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Is this the trail? I asked myself that several times on the hike to Marten Lake. Despite reading recent trail reports, I still underestimated the challenge this hike would present. After my experience at Loch Katrine last Thursday, I almost chose not to do this one at all. Even though it is spring break, it still does not feel like spring. Over the past week, I have had multiple random people tell me how sick they are of the weather and how badly they want to get out of here

There are days when a trip can be measured in miles, elevation gain, or time on trail. And then there are days like this one—where the story is told in fragments. An $85 annual pass.An Apple Maps fail.A long, winding forest road.Snow at elevation.Blowdowns stacked like pick-up sticks across the trail.Dozens of American Robins, several Steller’s Jays, a few Dark-eyed Juncos, a couple of Varied Thrushes, a Ruffed Grouse, a Hairy Woodpecker (first of year)—and one Black Bear.And

Snow, swallows, and the wisdom of turning around The plan was simple: a spring push up to Red Top Lookout. April in the Cascades can be a gamble, but optimism usually wins out over experience at 5:30 in the morning. Forest Road 9738 had other ideas. By the time I reached about 3,800 feet, winter was still firmly in control. A thin layer of snow covered the road, just enough to hide what mattered most—mud. The kind that doesn’t look like much until you’re stuck in it. I found

The CCC Road Trail stretches for 23 miles, but today wasn’t about the miles. Andy was home for the weekend, and it felt like a gift—an opportunity for an early morning forest stroll before life pulled us back in different directions again. No pressure to push pace, no need to rack up distance. Just time. The forest was awake in that quiet, layered way that only comes with spring mornings in the Pacific Northwest. The air carried sound more than light at first—birdsong echoing

There was no egg hunt this year—no plastic grass, no hidden candy, no frantic backyard search. Just a quiet Easter Sunday, a pair of trail shoes, and the pull of the forest. I pointed the van toward the Middle Fork, chasing that early April light that feels like a promise. The kind of morning where winter finally loosens its grip and the air carries just a hint of warmth. It was also an opportunity to try out my new pack, the Ultimate Direction Fastpack 20L A Head Start on th

Spring doesn’t arrive all at once in Washington. It seeps in slowly—first as a softness in the morning air, then as a thinning of the frost, and finally, if you’re lucky, as a flash of color that feels almost impossible after months of gray. For me Spring is embodied by the birds. I grew up in Massachusetts where the American Robin song was the harbinger of spring. This is not true in the Pacific Northwest where American Robins can be seen year round. Instead it is the arr

Some hikes feel like poetry in motion. Others feel like trying to run across a pile of wet bowling balls. Today’s outing on the Pratt River Trail near North Bend was definitely the latter. After spending the past couple of weeks running the smoother stretches of the Middle Fork Trail, I figured I’d mix things up and explore something a little different. The Pratt River Trail has always intrigued me. It runs deep into the valley toward Pratt Lake and eventually connects to l

I had a plan. An ambitious, knock-two-off-the-list, Alpine Lakes Wilderness kind of plan. Drive to the Dingford Creek Trailhead.Hike to Tin Cup Joe Falls.Circle back and push on to Goldmyer Hot Springs. Efficient. Bold. Productive. The first warning sign should have been Apple Maps. When I loaded the route to the Dingford Creek Trailhead, it said 3 hours and 45 minutes . “Huh?” I muttered. That can’t be right. It’s not that far past the Middle Fork Trailhead. I’ve been out t

Middle Fork Trail. Twelve miles roundtrip.A long effort.A different kind of run. Driving Into the Dark I left before sunrise. The road along the Middle Fork Snoqualmie River winds through shadow even in daylight, and in the pre-dawn black it felt like a tunnel through forest. The spotlights on the Vandoit van earned their keep that morning — lighting up curves, wet pavement, and the occasional reflective eyeshine deeper in the trees. There’s something grounding about starting

Six days a week, I run and one day I rest. It is the most difficult day of my week. Especially when the February weather settles heavy over Snoqualmie and the whole family is indoors. The sky gray. The rain steady. Today a wind warning is in effect and our golden retriever is restless. The treadmill whispering. Fridays and Sundays are my proving grounds. Friday is effort with intention (Hill Intervals). Sunday (the Long Run) is distance with resolve. Those are the days I mea

