of the hillside terrain led to burning materials and rocks rolling downhill, creating hazardous challenges for firefighters. Hose lays were installed to provide firefighters with water support to mop up the conflagration.

Crews continued to create containment zones using hand crews on the sides and lower edges, and a bulldozer along the top edge. Multiple air resources were used to drop water within the fire's perimeter. Air resources included two helicopters with buckets, two "super scoopers," four "fire boss scoopers," and an air attack aircraft used to coordinate air traffic. The fire was declared contained on Thursday, August 22.

The Chiwawa-Wenatchee Irrigation District canal flows along the west side of Bee Sting Hill, and its summit stands about 600 feet above the little mountain community of Shugart Flats. On a clear day, the summit provides an excellent perspective toward the south, overlooking the pastoral village of Plain, along with Natapoc Mountain, Beaver Hill and Icicle Ridge near Leavenworth, Washington in the background.

Vanishing Point

The largest glacier between the high volcanic peaks of Mount Rainier and Glacier Peak has finally disappeared after a long battle with global warming. For thousands of years, the Hinman Glacier graced the crest of the Washington Cascades in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

Fifty miles due east of downtown Seattle, Mount Hinman sits deep in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, midway between Snoqualmie Pass and Stevens Pass. Until recently, the Hinman was one of four named glaciers that provided cool water to the Skykomish River in the hottest, driest time of the year.

The glaciers of the Skykomish basin have lost 55 percent of their surface area since the 1950s. As Hinman Glacier dwindled in recent decades, late-summer flows diminished in the Skykomish River, bad news for salmon and farmers. The glacier was ancient, though how ancient is unknown.

In the 1950s, the Hinman Glacier flowed a mile and a half from the broad top of 7,492-foot Mount Hinman to the valley floor nearly 2,000 feet below. Mount Hinman gained protection from direct human disturbance in 1976 when it was designated part of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

But Hinman’s snow and ice were no match for the rising temperatures of the fossil fuel era. In 1958, the Hinman Glacier covered 320 acres, about half the size of Seattle’s Lake Union. In August 2022, the biggest patch of ice found was about 10 acres — too small and too thin to flow.

Glaciers are rivers of ice that flow from year to year, as their own weight compresses snow into ice. Most include striking features like deep crevasses and deep-blue ice, sculpting the land beneath them as they go. Two other glaciers on Mount Hinman, preceded the Hinman into oblivion.

The rounded peak and the glacier on its northwest side were named for Everett dentist and mountain climber Harry B. Hinman in 1934. He started the Everett branch of the Mountaineers in 1911. Few ever touched the Hinman Glacier, reachable only by off-trail scrambling and mountaineering.

Visiting the site in 2009 while hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from Stevens Pass to Snoqualmie Pass, we found the area to be magical. The Hinman Glacier touched many people by keeping the Skykomish River cool and flowing each summer and providing water. Sadly, however, it is now gone.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

In ancient Rome, Janus -- a god depicted with two faces -- governed the realm of beginnings, transitions and endings. The month of January, named for this deity, is the first month of the new year in the Gregorian calendar, established in 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII. It has come to be a time to reflect back on the year past and look forward to the year ahead.

This "year in review" is now a custom, as many cultures take stock, while projecting what lies ahead in the next 12 months. My "year" in this review actually begins in December 2021 with the birth of my second grandchild, Carlotta Eline, and the publication of my first book, a memoir titled Bird of Paradox: The Seasoning of Birdie McInnes.

As luck would have it, Carlotta was born on my birthday, December 11, the best birthday present ever. Henceforth, we shall celebrate our birthdays together. Both Sagittarians, we are optimistic, honest and intellectual. In terms of personality, we are spontaneous and fun, and great lovers of adventure and freedom.

Bird of Paradox: The Seasoning of Birdie McInnes, was also published in December 2021 and is available on Amazon and in bookstores. The memoir recalls the trials and tribulations of growing up Catholic in the turbulent time that was the 1960s. The story evokes elements reminiscent of Lord of the Flies by William Golding and The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. Birdie struggles with the realization that life is a paradox, and that his destiny will be determined by his own reckoning, for better or worse.

