5.5 miles of hiking • 2000' elevation gain •
Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men were not to be this day. After a planned trip to northcentral Washington was shelved due to heavy snow falling in the passes and the lack of a 4WD vehicle (or at least one with some actual ground clearance), we headed to the Mountain Loop Highway, the plan to go through Barlow Pass and head up FS 49 for a leisurely trek up the North Fork Sauk Trail after a brief stop at the old lookout site on Red Mountain. Unfortunately, my Scion XB revolted just before the pass, shedding pieces it considered a hinderance (there goes the resale value) so stopping in the Barlow Pass parking area to visit the (very clean) privy, we three decided to head up to Barlow Point. Two of us, long residents of the area, knew a trail existed (the third, a midwestern transplant arrived this past summer had never yet been to the Mountain Loop Highway area) but had dismissed it out of hand as beneath us, hiking snobs that we are. Nevertheless, with options running low and snow falling steadily, we few headed up the Barlow Point Trail. The way was quite delightful to the senses, the snow settling silently upon the outstretched arms of trees hungry for the cold treat, the trail eagerly revealing itself though covered by a carpet of fresh powder, the air crisp but pleasant, the visuals presented to our eyes seemed to be cast in a eerie white light while snow plops plopped like popping corn all around us (and occasionaly upon us). Arriving atop the point it was as though we had entered the winter holiday display at Macys on Fifth Avenue. The views were postcard perfect though the sky was a bit overcast, the sun attempting to break through above Sheep Mountain. A wispy fog spread out like a greying lace tablecloth over the South Stillaquamish Valley while Dickerman in a dusting of white patiently posed for point and shoot picture takers pretending to be phtographers. The stillness of the sensational scene before us silenced we three like a statuesque silver-haired librarian with the raising of one eyebrow. The spell was broken anon by a profound plop of snow upon the pate of your unsuspecting reporter and the time had come to descend from our perch. Down we traveled with relative ease, coming soon upon a marked junction indicating the Old Government Trail heading east. Why not? we thought aloud and we sallied forth through the falling snow along a surprisingly well-revealed trail through a forest carpeted in white and green, a myriad of streams running raucously down from above while numerous blowdowns required we three to scurry over, around, or under the obstacles across the trail. Railroad/tram ties made their presence known, slick with wetness, green with moss, twisted into all manner of grotesque shapes, baring naked spikes to catch the unwary traveller. Huge rock formations, moss laden and dusted in white, crowned with trees, shadowed us. Overall the way was welcoming and enjoyable, devoid of the usual forest denizens, sans sounds of any kind save the random plop of snow.
