Deeks peak

"Much less frequently travelled than the trail to Deeks Lake, the route to Deeks Peak can be overgrown and bushy." 103 Hikes

Somehow I missed the overgrown and bushy part of the description when I headed out with Christine on Monday's hike. And so, sporting only a pair of shorts, I started beating my way up to Deeks Peak. Though the first 3/4 of the route is on logging roads, the heavily overgrown nature of the trail makes it feel more like an adventurous bushwack than a dull logging road slog. The trail was heavily overgrown with salmonberries, thimbleberries, trailing blackberries, black currants, and other spiky but tasty plants. In fact, I was so used to getting spiked, that it took me a while to realise that I'd actually been stung by a wasp. I just wish we'd been there two weeks earlier when the thimbleberries would have been at peak ripeness.

Mid way up the trail, we came upon Kallahne "lake", which as it turns out was little more than a mud puddle. We attempted to swim, but we were quickly defeated by the maximum depth of 1 foot of water, or perhaps 2 if you count the foot of mud you sank in to. We exited dirtier than we went in.



Christine heroically carried some excellent Greek salad up for lunch. We forgot the forks, but that just made the salad all the easier to high-grade with our fingers.



From the lake, it was excellent North Shore steepness up to fantastic views.




Here you see Deeks peak on the right and the summit of Mt. Windsor on the left. We didn't realise we had reached the top when we summited Deeks Peak, so we headed down the col and accidentally climbed Mt. Windsor too.


In the distance you can see the beautiful blue of the easily accessible Deeks Lakes. Perhaps a destination for the next trip.

Satan's eye

I remember when my thoughts were like yours. Before this madness gripped me. When mornings were ripe with rich bubbling caffeine, and no thoughts of evil crossed my mind.

It grew so slowly. I barely even noticed the day it began. The espresso maker sputtered an innocent gurgle, like a baby trying to sing along with momma. The sound of the coffee bleeding through the rotten O-ring was inaugible over the happy bubbling of completed espresso, sitting in that solid, yea friendly, Turkish boiler. How alike the sound of joyous completion and oncoming evil.

But on that day an evil entered the house. It seized the roommates and sent them out in search of replacement O-rings. Oh how I constantly wish that they could have bought the correct size. But nO! The O-rings would not nestle in the Turkish cauldron.

The packages lay for days in the middle of the island, staring at me with every meal. One evening I thought that they were gone for good, but I gasped as I opened the cutlery drawer and found them standing stubbornly between me and the knives. Gingerly I threw them back to the counter, hoping they would find a better place to live, but they had found an affinity for the drawer.



I fought through daily to my knives and forks, until one day I devised a cunning plan. I removed the rings from the kitchen, and hid them in a drawer in the living room. Perhaps the source of the power was the kitchen itself?

Giddily I danced about the house for a week. Oh what jOy! The weights hooked into my heart slid free. My pleasure was so great, I forgot about the devilish rubber rings. They were gone for so long. I neglected them, thought nothing more of them, ceased to control them. Months went by. I payed them no attention.

hsssssss. Such a simple sound. What sane man could be afraid of it. Not a breath of fear did I feel as coffee sprayed small bubbles over the stove. But inevitably they were back, taunting me from the island.

Madness took me. No! I cried. I shall never write a passive-agrressive fridge note. I did not recognize the man with the dry erase marker in his hand.



What had I done? I fled the house and tried to keep the evil away by thundering drums and screeching guitars. I could never have imagined what would await me when I returned home.

The mark on the door loomed ominously.



Every corner of the kitchen was covered in terrifying toroids.




I fled screaming up the stairs, straight in to the trap.


My sanity is no more.