From: Jeffrey Olson Subject: Trip Report - Enchantments Date: Sun, 22 Sep 1996 17:35:11 -0700 A friend and I hiked through the Enchantments in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness of Washington yesterday. The following is a brief description of the trip. The Enchantments are a series of lakes descending in elevations from about 7700' to 6700'. The uppermost lakes in the upper basin are the residue of the Snow Creek Glacier which has receded over the last 50 years. The area is granite cliffs, boulders and glacial moraine. The upper basin is raw and inhospitable. It is also unique in the Alpine Lake Wilderness and hence a destination point for a lot of people. The national forest people have instituted a permit system which limits campers, which is why I feel I can write this without feeling guilty I'm encouraging more use. The one way trip from the Lake Stuart/Colchuk Lake Trailhead at 3400' to the Snow Creek Trailhead at 1300' is 17 or 18 miles. The climb to Aasgard Pass is 4400' over six miles or so, and the descent from Aasgaard 6500' to the SC trailhead is 6500'. The 4 and a half mile hike to Colchuk Lake at 5570' is through forest. You pop up over a rim to a view of the lake, and as your eye moves upward, to Asgaard Pass. We traversed around Colchuk Lake and started following cairns through a boulder field some of which were the size of small houses. The trail from this point climbs 2200' in about a mile, if it could be called a trail. It is more a series of human scratchings in the dirt and rocks marked periodically by cairns. It starts off steeply and gets steeper. I found myself reaching out without bending over to support myself on rocks as I stepped up and around. As elevation moved over 6500' I could tell that I'd spent the night in my warm bed at 800'. I experienced some lightheadedness during which the world of rock and cliff and water receded some. I didn't walk through those episodes, hanging onto a rock instead, breathing through it. My "climbing up muscles" began to make themselves known after the boulder field. Instead of inhaling with one step and exhaling with the next, etc., I found myself doing both on each step. We passed numerous people coming down and a couple parties going up. I stopped to talk whenever I could and the other seemed willing. As we got higher we could see the front predicted to hit that afternoon moving in. The clouds were massing and fairly large pockets of rain were falling on more western valleys and peaks, quickly erasing what view we might have had. I'd been up in the Enchantments five years earlier and spent four days there. The views range in the north from Glacier Peak and North Cascades National Park to Mt. Hood in the south. Today the clouds shrouded everything. At about 7000' snow began appearing on the ground, a light dusting from the night before. The creek flowing down from the glacier to the right of the pass was frozen where it passed over bare rock. Air bubbles moved with the water as it flowed underneath the ice that had formed during the night. We crossed the stream and climbed the last 300' or so slowly and carefully as the snow was now a half inch deep, making for a possible "slip sliding away". We reached the top of Aasgaard Pass, glanced briefly and the wall of clouds and rain heading our way, sat down behind a rock shielding the 10 mph breeze and ate lunch. We'd planned to take three hours to get to the pass and it took a little over four. My friend, already guilty for being 45 minutes late to our meeting at the ranger station, was worried about having to walk in the dark and wanted to go as soon as bagels, cream cheese, and sliced turkey were eaten. We rplaced our shorts and cotton tee shirts and put on polypropylene, fleece, warm hats, gloves and windbreakers and headed down into the upper basin. The uppermost lake was frozen over and much of the next quarter mile we spent walking on snowbanks or granite. As soon as we had started walking the front hit the pass and snow began to fall. Little Annapurna, a hikable peak to the south, quickly became phantasmagoric with its dark granite and white snow disappearing in a diffused gray. The other peaks bordering the lake basins reared up as black and white fences slightly out of focus for the snow and clouds. The trail up here is indistinct at best, visible only for a couple months a year. Other's boots had dug dirty paths in the snow and the forest service had left the cairns alone, so we were able to make good time as we passed through the upper basin. We dropped down a series of granite outcroppings 300' vertical feet or so to Inspiration and Perfection lakes, a drop that made me nervous. I'd forgotten how the trail in the Enchantments is not engineered. Like the trail up Aasgaard from Colchuk Lake, the trail was created by climbers. What's a 15' drop down a slab of exfoliating granite? We wound around and through the lakes in the lower basin and with their stunted trees and small meadows, 500' granite cliffs dropping straight down to the lakes, and the peaks above. The Enchantments is tiny as wildernesses go, but is so diverse, so rich in wandering room and views. You can climb/hike to either side of the basins, north