Backpacking the Enchantments Trail

Lost is a lovely place to find yourself.

As I start writing this, I am overwhelmed. The Core Zone of the Enchantments has been a mysterious piece of nature, on my wish list for years. The permit is famously hard to get, and beyond that there was an element of mystery to it. I wasn't brave or confident enough to attempt it as a thru-hike (an option for the brave).

I am not a writer, and this trip won't turn me into one. But I want to remember and cherish these days for as long as I can. So many moments will stay with me, but this trip is special enough that I want to write it down, so the not-so-trivial parts don't escape me and I can keep coming back to them.

The journey actually started the day an email said: Congratulations!

From then on it was a roller coaster of will we make it? Writing this, I now know we did, and I am grateful for all of it. There were turns of fate that nearly stopped this trip from happening, but that's a story for another day. Fast forward to the week of the trip.

Day 1: Nervous excitement

We started packing around 10 pm. There were a lot of decisions to make, and we finally slept at 1 am, only to wake at 3. My pack weighed 28 lbs, the heaviest I have ever backpacked with. I took a long shower knowing it would be four days before the next one.

We were ready at 4:30 am, picked up our friend, and reached the trailhead at 7 for our 7:30 shuttle, which dropped us at the Stuart Lake trailhead at 7:40. Our 5-mile hike turned into about 6 by the time we found a campsite. It's always the final few steps before you can set up camp that are the hardest. In search of the perfect spot for our large group, we even asked other campers whether they were staying or leaving.

It was a perfect sunny afternoon, and a cool dip with views of Dragontail Peak was exactly what we needed. To top it all off, we had freshly caught fish for dinner.

Day 2: No choice but ahead

We had a not-super-early breakfast and got a 9 am start toward Aasgard Pass. Decent, I thought. It's only two miles; how bad could it be? Even at our slowest we'd reach camp by 1 pm for a late lunch.

The start was bouldery, and I thought that was the hard part. Little did I know. The pass-who-cannot-be-named brought out emotions and thoughts I had never encountered before. It felt like a vertical wall (I know, I know, an exaggeration to the rock climbers and trail runners out there, but you get the idea). It was certainly the steepest thing I have ever climbed. Stones kept rolling from under my feet, and I was constantly aware of the people behind me, praying I wouldn't knock anyone off or roll into the vastness myself.

On the bright side, every time I looked down to reassure myself I was making progress, I was greeted by the impossibly blue Colchuck Lake.

The sun in our eyes wasn't the hard part. It was climbing on all fours, with stretches that were genuinely scary. I was grateful not to be afraid of heights (the things you think about in moments like these; I tried hard to remember what that phobia is called). This was one of those situations where turning back would be worse than moving forward, even when forward looked rough.

I climbed, stopping every few minutes to catch my breath and feel the relief. When your goals are smaller, happiness is easier to reach. And when you compare your wins to others', you dull that same happiness. Trail runners kept leaping past us like it was nothing.

The last stretch of Aasgard felt never-ending. Other hikers weren't encouraging when we asked how far was left. I appreciated their honesty, but I hated knowing how much more there was. Then came the top, and the 360° view was spectacular, along with instant relief.

The moment we crossed the pass, we were mesmerized. Grey and blue glacial lakes, pink snow on the hills, waterfalls all around us. I forgot where I had come from. (I later learned the pink snow is a real phenomenon called watermelon snow.) Then the alpine lakes appeared, and Isolation Lake was a sight to behold.

Through the hail, we saw a mountain goat. These angel-like, furry, horned creatures seemed to have been sent to show us the way. Their dark eyes and gentle faces reflected pure innocence. The goat led us right into a thundering sky while hail soaked us through our rain gear. I was so grateful the weather hit only after we'd crossed the pass. Twenty minutes later it cleared, and we could finally breathe and take in the beauty.

Day 3: Tranquil

The day exploring the Core Zone was everyone's favorite. The skies teased us, clouds rolling in and clearing again and again. We wandered past Prusik Peak and Perfection Lake, watched other backpackers and anglers, and turned in early. I drifted to sleep after a long, cozy read.

Day 4: It's all about the mind

The alarm went off at 5:30. We hit the trail at 7:35, knowing this would be the longest day and would take everything we had. The descent was arduous, but the first five miles were beautiful, past Leprechaun and Viviane lakes.

We reached Upper Snow Lake by 11, and my shaky knees were so glad for a break. Honestly, I was a little ashamed to be tired already, with so many miles still to go. So I did a headstand to give my brain some much-needed blood flow.

Nada Lake was a lovely surprise a few miles down. After a good meal I was ready for the next stretch: simple, plain, long, alternating between steep rocky descents and flatter shaded miles. I even picked a few wild raspberries and stopped for the wildflowers.

That night at 9 pm, a Seattle thunderstorm rolled in, a huge reminder of what we had escaped. Lost really is a lovely place to find yourself.