AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Twelve Miles of Tetrahedron | Sunshine Coast #2
Part of the Mushroom Mania on the Sunshine Coast (Sep 2024) trip.

Having had a successful first day on the Sunshine Coast, we hoped our second day would be one of the most dramatic - at least, from a view perspective - given the effort that was going to be necessary over the next several hours.

With the amount of dew on the alders, the Tacoma started out the day with an organic carwash.​

Arrival at the trailhead.​

Our plan - a hike to the summit of Mt. Steele in Tetrahedron Provincial Park - entailed a 12+ mile (20km) hike along long-lost mining roads, through temperate rain forest, past a series of lakes and wetlands, culminating in a 3-mile climb at nearly 45 degrees, steeper than most stairways (which average 32.5 degrees)!

The things we will do for views.

The first mile or so - along an old mining road - was quickly behind us.​

Hope those clouds clear.
​

As we entered the temperate rainforest, @mrs.turbodb once again reminded me how much she loved this type of environment. The soft green moss on the ground, the dappled light through the trees, wild huckleberries - unfortunately past their prime when we visited - as far as the eye could see. I had to admit that with temperatures in the low 60s °F and relatively clear skies overhead, it was certainly a perfect day for a hike.

Almost immediately, the mushroom mania that'd begun on our previous day's hikes, resumed.​

Mushroom warts.​

Fins.​

With no tent camping allowed in the park's boundaries - this park is located within the traditional territories of the Sechelt and Squamish First Nations - Tetrahedron Provincial Park doesn't see much traffic. A rolling subalpine plateau with pockets of old growth hemlock, Pacific silver fir, and yellow-cedar, it is dotted with lakes and criss-crossed by trails - some of which can only be enjoyed in the winter, shortcutting their way across the frozen lakes. We made good time - stopping mostly to admire the mushrooms - to the Edwards Cabin.

There were several bridges and boardwalks - over lazy creeks and soggy wetlands - to keep our feet dry.​

Donut on a stick. Who's ready mushroom roulette?​

The clouds were playing especially nice as we arrived at - and eventually skirted - Edwards Lake.​

Four backcountry log cabins - built in 1987 - have been maintained ever since by the volunteer-run Tetrahedron Outdoor Club. Used by hikers in the summer - and cross-country (XC) skiers in the winter - the inability to tent camp means they are the only way to spend the night in the park. Depending on your luck and/or disposition, they are sometimes a great way to meet fellow adventurers who have nowhere else to stay!

Edwards Cabin got a new deck and set of stairs only a couple weeks before our arrival. Unfortunately, a distinct lack of toilet paper made it a tough place to stay for an extended period of time.​

Downstairs, the main room was a great place to eat lunch, and the dozen mattresses upstairs meant there was plenty of room for "new friends."​

The trail from Edwards Cabin to the summit - with Mt. Steele Cabin along the way - is where things really got serious. Here, what was a reasonably low-key trail, turned it up a notch or two, and did so quickly. After crossing Steele Creek - completely dry when we visited, but often swollen and fast moving as snow melts in the winter - tree roots become steps, and horizontal progress slows dramatically. Vertical progress through this section is not slow, a foot forward also tends to correspond to a foot up. We each took it at our own pace, neither of which I would consider "fast."

Without this bridge, we'd have been forced to ford a dry creek bed.​

In several places, the trail headed straight up the mountain. Canadians, apparently, don't believe in switchbacks.​

Eventually we reached Steele Cabin.​

As we climbed the stairs to this second refuge, we could hear the banging of pots and chatter of voices inside. Another couple - Michael and Rika - were warming a cup of soup, having arrived only shortly before us, after staying the previous night at Edwards Cabin. Filling them in on our plans - and seeing a bit of relief on their faces that we were just up for the day - they wandered off to enjoy the expansive views from the shores of a nearby tarn as we looked around the cabin for a few minutes.

Having grown up with an uncle who made them for a living, I am always fascinated to see the wood stoves that are used in cabins we find on our adventures.​

No complaints about the view to the summit from the living room at Mt. Steele Cabin.​

A little quality time together.​

While not quite as steep as the climb we'd just completed, reaching the summit half-a-mile and 500 feet higher felt just as difficult for me, though I noticed that @mrs.turbodb seemed to have no trouble at all. We were starting to get hints - and even peeks - at what we could expect from the top, and already the geologist of our party was pointing to peaks and sharing their names.

Calm and clouds.​

Up we go.​

Looking back down toward Steele Cabin and the glacial tarn.​

And then, almost without warning, a final push brought us to the crest of the ridge and the summit of Mt. Steele. This, however, was not the prize. Instead, a few miles away, Tetrahedron Peak rose up to our east, its form stunning against the surroundings. We each saw it nearly simultaneously, and suddenly we were each on our own, vying for the best view.

Tetrahedron Peak.​

Nearby, Panther Peak reminded us both of Yosemite's Half Dome.​

Tetrahedron, Mobius, and Panther Peaks.​

With low clouds and fog constantly creeping amongst the folds of the highest peaks, and the sun dodging in-and-out of the clouds to our west, we enjoyed the view from Mt. Steele for 15 minutes or so before gathering up our things for the long trek back to the Tacoma. It'd taken us a little more than six hours to cover the distance to the top and we had just more than three before sunset would spread across the forest, necessitating the use of our headlamps for light.

Quick, a splash of sunlight!​

Like the trek up, the hike down was beautiful. Unlike the trek up, our speed was significantly faster. During the descent, we passed two other pairs of hikers - both on their way up to Steele Cabin - letting them know that they were going to be company to the good folks who were already there.

"Are we close?" one of the groups asked.

"Closer than you were," I smiled.

Surprising - to us - sharing a cabin didn't seem to bother either pair in the least, and as we bid them each a nice evening, we wondered between ourselves about how the whole cabin-sharing situation would work out.

