By James P. Johnson

When he wasn’t in a cubicle writing marketing emails and promotional materials, Patrick Hutchinson would indulge in a pipe dream. His friends and acquaintances were getting married, buying a house, starting families. On social media, people were doing interesting, exciting things. His free time, spent on a worn, dog-fur-covered couch next to a perennial pile of laundry, staring at his phone, was a constant reminder that his rut was getting deeper and harder to escape. Enchanted by the idea of having a rustic place in the woods, he often went on Craigslist and looked at cabins even though he was nowhere near affording one.  

A tiny, 120-square-foot cabin in the Cascade foothills, three hours from his place in Seattle, intrigued him. After the owner said there were other interested parties, he borrowed money from his mother and paid the full $7,500 asking price. Habitable, but in need of repair, built partly with reused materials on a small lot, it had no electricity, water, bathroom or cell service. Anything dropped on the floor would roll away because it was not level. 

But weekends at his new place were fulfilling and brought him back to life. He invited friends, and, between barbecues and conversations over beer, they undertook projects to make the cabin comfortable. It was a learn-as-you-go endeavor—lacking not just carpentry skills, Hutchinson and his millennial friends had to learn about tools too. 

A book about buying and fixing a cabin isn’t a plot that sparks intrigue and fascination. Yet Hutchinson makes work-project issues, neighborhood characters and other situations interesting. I didn’t laugh loudly, but his generous application of humor made me chuckle and giggle more often than any book I’ve read in a long time. Reading it gave me a lift too.

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By James P. Johnson 

Cover photo courtesy of James P. Johnson

I’m always looking for new areas to day-hike within driving distance of Spokane. The Sherman Creek Wildlife Area just west of Kettle Falls is a place I’d heard of but never hiked until last year. With several miles of trails along the west shore of Lake Roosevelt and the typical ponderosa forest so common across Eastern Washington, I expected mostly flat terrain and pleasant, but unspectacular scenery. That’s the case, but while exploring the trail system, which runs from the wildlife headquarters at the north end to Haag Canyon Campground at the south, I came across some interesting history. 

The first indication is the old, but elegant, bridge spanning Sherman Creek at one of the trailheads, much larger than necessary for a pedestrian crossing. Finding pavement underneath the pine needles on the other side, it is apparent the trail is a former road. Just a 10-minute walk from the trailhead, it ends abruptly. A long section of road, along with tons of sand and silt, now sits at the bottom of the Columbia because of a 1952 landslide.  

Thinking it’d be nice if there were interpretive signs explaining what happened, I hiked another 10 minutes on a trail that circumvents the slide and my wish was fulfilled. Photocopied pages from a United States Geological Survey (USGS) study, stapled to a wooden bulletin board, give details about multiple slides that have occurred over the years. 

Layers of sand, silt and clay were deposited here by receding floodwaters of melting glaciers at the end of the last ice age, around 12,000 years ago. These soils are susceptible to saturation during heavy snowmelt or rain. As the saturated soil approaches liquefaction, it loses structure and slides into the river. 

Though there’s evidence of a history of landslides, the first known landslide within the prone area, now part of the Sherman Creek Wildlife Area, occurred in 1894. Witnesses reported the slide reached the opposite side of the river, piling debris on shore. For about an hour, the Columbia River was blocked. Farms and orchards behind the landslide dam flooded. 

After the completion of Grand Coulee Dam and establishment of full pool in 1942, landslides have occurred more frequently. The raised water table increases the possibility of soil saturation during heavy rain or snowmelt. 

This spring, I returned for another hike after reading of a large landslide last November. According to news reports, this was the largest to hit the area in decades. I found a slide area littered with downed trees and bare, earthen slopes. The slide edge is now within 10 feet of the surviving old road.  

The landslide triggered a wall of water that crossed Lake Roosevelt, hitting an area known as Colville Flats on the other side. Water flowed onshore, and when it drained back into the lake, it took out trees, vegetation, and swept away enough soil to make the new shoreline about 150 feet farther inland than before. 

