They Said it Couldn't Be Done. What More Motivation Do We Need?
This is the story of the Dream Cache quest. The cache is rated at five stars for terrain, and worth every one of them. It was hidden along the banks of Dream Lake on October 5th of last year by two of the Northwest's more prolific mountain trekkers, Evergreenhiker! and Cache Ahead. During a failed first attempt at the difficult lake, Evergreenhiker! placed Not Quite So Dreamy, which lies in the forest on the east side of Big Creek, the stream that flows from Dream Lake.
The Topography
Trail? What trail? You will not find Dream Lake in any trail guidebook. The lake sits at the end of a difficult two plus mile scramble up a dry creek bed at an elevation of approximately 3450 feet. Nobody attempted it between October and the start of the snow season and so it sat, unfound, for over six months. A number of local geocachers were anxious to be the first to find the ammo can, but there was one problem. Big Creek is not dry until well after the snow melts (read summer). Additionally, the real estate along both sides of the creek is jealously guarded by thick slide alder, Devil's Club, and all manner of unfriendly plant life. This vegetation has conspired to grow in such a fashion that passage by humans would be extremely difficult, and probably injurious.
Trail? What trail? You will not find Dream Lake in any trail guidebook. The lake sits at the end of a difficult two plus mile scramble up a dry creek bed at an elevation of approximately 3450 feet.The terrain is all uphill to the lake, which sits high in a bowl surrounded by towering jagged peaks. Dream Lake feeds Big Creek which runs almost directly north to south, and empties into the Taylor River, miles below. Many years ago, there were log trucks rumbling along the Taylor River and they left behind a road and a large concrete bridge over Big Creek, right at a beautiful waterfall. The now overgrown logging road is a popular hiking trail with views of several other spectacular waterfalls along the way. At this time of year, Big Creek more than lives up to its name, roaring swiftly over giant slabs of rock and around huge boulders.
Background
The subject came up in the Groundspeak Forums in mid March, with Evergreenhiker! later saying, "It may very well be August before somebody gets it. I challenge those to try for it before then, though." No good can come from that, it was practically a dare. The idea of making a run at the lake in the spring began to enter my thoughts more and more frequently. I love hiking on the trails here in Washington, truly they are some of the best in the country. However, I have always been very intrigued with the idea of cross country wilderness travel. After all, that's how it was done by explorers long ago, point A to point B finding your own way as you go.
I read a trip report from a group of hikers (not geocachers) who had made a successful dash in late May of 2001, the last time a trip report for the lake was submitted. They found the lake mostly frozen and described a difficult bushwhack up along the creek, the snow melt being too deep for a rock hop up the creek bed. I was eager to get back out into the forest again after sitting idle through the winter, and wondered if the trek could be done now, while there is still snow in the mountains. Remember I said Big Creek runs from the north to the south? That means the valley down which the creek runs faces to the south, where the snow melts first. Right?
I was standing in line at a local coffee shop thinking about the possibility of such an extreme idea, Dream Lake in the spring, when I overheard the following conversation between a man and his young son.
The man answered, "Well, because we don't have any wings."
The boy didn't hesitate, "Why?"
"Because we have arms instead" answered the dad.
Again, "Why?" asked the son.
"Because God made us with two arms and two legs that's why" said the man, growing impatient with the game.
"Why?" asked the boy again.
I asked the same question to myself, but I asked it out loud. The man looked at me puzzled and obviously irritated at the turn the "why" game had just taken. "Excuse me?" he asked. I looked at the boy and back to him, "Why?" I asked with a slightly wild look in my eyes, "Why do I have to wait until summer to go to Dream Lake?" The man pulled his son closer, "Um...uh...you don't? Inside my head a light bulb illuminated and subsequently exploded. "BRUUUUUUUHAHAHAHA!" I shouted. Dream Lake seemed to be within my grasp, I just needed some others who were, or could become, as reckless as me to come along.