We'd passed the second pair only a few hundred feet beyond Edwards Lake, and were surprised they didn't stay at the cabin there, having the place to themselves.​

We arrived back at camp - the tent conveniently deployed when we'd arrived earlier that morning in order to dry it out - in just under three hours, and 15 minutes before sunset. It'd been another long day, but - save for slightly clearer skies along the horizon - one that had exceeded our expectations.

But more than anything, we continued to be surprised by the sheer quantity and variety of fungi we saw along the way!

Mini mushrooms.


.​

 

Beautiful hike.

 

Camp on the Water | Sunshine Coast #3
Part of the Mushroom Mania on the Sunshine Coast (Sep 2024) trip.

After a 12-mile hike through Tetrahedron Provincial Park, we'd planned only a single hike on the following day. That, and I'd also found a couple of extensive looking trail systems on Gaia, and figured that we could end up wasting away much of the day searching for overlooks as we wandered our way through the forest.

It was 9:30am as we wound our way through the trees toward Mt. Richardson Provincial Park.​

Unsurprisingly in a region where logging is king, there were roads on the ground that were not on our maps. Newly graded and covered with bright 3-inch stone - to support the weight of massive trucks - we abandoned our GPS track as a promising fork climbed steeply up the hillside to our right. It continued - with grades that seemed insane for anything longer and heavier than a pickup - right to the top of the ridge, abruptly stopping in a tall tree tunnel. With no views from our lowly position, it was time to break out the flying camera, in an attempt to really rub in how much we were missing!

Initially, I was pointed toward the mouth of the Salmon Inlet. It was nice, but we didn't feel too bad.​

Then, I flipped the drone around nearly 180 degrees to look up the inlet, successfully demoralizing ourselves with the view.​

Not wanting to spend our day looking at screens, I landed the drone after only a few percent of the lithium-ion hover juice had been drained and we plowed our way back down the mountain towards a trail that we'd heard was, "more technical, but worth driving before we lose it to logging."

Not sure if the smiley should be reassuring or just a little bit worrying.​

Bible Camp trail once allowed access to land acquired from the Canadian Government - via a crown lease in 1963 - by the Glad Tidings Church. Members of the church built several A-frame type cabins, a rustic - but very attractive - dining hall overlooking the water, a very large A-frame chapel, a gym for activities like Basketball, and several staff quarters. Positioned immediately on the beach, it was an idealistic location that allowed the church - from 1964 to the mid-1990's - to host children of the congregation - brought in by boat - for summer camp.

Today, much of the land has been returned to the people of the First Nations. All of the buildings have been removed, only a few concrete foundations and rusting remnants remaining along the shore.

What's left of the road is accessible only by reasonably built high-clearance 4WD, and it is not advisable to go alone.

wikiloc​

Almost immediately, it was clear that this wasn't a high traffic area.

Off to a good start.​

Luckily, trees over the road were of no concern to us. Not just because this one was easily small enough for the pull saw, but because we'd learned from our previous foray into Canada just a few weeks earlier, that any trip to the Pacific Northwest - or Pacific Southwest in the case of our neighbors to the north - called for the inclusion of the chainsaw.

Of more concern was the "bridge" that we encountered another couple hundred feet down the road. Not only was "bridge" a generous description for the logs laid above a rushing creek, but I also wasn't sure if we'd be able to climb back out the steep, loose, wet chute that dropped us down to the contraption without a winch.

If nothing else, this ditch was a mental gatekeeper for what was to come.​

While it turned out that no winch was necessary on our way out, we definitely got the message that this trail meant business as we approached - and cleared a series of obstacles over the next couple of miles.

Tougher than it looked with wet tires and 16" tall steps on either side of the chute.​

Ultimately - after working our way 2.5 miles down the road and not knowing what was in store for the remainder of the descent - we decided the smart move was to tuck tail and work our way back to the trailhead, leaving the remainder for another day, with the company of at least one other truck.

Road or riverbed? Why not both?​

Note: it turns out that we made it within a few hundred feet of the legal end of the road. There, a large log has been placed across the trail, and from that point onward, the land - once a burial site - has been returned to the First Nations and is off limits to the public. For more information, see this post.

While 4x4 tracks have been made around the blockages, the area in blue should not be driven.​

​

Knowing what to expect, the climb out was significantly easier - or at least, less worrisome - than the drive in, and soon we were back at the smiley-face sign, this time following the fork we gleefully ignored a couple hours earlier. We were headed to Richardson Lake and ultimately the summit of Mt. Richardson where we'd been promised a great overlook of Sechelt towards Vancouver Island.

First though, it was time for lunch.

Backing up to a splendid view and opening up the tent to dry the previous evening's dew, we munched our turkey sandwiches and crunched our chips alongside Richardson Lake.​

A most glorious green when viewed from above.​

We'd cut the first tracks - at least since the previous rain a little more than a week before our arrival - into Richardson Lake, but by the time we swallowed our last bite of sandwich, three more trucks had shown up, unloading their humans to enjoy the early afternoon sun. For us, that was a good excuse to be on our way, and after availing ourselves of the shelterless outhouse - how does that even work in the winter?!? - we began the short-but-steep trek to the summit.

Along the lake.​

Back into the woods.​

Shines a new light on the phrase, "the forest is reclaiming the trail."​

As with every single hike on this trip, spring and summer wildflowers had come and gone and there were scant few flowers to admire alongside the trail. Mushrooms on the other hand were plentiful - both in species and quantity - and we couldn't help but wonder if any of them were edible.

Short and fat.​

Tall and skinny.​

Also along the trail were huckleberries. For anyone unfamiliar, these are the wild equivalent of the blueberries you find in the local grocery store, though generally a bit smaller and with the most wonderfully tart-yet-sweet flavor. Any time they are found, they should be enjoyed in as large quantities as possible, usually as a hand-to-mouth operation when picking.

