The next morning, we awaken with the sun lighting up the tent. We have a small, cold breakfast, pack up, and head out. Neither of us are talkative. We’re focused on our next objective. Getting through the pass. We continue on the trail to the north. Snow covers it completely now, with the occasional patch of dirt showing the only hint of where to go. Before us, the ski areas loom closer.
Soon, ski lifts dot the hillside on our left, heading up a ridge forming Snoqualmie Pass’s southern border. The lifts are in serious disrepair, with several chairs falling down. Snow still covers the ski hill. Before the Great Collapse, this would mean a great spring skiing season. But now, worry consumes me, wondering what the conditions of the Forest Service roads will be.
We come to a left bend in the trail. Farther down, I spot the entrance to the train tunnel. Zach makes a nervous twitch at the sight of it.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “We’re not headed that way. This is where we get off the trail.” I guide us up an embankment to the right and onto a road.
Snoqualmie Summit isn’t so much a town as it is a patchwork of vacation homes and businesses, all serving the four small ski areas that dot the surrounding hillsides. We go north through the streets, keeping an eagle eye out for any movement. The little town is quiet and empty.
Off to our right is Interstate 90. At the northern edge of Snoqualmie Pass, the massive freeway bends westward, heading through a tight choke point between two mountain peaks.
We take an access road that runs under the freeway, then turn to the west ourselves, onto the Forest Service road. Much of the snow has melted at the top of the summit, where sunlight hits it. There’s only an inch or so on the ground, and the going is easy.
But soon, the road descends into a large ravine. Sun has not permeated here as much, and our boots sink several inches into the snow. The ravine acts as a natural collection point of snow falling from the peaks on either side.
From below, the freeway is an impressive sight. There must be at least ten lanes across on both sides. Massive pillars hold it over the deep ravine, looking like the gigantic legs of some ancient creature. It must be a hundred fifty feet above us now. Its shadow casts across the whole valley.
We continue, but soon the snow is up to my knees, and my pants are getting wet. The going is slow; I’m not even sure we’re still following a road. The lack of trees in our path is our only clue.
I glance at Zach. He gives me a meager smile. He’s doing his best to trudge along. But the snow only gets worse. It’s nearly up to my waist, and continuing becomes serious work. Just moving my leg to the next position is an exercise in frustration.
Zach breaks the silence. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
Even turning to him is a struggle because of the snow. “Yeah, I don’t think we can continue this way.”
Zach lets out a deep sigh. “The tunnel, huh?”
“I know it’s not your favorite idea. If it’s any consolation, I’m not excited about it either.”
Zach laughs. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“The point is, I don’t think it’s going to be fun. But it might be our only option.”
Zach nods. “Yeah, I’ve been psyching myself up for that as soon as the snow was knee-high. Okay, let’s turn this ship around.”
Going back is easier. Even though we’re going uphill, we use the existing path we’ve already made through the snow. Zach is up front now, and I follow behind him. But then Zach stops and looks back at me with a quizzical expression.
“Is it just me, or does it look like there’s an extra set of footprints in the snow here?” Zach says.
I lean down and inspect the prints. “Well, I for sure see our prints. But yeah, right here, it almost looks like another set veers off our path.”
Zach starts scanning around with a worried expression.
“But maybe that was just one of us pausing for a moment to look around,” I say. “I remember a few times when I did that.”
Zach nods but doesn’t appear too reassured. “Or, maybe someoneisfollowing us. Maybe I’m not paranoid.”
“Well, let’s for sure keep our eyes open.”
All told, our detour took a little over two hours. It’s about midmorning by the time we get back to the tunnel.
We find a spot to have an early lunch nearby to observe the entrance. As we eat, we lie in the sun, trying to dry our shoes and pants, soaked from our little snow adventure.
There’s no sign of life or movement around the tunnel the entire time we sit there.
“Okay, are you ready to do this?” I ask.
Zach shoots me a worried look. “No. But there’s no other choice. Let’s go.”
