Didn't forget to do Forgotten

After doing a hike with my dad on Saturday near Leavenworth, I accomplished very little Sunday. Eventually getting pissed at myself for doing so little with the beautiful day, I packed a pack for the next day and set an alarm for 5:30. Then I failed yet again by starting yet another crappy horror movie and watching it late into the night. Luckily, when I awoke right on schedule the next morning, I was already pretty much strong-armed into doing SOMETHING (unpacking a pack I didn't use because I was too lazy would be depressing even for me).
What that was, I didn't know. I simply set off for the Mountain Loop and decided I'd think about it on the way. I felt very demotivated, perhaps because I'm getting sick, but I decided what I needed was a real rough-and-tumble adventure to get me excited again, a mountain I'd never done before. The only significant peaks this side of the loop I knew the routes for that I hadn't done before were Big Four, Morningstar and Forgotten. Big Four was out, I was nowhere near prepared for that. And I was just repulsed from the flanks of Morningstar last week for the second time, after route finding misadventures. So Forgotten it would have to be, a mountain I'd also attempted twice before. 

As limp as I felt leaving home, I felt even worse at the trailhead, feeling wobbly and weak. I felt like plunking down there in the forest, reading a good book, and then going home. But I'd come here for a mission; it was personal now, Forgotten and me. I hate being turned back. So I decided I had to try.

The connecting trail from Dickerman to the Perry Creek Trail was wonderful. Though it adds about a mile+, the forest is lovely and the trail flat, which gave me a good warmup for the day's main event. I felt better.

I made pretty quick work of the several miles up Perry Creek valley to the waterfall, though I was discovering an unfortunate trend: though the sun hadn't even hit my side of the valley yet, I was already sweating buckets.
But I was kept entertained by the waterfalls coming from the Dickerman side and the Stillaguamish side, though they don't turn out nearly as cool in pictures.

Soon I was at the waterfall near the creek crossing, where I met one of the two people I would meet all day, a solo overnighter, coming down from the meadows. I took a pack-off break at the falls so the sweat could dry, while I read the Martian Chronicles.

Crossing the creek, I set up the moderate slopes through the forest on the other side. By this point I felt like I was practically dying from the heat. I've never been this hot in the mountains before. I zipped off my pant legs and took off my shirt, and then it only became bearable, just, if I moved slowly.
This part was truly Type II fun at best ("an activity that's only fun when you stop doing it"), maybe Type III("not fun"). I just slogged in a trance, so slammed by the heat even the heinous spiderwebs stretched across the trail, mingling with my sweat, seemed like small potatoes.
After a while, I got to the first meadow, where I got to enjoy once again the awesome topography of the region. (A ridge, steep and precipitous on the other side, but gentle and full of meadows on the side you approach from. This ridge swings from Stillaguamish Peak to Forgotten, and you follow it around.)

Unfortunately, it was at this point an unhappy creature showed up: a bug I eventually named Evil Incarnate. Perhaps a horsefly, I never got a good look at the thing, it moved so fast. But this wasn't just any annoying bug. No, every time I let my guard down, it would fly towards my ear at a thousand miles and hour, scaring the shit out of me, I'd throw out my shoulder trying to swat it, it would leave, and the cycle repeats. This wasn't just an annoying bug, it was far too smart: it knew good and evil, and had chosen the latter.
I scurried over to the meadows, but I wasn't fast enough to completely avoid the divebombing of Evil Incarnate.

By this point, I was so hot, dripping sweat all over the place, and having already accomplished a fair distance, so I figured I deserved a little break in the shade, reading some of the Martian Chronicles and having a snack. But Evil Incarnate didn't think so. When I realized the book was being used as a swatter and not being read at all, I figured keeping moving was the only choice I had. I was exhausting myself here. And Evil Incarnate wouldn't follow me to the summit, right?
And then, here was the part I wasn't looking forward to. See, I can do trails all day. I can do clean, nice rock all day. I can do glaciers all day. Those are the cases where if it's difficult, mentally or physically, at least it's fairly simple. This was the part where everything stopped being simple, and routefinding and bushwhacking became key. And honestly, I don't do that well at route finding. I pick a route, but I'm usually wrong, and instead of following it with confidence and speed I spend time second-guessing my decision, worrying whether I'll be able to find my way back, worrying about running into, or over, a cliff, etc. The mental part is what I struggle with.
And here was first, a sketchy downclimb to get under the cliffs of the ridge crest, and then following under the ridge crest, with the only way to avoid cliffs by going through the trees. I do fine at this stuff if I've done it before or have great beta, but given general directions and having to find my own way, I tend to worry if my route goes anywhere, and whether I'll be able to follow it back.

I was tempted to just spend some time catching up on my reading at the meadows. But I was sick of the meadows, this would be my third time receiving the meadows as a consolation prize, and I knew I'd never had a better chance and that I was capable if I was careful, so I pressed on.

