Trip Report

Since the dawn of man, water and air have been the most basic of life sustaining properties.  Throughout the nine mile hike into Frances Lake, the availability of both of these commodities are challenged as the trail ascends higher towards the glistening mass of Marble Point.

During the 2001 hike, I had repeated the mistake made by so many others who assumed a water source existed at the halfway point of climbing 32 switchbacks to the ridge top.  This time, I downed 50 ounces of Gatorade during the last hour of the drive down, and filled my pack with 3 quarts of the famous sports liquid.  With sunny skies and temperatures in the mid-80s, we would not be threatened by the sapping heat that had nearly derailed other hikers trip to this remote area (see Don Davis' story above).  Also, I was using trekking poles for the first time, which would prove to be worth their weight in gold by the time the trip ended.

Our 3,300 foot ascent could be best described as uneventful, as we maintained a steady pace with brief rest stops.  We passed only one solo hiker, who marveled at the vista to come at the top of the ridge.  Since we started the early morning in the 900 foot elevation of Walla Walla, the 8,000 foot elevation mark left us pondering increasing heart rates, diminishing oxygen, and anxious inventorying of water supplies.  It took us five hours to reach the pass, where Doug exhorted us to "look back and enjoy the fruits of your labor".  The one benefit of constant climbing is that you always have something to look at across the canyon, and one of the gauges we used was the glistening sparkle of blue water in the hanging valley basin of Chimney Lake to the west.

We then began the two mile long, 900 foot drop into the Frances Lake basin, which to the untrained observer would appear to be a geologist's dream.  With varying quantities of granite, marble, shale, sulfur, iron, and gneiss randomly deposited throughout the valley, each vista on the descent seems to provide a difference glimpse into the ancient evidence of nature's forces.  Frances Lake, this small, thinly forested, and desolate body of water high in the Eagle Caps, holds an attraction that is hard to quantify for those who rarely pass beyond paved walkways.  It has a personality unlike any other lake I have visited, and each visit reveals more of its intangible treasures.

Following a relaxing evenly at our camp on the east shore, we split into two expeditionary groups the next day.  Doug and I fished the lower pools north of the lake in the morning with little success while Matt hung around and took pictures.  Matt continuing hiking around the lake on his quest to traverse the ridge to the south and locate Deadman Lake (see photos 15 and 17 in Row 4 above).  Meanwhile, Doug and I descended carefully through the massive, half-mile boulder field to a large pond north of the lake.  We found many brook trout to be hiding in the algae-laden shadows cast by the many fir trees lining the pond's edge, and it was only hunger and fatigue which finally forced us to give up our angling pursuits.  Doug gamely carried five fresh trout all the back to our campsite, where he masterfully cooked them using his dutch-oven aluminum foil technique.

Unfortunately, the maneuvering through the rocks had ground the sides of my feet into pulp, and I spent the early-evening nursing my wounds while reading Clive Cussler's espionage thriller Golden Buddha.  By that time, Matt had returned from his trekking adventure, and part of our camp entertainment was tracking the small dots of mountain goats making their way across the steep volcanic flow to the east of us.  Our dinner once again brought up the debate of the merits of Mountain House vs. Backcountry Pantry dehydrated dinners.

The next morning shown brightly with clear skies and perfect temperatures.  After stopping one last time at the lake's edge for a panoramic photo op, we trudged back up the ridge with the knowledge that most of the climbing had been accomplished the first day.  During a rest stop on the way down we were met by a young man who identified himself as a geologist from France who was on a day hike to study the surroundings.  Ironically, we hadn't seen a soul during our two nights at Frances Lake.

Maintaining a quick pace down the ridge, and stopping hourly to rest our feet, the ascent went by quickly.  It was during the last seven miles that those wonders manufactured by Komperdell of Austria truly showed their value.  During our last trip on this trail, the descent gradually took its toll on my knees, so that by the time we reached the steepest part of the trail in Mile 1, my knees had barely enough strength to hold me on the side hill, and every step down was another exercise in agony.  With the trekking poles, and using a cross country ski type walking motion, much of my weight was being transferred to the poles and my upper arms.  By the time we reached the bottom, my knees, ankles, and feet felt normal other than the usual swelling from a nine mile hike.  I must say, if you are a hiking enthusiast, regardless of your age, you have got to try trekking poles!