The Fellowship of Idiocy
This was not a cache I wanted to attempt alone for a number of reasons. The area is remote and the terrain reported to be very rugged. There would not be any hikers happening along that could assist if something suddenly went critical. I was also completely unfamiliar with the area, having never hiked here before. So I began to consider who among the limited numbers of fellow geocachers and hikers that I knew personally, might be up to the grueling scramble and interested in bagging the FTF on a cache many thought was nearly impossible in the spring.
Because this was going to be such an extreme hike and highly desirable find, I decided to do two things; first I would keep the plans quiet to prevent anyone from attempting something they may not be prepared for in a quest to beat us to the box, and second, to enlist only cachers I knew and I knew to be in the same or better shape than I am. By making sure I was the limiting factor, I would have a good overall idea of the condition, stamina, and morale of the other hikers while we were stumbling through the unknown. Trust me, if Evergreenhiker! had to turn back once, there was a high probability we would as well.
Through a series of emails, I worked out many of the details with Moun10Bike. He cautioned, "It might be buried in the snow." True, but I have a folding shovel I can bring. We chose the 10th of April and I began to send I began to rethink my anxiety of going solo to such a remote spot. The distance wasn't really an issue, as I would be riding my bike over the long part of the trail, and the scramble was only about two miles. The weather reports were saying "good to go", the chores were done, and my heart was set... out the invitations. I was fortunate in that all the cachers I thought were dumb enough to try this with me would respond in the positive, and so it was that the fellowship of idiocy was born.
As the weekend approached, the plans somehow began to shift away from Dream Lake and began to focus on a different cache instead. Before long, the insidious creep of reason changed the goal to Got Fire? Otter Falls, a cache in another beautiful spot along the same trail. The Dream Lake plans, which had only just begun to gel, now slipped between my fingers and dripped into my crotch, creating an embarrassing stain.
Postponed, not Forgotten
The Otter Falls cache was definitely a distraction, but helpful for a number of reasons. To begin, it gave me a feel for the condition of the trail and the terrain off the trail. The cache is best reached by riding bikes up the trail to a certain spot and them leaving them for a quick scramble up a way-trail to the falls. I was able to test my trail riding skills and the fitness for using bikes to get to the Big Creek turn point, about a mile beyond the Otter Falls turn.
On the weekend of the 10th, there was still snow on the path starting near the Otter way-trail and we had to walk our bikes for a short distance. We were successful with Got Fire?, finding the cache despite the snow and the high water level of the lake below the falls. We all had a blast and the day was enjoyed by ten human and two canine geocachers. My apprehension about the area was gone, this could really happen, I could do it. In keeping with my secrecy request, one member of the party pulled me aside and told me privately, "Dream Lake is impossible at this time of year."
The dream of Dream went to work with me on Monday morning, though, and I began to make plans for a run at the 5 star cache on the weekend of the 24th. So far, the original group of idiots, plus one new idiot, were joined in an email chain and the date of Sunday the 25th was chosen. Yet, there didn't seem to be the same enthusiasm there was previously, and one by one everyone began to show signs of intelligence, citing scheduling hurdles or lack of interest. I watched out the window in front of my desk at work, appreciating the warm sunny weather and what it might mean; who else might be having the same dream? When the last of the original group gave the final "no" I began to wonder if Dream Lake would remain just a dream. At that point it was just the new idiot and me, and I had serious doubts about the new guy.
I began to rethink my anxiety of going solo to such a remote spot. The distance wasn't really an issue, as I would be riding my bike over the long part of the trail, and the scramble was only about two miles. The weather reports were saying "good to go", the chores were done, and my heart was set on the 25th. Thursday and Friday before the weekend, I stared out my window or walked over to where I could gaze across the McChord AFB runway at the steep slopes of Mount Rainer shining in the afternoon sun.