Bears love them too, but if you find them first, assure the bear they are yours.

As @mrs.turbodb assured me that these were in fact huckleberries, I mumbled aloud that, "and now we know the side effects of the 'tall and skinny' mushrooms. May cause blue-red color blindness." (Red Huckleberry, Vaccinium parvifolium)​

After almost exactly an hour, we reached the top. There, decades ago, views must have stretched for nearly 100 miles in every direction. But, with the passage of time and the growing of trees, today the views were filtered at best and better described as "what view?" Still, with the right adjustments and angles, we were able to enjoy the waterways that surrounded us.

Guess we won't be taking this as a souvenir.
"Imprisonment for removal - 7 years."​

To our southwest, Sechelt Inlet and Porpoise Bay, then the Strait of Georgia and Vancouver Island in the distance.​

Looking northwest, toward the mouth of Sechelt Inlet.​

A closer look.​

And with that - though it was still early in the afternoon - it was time to drop back down to sea level and find somewhere to call home for the night. We hoped - given that we were literally surrounded by water - that some sort of wave action - if not the sound of the waves themselves - would be visible from camp, so we set about making that happen.

The search continues.​

Ultimately - after a bit of poking around and following a series of roads that we'd mapped-but-not-verified prior to our departure, we hit the jackpot. Perched only 15 feet above the Sechelt Inlet, we were thrilled to be in camp early, and after getting the truck positioned just so, we made the most of our evening by doing exactly what anyone should do when they find themselves in a place like this - a whole lot of nothing but staring out over the water.

The perfect spot?​

Definitely a nice view.​

Can't get much closer to the water than this.​

Eventually, as the sun set to our west and lights came on across the bay, it was time for dinner and our usual pre-bedtime activities. Tonight, an extra activity - the placing of glue traps in strategic areas of the cab - capped the evening. We'd had an unwelcome visitor - the third in our last four nights on the trail - the previous night, and while we had no idea how so many were getting in, it was our hope that any mice who found their way in (while we slept) would also find themselves permanently detained.

The Following Morning...

Content to get a bit more sleep than we had the two nights prior, and with the Tacoma positioned such that the tent would - hopefully - dry off quickly as the sun rose in the east, I decided to set my alarm for a few minutes after sunrise.

My internal clock was having none of that, and 15 minutes before the fiery ball was set to crest the horizon, I happened to wake up and glance out the window. I knew immediately that there would be no going back to bed.

Wow.​

Even @mrs.turbodb awoke for a few minutes to admire the glow that seemed to envelope everything around us, though she was able to coax herself back under the covers for another 20 minutes of warmth and reading while I poorly piloted the hovering selfie cam around camp, to investigate some buoys we'd noticed the night before.

We'd thought the buoys might have been markers for crab pots, but on closer inspection, they were much more interesting! That's a ship down there. And it's leaking!​

Update 2024-10-23

A reader - Joe - found the following information and shared it in the comments below. I love getting additional information like this, or hearing from folks about aspects of these stories that they enjoy, so please fee; free to reach out any time!

At 7:04 p.m. on November 4, 2023, the Sunshine Coast RCMP was notified of a distress call from the R.J. Breadner in Sechelt Inlet near Carlson Creek, where there was an emergency position-indicating radio beacon (EPIRB) activation. The Joint Rescue Coordination Centre (JRCC) was requesting police assistance because the Canadian Coast Guard vessel tasked with responding needed more time to get to the location of the incident.

When the Coast Guard vessel CCGS Cape Caution (from the Powell River lifeboat station) arrived, they searched the area and discovered a sunken decommissioned ferry. No one was on board, and the search concluded, Fisheries and Oceans Canada (DF) communications told Coast Reporter. They recovered the activated SOS beacon onboard a dingy on the surface, Const. Karen Whitby told Coast Reporter.

The following day, after noticing the leak, a local contractor was hired by the Canadian Coast Guard to set up a containment boom around the sunken vessel to contain any more pollution. It was considered stable.

Coast Reporter​

​

The 62-year-old former BC Ferries vessel R.J. Breadner sank in Sechelt Inlet on Nov. 4, 2023.​

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With the drone back in camp and clouds streaming in from the north, I'd just finished snapping a photo of the truck looking out over the inlet when I decided it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world to check the weather. The last time we had - a day or so earlier - there hadn't been any rain in the forecast, but since weather guessers never really know what's going to happen...

Even with the high clouds building a bit, it was still a wonderfully calm morning.​

Imagine my surprise when I opened the app to find a message that read: "Rain starting in 4 minutes."

"Out of bed," I called down to my copilot, "we gotta get this thing put away!" Not that the tent was totally dry at this point - there was still some condensation from the previous night, but it was a lot drier than it would be, 5 minutes later!

Made it! 8 minutes after the previous photo, it was coming down hard.​

We'd really dodged a bullet with the tent, but it still wasn't clear what our next steps should be. The rain wasn't supposed to last too long - a couple hours at most - but with places to be and things to see, we worried that clouds and fog would put a damper on our day.

Still, knowing there was nothing we could really do about it, we decided to do the only thing we could - we carried on!

 

More Summits Means More Mushrooms | Sunshine Coast #4
Part of the Mushroom Mania on the Sunshine Coast (Sep 2024) trip.

The rain that'd begun just as we were settling in for our post-sunrise, pre-breakfast nap only ended up lasting for about half an hour, a quarter of the time that our InAccuweather app suggested that water would be falling from the sky.

And that meant we could stop - in the middle of the forest - for some sustenance.

Breakfast time under nature's umbrella.​

After picking up a few aluminum cans that were strewn about, we figured that our proximity to Halfmoon Peak - and the fact that we could stay dry in the Tacoma, all the way to the top - was enough to take a short detour from our main itinerary for the day. It was a good call, because just as we exited the shelter of tall trees and the weather radome came into view, another wave of rain blew by overhead.

