Five volcanoes. One continuous, self-supported line. Roughly 460 miles of trail, road, blowdown, and glacier travel between them. The Washington High Five is a beautiful concept—perhaps slightly less beautiful when you’re standing under a pack stuffed with not just trail essentials, but climbing gear.
Day 1: Mt. Baker summit
We started at 5:03 a.m. on the Fourth of July. From there we moved quickly up through meadows bursting with heather and other alpine blooms to a crowded high camp, where we changed into climbing gear. The forecast for Mt. Baker (10,781 feet, and one of the most heavily glaciated peaks in the lower 48) was excellent, excepting the wind, which promised to be strong up high.
After a typical snowfield slog followed by a steep but straightforward bootpath plod, we tagged the summit with relief. One down. We signed the registry and left as fast as we reasonably could. The descent dropped us out into rolling green meadows, then eventually onto the Baker Lake Highway, mercifully quiet on a Fourth of July evening, and across the Skagit River as the day wound down.
Day 2: The road slog to Darrington
Day two was the part the Instagram algorithm never shows you: miles of pavement. We caught one last truly gorgeous view of Mt. Baker over the road, paused for a well-deserved breakfast and tooth-brushing on the cobbles of the Skagit River, and carried on next to heavy Fourth of July traffic.
Snacks at Two Rivers Casino and in Darrington gave us brief boosts and helped us push past 40 miles and closer to the North Fork Sauk trailhead. Another little upper: a yearling bear so delighted by the lush roadside vegetation it barely noticed us trudge past.
Day 3: To the Glacier Peak high camp
We reached the North Fork Sauk trailhead in the early morning and began the long haul toward Glacier Peak (10,541 feet). The approach to the peak was tough, long, and steep, but the cathedral-like old-growth forest—and the views from the PCT at the end of the climb—were fabulous. We stopped a little earlier than usual at high camp, pitched the tent, and appreciated the open ridgelines, snowcapped peaks, and playful hoary marmots.
Day 4: Glacier Peak summit
We rose well before sunrise for the summit push, which turned out to be one of the most enjoyable summits of the entire trip: a quiet, spiraling climb on smooth, easy-angled snow, mountains stacking up in every direction.
We tagged the summit just after sunrise. We could see Mt. Baker, the peak we’d stood on three days earlier, glowing across the horizon, and it was a thrill to look back and measure the ground we’d covered on foot. We descended with little trouble, moved well over the several passes back to the PCT, then continued south with relief to have reached the longest trail segment of our trip . . . marred only slightly by some significant blowdown.
Day 5: To Stevens Pass
We had a steady rhythm across to Stevens Pass, enjoying the light across the landscape, continued views of Glacier Peak (as it grew smaller), and chats with various hikers and trail work crews. We reached the ski area just before the little café and store closed, which on this kind of trip counts as a major logistical victory. Leaving the pass, though, was the real relief. Despite the rocky surface, mosquitoes, endless series of punishing climbs, we felt better and better as we hiked deeper into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.
Day 6: Through the Alpine Lakes Wilderness
The Alpine Lakes Wilderness is the land of innumerable passes: up and over, down, up and over. The views, at least, were amazing in the morning light.
As we approached Cathedral Pass, we encountered a warning note about a ford (impassable! take detour!). It was early and we were feeling brave, so we carried on toward the ford away. It was rushing but navigable, but for days after northbound PCT hikers asked us for intel.
Day 7: To Snoqualmie Pass
Dawn broke cool and layered over the peaks. We crossed the 230-mile mark—the halfway point—a milestone that felt both enormous and, glancing at the map, faintly terrifying.
The day delivered a full menu of terrain (climbs, burn scars, waterfall refreshers, basins) and the packs remained, as always, SO HEAVY. Late in the day we hit the Kendall Katwalk, that famous Instagram hotspot blasted into a cliff face. We will report, honestly, that it was not a highlight; when you’ve stood atop two volcanoes, a short ledge has stiff competition.
Day 8: More endless forest miles
We left Snoqualmie Pass well before sunrise and trudged up the ski hill in the dark. The day that followed was rather nondescript: up and over and around countless forested buttes with few views. Still, we appreciated the trail’s gradually improving surface and moved quite well thanks to fewer rocks, roots, and other obstacles.
Day 10: Little T(ahoma) summit
At the White River Wilderness Information Center we easily secured our permits for Little Tahoma and Rainier. Little Tahoma (11,138 feet) is a Bulger List peak and one of Washington’s most striking summits: a jagged rock fang jutting off Rainier’s eastern flank, easy to mistake for a mountain in its own right until the giant behind it steals the frame.