By Friday night, the new guy had still not responded to my emails or PMs so I had no idea if he'd show at the trailhead or not. Two weeks of warm weather since the
Otter Falls cache hunt, two full weeks for the rest of the snow to melt. I had said it would happen, the Dream Lake cache would be found; there was no turning back.
Show Time
The cloudless sky looked promising at 5:45 on Sunday morning when my alarm clock rang. I dragged my tired body out of bed and took a quick shower. I fed Patch the Superdog his breakfast and loaded him in the bed of the truck. Throwing my gear behind the seat, we pulled out of
the driveway by 6:30, making trailhead a little after 8:00 a.m. I gathered my things, looked around, and realized that I'd be going solo. Riding away from the parking area with Patch trotting alongside at 8:45, I felt a little nervous about the long journey ahead.
The Taylor River Trail is a rough and strenuous bike ride, complete with a steady incline. There are patches along the trail that are nothing more than stone fields, four-inch round stones that are hard to ride through. A couple of small streams, as well as a landslide area, meant I had to get off the saddle and carry the bike. The ride went by quickly, though, and I passed the Otter Falls turn seeing only one other hiker since leaving the trailhead. At the concrete bridge over Big Creek I stopped to take a few pictures of the falls and looked for a place to stash my bike. I went over the mental inventory of the important things I had forgotten, like my bike helmet (still in the garage), my first aid kit (in my other pack), and my knife (still on the front seat of the truck).
The equipment I did have was as minimalist as I could get for such a long day hike. I opted to leave my ice axe behind, believing the snow would be mostly melted by now. I left my trekking poles in the truck, figuring they would only get in the way; in my hands or on my pack they would likely just get me hung up during the anticipated bushwhacking. I left the trailhead with 100 ozs. of water in a Platypus bladder and Patch would drink from the many feeder creeks along the way. I don't mind the extra weight of my Katydyne water filter, possibly the single most valuable piece of equipment I own, as it's still much lighter than another 100 ozs. of water. I had a set of polypro long underwear, just in case I was still there after dark, a windbreaker and fleece jacket, my lunch, Patch's lunch, emergency food bars, and all my usual geocaching gear and survival equipment. I decided to leave my heavy hiking boots at home, opting instead for a pair of Addis GSG-9 lightweight boots. I quickly consulted the topographic map and we were off.
Into the Unknown, Part One
With my bike hidden behind a large fir tree, Patch and I started up the hill on the east side of Big Creek. There were many way-trails that mostly lead back to the creek to provide vistas at various levels up the falls. I knew there was supposed to be at least some sort of trail all the way to the Not Quite So Dreamy cache, but we lost it almost immediately.
The creek bed was deep with high banks, such that I couldn't see over the edge on either side. It was also steep enough to cause Patch to begin laboring up the hill. Suddenly, I felt the snow below me collapse and I was standing on a rock, up to my middle in the snow. Suckerhole. The convenient position of the rock I landed on kept me from going in to my neck. Lesson learned, the easy way this time... The cool dankness of the forest felt good after the sweaty five mile ride, and Patch seemed eager to sample as many smells as he could. The terrain there is pretty typical Northwest forest, lots of trees both vertical into the sky, horizontal across the ground, and everywhere in between. Patch had no trouble navigating a path that kept him close to me and the sound of the rushing water off to my left served to keep me traveling in the right direction. The only real challenge at this point was the steepness of the hillside and the logs we had to climb over, under, and around. My Garmin V beeped rather unexpectedly as I approached the first geocache, Not Quite So Dreamy, the cache Evergreenhiker! placed during his first attempt at Dream Lake. That beep would be the last time the V would be helpful on this cache, with the needle swapping ends constantly as the satellite signals faded under the thick canopy.
I reentered the go-to and took the heading and distance from the GPSr and transitioned to my compass for course alignment. We found the cache right where the cache page said it would be, did my trades, and stamped my "Geocache Found by Criminal" in the logbook. Meanwhile, with a little more than five miles and one very steep hill behind him, Patch decided to flop down for some much needed rest. I spent 15 minutes or so trying to find a spot to prop the camera to get some pictures of us with the cache. In flying, there's no such thing as too much altitude below you, and on a hike like this there would be so such thing as too much daylight in front of us. Patch got up without any prompting as I walked away from the NQSD cache.
