Colonel Bob
After a long week, I needed some solitude. It was a beautiful and warm weekend in Seattle, which meant half of the metro area would be in the Cascades somewhere. I scoured through my trail maps and online resources looking for trail possibilities. I was looking for
- No people (zero if at all possible)
- Limited exposure to sun (it was hot and sunny and I was already sunburned from the day before)
- Payoff view (it was clear and sunny, take it while you got it)
- Zero people (listed again for emphasis)
After looking for a while, I figured I didn’t have much hope for the no people part. I went to Richmond Beach to read and looking out at the southern end of the Olympic Mountains, I realized that I’ve never really done any hiking or anything down at that end. Then I thought about an article I read years ago about the most endangered trails in the state and a trail came to mind from that list that I had intended to hike back then for the same reasons I was looking for now: Colonel Bob.
Back in 2006, there was a massive blowdown that took out more than a mile of trail making the whole trail useless. Since then, the WTA and others worked to clear all that timber out and the trail is long since back, but from everything I could read, still seldom used, in part because of another trail nearby, Pete’s Creek. It’s only about 4 miles one way, and only 3300 feet elevation gain.
Looking back, I don’t know how I was so torn about which of the two trails I should do. Colonel Bob is, by comparison, 7.3 miles one way, and 4292 feet elevation gain. A long slog. For some reason, another hiker’s reflection on the trail was
“I was glad that the Colonel Bob trail was open again because now I don’t have to do all that extra driving on forest roads to get to the trail head.”
That sealed it for me. I’m not a big fan of long drives on forest roads, especially dusty ones. The one drawback was the driving time–over three hours. But compared to some of the other hikes I had contemplated, not that much worse. Plus it was near the ocean as a post-hike side-trip with the promise of unpopulated old-growth forest.
I arrived at the tail head around 8:40am to find two other cars. One was sitting off to the side with a neon orange sign leaned against its rear bumper requesting me to “stop and take a survey”. The kid was a little bleary-eyed and bored already sitting in an empty parking lot. He was taking a survey of people leaving the national forest and asking about their experience. He was only going to be there until 2pm. I would be missing him. It also crossed my mind that it would be a convenient ploy to determine which cars to plunder. There was a hiker registery at start, and I didn’t look up the list until later, but the last entry were for day-hikers the day before. I was the first on the trail, and the only, I hoped.
The trail begins gently enough upward past some enormous Doug Firs and Hemlock and through some switchbacks until you reach the blowdown area. 
In the morning it was nice because it opened up to some views of the surrounding peaks, but on the way back it was hot, dry and dusty and I couldn’t wait to get back to the cool of the deep woods. It eventually levels out and takes you through a happy little valley. Looking back, this section was probably my favorite part (maybe excluding moments on the summit). It was cool, dark, quiet, and devoid of humans.
Just as I was thoroughly lulled into thinking I was alone, I was startled by a dog barking and running right at me. I was so lost in my head that I did not see that I had come up on the Mulkey Shelter. There were two apologetic women in it, and I don’t know if they were just resting, or if they had just packed up. I hardly exchanged two words with them other than my “Ahh!” when I encountered the dog.
I plunged past, irked a bit. From that point on it goes up steady until you reach a crest and head back down the other side. I was disconcerted, but looking at the map it has to go down and around a peak in order to meet up with Pete’s Creek trail. To get there though there was some serious overgrowth on the trail that required some careful stepping, but by the same token, there was sections covered in moss and some in grass. An underused trail indeed.
At the junction, my solitude ended quickly. I overcame three groups in quick succession on the steady march up to the summit. I passed one more guy taking a “siesta”, as he later told me. I was first to the summit, and had it to myself for about an hour.
The lack of snow was depressing. I’d never seen the Olympics so naked. Only Mt. Olympus had any amount of snow on it. The view was novel for these reasons:
- Looking down on Lake Quinault.
- Looking out over the Pacific Ocean.
- Seeing the backsides of mountains I see from Seattle.
- The unique view of Mt. Rainier.
The best part was just being on top, alone, hearing the birds and the wind and the quiet. It took me back to my years at Mt. Rainier, sitting on top of Pinnacle and Lane peaks. I sat for a while with the first couple to make it up before I headed down and ran into the guy who was taking a nap at the base of the summit. He seemed a mite perturbed and wondered when I had passed him.
He had struck out on the day to have the summit first–but that’s what napping gets you. I passed a few more parties on their way up. I finally reached the junction and plunged on, happy in the thought that I’d likely have my solitude back, and I wasn’t wrong. I didn’t see a soul the whole way down and the cars were gone from the lot, save mine. Other than those girls, I had 11+ miles of trail all to myself. It was exactly the trail I had searched for and it didn’t disappoint.
Colonel Bob Map