For a pleasant hike and a view of the landslide’s effects, drive about two miles on Highway 20 after crossing the bridge over the Columbia River. Turn left on Mellenberger Road and go about one mile to the trailhead at the bridge. The USGS study documenting slide activity in this area can be accessed at Pubs.usgs.gov/pp/0367/report.pdf. 

A longtime runner, James P. Johnson writes an absurdist blog about running at IMustRunEverywhere.com.  

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With sponsorship from National Geographic to write about a planned 750-mile end-to-end backpacking trip through the Grand Canyon, author Kevin Fedarko and photographer Pete McBride thought they could pull it off with minimum preparation.  

Discovering four experienced Grand Canyon explorers were doing a 57-day full traverse, they got permission to join for the first 12 days to acclimate to canyon backpacking. Arriving at the trailhead with empty backpacks and newly purchased gear, McBride and Fedarko created a big pile of discarded packaging and stuffed their backpacks far too heavy. 

Without accompaniment, their effort may have been deadly instead of just disastrous. With their heavy loads and lack of physical preparation, they couldn’t keep up. The main party truncated its daily mileage goal so the two wouldn’t fall way behind, yet their condition turned dire, and McBride and Fedarko had to bail, lasting just six days. 

Pondering how to give notice they couldn’t do the article, they were surprised when a small community of hikers, intimately familiar with the canyon, offered to support and accompany them. Beginning where they had left off, the pair, with their new hiker companions, broke the hike into segments. Vertical walls and obstructions leave little opportunity for hiking along the Colorado River at the canyon bottom. Numerous side canyons require many detours up and down to get past. A few sheer descents require rappelling. 

With 120-degree summer temperatures, it’s not possible to carry enough water. Sources must be known in advance. Especially scarce in the canyon’s western end, water is found during the “wet season” when depressions and potholes in the bedrock hold rainwater. 

Fedarko mixes misadventure with information about history, the landscape, and feats of past Grand Canyon hikers and explorers. I sometimes give up on books that aren’t interesting enough to keep my attention. I had no trouble finishing this epic story. (James P. Johnson) 

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By James P. Johnson

When I go on an all-day hike, I usually make my own lunch, but sometimes there’s not enough time to construct the extravagant veggie sandwich that I’ve detailed before in this department. 

Veggie sandwiches and wraps are healthy, tasty, and have the needed calories. You meat-eaters may strongly disagree with this, but even if you wrestle me to the ground, I’m still sticking to the veggie option. 

So, buying a sandwich, sometimes on my way out of town, is necessary. A grocery store, where I can buy a pre-made sandwich, fruit, energy bars, or whatever else has become my modus operandi. 

Main Street Market, Spokane’s downtown co-op store at Main and Browne, sells a spicy veggie Banh Mi, made daily in-house for $7.99. After being warmed inside my backpack on a sunny day, I find it especially delicious. There are several veggie and meat options also available.  

I live close to Trader Joe’s, and plenty of times I’ve bought the spicy lentil wrap ($4.99), and the hummus wrap ($4.49). You have to pay a little more to get your meaty wraps at $5 to $6—probably because a surcharge is added for always wrestling us veggie eaters to the ground. 

A Natural Grocers store is also near me, and I found a line of sandwiches under the Snackrilege name very tasty. Unfortunately, the company recently suspended operations and a line that replaced them, Higher Taste ($6.75), has similar offerings which I’ve yet to try. Any of these pre-made options make great fuel for an adventure in the urban outdoors.  

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Cover photo courtesy of USFS

If someone puts up a sign next to a hiking trail, I’ll stop and read it. If I’ve read it before, even multiple times, I’ll still stop and read it since I’m not at the top of the rankings for reading retention. 

A hiking trail with interpretive signage is a pleasant curiosity that adds enjoyment to a hike. I’m an avid hiker and often do demanding, day-long hikes that go deep into remote areas where I don’t see another person all day. But I also like interpretive trails that are close to towns, short, and can be busy with hikers. 

That’s the case with the following hiking areas. When the rare pleasant spring day comes along, combining a scenic drive in the country with a short, informative hike and a stop for food and drink can be as fun as a grueling sun-up to sundown 20-miler, though I think most people would say the scenic drive and short hike sounds a lot more fun. 