As we walked up through the forest, I began to feel confident. There was none of the heavy bushwhacking I had read about; it was simply uphill, cross-country travel through the dense forest. Shortly after that, we walked rather abruptly out of the woodland into a clear area. The topographic features were very apparent here; we could see the steep ridge rising to the west across the creek, and a boulder-covered ridge rising steeply to the east. Ahead of us, up the valley, was the thickest undergrowth I had ever seen. The trees here were not tall; in fact they grew out of the ground almost horizontally due to the snow pressing them down through the winters. Now they are a thick tangled mass of trunks and branches growing every which way. I muscled my way through the alders and Devil's Club, sometimes walking on the lower trunks while hanging on to the higher ones for balance. Patch picked his way through, making it look easy, but we were not making good time. I biased to the east towards the large boulders, hoping to hop across them and pick up the pace. Besides forgetting some pretty important gear, this would be my first major mistake.
An Unfunny Comedy of Errors
Once on the boulders, I tried to parallel the alder field and hopped along quickly. Behind me, I heard the desperate whine of my one year old puppy, frustrated that he couldn't find a line through the rocks. I tried to find him a route but he wouldn't budge, he just kept pacing back and forth whining and occasionally barking if I got too far ahead. I walked back to him and we reentered the alders, pushing through for another forever, or so it seemed, until I spotted a snow covered creek bed. That looked like easy going; the snow was hard and the path completely free of obstructions. I looked as far
up the corridor as I could, noting that it curved up to the east, away from the valley. I could hear the creek running under the snow, and a few holes showed the snow to be about four or five feet deep. Patch ran out to take We had to get back down to the creek, off this damn ridge, and moving towards the cache soon, or admit defeat.
the point and I trudged along behind, happy at being out of the alders, but winded by the steepness.
The creek bed was deep with high banks, such that I couldn't see over the edge on either side. It was also steep enough to cause Patch to begin laboring up the hill. Suddenly, I felt the snow below me collapse and I was standing on a rock, up to my middle in the snow. Suckerhole. The convenient position of the rock I landed on kept me from going in to my neck. Lesson learned, the easy way this time, and I scrambled quickly out and walked up along the edge from then on. The path grew steadily steeper and even Patch was having trouble getting a good purchase on the icy slope. Ahead, I noticed a place where we could get out of the creek and back into the forest, without an alder in sight. I pulled out the Delorme topo map I had printed out the night before and resolved my position. I was east of the valley, which I knew, and the eastern edge of the lake was almost due north. It appeared that I could continue to climb up the ridge and westerly and get to the lake without venturing back into the valley and the alders.
I began to move uphill, paying more attention to the altimeter on my wrist than my GPS V or my map. At 3200 feet, I realized that the terrain was becoming too dangerous to continue on our present course and made the decision to try moving directly west, skirting the ridge at our present elevation. The terrain was once again against us; huge boulders and sheer drops left me with two choices, straight up the ridge, hoping we could get through, or back down into the valley and the scrub.
I started straight down the ridge, turned, and began walking southwesterly, a compromise that meant I didn't have to lose too much ground. I crossed one dangerous snow covered slide area, crabbing sideways and kicking toe holds into the icy snow for about 50 feet. The drop was frightening, smooth and slick all the way to the bottom. Patch followed very slowly and we found ourselves in
another boulder field. I would spend 45 minutes or more trying to find a way across. With my frustration growing, I decided we needed a break; actually it was Patch laying down in the shade of a giant rock that made the decision. Going back the way we came seemed to be the only option, but that was really the "quit" option because of the amount of time it would take.
