Exploring Welcome Pass

My friend Justin Brown and I enthusiastically stumbled and tripped our way through the woods. We knew the trail had to be close, but we couldn't seem to find it.

We had a schedule for this midweek adventure, so we started in the early morning darkness to give ourselves plenty of time to explore Welcome Pass. Our headlamps flashed off dew glimmering vegetation as we stepped over logs and pushed brush aside. Eventually laughing at ourselves, we found the trail and began a modest incline. We settled into a little trail banter, excited for what the day would bring, when the trail let us know this would not be a leisurely stroll.

The trailhead is located up a dirt road on your left between mileposts 45 and 46 if you are heading towards Mt. Baker on the Mt. Baker Highway, and it is a direct route to Welcome Pass. I know it wasn't straight up, because I didn't need a rope and harness, but boy, is this trail a burner. It's steep, with quick switchbacks. The entire time I kept thinking the trail would get more gradual, but nope. Whoever put in this trail wanted to make sure we got our pump on for the day. As our breathing grew heavier, our conversation wavered a bit, and I got lost in the trance of our lights switching back and forth as we zigzagged up the hill.

Our plan was to reach the pass before the sun came up, but the couple of miles and nearly 3,000 feet of elevation took longer than anticipated. Slowly, enough dawn light filtered through the trees for us to click off our headlamps, and we were able to take in the forest around us. It's a beautiful, peaceful trail, although it's difficult to focus on the surroundings when the next switchback taunts me up ahead.

With our hearts pumping and our quads burning, we reached the pass in time to witness the view in its morning light glory. At the top, we took a moment to enjoy the view – in reality, we were tired and taking a break, but at least we had a good excuse. Staring out at the North Cascade peaks in the distance gives perspective on how vast this incredible piece of wilderness is. It seemingly goes on forever, with valleys and mountains repeating for eternity. While everyone wants a clear day for views, we were lucky enough to have light clouds rolling through above and below the peaks, framing our view with a dynamic show.

The Welcome Pass Trail, although it felt all-consuming in the moment, is really just an elevator to a world of exploration. The well-groomed trails at the top can take you to Excelsior and High Divide, or just give you a tour of Welcome Pass, which is what we did, because in this scene, the whole world seemed to open up. The trees gave way to mountain pastures and wild blueberry fields. There are gently rolling hills and steep cliffs diving off towards creeks below. We scrambled around on large rock outcroppings and took in the views from various locations. While one side of the pass offered a view that extends to the seemingly unknown, the other side provides a bird's-eye view of the familiar North Fork of the Nooksack River winding below.

While starting in the dark seemed misguided at the beginning of the trek, once we reached the top, it felt like the perfect decision as we threw out our schedule and explored with no agenda. We discovered different paths, some created by humans and others by nature. We took in the expansive open scene, gazing at Mt. Baker in all its glory, and examined the small wonders, like the seemingly perfect mushroom sprouting from the earth.

Lunch was a simple affair, consisting of granola bars, crackers, and a tin of smoked oysters. We sat on a moss-covered rock ledge, looking down at the Nooksack River below with an atmosphere no fine dining restaurant could ever hope to match.

With a descent in our future, we headed back to the trail, promising to come back soon, potentially for a night's stay. Other than a couple people on our way back, we had the pass to ourselves. This was a good reminder that there are still quiet places and how special they are when you find them.

With our legs recovered, we boasted about how fast and easy the way back to the truck would be. It is in human nature to think the way down will be a breeze when the opposite force felt so challenging on the way up, but as soon as we began our descent, we knew we were in for a rude awakening. The gravity that fought us on the way up was now pulling us down. In addition to needing to have our brakes engaged, the dirt on the trail had dried in the day's sun and was now slippery. Each step became a process of trying to stop my momentum without slipping, opposing forces acting against my knees.

With my legs burning, I longed for my dawn ascent from a few hours earlier. I knew that my muscles and joints would hurt from the way down more than the way up. While there was a lot of attention paid to my footing, I did give myself moments to take in the forest around me, which had been shrouded in darkness on the ascent. While we made our way down gingerly, our conversation turned to the impressive individuals who had the gargantuan task of building this trail.

As the decline subsided, we heard a gentle creek and knew we were nearing the end of the trail. In the daylight, the entire trail, including the start, was obvious, and we walked the couple of hundred feet section we had missed on the way up, thus concluding – and amending – our little adventure.

The end of a good hike evokes a range of emotions. It's a feeling of relief for the body, accomplishment for the mind, fulfillment for the soul, desire for the next adventure, and excitement for the nearest cold beverage. Fortunately, our busy scheduled allowed for a drink.    X