The road to Artist Point was completed in 1931. My friend Bill Merrow and I made it to the point on a Monday afternoon in November 2018, 87 years later. It was Bill’s first visit. The first time I visited Artist Point was at least 60 
years ago. When my mother took this photo, I was as yet unborn and the road to the point was only 15 years old.
The elegant rock work at Artist Point was laid down around 1933 by the Civilian Conservation Corps. The CCC built or improved many of the campgrounds and trails in the national forest along Mount Baker Highway at that time. Mount Baker Lodge was built earlier, opening in 1927. The original lodge burned to its foundation in a few hours soon after it was opened, in 1931, the same year the road to Artist Point was completed.
During the winter of 1934-35, The Call of the Wild starring Loretta Young and Clark Gable was filmed at Heather Meadows. The movie crew was put up in the Heather Inn, which was built to house the workers at the luxurious lodge and survived the fire that destroyed lodge.
The Call of the Wild on location Mount Baker set was a disaster and a scandal. When the crew arrived, a blast of air from the Canadian Arctic hit the Northwest. Filming was difficult. The actors and crew were forced to stay nine weeks, but the cameras rolled only six days.
The Heather Inn turned into an unholy mess. Clark Gable was always a heavy drinker, and Hollywood of that era was not known for temperance. The crew was continually snowed in and alcohol was plentiful. One of our neighbors in North Bellingham had the contract for keeping up the plumbing at the inn. He told my dad that keeping the plumbing working during the filming was hard because the toilets were clogged with smashed beer bottles. Our neighbor was a tough old guy who would tear into an overflowing septic tank or open up a clogged waste line and laugh about it. He said he had never before or since seen anything like the scene at the inn.
Many years later, Loretta Young revealed that Clark Gable date-raped her during the filming on Mount Baker. She became pregnant. She and her family staged an elaborate charade to hide the scandal and prevent MGM from forcing her to have an abortion. Frankly, I don’t know how to evaluate this gossip. Read about it here.
There were no scandals when Bill and I set off from the Heather Meadows parking lot. The parking lot was scraped clear, but the gate on the road to Artist Point was closed and pavement was covered with six or eight inches of snow.
I had some trepidation about the 5-mile walk. I have a congenital heart condition that causes “exercise intolerance” and I quit hiking in the hills a couple decades ago when shortness of breath and chest pains got daunting. I had some surgical work done on my heart at the Mayo Clinic several years ago and I’ve been getting stronger and the symptoms have diminished. I have been itching to get back above the tree line. I proposed a visit to Artist Point and Bill agreed to let me set my own pace. When we arrived, the sun was shining, and the air was in the bracing mid-forties.
Off we went. I suppose I have been to Artist Point a dozen times at least: driven it, snow-shoed, hiked it, I even rode my bicycle up the road once before my heart caught up with me, but I have never seen it more impressive than Monday. The light 
covering of snow accentuated rough terrain and sharpened the edges of the ridges. This photo shows Goat Mountain, Yellow Aster Butte, and Red Mountain.
The views of Mount Shuksan on the way to the point appears all over on calendars, advertisements, and posters, so this photo may look familiar, but it shows Shuksan at its best.
Notice the steep rock around Hanging Glacier.
On the other side is Price Glacier and Price Lake where Price Glacier used to calve off miniature icebergs. I hope it still does. I gathered tufts of mountain goat hair in the heather and bushes around Price Lake, maybe 50 years ago.
During the hike up, I had to stop several times, and I am sure Bill was impatient, although he never showed it. But a little shortness of breath is nothing when you can catch it again after a minute’s rest. I thought of a solo hike up to Hannegan Pass. My heart was still good, and I had a pair of well-broken in logging boots with Vibram soles on my feet. I felt like the trail was flowing under my feet. I passed several parties on my way up to the pass. At the top, I looked up towards Hannegan Peak and wished I could go on. But I had things to do in the lowlands, so I turned around and returned. That was a pre-heart condition high point of my life.
Mount Baker is not visible from Heather Meadows and it remains hidden during the hike up the road to Artist Point. At the top, Baker jumps in your face. Knowing that Mount Baker was coming kept me going on Monday. I admit that the trail did not flow under my feet. I relied on the stick that Bill leant to me. But I made it to the point. In the rough times of a pre-surgery impaired heart, after a strenuous day, I plunged into lassitude. Getting out of bed was a chore, I felt like I was living in molasses. On Tuesday, if I have to admit it, I could scarcely stand up, but it only hurt. No molasses. Get beyond the stiffness and I was fine. Knowing that I can hike again is everything.
Bill Merrow took these pictures, with the exception of my mother’s old snapshot of Table Mountain. This blundering old guy hauled his camera but left his SD card at home. Next time, and I am damn glad there will be a next time, and for that I thank my friend Bill.