Backpacking The Enchantments Part 2: Colchuck, Cairns, and Conquering Aasgard
Throughout the day, Brandon and I had continuous reminders of how special it was to have gotten a permit. Apparently, our 45L packs were indicators of our success, screaming “WE GOT A PERMIT!!!!” so we didn’t have to. “Wow, permits on 4th of July weekend? You guys are so lucky,” said our first admirer 0.1 mile into the trail.
The first few miles of the trail were not unlike others we’d done. Well, besides the fact that I’ve never done a hike with so much emotional build-up. We walked steadily up the hiking trail lined with pine trees, passing a talus field here and there, crossing bridges over streams and waterfalls, and getting teasers of mountain views through the leaves every once in a while.
It was certainly the most populated hiking trail we’d done so far on our month-long trip to the Central Cascades. And not only by humans. On the first mile or so of the trail, we came across our first mountain goat, who I named Thoroughly Mountain Millie. Based on everything I’d heard and read about these infamous salt-obsessed mountain goats, I thought for sure she’d follow us and heckle us for our pee. Good thing we were a bit dehydrated. The goats would get ballsier as we ascended, but this one seemed more afraid of us than anything.
Soon, we found ourselves at Colchuck Lake, “The most Insta-famous lake of the Enchantments, but for good reason,” explained Greg, a helpful ranger I’d chatted with a few weeks earlier. We snapped a few photos, but were mostly looking forward to the solitude we expected on the other side of the lake. We continued on.
The trail’s personality began to change after the most popular area overlooking Colchuck. We found ourselves faced with increasingly more bugs and boulders, and much fewer people. It was starting to get more rugged, and I was into it. I whipped out my insect net that makes me look like a sexy lunch lady (Brandon’s words, not mine), and packed my hiking poles away. Time to scramble.
Looking out over Colchuck Lake, I totally understood why this was one of the most popular day hikes near Leavenworth. Colchuck was something else, and I’ve had the opportunity to experience many incredible lakes. The first jaw-dropping lake I witnessed was the summer after I graduated from high school, on a road trip with my parents from San Francisco to Portland; it was Oregon’s sapphire-colored Crater Lake. Then, in 2016 on spring break while studying abroad in Australia, I visited New Zealand’s Hooker Lake in all its glacial gray glory. Just last year, there was Blue Pool just outside Bend, Oregon, which was the bluest and most freezing lake I’ve ever had the pleasure of jumping into. And just two weeks prior to hiking The Enchantments, from the summit of Sourdough Peak in the North Cascades, we admired teal and silty Diablo Lake.
In some weird world where lakes could make love to each other and have a baby, I think all these lakes would create something like Colchuck Lake, which was an exquisite, clear shade of aquamarine, unlike anything I’d seen before. We had plenty of time to debate its exact color, because after a half mile section of scrambling that, as expected, had weeded out most of the day-hikers, we set up a temporary camp on the opposite side of the lake. Here, we filtered our first batch of water, stretched our legs, and - thank god - finally ate lunch.
To be honest, I was afraid of Aasgard Pass. Hearing about the injuries and handful of deaths that have occurred on this short section of trail didn’t help, and neither did the name, which sounds like some evil world from Lord of the Rings.
This DELIGHTFUL section (she said, sarcastically) goes up 1,500 feet in just 1.5 miles, meaning that at some points, the steepness grade is greater than 70%.
Not only that, but the terrain is anything but solid. It “was ass”, as a descending hiker we passed explained so eloquently. It’s rocky and uneven, with patches of loose scree that have you sliding two steps back for every step you take. We read, and learned firsthand, that Aasgard is not against putting you on all fours, where you’re often forced to pull yourself up by boulders that appear sturdy, but are, upon further inspection, most definitely not. You can’t go up Aasgard and be thinking about anything other than Aasgard. Each step needs to be deliberate and calculated. At least that was my experience.
Not to mention the route-finding struggles. At times on Aasgard, when you look up, all you see is rocks. And what are the trail markers made of? Also, rocks. I must have said “do you see the next cairn?” about thirty times in the following hour and a half, which refers to a stack of small rocks atop larger ones indicating the way to go.
And then there were the goats. So. Many. Goats. I don’t know about you, but I’m not accustomed to horned creatures following me when I’m stressed.
