6 Day Wallowa Traverse (or at least Joe and Chelsea's version of it)

Ever since our second trip to the Wallowas, Joe and I set a goal of conquering the entire range from south to north (or vice versa) and summiting both Eagle Cap and Matterhorn in a single trip. The traverse we called it. We knew this would mean not only huge ascents and descents, but longer miles than we normally tackle if we were to do it in our usual 6 days.

This year it was time to make it happen. We carefully crafted a route that would start from one of the southernmost access points in Cornucopia, an area we hadn’t had a lot of exposure to, but always wanted to visit, before winding up into the Imnaha River valley and ending north at Ice Lake where we would summit Matterhorn. Afterwards we’d swing back into the Lakes Basin, summit Eagle Cap, and head back over two passes to return to the start.

The plan was ambitious, it would require days where we would be doing multiple hard climbs consecutively. Just looking at the itinerary the fifth day’s route made me nervous and a little sick, and I hadn’t even done it yet, but as always I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our first day out of Cornupopia was a decent climb. It’s funny, you never truly realize how steep the uphills are until you have to go down them six days later, but we worked our way up some old rocky hunting roads until we veered off onto the Blue Creek Trail. The skies held hints of possible threats that a storm was looming and the air was slightly humid, but we embraced the clouds as a reprieve from what would have otherwise been a hot day.

We hit some unexpected creek crossings where I managed to stay dry by rock hopping over some incredibly slippery moss covered rocks, some only the size of my fist. I’m pretty sure every single toe was gripping for dear life and I saved myself at least once. Joe was not so lucky and wound up with wet feet. Our last crossing before camp we both ditched the shoes and opted to go barefoot instead, the water ice cold and hurt like hell, but cold feet are temporary and wet shoes are not. Our first 10 miles was finished. We were off. Tired but excited for our adventure, we ended at one of our favorite spots right next to the Imnaha River tucked below the trail.

The second day was an unfortunate one for me as I encountered a series of bad luck. An early arrival some women dub “shark week” that I refused to get me down despite the cramps, we downed breakfast and were off. Within a mile I started to feel faint, definitely not the feeling you want to have at the start of a big day of climbing a pass. I’ve also never felt like that on trail, the entire earth tilting and spots of light danced in front of my eyes. I told Joe I needed to sit down immediately so pack and all I plunked down on the trail and waited. Not knowing the exact cause I only had to guess it was likely due to the sudden loss of iron, ear pressure from the altitude or perhaps a combo? Either way, I felt awful for Joe having to just stand there while I tried to get my world to return to normal or if this trip like others this summer would derail in flames.

After several minutes and with steps like a baby deer, I slowly trekked on, not 100% but also not faint anymore. The mysterious spins that had taken hold vanished as soon as they had arrived and luckily didn’t return the rest of the trip. Which was good because our day was a hard one. We had a climb up to Hawkins Pass before descending down to Frazier Lake then trekking all the way to the junction at Ice Lake.

The last 3 miles were fairly warm and our feet ached terribly, but we trekked on knowing that the further we got the better off we would be to summit Matterhorn the next day. We found a delightful little spot by the river and set up camp. And this is when my third bad luck struck me quite literally when I thumped my head so hard into a tree Joe heard it across the campsite.

Lesson for all: don’t pitch your tent under a low tree. Just don’t. After a quick triage to stop the bleeding and a slathering of ointment I can’t say I was feeling as good as new after the day I had, but my misfortunes were at least manageable so I went to bed determined to have a better day tomorrow.

And what a day we had! It was our first summit day and spirits were high. We climbed up to Ice Lake without much fanfare, the climb easier than we remembered from years prior and arrived hours earlier than we expected. We set up camp, rested a bit, had lunch, then began the grueling climb up to Matterhorn.

One mile but 2000 feet of climbing over jagged rocks and up undefined fields of scree. The wind gusts testing our balance the entire way, lips and nostrils becoming dry and wind chapped. We made it to the top and the view… views like that just never get old! Not saying I ever want to climb Everest but I get it, feeling like you are on top of the world and everything else is stretched out infinitely in front of you is such a high.

We ate some snacks, took some photos, took it in one last time, and headed back down. The worst part about mountain tops is that it takes you way longer to climb and descend than what you spend on top and the slog down can feel pretty relentless.

We finally made it back to camp, the wind gusts had managed to coat everything in a fine layer of dust in our absence. Grit coated our bags and every loose item in the tent, no matter how much shaking we just couldn’t get things to feel clean. It was a losing battle with the wind still blowing we fell asleep with grit from our nostrils all way down between our toes.

Our fourth day on trail was a cold one. A shock of frost met us once we descended the four some odd miles from Ice Lake. We saw some hikers on their way out towards Wallowa Lake and they were all bundled up like that kid from A Christmas Story, clearly they had a colder night than we did. Other than the chill seeping into us and numbing our hands nothing of note happened, we were making good time and felt encouraged by that. Any day the legs aren’t sore is a good day on the trail.

We crossed the West Fork of the Wallowa River and were met with three ptarmigan, cute little birds with spots on their tails and butts that Joe has always referred to as wood chickens.

Normally they hide themselves and fly away so suddenly it scares the crap outta you, but these three seemed perfectly content letting me just follow them down the trail. Small things like this, just following some wood chickens down a trail for a few hundred feet, is enough to break up the monotony that backpacking can sometimes feel like and brighten the day. We began another climb up to the Lakes Basin area, by then whatever coolness had departed and the sun was beating down through every break in the trees.