We worked our way up through the high, wildflower-strewn slopes, steep snowfields, and scrambled the last airy steps to the top. We tagged summit number three in the evening light and took a minute to appreciate the fun scramble, striking views, and first summit we’d had to ourselves. We descended happily and set up camp at Whitman Notch.
Day 11: To Paradise
Overnight severe winds forced us to take down our tent sleep in the open. After several hours of sandblasting, we had a nerve-racking descent across the Whitman Glacier and down to the Wonderland Trail. But after a nap and some gorgeous views of Tahoma herself, we rallied and arrived at Paradise before sunset.
Day 12: Rainier summit
Mt. Rainier: 14,411 feet, the roof of Washington and the most prominent peak in the contiguous United States, the crown jewel of the Bulger List. This was the big one.
We climbed up through the glacier in the pre-dawn blue and made it through Camp Muir, where a fellow climber greeted us with the reassuring question, “Are you worried about the low pressure system?” Higher up, another asked, “Do you always climb Rainier midday?” We do not, generally. But this was not a generally kind of trip.
Past Cathedral Gap and the cleaver we hit gorgeous fields of sastrugi, those incomparable wind-sculpted snow waves. We moved steadily up, taking breaks and appreciating the views of Little T here and there. Finally we reached the summit crater, stumbled across, and at just past 1 p.m. we signed the summit register amid crazy winds and accumulating storm clouds.
We did not spend time celebrating the most significant summit; we headed straight down, racing against an incoming system. Shortly after leaving the crater, the summit was enshrouded by clouds. Thankful to be descending, we moved with purpose across the massive switchback, down the cleaver, and back to Camp Muir. We heard thunder and felt a few drops as we descended back to Paradise. Despite significant fatigue, we were propelled by our nearly perfect timing.
Day 13: To White Pass
After the intensity of Rainier, day thirteen was a gift: cool fog and gentle terrain made for a good, long, restorative walk to White Pass. The mountains softened, the miles ticked by, and we rolled through a lupine wonderland. We camped near Leech Lake with some pride at having hiked 40+ miles after having just submitted Rainier.
Day 14: Through Goat Rocks
Goat Rocks is much nicer when you’re rested. Still, we tried our best to soak in the dramatic views from The Knife’s Edge and the massive carpets of paintbrush flowers. We had a short moment of inspiration when we crossed paths with Aurélien Sanchez, mid-PCT-record attempt, and his pacer. After Goat Rocks we tried to move efficiently through the warm afternoon, having several interesting chats with section hikers along the way. We distracted ourselves by planning a finish strategy. A Saturday finish seemed feasible; how could we make it happen?
Day 15: Mt. Adams – finally!
The finish line was Mt. Adams: 12,281 feet, the second-highest peak in Washington and a proud Bulger List summit. We started the final push near midnight: tired of camping, tired of ziploc breakfasts, tired of pretty much everything. Despite the relatively tame PCT segment to the Killen Creek trail junction, we struggled with sleepiness, motivation, and temperature. Still, we reached the junction in a fairly reasonable time and began the climb with both anticipation and dread. It was our last climb (hooray!), but it was long and steep and we were pretty dead. Not surprisingly, Adams was our slowest ascent of the entire trip. Fourteen days of accumulated mileage and vert had taken a toll. We took many breaks, trying to harness the power of the views to push us upward.
After a really laborious crawl up the mountain’s north spine, we finally tagged our fifth and final summit. Five peaks. Five volcanoes. We had actually done it. We were cold and exhausted as we waited in a line to take our summit photo, but we barely noticed. Achieving the final summit was energizing and we obligingly took photos for a few groups before tearing down (in our trail runners) toward Cold Springs.
We saved about an hour glissading down from the false summit. Then we trudged down the rocky, hot, gravelly climber’s trail toward the trailhead. It was not a pleasant few hours, but we were thankful not to be spending the night at the lunch counter or worrying about where we’d find water next. We finally rolled into the Cold Springs trailhead after 14 days, 13 hours, 39 minutes, and 37 seconds: self-supported, five summits, roughly 460 miles.
We celebrated at the Mt. Adams Pizza cart in Trout Lake, where the slices tasted like manna. Ursina then drove us home to the land of beds and refrigerators.
Full report with more photos at https://christofteuscher.com/aagaa/report-self-supported-460mi-washington-high-five-fkt