A radome is always worth a look-see.​

Imagine, a country that openly acknowledges climate change!​

As we looked out from the summit, we thought we could see our next destination - Spipiyus Peak - through the rain in the distance, but looking at the maps now, I think this was probably Buck Mountain.​

Heading north on the frustratingly-frequently-drainage-ditched Halfmoon-Carlson FSR, we eventually covered the seven miles of speed-up-slow-down and reached the loop that would usher us around Spipiyus Provincial Park. A road that I'd expected to be a well-graded FSR, it turned out to be much slower going, with sections that were tight, narrow, and rocky.

At one point we caught up to a Jeep, and we stopped for a quick chat when they pulled over to let us pass, they joked, "Want to go get stuck together?"

The trail didn't turn out to be technically difficult, but it was slower going than we envisioned.​

Thankfully, the rain had stopped. Even better, it looked like the sun was winning the battle with the clouds and patches of blue were starting to appear. It was still too early for lunch, but as we passed Lyon Lake, I turned down a short spur to see if it would offer us a pit stop after our first hike, and a place to stuff our faces with tasty treats.

Nice and calm.​

Hey guys, let's build a road, but stop just before you can see the lake!​

Though we'd need to find another spot for lunch, we headed down to the lakeshore on foot, before flipping the Tacoma around and headed another half mile up the road to the Spipiyus Peak trailhead.

With two major summits - Spipiyus Peak and Mt. Hallowell - in the park, this one is certainly the lesser travelled, and "trailhead" was being generous. Beginning at what was best described as a wide spot in the road, we headed into the woods. A decaying path of pink trail ribbons - tied to tree branches here and there - peppered the hillside, letting us know that we were still "on track."

As had been the case on every other hike, the pre-summit highlight was the fungi.

Our first encounter wasn't even a mushroom. This red-tipped lichen was super cool, and something we'd never seen before. Update: Lipstick Cladonia lichen (Cladonia macilenta) is actually a symbiotic growth of fungi and algae.​

Pretzel ball? Try it, and let me know!​

Tiny beach umbrellas.​

Delicate.​

The upscale - champaign - variant.​

Super Mario mushroom.​

The hike to Spipiyus Peak wasn't more than a half-mile long. Before long we emerged from the trees, our shoes, shirts, and pants all soaked after pushing our way through what once may have been a trail.

Water droplets on turning huckleberry foliage. Fall is on the way.​

Into the open.​

Made it.​

The trees at the summit weren't tall, but even a short tree is taller than a tall us, so we couldn't see much from the summit. We'd expected as much, the same situation presenting itself throughout our home territory in the Pacific Northwest. I immediately climbed up the radio tower, reporting to my hiking companion that the climb definitely wasn't worth it.

Less than a year ago, that would have been it. Today though, we had the ultimate selfie stick.

Hanging out in the woods, looking out toward Sakinaw Lake.​

Clouds floating by Narrows Inlet.​

A few minutes later, our selfie stick stowed safely in my fanny pack, we pushed our way back through the underbrush, eventually stumbling out onto a wide spot in the road, where a Tacoma was waiting.

Now almost noon, it was time to eat lunch. Or almost time. First, we had to find a view.

Searching for a break in the trees.​

So close, if only we wanted to eat from an old-growth stump, high above the road.​

A break in the trees.​

We really couldn't have found a better spot to eat lunch. We didn't discover this place looking out over Sechelt Inlet - evidenced by the well-developed fire ring and plethora of spent shells - but we were the first to claim it for this particular lunch, and that was fine by us!

Perfect.​

It would turn out to be the best break in the trees that we'd find all day, so it was fortuitous that we happened upon it when we did.

As usual, I was basically useless as @mrs.turbodb whipped up our sandwiches. In this instance, I fancied myself a tortilla chip tester - you know, ensuring the bag hadn't been poisoned since our last sampling session - stuffing my face with as many as I could, hastening any negative side effects.

On the other hand, with no side effects, it meant I got to eat moar chips.

Half an hour later, and nearly to the trailhead for Mt. Hallowell, we continued on our way.

Why clear what can be climbed?​

We reached the trailhead - this time, appropriately named, if buried in a deep dark wood and essentially unmarked - a little after 1:00pm. From there, we had half mile of meandering through the woods, and the same distance again straight up to the summit.

They rolled out the green carpet for us.​

Weaving our way through the trees, @mrs.turbodb commented at one point that there weren't as many mushrooms on this hike as we'd seen elsewhere. Whether that was the case or not, it immediately resulted in several sightings of new-to-us specimens.

Rosy cap.​

Mushroom poppers.​

Remember to look up.​

After an excruciating 40 minutes - not because it was long, but because we'd already done so many hikes over the last few days - on nature's stair climber, we finally reached a rockier section where the trees thinned a bit, allowing us a glimpse at our surroundings. They were spectacular.

In the distance, Vancouver Island. Then, Texada Island and the Malaspina Straight. And, winding toward us, Sakinaw Lake.​

Well, look what we have here.​

We'd known there was an old fire lookout at the top of Mt. Hallowell, but for some reason - likely I was not reading some trip report carefully enough, much as many are probably doing now - I thought it'd been restored. Nope.

Still, it was a fun place to find, with a few fun caches collected from the vicinity, and a summit log where we could leave a note.

I'm sure this old drill bit came from the copper mine we'd visit an hour later, carried up here by another hiker.​

First official day of fall!​

And of course, there were views-a-plenty to be admired in all directions.

Ruby Lake and the Jervis Inlet.​

Texada Island, Malaspina Straight, and Sakinaw Lake.​

The whole wow.​

While I was messing around with various lenses and generally caught up with cameras, @mrs.turbodb wandered off to a nearby overlook where she could systematically compare the distant peaks and bodies of water to printouts she'd carried for the entire trip, naming each one in order, and pointing out places we'd been or seen over the last few days. Neato, ehh?