Mentally, it required a kind of constant commitment to discomfort that reminded me of an unpleasant memory from 2005, a memory that will partially explain to you my dislike for Disney World that was expressed in Part 1.
When I was in middle school, I had a gymnastics meet at Disney World, and we planned extra days to enjoy (“enjoy”) the park. While at Magic Kingdom, I was convinced I could conquer my fear of rollercoasters, so I asked my mom to ride Splash Mountain with me, as it was one of her favorites. I was feeling all confident about my decision through the entire first half of the day, through the *ungodly* line, and even while getting onto the actual ride. It wasn’t until the wooden safety bar restraint came down over our heads where I started questioning my life decisions.
What was I doing?! I was physically locked in, but all I wanted was to get off this uncomfortable plastic seat, wedged between my mom and a strange boy.
Rather than accepting my circumstances, recalling why I wanted to do this in the first place, and then maybe experiencing the enjoyment that comes from doing things slightly outside one's comfort zone, I fought reality so hard, as if doing so would magically teleport me back to firm ground again.
I certainly let everyone know how I was feeling with my kicks and screams. Because I was believing my fears, I couldn’t enjoy any of the ride, and if anything, it reinforced my fear of rollercoasters and the belief that I couldn’t handle scary things.
In fact, it was such a negative experience that I’m still regretting it today, so many years later.
On the surface, Aasgard Pass is absolutely nothing like Splash Mountain. But for me, the experience felt similar. They were both experiences where I had an important choice to make: either acknowledge the discomfort, maybe have some fun with it, and come out of the experience feeling more confident and empowered than before. Or, resist what you’re feeling, make the whole thing suck for yourself and everyone around you, causing it to feel longer and lead to regret afterward.
I’ve struggled with this choice for as long as I can remember. Like, how are you supposed to know when it’s a time to face fears and not do anything about them, versus when it’s good to listen to what fear is telling you to do or not do? Clearly, the chances that riding a rollercoaster will lead to fatal consequences is low, but there have to be times when you SHOULD listen to that anxious voice in your head, right?
I still don’t know. In fact, I rarely think there are circumstances where there IS a clear-cut answer to that question. Actually, most often, I think the answer is this: fear is often telling you something that varies in terms of importance and relevance based on the situation AND that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to get off the rollercoaster, avoid sketchy hikes, or change the way you live your life.
I’ve had enough experiences of wrongfully listening to fear like during the 2005 Splash Mountain debacle that I now know that in most situations, I could probably veer on the side of ignoring what fear is telling me to do or not do. Because at times when I’ve co-existed with fear, rather than letting it make my life decisions, I’ve had more fun and felt more relaxed. I’ve felt more like myself. And perhaps the most telling sign that turning toward more fear is a helpful practice for me (and probably many people reading this) is that nothing terrible has ever happened as a result.
I never got the chance to revisit Disney World and face Splash Mountain with my new mindset, and I never will, because ironically, I just googled it and the ride closed a few months ago. But I have embraced fear-inducing adventures nonetheless, like getting in cold water, rock climbing, camping, and even ice climbing. And just a few weeks ago, I conquered Aasgard Pass.
For a non-anxious person reading this, you might think, “Aasgard kind of sucks, but it’s not THAT scary.” But what if, with each step up that you took, you received a vivid, 8k UHD video clip of yourself taking the wrong step, tumbling down the mountain, and becoming tomorrow’s headline in The Seattle Times? What if, with each step you took, there was a voice inside your head bullying you, saying things like, “You’re going to fall this time”, “Don’t take the wrong step”, and “Make sure that rock is stable”? That’s what my mind likes to do, and I know I’m not alone.
It helps if you have a non-anxious person like Brandon alongside you, giving voice to the wise part of yourself when it doesn’t have the strength to speak up against fear. “You got this, keep going. You’re doing great.”
One of the benefits of having anxiety is that when you face a big fear that just so happens to be something that’s also kinda scary for non-anxious people, I’m pretty sure the high you get when it’s over is ten times better. I don’t have scientific evidence, but I did tell Brandon the title of Part 3 of this series - The Post-Aasgard High - and his response was, “You felt that good after finishing it?” I sure did. Because I did it in SPITE of that noxious voice.
After traversing past the final cairn and crossing the final stream, we had made it to the top!
Maybe I’ll do it again next year 🙂