The following hikes’ interpretive signage provides information about the unique natural and human history of the site. 

Pioneer Park Kalispel Heritage Trail—This recently reconstructed trail, a couple miles outside Newport, Wash., has a dozen new interpretive signs that explain the archeological finds of a former Kalispel tribal encampment on the banks of the Pend Oreille River. I found the information about how traditional Native Americans lived and used the site very interesting. Despite much reading on this topic, some facts were new to me. 

Less than a half-mile long, consisting of paths and a boardwalk, the trail is within a Forest Service campground, Pioneer Park, and accessed when the campground is open, from the Friday before Memorial Day to the last Monday in September. Unless you’re camping, there’s a day use fee of $10. During the off season, an employee at the Newport Ranger Station told me locals often park at the gated entrance to walk about the campground. You may be able to do so as well as long as you don’t block the way in case access is needed. 

Pulaski Tunnel Trail—Just outside Wallace, Idaho, this well-maintained trail has a dozen fairly new signs. The first 725 feet of the trail is ADA compliant, and you’ll find several interpretive signs; however, to reach the tunnel where Pulaski and his men sheltered from fire it’s an out-and-back hike totaling 4 miles with a few short, steep sections, several bridge crossings, and 800 feet of elevation gain. The trail follows a creek at the bottom of a deep ravine and in March, may still be snow-covered, which was the case when I hiked it, thus a hiking stick or trekking poles would be helpful. 

The signage gives details about the The Big Burn, the well-known 1910 wildfire that scorched millions of acres. Led by Ed Pulaski, a Forest Service ranger, a group of firefighters made it to a mining tunnel as the uncontrolled blaze ravaged everything around them. Sheltering in the tunnel allowed 39 of the 45 men to survive. No fee or pass required to hike. 

Waikiki Springs Natural Area—On the outskirts of Spokane along the Little Spokane River, this area gets lots of visitation. With its open ponderosa forest and southern exposure, you may find wildflowers blooming by the end of March, the earliest of all these areas. It’s about a 2-mile round trip to peruse the half dozen interpretive signs on the north side of the river. I used to live near this preserve and regularly ran there in the late ‘90s and early 2000s. The Inland Northwest Land Conservancy, with an assist by the Washington Trails Association, have since constructed more trails to go with the signs, which is a nice add-on should you opt for additional hiking. 

The site used to be a large dairy in the early 20th century. It was owned by Jay P. Graves, a wealthy landowner who donated other land for Manito Park and Whitworth University. The signage details this use as well as info about geology, wildlife, first peoples’ history, and efforts to restore the river ecosystem. A Washington State Discover pass is required for trailhead parking. 

Log Flume Interpretive Trail—Sitting next to Highway 20 a bit more than 10 miles west of Kettle Falls, Wash., this rest stop has a half-mile, paved trail. In the early 20th Century, the Kettle Range was heavily logged, and part of a log’s journey here was via a log flume, traveling downhill, pushed by water flowing in the flume. Flume remnants can be seen along with interpretive signage explaining the history of early day logging in the Kettles. No fee or pass necessary.  

Mill Pond Historic Site—About 5 miles from Metaline Falls, Wash., near Sullivan Lake, this is the site of a dam on Sullivan Creek that was built to store water for a flume that powered a hydroelectric generation plant downstream and was removed in 2017. The drained pond has been returned to its former natural condition and updates to the Mill Pond campground, day use area, trails, and interpretive signs were completed. There are no day use fees. 

A couple miles of trails run through and around the former Mill Pond. The interpretive signs give information about the site and early Metaline Falls history. 

Mullan Trail Historical Site—Adjacent to I-90 and about 13 miles east of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, remnants of the Mullan Trail can be seen, a road constructed through what was then unsettled wilderness beginning in 1859. It ran from Fort Benton, Mont., to Fort Walla Walla, Wash. The half-mile trail is in need of a little maintenance, but the signage is still readable. Just off the exit at the top of Fourth of July Pass, the site is well-wooded, but with the freeway nearby, it’s not as quiet as the other hikes. 