or south, for incredible views (on clear days). There are innumberable benchs away from the trail on which to camp. Make sure you pee on rock as the goats who spend summers up here lick it up for the salt. After crossing the outlet stream of Lake Viviane we began a hellacious descent from the lower basin into the Snow Lakes basin. This trail is rough, going over roots (sometimes it feels like under), across and down granite that when dry tests nerves, and when wet, like it was for us, tests courage. Someone even drilled a granite drop and installed rebar. They bent it to make a step and then concreted each piece. I would have hated to have gone across this 30' section the next morning when every wetness would have been frozen. By this time my friend was impatient and ranging far ahead of me. He continued to worry about walking in the dark. I reassured him the trail below Nada Lake was wide and root free, and relatively rock free. Nonethless I walked up on him snacking and waiting, and his ten minute break was my 30 second break. Most of the trail involved stepping down >from one rock to another, from one root to another. 10 years ago when I was 34 I would have lightfooted my way down, goatlike and speedy. Now my knees demand to be treated as venerable citizens of my body and I have to take my time descending. I'd worn running shoes from the trailhead to Colchuk lake and changed into my leather boots to hike to the pass and through the basins proper. Finally, when we reached the forest of Upper Snow Lake I took off my boots and put back on my running shoes. It was like I'd received a second wind. I felt like leaping into the air and clicking my heels together while I walked. What a difference. Of course in my exuberance I fell off an inch and a half rock and turned my left ankle, leaving me hobbling and cursing for the next 50' as I walked along the trail. The pain slowly went away and 5 minutes later I'd forgotten I'd turned it. I did this three more times on the way down. It was worth the risk for the increased ease of walking in running ;shoes. I felt like I was gliding down the trail, landing on my toes rather than heels as I walked, much more a dancer than plow horse. The snow had stopped when we started down the hellacious part of the trail, as did the momentous movement of the storm down the creek valley. We would have been rained on, but didn't have to experience this pleasure. By the time we crossed the dam between upper and lower snow lakes, a relic of a less environmentally conscious era, the sun was dropping behind the peaks surrounding the upper basin. We still had six and a half miles to walk, and an hour and a half of daylight to do it in. I've walked that far in that time before, but not after having already climbed 4400', dropped 2400', and hiked 10 miles or so. And what dawned on me was we still had 4100' of elevation to lose to get to the car. I'd eaten 1000 milligrams of ibuprofen at the top of the pass about 2 and my "hiking down muscles" hadn't let me know I was pushing any limits. My friend decided he should hike behind me because he said he would probably race to the car and he felt "socially responsible" for once. So he brought up the rear, my normal place in our hiking excursions - I like knowing there is no one to worry about or wait for, or account for behind me so I can walk in the moment - and we began talking. Or I should say we began arguing and laughing and counter-punching points. I'd turn around and slow down and he'd make little "hurry up" gestures with his hands and so I'd talk louder as we walked. The conversation enabled me to forget any pain I might have been feeling, to walk in my running shoes with a presence of concentration that allowed me a lightness that had my feet land where they should. We dropped 3000 of the 4100' in a flash, leaping over rocks or dancing around them, arguing and adding panache to our debate with joyful screams and assignations of blindness and ignorance. Then we noticed it was getting dark, that the trail was losing its three-dimensionality. We stopped to drink th e rest of our water and my friend started out ahead, and we walked down past the Snow Creek Wall on the other side of the canyon. There'd been a huge fire two years before that had decimated this part of the trail and in the increasing pallor of impending darkness, the dead and burned trees took on living visages of bears and witches and horrendous sorcerors casting weird spells on me. I laughed nervously at my imagination and devoted more energy to walking more quickly and kept my eyes on my feet. The trailhead parking lot appeared below, as did Icicle Creek Road with its moving beams of headlights, and 10 hours and 15 minutes after we started we groaned our light packs off, and shook each other's hand. I realized that other than at lunch and the times I'd changed shoes, I hadn't sat down on the trip. The ripped and tattered front seat of my 16 year old Toyota was a throne supporting wonderous feelings. I drove us to his car at the other trailhead, 15 or so minutes away and in the dark we headed off on our two hour drives home, him to Seattle, me to Yakima. Jeffrey Olson Heritage College Toppenish, Washington...