Ascending Snoqualmie Pass on a misty Friday evening in October, I reflected on my unfolding journey: how lucky am I? Pulling into the creekside campsite I had marked as a waypoint on an excursion earlier this summer, I had the area to myself. And my dog, Lucy. One hour from home in Seattle and I was soaking in the solitude among the fir and hemlock, the gentle burble of the stream washing away my anxieties of the week. Where else can you do this? I had work ahead of me, but I could feel the knots untie as I readied the back of my Land Rover to sleep in as the mountain chill descended.
I was on assignment: three articles to report in a weekend. Two reviews of gear I was testing, including a Feathered Friends sleeping bag I’d been wanting to try for a while, and an interview of some world travelers for a feature I’d been commissioned to write. Burrowed into the sleeping bag I gazed up at the stars through the moon roof and drifted off thinking about a route for tomorrow.
The sun was not yet above the peaks that rose over the pass when I met up with my friends on a dirt road. Valentina Valinotto was the team photographer on a 10-day overlanding expedition I organized last November (articles forthcoming in Overland Journal and OutdoorX4) and her husband, Antonio Brizzo, was at the wheel of Ulisse, the Ford F-350 ambulance they had converted to a home on wheels. They were on their way from Alaska to Patagonia and I was lucky to share travels with them for a couple days.
The consummate planners, my Italian friends had already mapped out a route. Familiar with many of the places they had included, I thought it was a great approach to journey south through the Cascades. We continued east to Cle Elum and soon turned off pavement onto dirt. The track on our maps looked like the squiggles of a lie detector test, but the truth was we were all delighted to be traversing dusty mountain roads among the yellow blaze of the larches.
Unable to resist temptation, I proposed we take a detour to an overlook near Funny Rocks. Leaving the hulking Ulisse at a junction, we all piled into the Land Rover and crept up a steep, muddy, rocky, root-strewn track in low range. As fellow Land Rover owners, Valentina and Antionio welcomed the diversion to drive a trail that they never would have fit through.
As old veterans of southern African safaris, we all agreed that we should reach camp with enough time to enjoy sundowners. The forests were filled with hunters in search of elk, but we found an empty promontory at Canteen Flat to make our home for the night. The obligatory Scotch and snacks appeared, and Valentina earned Lucy’s undying love with affection and maybe one or two salty Italian bread twists.
We sat beside the fire sharing stories of our international travels and I took notes for my article. The night cooled quickly and we retreated to our respective vehicles as coyotes sang out in the valley below.
Sunday brought a lazy start and we leisurely made our way down the mountains to Highway 410, which we followed west to Mount Rainier National Park. After lunch at White River Campground we parted ways, my friends to hike up Glacier Basin and me to return to Seattle. I was grateful to share a small portion of an epic journey, but I had promises to keep and articles to write before I sleep. It was a valuable reminder that one of the most meaningful aspects of overlanding is the special relationships you form with fascinating people along the way.
Follow Antonio and Valentina’s travels in Ulisse on their Facebook page and Instagram @v_adventures ulisse