I fed my dog a couple handfuls of food and had a snack myself. As I pulled another long draw from my Platypus water bladder, I thought about Patch and the last time he had had any water. We had to get back down to the creek, off this damn ridge, and moving towards the cache soon, or admit defeat. After another 30 to 40 minutes of trying to find a line off the ridge, we happened upon a tiny stream trickling down the hillside, flowing conveniently to the southwest. The scrub was dense on both sides with branches hanging over into the stream, but we could push our way through, and soon we were back in the valley, having lost a lot of time but not much distance.
Into the Unknown, Part Two
Time was becoming critical. I had originally set my turn around time at 4:00 p.m., but after all that we had just been through, I bumped it up to 3:00. I was tired, Patch was exhausted, and we still had a long way to go. I again consulted the Delorme topo and decided to try to get over to Big Creek again. Back into the alders we went and I was happy to discover a large area of grass, flattened by the snow, which made for easier going. After another short stretch of scrub and Devil's Club, we found forest again. I paused at every water source, allowing Patch to drink as much as he wanted. Now it was all uphill through the giant trees, to the lake.
As we crested another particularly steep hill, we were greeted by snow, and lots of it. The forest floor had very deep snow in the pockets; I would guess eight to ten feet of it in places. I stepped gingerly out onto the snow; it crunched beneath my boots and I sunk about two or The equipment I did have was as minimalist as I could get for such a long day hike. I opted to leave my ice axe behind, believing the snow would be mostly melted by now. I left my trekking poles in the truck, figuring they would only get in the way three inches with each step. On the steeper parts, I had to kick toe holds into the hillside, climbing hand over foot. This made for very slow going, but I could see open sky through the trees ahead; a clearing, hopefully the lake. A quick glance at my altimeter showed it couldn't be too far off. As we crested another hill, I could see, through a narrow opening in the trees, a vast expanse of flat white snow, Dream Lake!
Patch walked up and stood at my side as I gazed, panting, at the frozen lake. The scenery was breathtaking in its rugged, natural beauty. There were jagged, rocky peaks on three sides, the lake frozen over with only a small opening near the outlet. This is the beauty of Washington, this is why I love living here, and this is what makes geocaching here so much fun. The view alone was worth the strenuous scramble; the cache would be icing on the cake. Now, I just had to locate that icing.
There is a natural log bridge across the headwater of Big Creek, and looking across, I spotted the bent tree that marks the cache location (yes, I cheated and printed the spoiler picture!). Patch, who only a couple of hours earlier was flopped down in the shade and refusing to go any farther, followed me across the bridge and was romping like a puppy again. The cache page said the ammo can was under the right side of the large rock on the right side of the tree. I looked at the tree. I looked right, at the rock. Then I looked at the right side of the rock. Houston, we have a problem.
Only Halfway There
The left side of the rock was relatively snow free and the front had just a couple of feet or so. The right, however, was buried under at least eight feet of the icy crystals. Now I was wishing I had brought my folding shovel or at least my ice axe. I opened my pack and
dumped the remaining dog food on the snow, which Patch devoured as if he hadn't eaten in a month. I stared at the rock for a few minutes and tried to scrape some of the snow away with my gloved hand. There just wasn't enough time to dig it out that way. I gave serious consideration to asking Evergreenhiker! to allow me the find, but quickly dismissed it. All my finds are tangible caches with a tangible log and I wasn't going to change that principle now.
The old Flight Engineer in me began to think of some improvisation that would get me under that rock. Walking 
back to the creek, I spotted a flat, plank-like piece of wood in the logjam. Using it as a shovel, I started an almost vertical tunnel down the right side of the rock,
chipping and digging. The rock had been heated during the days and there was little snow down at the base. When I had chipped and shoveled enough snow to see the bottom, I dove into the tunnel and started feeling around under the rock. I pulled out a short, fat stick, looked at it in the dim light of the hole, and tossed it back under. THUD. That sounded metallic. I pulled the stick back out and felt the handle of the ammo can. Success! I pulled myself out of the hole and brought the can up with me.