In January, Moxie -- our golden retriever -- turned 10 years old. We found her at a breeder in Florence who specialized in the English creme variety of goldens in 2012. In early spring, it was time to begin hardwiring our tiny home at the Owl Conservatory (below) with a more reliable electrical system, including an electric space heater for those cold winter nights.

Summer was a time of reunions, transitions and gatherings. In July and September, the Owl Conservatory in Shugart Flats, in the heart of the North Cascades, hosted two reunions of former Forest Service colleagues from the Aldo Leopold Society. In August, my father, Ralph Cameron Mitchell, passed away suddenly at age 93 at his home in Payson, Arizona.

In September, the Lincoln High School (Portland) Class of 1971 (above) held its COVID-delayed 50th reunion at The Eleanor in downtown Portland (below). An afterparty was held at the Brix Tavern with entertainment by The Bloozers, a band comprised of celebrants from reunion. I stayed at the Hyatt Centric Hotel, mere blocks from "our old school."

By December, we celebrated two birthdays: granddaughter Carlotta Eline's first birthday and my milestone: birthday number 70. My second memoir, Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La, was published by Luminare Press. The story follows the exploits of two unlikely friends who become kindred spirits, alter egos and soul mates. In spite of their differences, they share an abiding friendship and obsession for outdoor adventure, music, literature and the arts.

Twin Sons Of Different Mothers

Editor's Note: Available now on Amazon, IngramSpark and select bookstores, my second book, Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La, follows the life and times of two unlikely friends seeking adventure as Forest Service employees working deep in the woods while climbing many of the magnificent peaks in the Pacific Northwest.

Working as trail dogs and backcountry rangers for the federal government, Kerry and Joe would come to explore the far corners of the wilderness. These freewheeling protagonists with great chemistry would forge a friendship despite their occasionally stark differences in perspective as they walked their respective paths in life. Herewith is a sampling:

Kerry and Joe felt an immediate rapport. Kerry was charmed, and he was charming. It simply clicked, and cocktails soon ensued.  Joe and Kerry both enjoyed literature, music, and the arts, and they had similar tastes in food and wine. They would become fellow wilderness rangers and lifelong friends.

 

In the 1970s, wilderness rangers represented a new generation stationed on the front lines. Despite their low rank, these seasonal employees were the heart and soul of the Forest Service, and the public face with users of the Glacier Peak and Alpine Lakes Wilderness areas.

Their challenge over the course of several seasons was to interface with campers, backpackers, fishermen, horsemen, and climbers who may not always be receptive to the terms and conditions of the federal government -- all while experiencing the joys of life in the backcountry. 

 

Joe and Kerry both enjoyed a wide range of authors. They had devoured the works of the iconic American writers from Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and William Faulkner to Jack Kerouac, Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson. They both had similar tastes in music, particularly rock and jazz.

            

Joe introduced Kerry to Kind of Blue by Miles Davis and the Paul Butterfield Blues Band. Kerry introduced Joe to a new album by Dan Fogelberg and Tim Weisberg called Twin Sons of Different Mothers. “This shall be our theme for the summer,” Kerry proclaimed.

Into The Wild

Coming this fall to booksellers everywhere: Wilderness Strangers, Adventures in Shangri-La, a story of brotherhood, adventure, love, tragedy, resilience, remorse and hope -- from the highest of highs on mountaintops in the North Cascades to the lowest of lows in the quagmire of depression.

What are the chances? Sight unseen, two college students eventually connect because another person, a mutual friend, said to each of them: "You've gotta meet this guy." Like two magnets drawn together with inexorable force, Kerry and Joe were also complete opposites.

Kerry, of Scandinavian descent, is a country boy from the wilds of North Dakota. Joe, the product of an urban jungle in Portland, Oregon, is Italian-American. In Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La, these two unlikely friends become kindred spirits, alter egos and soul mates.

