Winopee Lake

                Every summer, we head out for days in the wilderness, trying to find trails—and times—for solitude. A few years ago, we circled Three Fingered Jack and did not see anyone except a ranger, for three days. This year, we wandered into Winopee Lake and met no one except for a couple of PCT hikers as we looped onto the official trail.

                Winopee Lake is tucked in behind Cultus Lake on the eastern side of the Cascades. Cultus is a Boating Lake, full of jet skis and power boats, with people camping in huge tribes spread over several sites. Not a place for solitude.  The trail starts at the end of the campground and follows the lake for a couple of miles before swinging inland after a boat-in camping beach. The trail is hot and dusty on a summer afternoon, but has an easy grade and is well cleared. After another mile, there is a popular turn for Teddy Lakes at the basin’s crest. If you head to Teddy, it is still hot and dry.

But, if you keep going to Muskrat, the trail dips below the crest and into cooler, damper terrain and the Three Sisters Wilderness. The trail follows a stream from here on in. Muskrat Lake is lovely. We had been a few years before and explored an old cabin built on a peninsula of land jutting out into the marshy lake. When we arrived this year, the cabin was surrounded by water and part of the trail was muddy.  In August. We dropped out packs into the one campsite, which is away from the lake a bit and on the side of the stream, set up camp, and wandered off to explore. The reason for the flood was quickly clear. Beavers had dammed the lake, using some windfall trees and enhancing the natural jam at the outlet.  We could see the dam, the lodge in the middle of the lake, and some gnawed tree stumps.  Later that evening, we listened to ducks and watched dragonflies flirt over the reeds. I spotted two snakes swimming in the shallow area near camp.

The next day, we headed upstream to Winopee Lake. The trail is well maintained, if not heavily used. We saw evidence of beavers at least two other small lakes on the way—flooded areas, gnawed trees, even another lodge. The still water was a breeding ground for mosquitoes, so we slapped at our knees and shoulders as we walked.  They clearly had not seen a warm blooded human for several days.

Winopee Lake was beautiful. We found the one camping spot quickly. It perched on a rocky bluff above the lake, with a soft breeze to keep the bugs away. Someone had built two stone seats, complete with backs, on the point, there were convenient logs and trees, and a lovely shady area to eat lunch as the day grew warm. We set up camp quickly because we planned to follow the trail up to the PCT and then loop back down along a more lake focused route, six more miles total.

After Winopee Lake, the trail becomes much rougher. It is still there—footpaths in the Eastern Cascades take many years to disappear—but it is brushy and overgrown in some places. There are a few downed trees. Once or twice, we had to really look for the trail on the other side of a snow prairie, but we could always find it. Clearly not many people traveled this way.  It was hot and dusty. We reached the PCT quickly, walked north for a little more than a mile, saw the three people we were going to meet for the entire journey, and swung down on the Snowshoe Lake trail, which was more popular. This trail passes several lakes, some larger, some smaller, all a little marshy and shallow (except for Snowshoe!), all with one nice campsite.  This is a place for solitude. Snowshoe Lake was deeper and had a bluff with huge boulders tumbling into the water. It was clearly the best swimming spot on the entire trip, so we jumped in. The water was water and lakey, perfect for a hot summer day.

Winopee Lake was perfect in the evening.  The fingers of marsh reached far into the woods, following streams. The sun lingered on the point for a long while. Ducks raced each other through reeds and dive bombed in from the woods. Geese landed, loudly, for the night.  Bats flew overhead.  We could see Cultus Butte in the distance, but we were far, far away from that loud and lively spot. The stars came out as we fell asleep and I woke up in the morning to a bird perched on the tent.

On the way out the next day, we stopped at Teddy Lakes, but there were plain and boring in comparison. Someone had left a pile of trash, included a large tent, in the one camping area. The water looked murky, and there was no breeze. We decided to head out and car camp for the last night, keeping the memory of Muskrat and Winopee clear in our minds.