Maple Pass is a mountain pass loop trail in North Cascades National Park. It’s 6.8 miles, rated hard, and scores a 4.9/5 on alltrails.com. It’s about as good as it gets, really. I went there with my son a year ago now, to the day. It was great. Clear skies, warm sun, wildflowers in bloom, birds singing.

A few weeks ago I mentioned a nearby hike, Cascade Pass, that didn’t go down quite like we hoped. This one happily exceeded all expectations.

The trail rises from Rainy Pass, a subordinate saddle to the Cascade range divide about 5 miles to the east, at Washington Pass. Here the Pacific Crest Trail crosses Hwy 20 on its final 60 mile push toward the Canadian border.

Emerging from the subalpine conifers, the trail traverses alongside Lake Ann, an emerald pool in a cirque with a picturesque tiny island.

I am a slower climber than my son but I tried to keep apace, fighting the urge to stop and just listen for a spell.

Warbling Vireo, Hermit Thrush, Western Wood Pewee, Dark-eyed Junco, Canada Jay and the peculiarly raspy (to my ear) Mountain Chickadee are heard along the trail. And, of course, the scrunch, scrunch of footsteps on the coarse trail.

Climbing to Maple Pass, the trail affords vistas of the stunning North Cascades. Red Indian paintbrush, lupines, and bistort are scattered among the granite boulder shards on the ridge. It’s the type of scene that brings to mind the lyric, “the hills are alive with the sound of music”. My score picks up on this ebullient vibe by reaching for a painterly sound palette: big, reverb-drenched synth pads and undulating swarms of synthesized bell tones evoke the panoramic views adorned with colorful life on the margins. This is not intimate piano suite fare.

It’s a popular hike on a summer day, and we certainly were not alone. The environmental audio has been spliced to focus on the biophony, as has been the case for most of my soundwalks. When we made it back to the trailhead I was astonished at how quick we made the transit. We shaved one or two hours off the estimated hike time, and yet time seemed to slip so slowly while we were out there.

Thanks for reading and listening along. If you find yourself in the North Cascades and have the time and ability, don’t pass this hike up!

Maple Pass Soundwalk is available on all music streaming services today, July 10th, 2026.

It’s funny how arrivals can turn into quiet affairs. Like, say, you’re walking along a trail with a friend and you get to a view or a waterfall or something and then slip into quiet. That’s how I’m feeling with this arrival.

It is the arrival of my first LP, and the sound recording it contains, which both captures and takes inspiration from The Wildwood Trail in Portland, Oregon’s Forest Park. To recap, it’s a 30 mile linear trail through a 5000+ acre forest in the city. I’ve written quite a lot about it: its magnetism, its quirks, its creation, its history, its wildlife, the volunteers that keep the trails clear, and the art that it inspires. You can read up on it while listening to the forest ambience in every quarter, in my ten part series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and this one makes 10. It’s virtual forest bathing!

And now, well, here we are. The end of the trail, the launch of the album, and also a new beginning. It’s kind of strange to have an artifact after creating so many soundwalks memorialized only in pixels and a digital ephemera. This is a tactile thing in comparison, and while not as simple to distribute, it’s reassuring on some level. It turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself.

It’s really amazing how the material holds the sound. It's all contained in the microscopic ridges of the infinitesimal canyon that spirals along the surface of the vinyl disc. I was curious how long that tiny canyon is, if you stretched it out and measured it, so I turned to Claude to work it out. It obliged my story problem in two seconds and spit out: approximately 3000 meters or 1.86 miles. I don’t know why, but I found that fascinating; picturing the groove like a gossamer ribbon spooling out on the Wildwood Trail itself for nearly 2 miles, shimmering in the wind like a sound wave.

I must pay my respect and gratitude to the kind people at MusicOregon’s Echo Fund, and The Portland Office of Arts and Culture. Without an Echo Fund Grant this would not have come to pass. Thank you, Thank you.

And to all of you who are reading this and who have shared moments of my journey or listened to my music, thank you. I hope this finds you well.

Wildwood Trail Soundwalk is available on all music streaming services today June 26th, 2026. Find the limited run LP on Bandcamp.

It was supposed to be the highlight of our trip.

I spent a few days with my son hiking in the North Cascades last summer. The North Cascades is, according to one YouTuber who titled his video The Most Breathtaking Hike of my Life!, the “American Alps”.

It’s also one of the least visited National Parks in the US lower 48. It ranks as the second-least, to be precise, after Isle Royale National Park in Michigan, a large island in Lake Superior which requires over 12 hours travel time from the closest major airport. All of this to say, it’s a mystery to me why so few people visit the North Cascades.

We saved this hike for our last day, because we were staying on the east side of the range and the hike was on the west side. What we failed to comprehend was the east side forecast calling for clouds meant west side rain. The North Cascades operates like a giant squeegee, scraping the moisture from the cloud layer. And so it was, that the grand vistas of chromatic glacial valleys were replaced by a visibility of 100 feet or so; a blanket of silvery grey.

The hike started at the end of a gravel spur road. The trail was essentially switchback after switchback for over 3 miles, gaining 1,700 feet in elevation as it climbed the SW flank of Sahale Mountain under a conifer canopy. Streams and seeps were alive with water coming down the slope. The canopy was a safe, warm refuge for the birds on that day. They called to each other as we climbed.

I have to say, I was really enjoying the thick fog. The construction of the trail was superb; a nice even climb. The canopy filtered out the fine rain. I focused my attention on the near field wonders. The numerous little waterfalls were vivid landscapes in miniature. The wildflowers and mosses seemed to glow in the visibility deprivation tank.

As we got closer to the exposed ridge traverse the fog thickened and heavy rain began to fall. It felt like we were in the clouds. “Every cloud has a silver lining,” according to the Milton poem that birthed the phrase. The metaphor of the bright cloud edge is taken here to mean every negative situation holds positive qualities, so long as you are able to notice them.

We made the call to turn around before the pass, which was only a few hundred yards away.

The experience didn’t match the expectations we set for it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a disappointment for both of us. Still, it was memorable and special for its dreamlike quality. As the visible was minimized, the audible was maximized; ephemeral, resonant, and enveloping.

Thanks for joining me here. Cascade Pass Rain is available on all music streaming services today June 5th, 2026. Also, the first two singles from my vinyl LP release Wildwood Trail Soundwalk are also out and available to stream. Find the limited run LP only on Bandcamp. (20% off pricing is extended through release day, June 26) Lastly, I posted Part 7 from my in-depth series on the Wildwood Trail a few days ago. So long for now!