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Up The Dosewallips |
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Two weeks of analyzing led me to change my trips plans to include my little trooper, Amber, and to choose the west fork of the Dosewallips as our route to the Enchanted Valley. I wanted to read. I wanted to write. I wanted to think. I wanted to see things I never had in the Olympics. Amber's ambitions were more simplistic as she just wanted to see a bear or two. To appease both of our desires, the Dosewallips offered a trail that provided the spectacles I dreamt to see. Camp Siberia, Honeymoon Meadows, Mt. Anderson and it's tarns, and Anderson Pass, just to name a few. It also provided a trail clear of downed trees for it's entire distance. I thought about a western approach, but as the Graves Creek Road was washed out, it lengthened the the eastern approach to 18 miles each way and required an additional hour of driving. To further minimize the distance along the Dose, I came up with the ideal plan of riding our bikes past the washout, taking 11 miles of hiking off our feet, round trip, and saving an hour each way. After a local "bug" exhibit, we drove to the washout in three and a half hours. I was curious about this specific washout since the Forest Service has yet to repair it. We geared up and pushed our way up and over the washout before mounting our trusty steeds.
The washout happened during a storm in January of 2002 and has been growing ever since. On August 29th, it was declared that the final decision to repair the road rests with Dale Hom, Olympic National Forest supervisor, Jonathan B. Jarvis, National Park Service regional director for the Pacific West Region, and Clara Conner, division engineer with the Western Federal Lands Highway Division of the Federal Highway Administration and looks promising.
We rode, and sometimes pushed, our two-wheeled horses up the gravel road, occasionally choked with side alder. We took advantage of the road-side shows, stopping at times to gaze at waterfalls that graced the side of Dose's old vehicular artery. While coasting on a small downhill stretch, I heard what I thought was not possible with 28c tires. While cruising at 20 miles per hour on small gravel, I heard the distinctive "PSS-SSS-SSS-SSS". I had blown the back tire and we were already behind schedule. I found a huge rock to ditch the bikes before locking them up. The rock had a large chunk out of it's side and provided a large overhang, protecting the bikes from rain.
After twenty minutes of easy walking, we strolled into the campground. As only two of the thirty campsites were occupied, Amber and I felt right at home, quickly scoring a great piece of ground. I quickly pitched the tarp before building a small fire. Couscous, hot cocoa, and a half liter of hot tea warmed us while the fire slowly came to life.
After dinner, I stashed all our scented items in a bear-proof food locker before taking a stroll around. I could tell that not long ago the grounds were terribly overused as I had a hard time simply finding twigs for the fire. The campground was almost sterile as the barren landscape also lacked the micro trash that accompanies such easily accessible areas. I returned and stared at the river after donning my thermal jacket, imagining it melting from it's source high above. I pondered how far my little one could hike tomorrow as it was all uphill to the pass from here. If I was solo, I could get over the pass and into Enchanted Valley in under six hours, but doubt I would enjoy it as much. I realized I did not really care. We were here, living, breathing, just us, with nothing to interrupt our quality time other than periodic snaps and pops from our micro inferno.
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