Yet, much like the poles of a magnet, one is drawn to the yin and the other to the yang in life. In spite of their differences, their abiding friendship, fascination for adventure climbing mountains and paddling rivers, and obsession with literature and the arts will become their legacy.

Rural Electrification

A window for a road trip opened last week in between various and sundry commitments, so I seized the opportunity to venture to the Owl Conservatory. Having weathered the past couple of years -- with lockdowns and restrictions caused by the pandemic -- any road trip would be a welcome change of scenery for the likes of me, without a doubt.

My mission? To meet with an electrician to establish a plan to hardwire the little hut and provide more reliable electricity to Das Tree Haus. The trip also provided a bit of rest and recuperation from eight months of writing and editing my next book, currently with the publisher for review. The book is titled Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La.

Here is a synopsis of the memoir that features the life and times of two wilderness rangers: "Like two magnets drawn together with inexorable force, Kerry and Joe were also complete opposites. Kerry, of Scandinavian descent, is a country boy from the wilds of North Dakota. Joe, the product of an urban jungle in Portland, Oregon, is Italian-American."

 

"In Wilderness Strangers, these two unlikely friends become kindred spirits, alter egos and soul mates. Yet, much like the poles of a magnet, one is drawn to the yin and the other to the yang in life. In spite of their differences, their abiding friendship, fascination for adventure and obsession with literature and the arts will become their legacy."

Publication date is sometime this summer, or perhaps Port Season during the autumnal equinox. Wilderness Strangers will be available on Amazon, IngramSpark and fine bookstores. Meanwhile, if you haven't had the chance, check out my first memoir, Bird of Paradox: The Seasoning of Birdie McInnes, published last October.

Lady Lookouts

In a recent feature on "The History of Lady Lookouts" in The Smithsonian Magazine, author Dina Gachman notes that "women broke the glass ceiling on fire lookout positions almost as soon as the job was created, spotting smoke from towers on high peaks in the remote wilderness."

Initially, men like Jack Kerouac garnered attention to the job with books like Desolation Angels, highlighting the season he spent on Desolation Peak in the North Cascades.

But by the time I worked for the U.S. Forest Service in the 70s and 80s, women maintained a clear majority among seasonal fire lookouts in national forests.

Just three years after the Forest Service had created the job, Hallie Morse Daggett (above) became the first female to serve as a Forest Service fire lookout, blazing a trail for "many lookouts." In her first year on the job, she reportedly spotted 40 fires, with only five acres burned.

In a year that many have struggled with feeling isolated at home, living in a small, exposed cabin thousands of feet above the wilderness in remote locations might not exactly sound like a good time. It's definitely not for wimps. The job can be grueling, lonely and at times, incredibly stressful.

Having spent time as a lookout myself, I understand why some sought the position as a way of life. My only lookout assignment was on Antelope Mountain on the Prairie City Ranger District on Malheur National Forest. The gig was short-lived; I spent most of my time as a wilderness ranger.

The majority of lookouts, however, were staffed by women. Many were college students. Most were also artists, musicians and writers, who practiced in their downtime. One friend, a lookout on Dixie Butte, was skilled at weaving and had her loom packed to the site to work on her various projects.

Training consists of fire prevention, and lookouts are shown how to use an Osborne rangefinder. They are instructed on radio code and how to maintain the tower, and then sent on their way. It's not the type of position that requires others to motivate. As a lookout, you're basically on your own.

At times the job can be harrowing, especially during a lightning bust when lookout towers are particularly vulnerable. Lookouts are particularly valuable during lighting storms because airplanes cannot fly in a lightning storm, so the job still serves a vital function.

Imagine this scenario. Storm rolls in, rain pelts the tower horizontally, lightning flashes, thunder booms, and you're hunkered on a stool with glass feet to avoid electrocution should lightning strike the building. A frighteningly difficult situation that is not for the faint of heart.