Driving Old Blewett Pass
By Curt Cunningham
August 2016

The Old Blewett Pass Highway became part of the Yellowstone Trail in 1925, connecting Peshastin to the north and the junction of US-97 and SR-970 (Lauderdale Junction) to the south. This 13-mile stretch of the highway was a scenic yet nerve-wracking route, featuring 248 curves on a narrow road that hugged the side of a mountain, ascending to a summit 4,061 feet above sea level. Today, this section has been bypassed by a newer highway.

In 1916, the Leavenworth Echo quoted a Mrs. Durban, who recounted her harrowing experience: "The scenery was simply grand, affording many thrills, as the car glides along with one fender almost scraping the bank, which is perpendicular on one side, and the other fender apparently sticking out over a precipice, making one instinctively lean toward the bank and hold your breath."

The Blewett Highway became part of the Yellowstone Trail in 1925, after the route shifted to follow the Sunset Highway across Washington State. The highway originally began as an Indigenous trail. In the 1870s, after gold was discovered in the Swauk Valley, miners used these trails to reach the camps. By 1891, a wagon road was constructed along the trail, with miners contributing one week of labor per month to build it. The road was completed from Cle Elum to Peshastin by 1898. By the mid-1910s, automobiles were crossing Blewett Pass, and in 1922, the road was integrated into the Sunset Highway.

In 1956, the route was modernized and rerouted over what was then called Swauk Pass, though locals began referring to it as Blewett Pass, a name that officially stuck in 1995. The original Blewett Pass, part of the old highway, was subsequently renamed "Old Blewett Pass."

Before heading over the old pass, we took a detour to the Ingalls Creek Trailhead for a 3-mile hike along an abandoned part of the old highway, ending at a landslide. On the way, we stopped at the historic Brender Gas Station, which opened in 1926. A few years later, a campsite called Brender's Park was added, featuring three cabins for rent. Above one of the cabins, the same deer antlers have remained since the building was constructed.

Today, the property is privately owned, but Dean, the caretaker, kindly allowed us to explore and take photos. He shared some fascinating stories about the area, including one involving a Bigfoot sighting. He also mentioned that the Brender family still owns the property. Dean warned us about rattlesnakes while hiking the old road, as they were molting at this time of year. He advised that the best defense is to carry a shovel to spot them before they spot you.

After thanking Dean, we continued to the Ingalls Creek trailhead. The creek is named after Capt. Benjamin Ingalls, who, according to legend, discovered gold nearby during a scouting mission for the U.S. Cavalry. Unable to mine it at the time, he returned later with a partner. However, during the journey, a branch snapped back and caused his partner's gun to discharge, killing Capt. Ingalls instantly. The location of the gold was lost with him.

From the Ingalls Creek trailhead, one can hike 16 miles up the Stuart Mountain range. We opted for a shorter 1.5-mile hike along the old highway to the landslide. This section, closed to vehicles and unmaintained, has held up surprisingly well, with much of the pavement still intact and the original white lines still visible.

As we ascended the mountain, the views were breathtaking, but caution was necessary to avoid stepping too close to the cliff's edge. After a 45-minute hike, we reached the landslide site, which had occurred in the 1960s, long after the road had been abandoned. Thousands of tons of rock slid into Peshastin Creek, taking a large portion of the highway with it. The new highway runs on the opposite side of the canyon. After returning to our car, we headed to the ghost town of Blewett.

Gold was discovered there in the 1890s, and the town quickly gained a reputation as one of the most lawless and violent in Chelan County. By 1956, the town had been dismantled to make way for the new highway, leaving only a historical marker and a parking area.

As we continued toward the summit, we spotted remnants of the old highway clinging to the mountain. In some places, the pavement had fallen into the creek, while in others, only a sliver remained. The original one-lane bridges have all been removed, though the abutments are still visible.

The north end of the 13-mile stretch of Old Blewett Highway is accessible two miles south of Blewett and is now maintained by the U.S. Forest Service. The road is smooth and passable by car, though it’s essentially a one-lane route, so caution is needed around curves. As we navigated the winding road, I couldn't help but wonder what it must have been like to drive it in 1925. Each turn felt precarious, especially since you can’t see oncoming traffic around most curves. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter any vehicles—just a pair of cyclists struggling up the 5% grade.

We finally reached the summit and stopped at the site of the Top O' The Hill Resort and Café, which was built in 1920. Although the resort burned down a few years later, a new diner called Stu’s Lunch was built in the 1930s and 1940s, providing travelers with a place to rest and enjoy a hot meal.

Before the paved road was constructed in the 1920s, the old wagon road, established as State Route #7 in 1908, had steep grades of over 25%. It was common for motorists to push their cars over the summit in hot weather due to engine problems. Many travelers also burned their brakes descending the dirt road. One driver lost his brakes, and while his daughters jumped from the car, he rode it to the bottom, suffering only minor injuries. Some motorists even tied logs to the backs of their cars to help slow their descent.

Unfortunately, not all survived these treacherous conditions—there were fatalities when cars plunged over the grade. A few miles south of the summit, we stopped at Echo Point, the highest switchback on the southern side of the pass, which offers stunning views. Named after the Cle Elum Echo newspaper, which promoted the route for travel and tourism, Echo Point provided a brief respite. While there, I spotted an apple tree and wondered if it had been planted by a passing motorist tossing an apple core out the window years ago.

As we descended, the cyclists we had passed earlier zoomed by us. "Enjoying the ride?" I called out, and they both replied, "We are now!" as they coasted downhill. With the temperature reaching 88 degrees, their struggle uphill must have been challenging. After passing two more switchbacks, we rejoined the main highway, grateful that the 13-mile journey had been smooth and pothole-free. Despite the road’s age, it remains accessible for cars today.