I didn't know what to expect. I knew you followed the climber's path around Forgotten, under the cliffs, to the other side, where you ascend a gully to the summit. But I couldn't tell the exact nature of what the traverse would be from a distance, the terrain was just too messy. I soon found out.

I had no clue what to expect. Trip reports of Forgotten are fairly rare, and few describe the conditions of the traverse. It ended up being longer and sweatier than I hoped. There was tons of schwacking, often with no trail, just following the path of least resistance, hoping that's what other people did, too. And it was still hot, of course. I stuffed my shirt with snow to try to save my sweat, as I didn't have enough water. But since the approach to this mountain is so long, and this was already my third time, I pressed on despite dehydration, and with enough schwacking and confusing route finding, I eventually made it to the tarn. I just went up the first gully I saw, which I later observed was only one of several I could've picked, of varying degrees of sketchiness. Mine wasn't bad, though, I felt fine with just an ice ax, though people who don't like steep snow might've wanted crampons (The runout was just into the tarn, which isn't bad, but if you truly lost control near the top, lost your ax perhaps, you could pick up enough speed that could simply rocket you off the edge of the tarn to a grisly end.)
After the top of the gulley, there was very little left to do, simply scrambling up some heather and snow before getting to the rocky summit.

The summit was excellent, very impressive and exposed. I took pictures, sat down and read some Martian Chronicles and Mountaineer Magazine, got up and surveyed the different river valleys, where the Stillaguamish comes from and the North Fork Sauk, etc. Then I opened the summit register, finding I was the third party to summit this year, after a couple in May and a soloist just 3 days ago. There was also in there the old claim that the next lump over was the ACTUAL summit. Someone else had written that a Summitpost commenter had proven that wrong with waterbottles and string. I was able to confirm this, because when I placed my eyes on dead level with my summit, I could see Pilchuck in the distance OVER the other high point, which meant the angle between them must be downsloping, because Pilchuck is shorter. Having gone back and read the comment, I see that the commenter, Dundeel, mentions using just that method also. Great minds think alike, I suppose.
That being said, I went over to check out the super exposed scramble anyway. I went most of the way, savoring the exposure and the novelty of straddling an entire mountain, each leg over its own abyss, but I decided not to go all the way because of how difficult it would be to downclimb, and the fact that it's only a measly false summit anyway didn't seem like anything worth getting my hackles up over.

After all my reading, signing, exploring and surveying was done, I packed up to go. I happened to look over at Forgotten Meadows, and I saw a moving dot there. It was a person! As happy as I was at this moment, I wanted nothing more than to rush over and greet this person as cheerfully as possible, double-quick.
I knew this probably wouldn't happen, as it would take me at least an hour to get there, and not everyone brings books for the victory party so they'd probably be gone by the time I got there. But I was dehydrated and almost out of water anyway, so I decided descent with speed and style was the way to go.
Now that I at least knew what to expect for the traverse, I felt much more relaxed about it. So much more relaxed I reveled in the gorgeous wildflowers and the blooming heather that I'd been too distracted to see on the way up.

Despite being dehydrated, I was a lot happier now that I'd reached the summit. Perhaps a bit too happy. To aid in finding the non-trail, I took off my sunglasses and simply hooked them on my shirt. Because that totally works when you're contorting all around to avoid trees. Luckily, I realized their absence quickly, went back about 50 yards and retraced my steps, and found them. Seems like I've been losing a lot of stuff recently.

Eventually I found my way to the meadows. And boy was the day hot, my tracks, set down only hours previous, were melted almost completely out of recognition. Even the tracks of the stranger, just an hour old, were getting difficult to find. But there wasn't too much snow after the meadow and I followed the trail back down mostly without incident. I stopped to wet my shirt and hair at the creek crossing, where I also ran out of water. After that, I was in the zone, not stopping again, even zipping past a friendly lady, going down the valley and then across the connecting trail, which was a bit more irritating than it was this morning.
Most of the way down the valley, I started to feel nauseous, which I figured was either dehydration or the fact I'd not eaten much to save water. I zoomed back to Granite Falls and got Subway, and that was the end of that.

A final note, on Mount Forgotten: It's an interesting mountain. Tucked deep in the mountain loop, the mountain isn't particularly high, but it is quite rugged. If you're new to the mountain loop, you probably want Vesper, for the conditioning, perhaps Sloan, for the views, perhaps Three Fingers also for the views. There's no reason in particular to do Forgotten. It's not particularly high, but it's harder than it looks. I was the third summiter this year, but more than twice as many signed the trail register saying their intention was to summit (including the guy I assume was the guy I saw at Forgotten Meadows). The mental and physical challenges are great, but more dealing with long traverses and sketchy routefinding than more sexy mountains with great slopes that can be attacked head-on. That being said, if you're prepared for it, the mountain is a great bit of fun, you get a lot of walking through forest, you get walking up a valley and seeing waterfalls, you get meadows and views to spare, craggy ridges, and routefinding adventure, if that's your thing.