Stu says…

The French Cabin Creek trail is in Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest in Washington state.  The trail was as advertised, but our readings focused more on the “sprawling fields of flowers” aspect and less on the “steady climb up a steep, badly eroded trail” aspect.

Getting to the trailhead was a bit of an adventure by itself.  A stream has washed out the road, but our factory-clearance Jeep managed the crossing without scraping bottom.  It did make me wish I had brought one of those small shovels the cool kids strap to the outside of their Jeeps.

The Washington Trail Association (WTA) puts the trailhead about a mile after the stream crossing, but there is no trailhead parking marked at that point.  There is a narrow, very rough road leading up the mountain.  We trusted the WTA, parked on the side of the road, and started our hike up the narrow road.  In about half a mile, there is a decent parking area, so drive on to this spot if you can.

The trail from here is steep, rocky, and a challenge to follow in places that are covered in snow.  The first view clearing, about a mile up the trail, is magnificent and is a lovely spot for a picnic.  Further on, the trail joins the Kachess Ridge Trail, which then passes between French Tongue and French Chin!  (These peak names are according to Peakbagger.com).  That’s where our progress ended, because there was a steep snowfield that was just a bit too firm to get good steps dug into.  I guess you could say that French Tongue was too slippery.

 

Flutie says…

I picked this trail because of the name, obviously. French Tongue, well…yes, please! It was advertised online as containing ‘meadows of wildflowers’, which, like most things online, was a ruse. Unless I misunderstand the term ‘meadow’, this hike was nowhere near what I imagined French tongue to feel like. Mostly, this trek dragged on and on, with nary an explosion of  wildflowers. The hike felt sweaty and cumbersome, much more like exercise than pleasure, reminiscent of other undertakings one attempts on weekends away.

Stu: “Do you mean Sex?”
Flutie:  C’est la vie, Stu!

What we have here instead is a tortuous, upward slog through mosquito-infested woods, over patches of grimy snow, to harrowing slabs of granite one must somehow traverse. The path is overall narrow, rocky, and gouged out in places, which means most of your walk is spent looking at your feet. The one time I did try to call back merrily to Stu, he yelled, “Keep your mouth closed here!” And forthwith I knew why – mosquito salad!

This path held the promise of a French cabin, and that was never seen. Truly I pity the poor lass who sold her livelihood to journey all they way here, then was stuck on the top of this sucker waiting for some man to return with a strap full of rabbits, just so she could whip him up a stew.

My own Stu picked up some sort of dead, furry appendage along the trail, and afterwards whenever he wanted to pause and hold my hand to survey the bounty before us (with mouths closed!), I refused.

My rating is: Not all it’s cracked up to be. More ‘French Ass’ then ‘French Tongue’.

We did imbibe (before and aft) in the hip, happy, one-street town of Roslyn, at The Brick – the oldest continuously serving bar in Washington state – since 1889!

 

There was a woman in the bar wearing a blue pom-pom fringed short skirt, playing shuffleboard, sans underwear!

Flutie: You can’t make this stuff up!
Stu: Nor can you legally take pictures.

Over his ‘Coal Miner’ bourbon, Stu remarked, “She’s very good!” We did not elaborate on what that meant, nor did we scorn this young lass for no knickers. Live and let live!  Liberté, égalité, fraternité!