it’s not my femur but it felt like it could be (after “hiking” to Tyler Peak)
Ah, nothing here. Just another nondescript view from a”hike” (or stroll as it were according to the hardoutdoorsmen-and-women of the Pacific Northwest) up Tyler Peak. One of the few demoralizing things about living in the Pacific Northwest is you can nearly kill yourself from exertion and steepness on a hike that half of the population merely sniffs at.
A slight exaggeration, of course. The unofficial “trail” heading up toward Tyler Peak was supposedly carved out by sportsmen to pack game out by horseback, but after you’ve jammed your toes into the front of your boots for 3,000 feet straight down you’ll grumble and make a mad face like one of the kids on Little Rascals.
Tyler Peak is in the northeast part of the Olympic Mountain range. You won’t believe this, but I’m excited about coming back and grinding off a few more lobes of cartilage from my knees. Cartilage? Who needs it! Remember the Mt. Baldy fiasco from last summer (of course you don’t)? It’s connected to Tyler Peak by an easy ridge. That ridge is pretty snowy right now and my freezer is stocked with ice cream, otherwise I would have gone for it. My plan is to return in either a few weeks or in autumn and run the ridge to Baldy and then Gray Wolf. Could there be anything better than hiking up a mountain called Gray Wolf and exulting in the glorious beauty of the Olympic Mountain range? I can’t wait for that day. Tyler Peak was an amazing prelude, the Dungeness Valley lays below to the southwest and is staggeringly unreal-looking in its perfection. Is it the way the immense folds of rumpled velvet are capped by an icy fortress of stone? The shattered, needle-like rock crunching under my feet? The left-over hail in shady rock crevices, a reminder of last night’s weather?