Unless maintenance work is being done, these sites can be accessed year-round. Information and directions for each can be found by Googling the hike name. 

James P. Johnson has been using his running lifestyle blog, IMustRunEverywhere.com, as a construct for absurdist humor. Despite doing it since 2013, he continues to crave whatever chuckles it can elicit. 

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An error was made in the print version of this article in our Spring 2025 issue; Tom Vogt was listed as Bruce Vogt. Out There apologizes for the error.

In 2010, Tom Vogt saw a neighborhood boy repeatedly ride a unicycle past his South Hill home in Spokane. It looked fun and challenging. Turns out it was exactly what Vogt was looking for. He went to a bike shop and bought one. 

He was told to practice 30 minutes a day and within a month, he’d get the hang of it. Vogt says taking up unicycling without any guidance or coaching is quite a challenge. Using a fence or wall for balance is a necessity as you learn the basics. Just mounting takes lots of practice. It was a long time before he could get on without holding onto something.  

A long time runner, Vogt began experiencing knee pain, and by age 50 it was bothersome enough that he had to quit. Finding another outdoor activity that required the exertion he wanted without a huge time investment was difficult; however, unicycling has filled the need. It took a while to get the hang of it, though. “When you can start actually riding, it’s an endorphin booster,” he says. “It’s not quite as demanding as distance running, but I’d say it requires 75% of the effort.” 

During the work week, Vogt likes to put in a couple rides of about 4 miles each along with a longer ride on the weekend. In addition, he’s a year-round unicycle commuter, doing 2 miles round-trip to his worksite at Jefferson Elementary School where he’s a teacher. He rides through the winter as long as roads are clear of ice and snow. “It’s like running. It’s a bit addictive and fun,” Vogt says. His riding pace is about 10 minutes per mile. His longest rides are about 6 miles, which he says are physically demanding. 

Bicyclists and skateboarders are commonly seen around town, but a unicycle rider—not so often, unless you live on Tom Vogt’s commuting route. He confirms how unusual it is. In 14 years of riding, he’s never seen another unicyclist while out riding. This lack occasionally causes attention to come his way. Passing cars sometimes slow down with phones held up for photos and video. A woman once stopped and asked if he was a circus performer. Vogt playfully took on the role, saying he was part of an advance team prepping for an upcoming show. 

With a year of experience under his belt, Vogt volunteered to teach unicycling as an after-school activity at Jefferson. He’s been doing it for 13 years. With instruction, his elementary school students, using school-supplied unicycles, have a much easier time picking it up than he did. 

Vogt says only boys took the class in the early years. He estimates it was five years before the first girl signed up, but these days about 40% of the students are girls. He originally taught one 7-week session each school year, but the growth in popularity now requires three sessions. Some students get so into it that their parents purchase a unicycle for home use. 

So, if you happen to be on Spokane’s South Hill and see a unicyclist cruising down the road, there’s a good chance it’s Tom Vogt; however, if the rider’s dressed as a clown and is juggling, it’s probably a sign the circus has come to town. 

James P. Johnson has been using his running lifestyle blog, IMustRunEverywhere.com, as a construct for absurdist humor. Despite doing it since 2013, he continues to crave whatever chuckles it can elicit. 

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Cover photo courtesy James P. Johnson

By James P. Johnson

Douglas Creek Canyon is 23 square miles of BLM land in an isolated area between Coulee City and Wenatchee. I’d heard of it, but never visited until this year. There are few amenities, but no fees or passes are required. One amenity is an access road; however, you have to drive through water. 

I’ve yet to see another hiker, but there are people around. On my first visit, at the south trailhead, I watched an SUV do the creek crossing. Assessing my low clearance sedan could also make it, I slipped around a lot, but got through. I arrived at the trailhead, which isn’t an accurate description—there are no trails; rather, a series of falls amid a picturesque setting attracts visitors. Past here the road becomes rough and has more and deeper water crossings, requiring a high clearance vehicle. There is dispersed camping along the creek, and it appears locals know this area well and use it often. I walked a few miles of the road, then hiked up a steep slope and did a very pleasant off-trail trek back to the “trailhead” to set up camp. 