Not knowing she'd done this - I'd thought she'd headed back down the trail as snuck in a final photo or two - I spotted the overlook just off of the trail and headed that direction. This, I knew, was going to put me ten minutes - or more - behind my companion, but I have a hard time passing up the opportunity for a view, so as I wandered out on the rocks, I resolved to hoof it quickly down the mountain once I'd seen what there was to see.

Imagine my surprise when what I saw was @mrs.turbodb! She too hadn't been able to pass up the perch. Serendipity!

What is it they say about great minds? If I had one, I might remember.​

In the distance, Tzoonie SW3 in the clouds.​

The rest of our descent was quick and mostly uneventful. A few stops along the way for some huckleberries - red much tastier than blue at this time of year - and before we knew it we were back at the Tacoma with a decision to make: retrace our route along the eastern leg of the FSR, or work our way along the west, a yet-untraveled path for us.

A little past their prime, but brilliantly beautiful.​

Throwing caution to the wind - and with some reassurance from my copilot that we had plenty of time to make our 8:30pm ferry out of Langdale, we opted for the western route with a twist - a quick stop at an old, reclaimed, copper mine on the side of Mt. Hallowell.

Not much left here.​

We only found a little bit of the green stuff that the miners would have been looking for.​

The views though - over Sakinaw Lake - were still as nice as they'd ever been!​

And with that, we headed back around the mountain, completing the loop of Spipiyus Provincial Park just after 4:15pm and arriving in Sechelt just before 6:00pm for some burgers and fries before boarding the ferry that would shuttle us back to Vancouver.

Waiting.​

The final sunset up the Howe Sound.​

It'd been a great first trip to the Sunshine Coast. Not as sunny as we might have hoped, but perfect for hiking and - with so many inlets and waterways - one of the most striking landscapes we've explored in a long time.

 

Dude this is by far the BEST gas mileage I've ever gotten..

 

You probably don't even need to hold the wheel at the speeds he travels

 

Practically the Tesla experience!

But... let me try to cast it in a better light:

 

Installing BORA Wheel Spacers

After discovering that the new wheel-tire combination I installed - some 1st gen Sequoia double 5-spoke wheels and 33x10.5 R17 Kenda Klever RT tires - was rubbing on the front shock reservoirs, I knew I needed to take care of the problem quickly. Waiting any length of time would surely lead to my ripping the reservoirs off of their mounts, a much more costly situation than fixing issue now.

First, I needed to figure out exactly how much closer the new setup was sitting to the frame than the previous setup, so I headed over to my favorite wheel offset calculator web site and punched in the numbers for my old and new setups.

My old and new setups were quite similar, but compared to my old setup, the new setup (top right diagram) placed the inside of the tire 0.33" closer to the frame. Just enough to cause rubbing.​

With the 0.33" number in hand, I mocked up the addition of a 1/2" spacer to the new setup (bottom right diagram) to confirm that installing the spacer would push the tire at least as far away from the frame as the original setup had been. Of course, this is just simple math (0.5"-0.33") but it's nice to see a diagram that confirms that the spacer will result in the tire sitting 0.17" further away from the frame than my old S/T Maxx tires - which did not rub at all - sat.

And with that, I needed to find parts.

Not only would I need some 1/2" spacers, but I'd also need some longer wheel studs, allowing my lug nuts to engage enough threads to hold the wheels securely. The rule of thumb here is that the lug nut should engage the stud by at least the diameter of the stud, and with a 1st gen Tacoma using M12x1.5 studs, that meant I wanted at least 12mm (about 1/2") engagement.

But that's a minimum. To play it safe, I decided that it'd be best to simply install wheel studs that were 1/2" longer than the Toyota OEM wheel studs, though that meant that I needed to figure out the length of the stock studs. Of course, Toyota doesn't mention the stud size on any of their parts web sites, but after doing a bit of digging, I found them to be 40mm (about 1.5") in length, with a 14.20mm long knurled section).

So, that meant that I was looking for wheel studs in the 52mm-long range. I found that there were two real options:

• ARP wheel studs for a Lexus IS300 (100-7715). ARP has a great reputation, and folks have successfully used these studs, but at 66mm long, they are too long to be fully contained within the lug nut and need to be trimmed by about 3/8" (10mm).
• Kyo-Ei SBT-2 wheel studs. Made in Japan, these are 57mm long, but are harder to get as they can only be ordered from Japan (which I think is a good thing). Cost for a full set of 24 studs - once shipping is included - is similar to ARP.

Ultimately, I decided to go with the Kyo-Ei SBT-2 wheel studs. I liked that they would fit without modification, and that they came from Japan, where I feel like the quality bar is quite high.

Next, it was time to find spacers. With a half-inch spacer, brand is probably less important, since the spacer is simply sandwiched between the hub and wheel, and doesn't provide any structural support. With thicker spacers - where the spacer is attached to the wheel studs in the hub, and then the wheel attaches to studs in the spacer - significant forces are in play within the spacer itself, so a premium brand is a must. Still, I always like going with quality components, so I reasonably quickly homed in on Spidertrax (a smidge cheaper, with the Amazon return policy) and BORA (a few more options, but no returns) branded offerings.

I'd have been happy with either, but only BORA seemed to offer 1/2" aluminum spacers, so I ordered a set and waited to see whether the studs or spacers would arrive at my doorstep first.

All the parts.​

After getting the Tacoma up on jack stands and removing the wheels, I still wasn't ready to go. To access the wheel studs, I had to pull off the brake calipers and rotors, which finally gave me access to the studs.