I dropped the Dream Cache in the snow and sat for a rest. Patch went running by, I like to think he was as excited as I was, but he was just high on being a puppy. I looked at my watch; the time was just a little after 3:00 p.m. I watched my dog running madly, kicking snow high up into the air behind him. "We're only halfway there!" I shouted to him. He stopped and looked at me, cocked his head to one side in a quizzical look, and then resumed his hyper-running again.
I opened the box and checked the logbook; just blank pages. I stamped the log, wrote a quick thank you, traded, and dove back into the tunnel to re-hide the box. I took a few pictures and prepared to get my tired carcass off the mountain. Walking across the log bridge again, I decided to go back to my original turn-around time of 4:00 p.m. and sat down to eat my lunch. Patch laid down on the bridge and closed his eyes. I sucked the last of my water from the Platypus and dug my filter from the bottom of my pack. A couple thousand strokes later my water supply was replenished, I slung my pack, and we headed out the way we had come, following my footprints in the snow down the hillside. I looked back over my shoulder for one last glance at the lake, knowing that so few will push themselves to this incredibly beautiful and remote location, and feeling ten feet tall for having done so.
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggedy Jig
My egress off the mountain was far less difficult than the climb up. I followed Big Creek most of the way, keeping the sound of its angry water to my right. My tracklogs would later show the degree to which I added difficulty to the scramble by veering too far east of the creek. The brush was as difficult as it was earlier, and I stumbled a few too many times, only now realizing how truly exhausted I was.
I passed the area of the first cache and soon I was back on the Taylor River Trail. I located my bike and walked it to the concrete bridge. A couple had hiked up and were taking pictures of the falls. They asked how far I had gone, assuming I had simply biked up the path. "Dream Lake," I said, like it was no big thing. "Oh," they said, like it was no big thing. They looked at me a little funny; my face was red from the sun and the exertion, my That night, as I lay in my bed, I thought about what I had done, where I had been, and the incredible things I had seen. A shudder went down my spine when I recalled the sudden fall through the snow, the steepness and danger of crossing the snow slide... arms scratched and bleeding. I could probably have impressed them if I had told them I just fought off a mountain lion or something; I looked as though I had. I got on my bike and pedaled away. I quickly realized it was far more comfortable to just walk the bike, my legs were simply too wobbly to allow me to stand on the pedals going over the bumpy trail. Patch was glad, he doesn't really like running along behind me on the bike, trying to keep up. I made the trailhead at 6:15, a full nine and a half hours from when I'd left.
Epilog
There is an incredible sense of accomplishment at triumphing over the "impossible", even when others, like the couple at the bridge, cannot fathom the effort such endeavors demand. Triumph like that does not arrive with ease, nor is it dependant on extreme terrain or dangerous environs. I know one geocacher who feels that same sense of conquest after any cache with more than one star. One
year ago, I would never have attempted this, or any cache, with four or more stars. You set the goal and then you make it happen, all the while understanding that two stars or five, personal triumph always lies in that misty area just beyond your perceived abilities. Impossible? No, not really. There are hikers who would have been up and back before lunch. It was, however, the most difficult geocache I have ever found.
That night, as I lay in my bed, I thought about what I had done, where I had been, and the incredible things I had seen. A shudder went down my spine when I recalled the sudden fall through the snow, the steepness and danger of crossing the snow slide, the lonely isolation of the lake, and the many times I stumbled on my weary legs coming back down. At night, your imagination can conceive of many dangers beyond those you actually witnessed; the frightening things that could have happened. No, it wasn't smart to go up there alone. It wasn't smart to get so far off track so early on. I fell asleep quickly despite the fearful imagination and triumphant exultation. Would I do it again? Yes. Would I do it solo again? Only as a last resort. This summer, there will be plenty of geocachers who want that five star notch; maybe I'll tag along and see what the Dream looks like without the snow.