The beauty and expansiveness held such an appeal that I went back repeatedly, doing eight long hikes, covering about 120 miles. Wandering widely, coming across interesting and sometimes peculiar things, along with the simple concept of exploring a place really pleases me. Being the outdoorsy type who enjoys a little exertion, this is both an adventure and delight. It’s not unusual that I happen upon an extremely beautiful spot and experience an outbreak of happiness. If I didn’t care about my equipment, an exuberant flinging of my water bottles and trekking poles into the air would be fitting. 

On my next visit to the north trailhead, accurately labeled because there’s a trail, I found a nice amenity—no road water crossings. On the same road as the south trailhead I visited earlier, it climbs out of the canyon at this spot and connects to Highway 2. The trail takes over the canyon bottom here, slowly gaining elevation for several miles while approaching the Waterville Plateau. 

The canyon sides are mostly unclimbable, impressive walls of ancient basalt flows. I stopped often to admire this mini-Grand Canyon. Birds, which I normally never see or hear, make it a lively place. In some sections, the walls become steep slopes that are hike-able for the ambitious. This gave me access to exploring benches and high points, including Mt. Badger, the highest at 3,606 feet. There are a handful of trees on north-facing slopes, but grasses and sage dominate. A bonus for spending lots of time in a place—it’s inevitable you come across wildlife. 

In the canyon bottom, the trail resembled an old rail bed in places. I dismissed this observation. A twisty, curvy canyon with a creek would require lots of bridges, and any train would have to travel very slowly. Hiking on, it became obvious my presumption was wrong. Back home, I did a little sleuthing. 

The Great Northern Railway built a branch line in 1909 that went through Douglas Creek Canyon. Wheat-growing on the Waterville Plateau justified a 61-mile route from the main line along the Columbia River that terminated in Mansfield. It was the most direct route and had the gentlest grade compared to alternatives. 

But 49 bridges were needed, most in the 9-mile stretch of Douglas Creek Canyon. It was the greatest number of bridges per mile of any branch line in the U.S. However, high flows took out bridges and sections of rail bed several times. The floods of 1938 and 1948 were especially bad. In the 1948 event, 22 bridges were lost and several more damaged. It wasn’t economically feasible to repair; however, knowing how dependent the few, small towns on the Waterville Plateau were on the line, The Great Northern rebuilt it anyway. According to the Oct. 28, 1948 “Wenatchee World,” 30 new bridges were constructed. 

When the Mansfield Branch Line began service, there were two daily trains, a passenger and a freight. Passenger service was discontinued in 1949, and by the 1970s, a once-a-week freight run was all that remained. The last train ran on March 2, 1985. The rails and bridges were dismantled. 

Hiking dry Central Washington is best done in April and May, in my opinion, but I’ve done plenty of outings in fall and winter—usually there’s light to no snow cover. When the occasional mild winter day arrives, weather in the Columbia Basin can border on springlike. Be aware though, the area is open for hunting in the fall. 

For trail information, Google Douglas Creek Canyon North. For rail history buffs, a blog about the Mansfield Branch Line is at Ndarrin97.blogspot.com. 

James P. Johnson is the author of a local historic places book, “Spokane and Coeur d’Alene Freshwater Shark Attacks.” 

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By James P. Johnson  

I noticed Fernie on a map while road-tripping through southeastern British Columbia more than a decade ago. I decided to head that way and become more Fernie-aware. 

About a half-dozen visits later, my Fernie-awareness has really increased. Hiking is my favorite activity. Whatever yours, chances are good you’ll find matches on the long list of things to do there. 

An impressive attribute Fernie has got going is prettiness. The Rocky Mountain peaks surrounding town cause me to pause often to gaze. The same happens downtown among the century-old brick buildings. The rampant beauty causes my pre-hike, coffeeshop stop to turn into extended lingering. A stroll through downtown ensues. When I arrive at the trailhead, a late finish to my hike is likely.  

Another attribute that earns Fernie gold stars are hikes starting in town or at the outskirts. For an ardent peripatetic as myself, leaving the car parked and walking to the trailhead is satisfying. 