I got started by bending back the dust shield a bit. I tried to do this entirely with a wrench to make the bend as clean as possible, but it turned out that a hammer worked better and was just as clean.​

That same hammer (plus a sacrificial lug nut) that worked for the dust shield also knocked out the wheel stud faster than I could take a photo.​

Hope this works. Time for the ugga-dugga of the impact wrench. I had no idea how much this would destroy the various spacers and sacrificial lug nut as it pulled the stud in.​

Ta-da!​

Doesn't look like much, but should keep the tires off the coilover resis.​

Ultimately, the entire process took about an hour, and a quick test drive around the block seemed to indicate that the math I'd done at the beginning was correct: there was no more rubbing!

Only trail time will tell for certain, but I think these wheels and tires are finally dialed in.

 

Grand Park | Rainier or Shine #1
Part of the Rainier or Shine; Fall at The Mountain (Oct 2024) trip.

When I first started exploring in the Tacoma, one of my buddies - Ben @m3bassman - mentioned nonchalantly that he had gotten out to camp at least once every calendar month of the year.

That sounded amazing to me, and so for six years I repeatedly failed at actually accomplishing the same feat. Sure, there were some months where I'd get out two or three times, my annual average higher than the one-per-month I was after, but no matter how hard I tried, it seemed like I'd miss a month here or there for some lame reason.

Finally - with a little creative categorizing of a trip that spanned the end/beginning of a month - I succeeded in 2022. And then - to my amazement - I did it again in 2023! Being ultra-competitive with myself, that left me in a bit of a pickle. Would I be able to carry on at all - with any respect for myself - if I didn't carry on this tradition?

For the most part, trips seemed to just "work out" as 2024 ticked by. It seemed like the tradition would continue - as would my self-respect - without any real contortions to my schedule. That is, until October.

With the tenth month of the year fully booked with "normal life," I couldn't believe it when a three-day window - where @mrs.turbodb and I could get away for a few hikes - presented itself. We jumped. Or maybe I jumped and dragged her along. Whichever it was, luckily it was to one of her favorite places. A place that is a major reason she loves living where we do.

We were headed to enjoy Fall at The Mountain, Rainier or Shine!

- - - - -​

As we pulled into our first camp site there was no doubt about it: the weather outside was all rain and no shine.

Just before sunset, this was a camp site that I'd been looking forward to showing off to @mrs.turbodb since I'd first visited it a few years earlier. We were both a little shocked - having looked at the weather and thinking it would be clear - to have less than 20 feet of visibility and a steady light rain falling around us.

With no other choice, we set up the tent, putzed around in the cab for a little while, and hoped for the best as we cozied ourselves under the comforters and settled into our books, a couple hours later.

We slept well, but rain continued on-and-off until an hour before sunrise, and as I climbed down the ladder, the magnificent view was... meh. At that point, I was just hoping that the clouds would clear by the time we set off on our first hike. If it didn't, there wasn't much point to going at all, the only attraction being the 15,000-foot main attraction.

Yay! As I was drying the tent and @mrs.turbodb was getting breakfast ready, we finally caught our first glimpse.​

After a quick breakfast and stowage of the still-wet tent, we were on our way.​

At the trailhead, I unfolded the tent - hoping it'd dry by the time we returned - as sandwiches and chips were prepared. Soon enough we were stretching our legs and winding our way through the woods along the Lake Eleanor trail.

Check out these black mushrooms!​

We'd never seen Coral Mushrooms before our recent trip to the Sunshine Coast, so we were surprised to see a lot more of it along this hike.​

This little guy was enjoying the wet weather a lot more than we were.​

The classic approach (via Sunrise) to Grand Park - a sea of meadows and wildflowers at the base of Mount Rainier - is long and tough, putting it out of reach for most casual day hikers. Even this route - a backdoor approach via Lake Eleanor - was a 10-mile affair, though with an elevation gain of only 1,548 feet, it was nothing to fret about. Plus, we'd be covering most of the Sunrise route the following morning, and saw no reason to conquer the same trail twice!

After exactly one mile, we were staring out across Lake Eleanor, wondering when we'd finally see The Mountain.​

Back on the trail, we hiked for another half mile - actually loosing elevation - as we continued our "climb" towards Grand Park. There, we popped out of the woods and into a small meadow where blue skies were starting to appear above us, but our view of The Mountain still left something to be desired.

Out of the way clouds!​

With a strong westerly wind, we decided a snack was in order while we watched the clouds race across the sky. Our personal chef had prepared three sandwiches, and while I considered suggesting that the two of us should arm wrestle for the third sandwich, I quickly remembered that our personal chef could rightly claim all the sandwiches for herself. She got the first half.

Just as we were leaving the meadow, the last of the clouds were finally east of Rainier.​

Ka-pow! The huckleberries were in full fall regalia.​

After a short respite in the sun, it was back into the woods for another mile of up. This was the steepest part of the trail - though not really that steep given some of the hiking we'd recently tackled on the Sunshine Coast - taking us from 4,900- to 5,700-feet and delivering us to the two-mile long meadow that would be our reward for the day.

It would also be the point at which all photos - and there were many taken - would start to look the same. This is the way with any trip to The Mountain. The darn thing is so big - and rises so dramatically above the landscape - that it effects a gravitational pull on all nearby camera lenses.

You've been warned.

We were thrilled that the clouds had cleared - almost completely - by the time we entered Grand Park.​

The scale of this place is mind boggling.​

I never know whether to push in or pull back to try to frame the surrounding rockery.​

After using up what felt like half the storage of my camera, there was only one thing to do: keep enjoying the view as we stuffed our faces with those last two sandwiches. This time, with the same number of sandwiches as people, I didn't even consider arm wrestling; losing would have meant no lunch for me!

"Hey guys, umm, where's the third sandwich?" -Mr. Munk
(Townsend's Chipmunk, Eutamias townsendii)​

I promise our lunch view was different than the earlier perspectives.​

Clouds adding some visual interest.​

Scale.​

After lunch we continued our leisurely stroll through the yellowing grass, rib-like clouds materializing out of blue skies right before our eyes. Our destination - an overlook that was marked on our topo maps, but not really the end of any trail - was less than a mile away at this point, and we reveled in the realization that we had this usually-busy-place, all to ourselves!

