The best view I had all day was from a toilet. It was a wooden box right off the main trail, just after the day’s hardest ascent. There were no walls, just a few bushes between me and the trail, with my friends standing guard. I sat facing alpine lakes surrounded by snow-covered granite peaks. It was simultaneously the most miserable bathroom trip of my life and the most beautiful one. That’s the Enchantments in a nutshell: it has a way of giving you the worst and the best of everything at the same time.
I did the Enchantments last year: a 21-mile day hike in the Washington Cascades, with alpine lakes, mountain goats, and beautiful larch trees. It’s a strenuous hike, with about 5,000 feet of elevation gain and 7,000 feet of descent. Last year, we finished at 10 PM, walking the last few miles in darkness. This year, the goal was simple: finish in daylight.
But the weather had other plans. Two weeks earlier, a hiker died in a sudden snowstorm in the area. We watched the forecast all week, and it never really changed: snow Friday, clear Saturday. It was pouring as we left Seattle on Friday, so we figured it was probably snowing in the mountains.
We went anyway, starting an hour earlier than last year. On the way to our first major sight, Colchuck Lake, there was snow on some of the rocks and logs. We kept looking up toward Aasgard Pass, a rocky 2,200-foot climb over a short 3/4-mi span, trying to gauge how much snow covered it. It’s the most strenuous and dangerous part of the trail. We decided to continue, and reconsider if we saw people ahead of us turning back.
We didn’t see anyone turn around besides two trail runners, who encountered ice and decided it was too risky. The snow made Aasgard more difficult, but didn’t affect the timing much. Last year I was cardio-limited; this year, being cautious around the snow, I was already going slow enough that I never felt winded. I hadn’t brought microspikes, on the policy that if someone else in the group was as underequipped as me, I’d be okay. A friend had some, though, and they looked pretty useful.
Once we were past the pass, we entered “The Core.” The snow was up to six inches deep in some spots, enough to swallow the tip of my hiking pole. This was where I used that toilet. We also stopped for a quick meal.
We continued, crossing through a series of lakes before beginning a long descent. We leapfrogged many times with a hiker named Josh. Whenever we stopped, he would pass us; whenever he stopped, we would pass him. He was hiking solo while on a work trip from Detroit, scouting out the Enchantments so that he and his fiancée could hike it together someday.
After hours of descending, we realized we were only halfway down. Around mile 14, Josh was standing alone on the trail, waiting for us. He said he had just seen a bear in the distance and wanted to wait for us. For the next fifteen minutes, we walked and talked loudly, striking our poles against the ground with extra force, making our presence known to the bear. It was an artificial second wind. Josh stayed with us the rest of the way.
Later, with three miles left, the noise and energy had died down. I was too tired to talk, hyperfocused on overriding my desire to stop. The last few miles of the Enchantments are technically trivial, but they’re by far the hardest part of the trail due to the mental and physical exhaustion. Being able to see the parking lot only compounds the frustration. You can hear cars and see the road, and five switchbacks later, nothing looks closer.
At last, we finished, in the dark once again.
Three of us went to eat dinner in the nearby town of Leavenworth. We parked across from a diner, jay-limping across the street like drunks. Once seated, I felt genuinely high. My brain, having been pushed past its breaking point, had no processing power left. I closed my eyes and laughed about random things. When the waitress dropped off my burger, she asked “Do you want something other than ketchup?” I didn’t respond, so she repeated her question. I said, “Thank you.” My friend had to tell me I hadn’t answered her question.
I went back because I loved it the first time and wanted to do it faster. At the end of the hike, our group agreed to never sign up for this kind of pain again. Josh said he wouldn’t be recommending it to his fiancée.
But a day later, as I’m writing this, I can’t say for sure that I won’t return. The last few miles were just as miserable as I remembered. The first fifteen were just as beautiful.
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