An October summit of Mt. Fernie, (7,251 ft./5 miles roundtrip), on the north side of town was my first hike here. A snow shower hit as I reached the upper slopes. Staying low against wind and blinding snow on the summit’s narrow ridge, I had no idea how long my plunge would be if I went over the edge. I hiked Mt. Fernie again on my next visit. The drop-off was a moderately steep slope. I was never in danger of falling. 

Finding more adventure than expected became a theme on my Fernie hikes. At Island Lake, a resort with mountainous terrain open to hikers, I was attracted off trail to a rocky summit requiring steep scrambling. Nearing the top, it began to rain. Slick rock would mean big trouble. Abandoning my quest, I descended methodically and cautiously. I’ve never been so relieved getting off a rock face. 

My visits to Fernie are more than hiking up mountains. On a warm July day, I strolled through town with no purpose but to look at things. At a bike shop, a couple and their two elementary-age children looked excited as they took possession of rental bicycles. It brought a smile to me. 

I walked the paved trail that follows the Elk River from one end of town to the other. There are lots of trails through and around Fernie, both gentle and the rugged, mountainous kind, and lots of people on bicycles using them. No one was fishing the Elk River for which it’s known; however, an intermittent procession of people on tubes and rafts floated past. 

My walk ended at the the visitors’ centre, also the trailhead for 7,851-ft. Mt. Proctor, a 12-mile, loop hike with 4,600 feet of elevation gain. The centre guide questioned my late start. Acknowledging such, I resisted boasting that I’ve earned kudos for dealing with late starts. 

Even with map in hand, the network of trails caused a wrong turn. I backtracked, then took a longer than necessary route to access the Mt. Proctor Trail. Eventually I got into spectacular high country, and, hiking a long, rocky ridge, arrived at the summit. Two things captured my attention—the setting with many rugged peaks, and a picnic table just below the summit. 

On my hike down, recent heavy rain had washed out a long section of trail. If it reappeared on the periphery, cutting away from the wash out, and I missed it, I’d be stranded in the woods for the night. I was pleased to spot it and arrive at the visitors’ centre at dusk. 

Evenings in Fernie, I visit places I’ve strolled past earlier. I once felt truly Canadian ordering local beer at a pub and getting drawn into a curling competition on the TVs. After conversation with a couple from Medicine Hat at a Japanese restaurant, the server informed me the departed couple paid my check. A free meal is great. The downside—not being able to express appreciation. 

The first time I hiked Three Sisters (9,147 ft.), I ho-hummed the descriptions’s suggestion to check out the cave. Forty-five minutes into the hike, I was flabbergasted. Bisaro Cave is huge and spectacular. 

Three Sisters is a 13-mile roundtrip hike with 4,750 ft. of elevation gain. The access road is rough and a high-clearance vehicle is necessary for the last two kilometers. I parked at the lot for low-clearance cars, adding three miles to the total. Hiking it again last summer, I encountered newly-made camping spots for backpackers near the tree line and plenty of people using them.  

Like other hikes, the Three Sisters came with bonus adventure. Passing through a stand of stunted trees at high elevation, a grouse stayed put despite my presence, something I’ve experienced numerous times. I snapped photos as he paced circuitously, getting closer. Then he rushed me. I jumped and hopped, trying to outmaneuver him. It turned into a scuffle. Twice I landed a solid kick. Creating a gap between us, I outran him, even as he continued chasing. 

Despite all my visits to Fernie, there are summits and lowlands I’ve yet to explore. The beauty of the mountainous terrain and the pleasantness and offerings of the downtown business district makes for a satisfying road trip each time. It’s no mystery Fernie has become one of my preferred destinations. My adventures have created memorable moments. Defending myself from a hiker-hating spruce grouse is perhaps the most unique.  

James P. Johnson is the author of “Spokane and Coeur d’Alene Freshwater Shark Attacks.” He wrote about his streak of witnessing total solar eclipses in the last issue of Out There.  

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By James P. Johnson

Hiking for exercise and the scenery is plenty justification to hike. However, when I find an additional purpose, hiking is even more satisfying.

