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Enchanted Valley, Olympic National Park |
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It has always been a desire of Bob's to camp in the Enchanted Valley. After planning the trip, Bob and I counted the days before we left. I had bought some lighter weight gear as I was beginning to become fascinated with the thought of less is more. That is, less gear is more if you know what you are doing with it. Also with me was a basic GPS that I wanted to practice with in case we stumbled into any snowy bushwhacking. With a planned week off from work, we drove in the trusty Volvo to the Graves Creek trailhead.
Bob warned me about the climb down and out of Pony Bridge. I did not feel this was too hard as we had hiked much harder terrain, sans 35+ pound packs, of course. The east fork of the Quinault was flowing at a good rate as a slight fear grew within Bob. "I hope we can ford the river before the chalet", Bob said. I asked why and he replied, the last time he was up, the bridge was not to be found.
The pack that I chose to take with me, a Gregory Z Pack, was starting to feel uncomfortable and was digging into my hips. There was very little padding or length for the hip belt to it's thing, even with my light (I thought) load. We hobbled over Fire Creek and I paused a moment on the other side to gulp down a bit of water. The weather was even more threatening.
The skies darkened but I thought nothing of it. I spotted a heard of elk. Actually, I spotted only one. Bob always told me, "If you see one, there are many more around". He was right. There was a dozen of the mini-moose sized things running in slow motion through the woods in response to my approach.
The weather worsened and I stopped for a sip of water and to don my raingear. The mist had turned into a downpour, but this mattered not. I heard a ruckus across the river and looked to see at least twenty elk crossing it perpendicularly to the other side. On the opposite side of the river, I saw what looked like a very black stump. I put down my pack to look at this oddity. Three minutes passed, then five as I felt rather stupid for staring at this piece of wood. If it was anything alive, surly it would have moved by now. It then moved, slowly. I had just seen my first bear and I was astounded. I watched it as it watched the elk crossing the Quinault. A pretty lady came up to me from the direction of the Enchanted Valley and asked what I was looking at. She too, thought it was neat to watch the bear potentially stalking it's next meal. Bob caught up to us as we all watched in wonder at this magnificent, yet portly, animal.
A few minutes later, as the rain droplets grew bigger and increased in velocity, we plodded downward towards the chalet with dinner and rest on our minds. I really wanted to see the chalet. It was built in 1930 with materials almost entirely packed in. I believe it was planned to be an expensive hotel for the rich back then, with a road to lead the people in. The Forest Service acquired the land and the project was put to rest, turning the chalet into a ranger station. Bob gave a war whoop as he stumbled up to the bridge that was absent on his last trip. We crossed carefully and hiked back up, into the woods. Soon after re-entering the woods, the river had erased the trail. The river had changed the land in a way I could not comprehend since I have never been here. We followed the banks of the past, over swollen river to find the trail continuing a quarter mile upstream.
Five minutes later, the rain turned into a fine mist as we entered the Enchanted Valley. I saw nothing enchanted about it since the clouds only allowed eighty vertical feet of visibility. Although, I could hear the plethora of water falls Bob spoke of.
The rain ceased as we quickly erected our tents. The only problem we had was a bear that decided to dig for roots and grubs within our camp site. She meandered around the other group's various tents, one of which had a leak and forced the occupant to spend the night in the chalet with their food bags. I thought this rather funny and had a chuckle as I watched the friendly bear, Bob and I named Yoga (Yogi's sister), smack her face to the ground, then dig wildly. Tents set up and gear stowed, we quickly fired up the stove for some dinner while watching the show. Again I chuckled as I listened to the "ooohs" and "ahhhs", sounding like an episode of Wheel Of Fortune.
Dinner finished, I glanced at the darkening sky. The mist lifted only slightly as Yoga took off for the night, most likely to den up. I dove into my tent and slept the best I ever had out in the wilderness as the river and various water falls sang me to sleep. This was turning out to be a very special trip indeed.
Morning came and Bob was up before me. "Not much of a rarity" I thought, and arose from the tent to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Bob really has a way with coffee in the backcountry as you have to admire the experience he has gained over his camping years. The feeling that overcame me as I gazed at my surroundings was unexplainable. It was like being blindfolded, then driven to a place divine before the blindfold was removed. I was all smiles, from ear to ear, as this valley was indeed enchanted. Over coffee and fresh oatmeal, not the mutilated, flavored junk, Bob explained to me that things were very, very wrong.
The river, he said, used to be three hundred feet towards the northern cliffs of the Burke Range. The river, once three hundred feet from the chalet, was now just 12 feet from it's foundation. It had changed course do to some pineapple express and an incredible amount of precipitation. Because of this, all the meadows but a couple were gone. I was still smiling though as this would be my home for the next few days. I was content despite these facts given to me. Something inside is changing.
At the valley's head was Mt. Anderson. It has a rather large glacier system that could be seen quite clearly from the valley. Bob mentioned that we should hike up and take a look at what is beyond the valley we were in. I did not hesitate and fired up the GPS programming in some co ordinances referenced from my topo. While walking out of the valley, a tense conversation took place.
Bob :
"John, STOP!" I did as instructed and found myself gazing upon Yoga. She was on her hind legs no more than twenty five feet away staring at Bob and I. We apparently stumbled into her grazing area and she was quite interested in what business it was that we had there.
"What should we do? Should we take a picture?" Bob asked with
nervous sarcasm in his voice. The encounter was close enough to make out the details of her facial features as I was not about to temp fate. As soon as we were on our way, she went back to all fours and continued foraging. The strange thing is, it did not even strike fear in me. I was too fascinated to be afraid of such an ordeal and it gave Bob and I something to hash over for the next few miles.