No one else in frame.​

At the far end of the park, the trail dove back into the trees and shed a few feet of elevation as it stretched out onto a nearby ridge. Below, the West Fork of the White River trickled along below us, it's water level the lowest it would be all year.

Man, it was spectacular.

Our turn-around spot.​

With the best views behind us - literally - on the way down, we made much better time than we had on the way up. Surely this had nothing to do with the help of gravity - our youthful bodies are impervious to fatigue - and within a couple hours we were back at the Tacoma, stowing a now-dry tent and discussing which of the two tasty dinners we should prepare when we arrived at camp.

Got a nice chuckle out of this at the trailhead.​

Any camp in this area is worthless in my mind - and there are a lot of worthless camps in the area -if there isn't a dramatic view of the mountain taking up most of the skyline. And, having visited the area a few times in the past - then, to simply explore various forest service roads in search of the best camp sites - we had our sights set on one of the closest sites to the mountain, and one that certainly met the criteria of being fantastic.

Nestled into the trees, we'd hoped to camp there the previous evening - eeking out a bit of shelter from the storm - but we'd been surprised to find the site already occupied by a 4WD van on a Tuesday evening. I'd popped out to say hi and ask how long they planned to stay, and from our brief conversation, @mrs.turbodb gave us a 25% chance of finding the site vacated.

Should have bought that lottery ticket!​

A break in the trees just big enough for a Tacoma.​

Thrilled to find ourselves as the designated residents until the following morning, we relaxed a bit - not that our youthful bodies needed it - before deciding on tacorittoes for dinner, thus saving our chicken-pesto-pasta for wherever we might find ourselves the following night.

As we ate, the sun dropped below the horizon. The brilliant blue sky worked its way through shades of pink, purple and orange as temperatures dropped, and cleanup was completed just as the last of the color splashed before our eyes.

Nearly bed time. For us youthful folk. ​

We were in the tent by 9:00pm, clear skies resulting in much cooler temperatures than we'd experienced the previous evening. Still, two layers of down comforters kept us nice as toasty as twilight faded and we buried ourselves in our books.

We didn't last long, and within five minutes, we were asleep.

I took a short break from sleeping at 2:00am to have a little fun with the rainbow LEDs.​

 

wow, great photos! thanks for sharing!

 

Sourdough Superhighway | Rainier or Shine #2
Part of the Rainier or Shine; Fall at The Mountain (Oct 2024) trip.

@mrs.tubodb had no idea what I was doing as I ran around outside the tent at 2:00am, but she knows I'm a little nuts, so after hearing me trip on a rock as I scurried to-and-fro, she confirmed that I was OK and fell back asleep.

After about half an hour of stumbling, I too was back under the warm covers, where I stayed until well past sunrise, the camera I'd setup to capture the event mistakenly left on nighttime settings such that every photo of fantastic light on the mountain was both washed out and grainy.

Amazing what Lightroom can do these days, even with a photo I completely destroyed.​

A full hour after the sun was shining on the mountain, we finally climbed down the ladder and set about our morning routine. For me, that was putting away the tent and a demonstration of my mediocre drone control as we tried to capture the magic of this particular camp site. For @mrs.turbodb, it was assemblage of three more delectable turkey sandwiches that would refresh us once we reached the Fremont Fire Lookout a little later in the day.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/4atKocLXnDc?atp=1&autoplay=1&loop=1&playlist=4atKocLXnDc
I should just bring someone along who can do this better than I can.​

Love that view!​

I really liked how the light was playing on the two triangular peaks in front of The Mountain.​

It was 9:15am by the time we finally rolled out of camp and worked our way out towards the highway. With 20 miles of dirt to cover, we gambled at which of two roads would provide a smoother surface, ultimately picking the one we'd not yet travelled on this trip. It was a good thing we hadn't bought a lottery ticket at the same time, the road conditions resulting in our transition to pavement taking significantly longer than if we'd simply headed out the way we'd arrived!

Still, we had plenty of time for our 5.7 mile hike, so even as we wasted away some of the day, we weren't in any rush as we showed our America the Beautiful pass at the Mt. Rainier National Park entrance station and headed up toward Sunrise.

Now and then, The Mountain seemed to fill the windshield.​

Gaining elevation, we finally got an unobstructed view.​

Even with all the visitor centers and bathrooms at Sunrise closed for the season, the parking lot was nearly full when we pulled in just after 10:30am. I suppose we expected as much, but it reinforced our preferences for more remote exploration, where the hop-in-your-hand chipmunk counts are lower, and where there's little reason to lock up the truck before setting off on foot. Still, it was a beautiful day, so after dabbing on a bit of sunscreen and gathering our snacks, we fell into line behind the throng of people headed toward the trailhead, our fingers crossed that they were destined for one of the less strenuous loops, closer to the parking area.

I've definitely made it sound worse than it was. Truly, we were happy hikers.​

I'd found our hike - along Sourdough Ridge to the Mount Fremont Fire Lookout - in likely the same way as many of our compatriots, by searching the Washington Trails Association (WTA) website for top-rated hikes around Mt. Rainier. With 4.5/5-star rating - and a description of the fire lookout that we'd later find was slightly misleading - we knew that no matter how busy, there were going to be plenty of views to go around.

The views started early, and never really stopped.​

Even to the north - away from the mountain - Sourdough Ridge offered spectacular scenery. The tall mountain in the distance, Glacier Peak.​

After an initial climb, the hike along Sourdough Ridge was more of a stroll than anything else. Wide and well-maintained, the trail worked its way along the south side of the ridge, keeping Rainier in view the entire time. Here, a path had been cleared through a large scree field, a wall of amazing rockwork on display, holding back an entire hillside of stone. The trail was still crowded, but we all moved at our own pace, leapfrogging each other as cameras were raised to capture a particular angle or overlook.