In the mid-1990s, I compiled a list of the 50 highest mountains in eastern Washington and then hiked to the top of them, hoping to get a hiking guide published. This purpose-adding caused a lot of hiking over four summers, more than I would have done otherwise, and it was a lot of fun and adventure. When the guide came out in 2003, it occurred to me certain peaks might be hard to identify because of lengthy off-trail hiking and/or nearby high points. A summit register would provide confirmation for hikers they’d reached the correct peak. And, coincidentally, another reason for me to go hiking.

I made a summit log and put it inside a clear, plastic jar with a bright lid. At the summit, I made a rock cairn, placed the jar inside and put a covering rock atop, leaving the bright lid visible through gaps between rocks. I placed them at less prominent and less visited summits for the most part. In future summers, I revisited to read them and do maintenance, if needed.

I’ve had experience with other registers. Seemingly more common in Canada than the U.S., finding a register on a hard-to-reach or remote peak adds interest and enjoyment. It’s like joining an exclusive club. There aren’t that many signees, usually. It’s neat seeing how many people hiked up in a season, where they’re from and their comments.

Checking my registers, it’s satisfying to find that others decided to hike the summit and are willing to provide information. I was once especially pleased at a summit, difficult-to-reach because of distance and numerous blowdowns blocking the route, when one comment started with, “I can’t believe this register is here.”

When I hike, I bring sharpened pencils and extra pages to add, but usually the register is in good shape. I once found one drenched, moldy, and difficult to read. Someone must have perused it during a rain or snow storm. I replaced the register and its container.

Several years ago, checking on a few registers in the Salmo-Priest Wilderness, I found they’d all disappeared along with the rock cairns. Returning to the trailhead, I ran into a couple of volunteers doing trail maintenance work. Joining me on the hike out, I mentioned my missing registers. Another member of their group noted that they did not like them, especially the ones in the wilderness area, and got rid of them. Registers were also missing from peaks nearby that weren’t in the wilderness area.

One rule for wilderness areas states that you can’t store personal property in within their boundaries. I think it’s a stretch to say that leaving and maintaining summit registers falls into that category; however, the goal of wilderness areas is to limit human impact, so I chose to respect that ethic and decided not to reestablish ones in wilderness, even though I feel they build camaraderie among hikers. I was disappointed too not being able to read those confiscated registers.

After the high-elevation snow melts, my dual-purpose hiking will resume. If you’re out on the trail and hear pencils bouncing inside plastic jars, be at ease. It’s just summit register maintenance man coming your way.

James P. Johnson’s hiking guide, “50 Hikes for Eastern Washington’s Highest Mountains,” went out of print in 2011, but you can still find summit registers atop certain peaks.

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By James P. Johnson

Unless you commute by ferry, it’s a special occasion to ride one. We took the Anacortes to Orcas Island ferry and enjoyed island vibes and the summit of Mt. Constitution, the highest point in the San Juan Islands, where a stone tower with a lookout gives great views of the Salish Sea and its many islands. You can drive there or do a 7-mile round trip hike.

Crawford State Park near Metaline Falls has the longest limestone cave in Washington. On the warm July day we visited, it was refreshing entering Gardner cave, which is a chilly 39° to 42° year-round. Coming out at tour’s end was a refreshing change in reverse. Tours are given Thursdays through Mondays, May 16 to Sept. 15.

If you’re doing a tour of Washington, you’d be negligent skipping Mt. Rainier National Park. We hiked, camped, spent a day stopping at roadside attractions and features, and got lots of good looks at the massive mountain that’s the biggest volcano in the contiguous U.S.

Where to camp was a challenge when we visited Seattle. A hostel on Vashon Island met the need. A short ferry ride from downtown, we got to interact with fellow travelers and sleep in a teepee. The hostel has since been sold and converted into an Old West-themed camping and lodging facility called AYH Ranch. The teepees are still available for camping May 1 to September 30.

We spent a night at Fort Worden State Park near Port Townsend. An army base from 1902 to 1953, my children explored the interiors of the concrete gun batteries. We visited the Port Townsend Marine Science Center and Aquarium, also on state park grounds. To plan a stop at a state park on your Washington road trip, visit parks.wa.gov and bring a Discover Pass.

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