We stopped for a quick lunch and picked up the pace knowing that the Lakes Basin area is often the most populated part of our trek which means limited dispersed camping as the one nighters flock in. Our goal was to get as close to the Eagle Cap Summit trail for the night so we would have less of a trek in the morning for summit day. But as expected Mirror Lake was busy, what limited camping exists was filled by tents and we weren’t fans of trying to pitch on rocks if we could help it. Joe managed to find a cute little spot tucked away above a creek just past Mirror Lake. We cleaned up and went to bed early with plans to slack pack up to the summit first thing in the morning.

I woke early that day, two hours before sunrise. It was day five. The dreaded day five. It had finally arrived. How did that happen so quickly? I actually debated waking up Joe while the stars were still out and trekking up for the sunrise, but the cold kept me bundled up in my quilt and for probably the hundredth time I mulled over that day’s route. 15 some miles, 4500+ feet of climbing, a summit plus two mountain passes. That’s what stood between me and my dinner. The anticipation finally became too much so we crawled our way out of the tent, ate what we could stomach, left anything nonessential at camp, and off we went.

By now we are Eagle Cap veterans, we’d done it twice before and with full packs so going without, while I wouldn’t call it easy, was also easier than all previous times and we made it to the summit just before 8am. The visibility was the best we’d ever seen, despite the fires we had clear skies and once again the world was open to us. Even with the sun rising and the glare bouncing off Glacier Lake, we could see the Seven Devils all the way into Idaho. We snapped a quick photo but knew we couldn’t linger long, we still had a camp to break down and over a half marathon’s distance yet to hike.

We made the knee aching descent down, quickly tossed things into our packs, triaged our blisters, and were off to hit Glacier Pass. Glacier Pass is and will always be a doozy of a climb. It never gets easier and no matter the time of day, if the sun is out it’s hot and exposed. I dipped my hat into every single small stream I came across on the way up, rejoicing at the feel of the cool water trickling down my back.

We were also approaching lunch so my stomach was grumbling, but I was determined to at least get to the top before stopping. Finally with a view of the lake below I snacked on some flatbread, hummus, and vegan jerky, my favorite lunch when I need a real pick me up, and we began the steep descent down to Glacier Lake and then beyond back to Frazier Lake. Three miles that just feels like an endless climb down as you lose over a thousand feet of hard earned climbing.

We hit Frazier around 2pm and dreaded our final pass of the day. By then the sun was brutally hot, we filled our water at a creek and I dunked my entire shirt and hat in, soaking them both until they dripped. I’m convinced that the chill of the water paired with the slight breeze is what got me through the rest of the day and up Hawkins Pass. And that climb is the type of climb where it’s not physical anymore, it pure mental grit and determination.

It’s not really a hard pass compared to others we’d done, it’s actually our favorite to climb, but when it’s late and hot and the third big climb on tired legs the only thing that keeps you moving is the voice in your head that says you can do it. Head down to block the sun, one step at a time, this is where Joe and I excel. We do not give up. We don’t even give ourselves the option to. I told Joe two days later in our hotel room that while I may never be the most fit or in shape, my stubbornness to succeed will always win out. This is why sometimes we pass people miles later on the trail who at first might blow by us, we don’t stop when others do and I’m endlessly proud of that. We are so similar in that way, one of us the speed goat and the other the stubborn old mule that won’t give in. It’s a good combo.

So it should come to no shock that yes we did conquer that day, we made it our campsite along the river and took in our final night on the trail with our favorite meal which we’ve dubbed Thanksgiving dinner. A feast after a big feat, there is no better reward. I went to bed with a view of a doe coming to visit us, what an end to day five.

And then it was our final day. Just like that our week was coming to an end. Our hair was more grease than hair, we were both nursing blisters on our right pinky toes that were bigger than the toe itself, and while we couldn’t wait to get off and take a shower, there was also a melancholy hanging over us that this was the end of our trip.

It was a slog too. The temps were climbing, the nice moderate weather leaving and heat creeping into the forests making our final climbs brutal. Rocky uphill terrain with roots and rocks to trip our exhausted legs and stub our toes. Brush and overgrown routes and downed trees. Our final climb up to Norway Basin we met blowdown after blowdown, adding extra distance as we navigated around them scraping up legs and arms. And the dust, it was just everywhere.

The trail was going to make us work for our finish line. The top gave us a spectacular view of the Pine Lakes pass, but once the uphill stopped, the steep down began.

Knees creaking and begging for relief, already sore toes pressing against the front of our shoes as we descended down a few thousand feet. Back down endless dirt roads where we slid over loose rocks. We came across an archery hunter resting in a small patch of shade with some crackers and a Red Bull, we chatted briefly telling him that he should have good luck with deer and when he asked how far we had gone and we told him he couldn’t hide his shock that we had traversed all the way to the north then back over 6 days. We gave a wave goodbye then continued on down, more dirt, more dust, more downhill.

Endless, following livestock tracks, crossing a few final streams, passing through the gate, before encountering one more person at the lodge. He stopped to ask us if we had seen wildlife and telling us about some other lakes we could explore. Sparking up more ideas for adventures. Enough of a distraction that we couldn’t even remember which way the car was parked, a little embarrassing given our adventuring and that the minute we hit hints of civilization, we get lost. After a little wandering around gravel roads and finally the car was in sight. And our epic adventure of a Wallowa traverse had come to an end.

Until next time. Over and out.