Beginning the climb up Mount Fremont.​

A little higher, more of The Mountain - and golden meadow below - was in view.​

As we gazed back toward Little Tahoma Peak, two hikers on the Burroughs Mountains were captured in silhouette.​

Full frame fab.​

Most of the elevation gain between the Sunrise parking area and the Mount Fremont Fire Lookout comes once the Sourdough Ridge Trail forks, shortly after Frozen (but not really) Lake. Here, one fork heads up onto the Burroughs Mountains, and the other climbs the steep face of Mount Fremont. For the first half of the climb, the lookout is hidden around the northern end of the ridge, but after half a mile of steady ascent, we rounded a corner and caught our first glimpse of the structure.

A little down, and a bit more up. Won't be long now.​

Built in 1934 by the Civilian Conservation Corps, the Mount Fremont Fire Lookout is a historic structure located within the Mount Rainier National Historic Landmark District. One of four lookouts remaining in the park, it helped protect the park and national forests from fire.

With their exposed locations, fire lookouts are vulnerable to lightning and wind storms. Shortly after its completion, a windstorm blew off the roof of the Mount Fremont Fire Lookout.

This historic lookout was used to spot smoke and lightning strikes and report them by telephone. After World War II, aerial surveillance became the primary mode of fire-spotting. These lookouts, fully equipped for fire detection, are still used occasionality.

NPS sign​

Tastefully restored.​

Inside, the Osborn Fire Finder sits ready for action.​

I watched as the electrical storm progressed toward the lookout. I was standing on the catwalk when all of a sudden, a loud humming sound started. I didn't worry too much until a glowing ball raced down the antenna. I was standing under the aerial and my hair stood on end. I remembered that you were to throw the switches on your aerial, get inside, sit on your insulated stool, and not touch the fire finder. This I quickly did. --Forrest Johnson, 1941​

Grand Park, a little further to our north, and easily visible from the lookout, held fond memories of our previous days' hike.​

Lookout sunstar.​

As often seems to be the case, the "back" portion of the "out-and-back" hike must have been shorter than the "out" leg, as we completed it in half the time. And, while I'm sure that everyone will remind me of piddly things like gravity, and downhill vs. uphill, I must remind everyone else that this was discussed yesterday: our youthful bodies are impervious to fatigue, so surely, those details are irrelevant.

We did stop once on the way back down, but mountain goat Garry was too busy gorging himself to even look up at us.​

Back at the Tacoma, the parking lot was even fuller than when we'd arrived. I was feeling a bit under the weather - "lethargic," I described it to my copilot - and with rain predicted to start around sunrise the next morning, we didn't need a lot of convincing to cancel our final night of camping in favor of getting home while the sun was still shining, and the tent was still dry.

Not that we couldn't take the scenic route.

Here in the Seattle area, a reasonably common off-road destination climbs through an area known as Stampede Pass. In all of our time exploring, we've never ventured along this route, and I'd noticed that it connected one of our major highways - I-90 - with some of the roads we'd travelled on previous visits to the Mt. Rainier area. Today then - we decided - we'd see if they actually connected.

Working our way through tree tunnels, we got very few views along the entire route.​

Hello, Mountain my old friend, I've come to look at you again.​

Having held off on airing down, I did my best to baby the Tacoma a bit over the bumpier sections of trail. None of them were technical, none required 4WD, and I think the vast majority could have been navigated in a minivan, so I figured we could put up with a few bumps for the 20 miles between us and our highway home.

Treeless traverse.​

The best camp site we found along the way.​

While we'd had to endure a bit of moisture at the nose-end of our visit to see The Mountain, by the time we were heading home the talk was of how pleasant the weather had been for hiking, and how lucky we were to live in a place such as this. Because it's true - not everyone has a mountain.

 

There are a few lookouts in the PNW that are still maned during fire season. A couple of lookouts I follow on IG have closed up for the season. What an amazing gig. Go shopping and have your groceries long-lined to the lookout, poop in an outhouse with a view better than many million dollar homes. Sleep in a cabin with amazing views. Enjoy the backcountry during your breaks. No wonder the waiting list is so long--many lookouts return season after season to the same tower. I guess you'd have to be good with being alone but otherwise, not much to do. One guy takes to caring for the tower and has repaired/painted/maintained his lookout for years.

I suppose there are many reasons to abandon the lookouts. But it seems like having a human in the chain isn't a bad thing.
California has deployed thousands of cameras, for example, that feed back to CalFire. They have been working on fire detection software too. The best part is the cameras are up 24/7. Now, the towers are nothing more than in-demand AirBnB's

 

Yah, we've run across quite a few that are still active in our PNW travels. Mostly in Idaho and Oregon, though I know there are still about 30 or so that are staffed in WA. When we were on the Idaho BDR, we ran into four (I think) folks who were staffing the lookouts for the summer, one of whom had been at her lookout at Rocky Point for more than a decade. Another young guy - maybe 21 - that we found near the eastern end of the Magruder Corridor, happened to be from the same small town (in the NorCal Sierra) as a couple of my uncles, and knew them well. Small world!

 

Highly recommend reading a book called Fire Season. Written by a lookout who was station in the Gila Wilderness. Gives a fantastic view of the lifestyle, the struggles, the politics and the history of fire management.

 

For $10, worth a

$11 Fire Season: Field Notes from a Wilderness Lookout

look see.

 

I read it a couple years ago and am actually almost done reading it again since I moved to the area the that it was written. Hope you enjoy it! One of the most interesting parts of it is there's a lot of history on how the approach to fire has changed over the years. Certainly changed my perspective on it as a whole.

 

I read Norman Maclean's Young Men and Fire. That's another good one.

 

Thanks, I'll have to check that one out. I believe that incident is mentioned in Fire Season.

 

It is. And the book is somewhat detailed so it's not the happy story but it's a good story.