We were trying to outrun the bruised, rain-plump clouds that had been tailgating us since the Canadian border when we finally hit Highway 20, which snakes through North Cascades National Park like an asphalt river. The forecast wasn’t particularly optimistic—clouds and forest fire smoke—but we didn’t care. In the North Cascades, fall ignites one last burst of tourism before winter closes in. Not for antique stores, cider stands, or coffee shops though—in these parts, leaf peeping is not an economic driver. In fact, there isn’t much at all for the one hundred miles between the park border and the historic town of Winthrop on the mountains' eastern slope. Just scenic lookouts, trailheads, and mountain goats.
I wasn't here for any of that though; I was here seeking out the famous golden larch.