Sunday afternoon, February 15th, I cracked open a new chapter—literally. This was my first hike pulled from the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Complete Hiking Guide , and I chose Stegosaurus Butte , tucked inside the vast beauty of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. It felt appropriate to start with something short, steep, and slightly mysterious. It delivered on all three. The Vanishing Trailhead The adventure begins off the Pratt River Trail—except “begins” might be too strong a word. T

At 8:00 a.m. sharp, a small but enthusiastic group—about 15 to 20 birders—gathered for a winter bird walk at Lake Sammamish State Park , hosted by the Eastside Audubon Society . The thermometer read 31°F , and while the cold alone was bracing, the morning had another trick up its sleeve. By 10 a.m. , a thick fog rolled in over the lake, muting the colors and making the shoreline feel even more wintry. It was one of those mornings where you question your life choices—especiall

Week 1 2026 was rough. Coming back to work after a two-week break was like waking up from a really good nap: groggy, confused, and vaguely angry at whoever invented calendars. Over break I ran 7 miles a day or more and then would sometimes fit in an additional run or afternoon hike. I felt free of stress. The return to work had me asking myself, "what am I still doing here?" The queston kept nagging me as I cleared my inbox, wrapped up writing a document for leadership rev

Some life birds arrive after long chases, multi-county drives, or hours of scanning distant flocks through numb fingers. And then there are the unexpected, local gems—the kind that appear close to home and make the day feel instantly brighter. My 464th life bird was one of those: a beautiful Ross’s Goose , found right in the farmland around Carnation, Washington. The morning was classic Snoqualmie Valley winter—soft gray light, wet fields, and a hush that seems to sit over th

There’s no better way to start a new year than with dirt under your boots and the steady rhythm of a trail easing you into January. While most people were still sleeping off celebrations, I headed east toward Exit 27 for my first hike of the year—a quiet wander up the Gem State Loop. The morning hit that sweet spot of winter gray—soft light, cool air, and just enough stillness to remind you the calendar has turned. It wasn’t a dramatic hike or a summit push; it was something

The day after Christmas has its own kind of quiet. The wrapping paper’s been cleared, the house still smells faintly of pine and leftovers, and most people are settling into a well-earned lazy morning. I, however, pulled on my rain shell and drove toward North Bend for a solo hike at Rattlesnake Ledge—another small step in training for a long backpacking trip next summer. The sky was a solid wash of gray, the kind of Pacific Northwest winter rain that doesn’t fall so much as

The Sunday after Thanksgiving has its own quiet rhythm. The leftovers are dwindling, the dishwasher is finally catching its breath, and every parent of a college kid knows the routine: time to shuttle them back to campus. So at 18, my son was packed up, hoodie on, earbuds dangling, ready for the familiar Snoqualmie-to-Bellingham run back to Western Washington University. It’s funny how fast a week goes. It feels like he just walked in the door last Saturday—dumping laundry, r

Yesterday was one of those quietly bittersweet parent-moments: we drove up to Bellingham to pick up our 18-year-old from Western Washington University for the Thanksgiving break. He’s been away since mid-September — how did that happen so fast? — and it felt meaningful to pause for a family meal before the drive home. Enter one of our favorite local gems: Café Rumba. Located at 1140 N State St in Bellingham. ( Cafe Rumba ) With the three of us together (me, my wife, our son),

I left Snoqualmie at 6:30 a.m. The forecast had promised “scattered showers,” which of course meant “rain whenever it feels like it,” but that’s part of the deal for a November solo birding run. The two-hour drive north was a mix of anticipation, gray skies, and the faint hope that today— today —I’d catch a glimpse of the Snow Bunting reported at Blaine Marine Park earlier in the week. Blaine Marine Park: A Brief History Before the Binoculars Blaine Marine Park sits right on

Fourteen miles before lunch. That’s not a metaphor — that’s how my Sunday started. A long, steady early-morning treadmill run while the rest of the house was still asleep, the steady hum of the belt mixing with whatever motivation I could pull from a half-finished cup of coffee. By 11:30 a.m., I’d showered, stretched, and was officially starving. My 16-year-old son was, too — though in his case, from sleeping in and waiting patiently for me to declare it was finally Feast Buf