We thumped up the valley, heading towards Anderson Pass. We stopped at a junction sporting a sign stating the direction to the largest western hemlock known. This was just something that we had to see for ourselves. With weather so fine, it enticed us to lounge around a bit and soak up some rays as well. Lounge we did as we took the opportunity to wash up a bit as well.
Forty five minutes later, we headed back to the main trial after taking the mandatory snapshots that one would take at such an attraction. Immediately at a small meadow, we ran into another black bear but this one took off running and crashing into the woods at the sight of our presence. I found this quite funny and could not contain it. We took the opportunity to get more familiar with the area and the signs that bears would leave. We found logs ripped apart for insects, scat, prints, all the usual things, but no scratches.
A bit further up the trail we hit snow. I thought less of my chosen footwear (Gore-Tex trail runners), and wished for some boots. The snow got a bit deep, waist deep in fact, rather quickly. I followed co ordinances on the GPS. The GPS was almost useless under tree cover, but this did not matter to me as I was only practicing. My meager route finding skills were enough to bring us to the junction with White Creek.
The snow thinned upon arriving at White creek. The first thing I noticed was a recent slide from a rather precarious looking avalanche chute. There would be no way to hike up that I thought with the current trail conditions. It would be easier to use the junction before Anderson Pass if we wanted to get to O'Neil Pass anyway.
The camera blazed away as I really saw all I needed to and wanted to get back for food and reading. I found that reading while backpacking almost makes reading at home obsolete. At home, there is so much chronic commotion that reading becomes challenging at best. Here, I could really see what the author is trying to get across within his words. We filtered some water from the creek and turned around, following our frequently deep tracks back.
On the way back, we ran into a rather burly bruin. He was doing his usual bear-like activities, but he was doing them on the trail. With no other option, we used the same technique that we used earlier. We came out from behind the trees, a few feet away, clanking our poles while yelling. He took one look at us and stood up on his hind legs, sniffing the air. He then turned around as we watched his hind quarters jiggle as he ran away from us. He hurriedly hiked across the meadow and thumped up the rest of the way, back to camp. At camp, eating, reading and a fire was all that was necessary for heaven to take place on earth. As all others were now gone from the valley, we had the whole place to ourselves and relished in it. While chatting at the fire, a lone fawn came within 2 feet of my tent. Nothing more needs to be said.
We awoke to blue skies, a slight breeze and no bear in camp. Enjoying this discovery, I fetched the food from the bear line and made breakfast. Bob was out doing some laundry or something, and I took the time to ponder what would be in store for the day. It was then that the change became complete. This was it. This is what I wanted for the rest of my life. To augment my life with backpacking, changing how I see the world and what I need to survive in it, in order to be happy.
Bob asked "what do you think the other side of the river is like". I replied with a "let's check it out". Off we went, bushwhacking along the river, keeping a close eye out for any animals that might find our presence offensive. I found a set of down trees about six inches in diameter. We crossed the over the river on them, making it to the other side dry. As we carefully bush whacked our way towards the water falls, we scared some local elk as they took off crashing through the brush. Mt. Anderson was even more dominant at the head of the valley from this vantage point.
We made it to the cliff side and began the long climb up the wash from high above.
Bob thought it rather funny that there was so much horse scat everywhere. I had a feeling it was not horse scat, but bear droppings. The sheer amount of scat was mind-boggling. Again, we kept a close eye out for bears and continued up as far as we could, looking out at the valley far below. It was easy to see how the river changed direction from this vantage point. It was also amazing to ponder the amount of water it took to create such devastation.
At home, I would not have thought algae was beautiful. Here, it was. It was alive and in perfect alignment with everything around it. Again, I began to think of my life at home.
After showering in the cool waterfalls. sans soap of course, we sloshed our way back to camp smiling all the way and not smelling quite as unpleasant. In camp, more reading took place as well as some clothes drying. I did not want to leave. The weather was perfect and I was in a state of mind that I did not want to change. I did not want to go back to the traffic, the whiny customers, the anger and hate from strangers. Things would have to change, I thought. Upon thinking, I looked upward and noticed that the ceiling was dropping fast. As I thought it would rain this evening, Bob and I discussed about packing everything up except our sleeping gear and spending the night in the chalet.
Yoga graced our campsite and I rushed into action, camera clicking wildly. She was very tolerant, most likely from seeing many people over her time here. As I was taking a picture, Bob came up behind me and stepped on a large stick, snapping it in two. The sound make this two hundred, fifty pounder jump like an Olympic athlete. She settled down and went back to foraging as I snapped a few more, then left her alone, temping fate no longer.
We retired to the chalet, tired, but happy. Strangely, we talked about a trip later this year. Something involving alpine wilderness as our backdrop vs. valleys. Still in disbelief at all I have seen on this trip, I could not fight the feeling of melancholy as I knew tomorrow I would be gone, back to the suburban wild. I read and tried to fight this feeling as I knew tomorrow I would feel better. I missed my wife and children anyway and decided to focus on them instead of moping.
The sheer feeling of luxury in a shelter of this size is intoxicating. No, there aren't any butlers, fine chandeliers, or caviar. Instead, there was peace, tranquility, and a friend to spend quality time with in a place that very few people, statistically speaking, would ever see. With the lights out, I fell into a fitful slumber.
Leaving the valley, we made good time. We stopped along the way at numerous spots to rest and filter water. I am really hating this bag I brought with me and plan on returning it tomorrow, first thing. I am not sure where I will go next, maybe the gorge, maybe back to the Olympic mountains. Wherever it is, I am doubt it will be as meaningful as this trip was to me.
One tenth of a mile left to go and Bob was exhausted. The pack he had been carrying must have weighed in the area of forty five pounds. It was nothing that a microbrew would not cure as we had plenty of time left in our vacation from work. Plenty of time indeed for me to think more on this subject of happiness and simple living.
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