Gold Creek Circumnavigation

Gold Creek Circumnavigation – July 2025

Summer is a busy time for a guide in the Cascade Range. In the months of June, July, and August, I logged over 70 field days—most of them for work (and that’s not even considered heavy for some folks!). Finding time to get out personally is tricky when you’re already away from home for long stretches and worn out from consecutive days in the backcountry.

When I do sneak out for myself, I often reach for simpler, less technical days—and I’m loath to make an alpine start.

With that in mind, on July 6th, Lucas Cairns, James Mann, Pete Yoshikawa, and I made a circumnavigation of Gold Creek near Snoqualmie Pass, using the PCT on one end and the Rampart Lakes “backdoor” trail on the other. Kyle Macrohan dubbed this the Gold Creek Rim; Lucas prefers the Kendall to Lillian High Route; while I personally find the word circumnavigation—with its connotation of purposeful avoidance—just tickling. In any case, the debate over what to call this little loop rages on.

The day started with a leisurely drive up to Lucas’s place at Snoqualmie Pass. He’d already stashed a car at the Lake Lillian trailhead, so all we had to do was start at the PCT inlet. We thanked him for his legwork, said hi to Indy the cat (short for Index), and got rolling.

We began with some fast walking on the PCT, quickly making our way past Kendall Peak and the Katwalk. Red Mountain seemed particularly red that morning.

As the trail flattened out, we broke into an easy run, hopping our way along the rocky trail near Collar Mountain and stopping to refill water at Ridge Lake. We sighed contentedly at the cool temperatures, clear water, and surprising lack of bugs—but forgot to knock on wood.

James says: Your blog sucks, Tom!

We kept running past Mount Thompson, Alaska Mountain, and Huckleberry Mountain, drawing spectacular Chikamin Peak ever closer.

At the saddle between Huckleberry and Chikamin, we stopped to chat with a few PCTers and take some photos. It’s a stunning spot.

Traversing under Chikamin, we had the entirety of Gold Creek Valley spread beneath us and Mt. Rainier glowing solemnly in the distance. I tried—doggedly—to take action shots of the crew without tripping and smashing my camera on the rocks.

Just past Four Brothers, we paused to assess. This was the only off-trail section of the route, and the main question mark in our planning. We’d hoped to link snow patches or rocky ribs to avoid trampling the fragile alpine heather in this area. There were a few patches left, but most of the snow had already melted away during the warm summer.

We spotted a faint game trail cutting through the heather, made a quick mental map of our intended line, and dove in. Whenever you’ve got to travel off-trail in this kind of terrain, it’s worth remembering that rock and snow are your best friends. If neither’s an option, it’s better to stick to and reinforce existing faint paths—whether made by hikers or goats—so our collective wanderings leave the alpine just a little less bruised.

We’d just made it to the flats below East Alta when it happened.

As if summoned by the devil himself, an unholy swarm of mosquitoes descended and started eating us alive. They laughed at our meager, DEET-free bug spray and tore through our wispy sun hoodies like Kleenex. When I set my pack down to pee, I watched at least twenty of them land on it in a buzzing frenzy, gnawing in search of human flesh.

There was nothing to do but run for our lives.

We thrashed madly uphill through brush and branches, abandoning any pretense of staying together. Behind me, through the bushes, I heard James mutter that he was getting “piped.” I couldn’t see him, and there was no turning back—it was every man for himself.

Cresting the summit of East Alta, we could see Rampart Lakes spread out before us. It was mostly downhill and on trail from here—a nice thought, soon interrupted by the audible din of mosquitoes catching up behind us. We kept running.

We’d planned to stop for a swim at Rampart Lakes, but with the hounds of hell still nipping at our heels, there was just no chance. We ran nonstop until reaching an unnamed hillside above Lake Lillian, where a blessed combination of wind and vertical relief finally gave us a respite from the bugs. We collapsed in the grass, ate lunch, and looked east.

Afterward, we jogged down to Lake Lillian and, miraculously, found it bug-free. We finally got our swim in, and I took a few cheeky photos for posterity.

The rest of the run down the Rampart Ridge backdoor trail was soft, shaded dirt and made for a smooth exit.

A great day—equal parts type I and type II fun—and a perfect example of how even mellow objectives can turn into memorable adventures.

Stay safe out there.

-Tom