Backpacking The Enchantments Part 3: The Post-Aasgard High
Aasgard couldn’t have been better placed (one hell of a job, nature!). It was the hardest part of the journey, followed by arguably the most beautiful part, and I think this set me up to be in this grateful daze. At least until we arrived at Lake Vivian, where things would get dicey again.
The Core Enchantments were aptly named. Pretty much immediately after making it up Aasgard, we started to feel as though we were on another planet entirely. Something about the low-lying, desert-like vegetation paired with towering granite peaks and patches of perfectly white, untouched snow was otherworldly.
Thankfully, here in this other world, we could be in this pleasant daze without getting lost, because the path was relatively straightforward. We would soon have to don our microspikes and traverse some sections of snow, but it was a trade I was willing to make not to have to scramble again for a couple of hours. Plus, the cairns here got a fancy new update from the ones below; next to each stack of rocks was a tall, skinny piece of wood, making route-finding a piece of cake.
Everything up until this point of the Enchantments Trail was relatively confined - heavily forested paths, walls of boulders - but here at 8,000 feet, it was just one big wide open space, and would be for pretty much the entire Core Enchantments (cue the Dixie Chicks’ “Wide Open Spaces”). I thought of all those people who, like us, got permits to camp in the Enchantments. Where were they all? The sense of being in the true wilderness was palpable. For a while, we saw more animals than people.
Of course, there were our friends, the goats, which I had become increasingly less afraid of. But as we were filtering our water next to a freezing cold stream that fed into a partially frozen-over Isolation Lake, we witnessed a majestic marmot standing atop a nearby boulder. And as we made it past Isolation Lake and on our way toward the next milestone, Inspiration Lake, we caught a glimpse of our favorite alpine animal, the pica (or, as Brandon likes to describe it, a “hearty hamster”).
We were pretty much always walking next to either a crystal clear lake, a powerfully flowing waterfall, or a peaceful stream of some kind. I had to remind myself just how incredible this was, as the human mind has a tendency to habituate to anything. But I didn’t want to forget this. It was unlike anything I had ever done before.
The toilets in The Enchantments were also unlike anything I experienced before. When I first heard about the toilets on the “Leavenworth Rangers & Climbers” Facebook page that I joined to prep for the hike, I was intrigued. In all my past camping and hiking experiences, you could do your business wherever you wanted, as long as you buried your poo and didn’t go next to a water source. But these “toilets” they spoke of? They wouldn’t use the word “toilet” unless it was a legit toilet, right? I giggled as I pictured a straight-up porcelain toilet on top of a cliff. Either that or the name was misleading and it was just a giant hole in the ground with the best views ever.
They ended up being something between a porcelain toilet and a hole in the ground. I much preferred them over packing out my shit, but still, nothing beats my toilet at home.
Soon after passing Isolation Lake, we met Brian, who would become one of our Trail Friends on the Enchantments. I’ve acquired a handful of Trail Friends in my 28 years. A Trail Friend is, by my definition, someone who you meet on a specific trail, usually a long one, who you only ever interact with on that trail, and who you have an ongoing interaction with beyond “hey” or “do you know which way the trail is?”
When I slackpacked la Rota Vicentina in Portugal last year, I made Trail Friends with a German couple when I saw the beginnings of a storm rolling in and didn’t want to be alone. They taught me some German words related to weather, and we ended up walking a good distance together.
Later on, toward the end of my journey on La Rota, there was a group of three Spanish girls who became my Trail Friends. We talked about how stressful it is to be in your late 20s and not know whether you want to have kids or not.
On the Camino del Norte in Spain just a few months ago, there were a few different Trail Friends my dad and I made: a guy from Singapore and a French comic book enthusiast from Angoulême.
And when Brandon and I were hiking in North Cascades National Park a few weeks back, there was a group of outgoing Indian men who we ran into several times, one of whom thought Brandon was Jude Law.
I find Trail Friends interesting for several reasons. Despite the transient, often superficial nature of a Trail Friendship, these relationships have always been memorable in my life.
I can’t recall what I had for lunch yesterday, but I can tell you exactly where we were when we met Brian on The Enchantments. I can recount most of what we talked about (which was nothing remarkable on its own). And I can even remember how I was feeling at the time.
Why? I think because on long journeys in remote areas, people signify safety and connection. These are needs that we always have, but they’re more obvious in rugged conditions, when we don’t have the luxury of our day-to-day distractions and comforts.
There’s an unspoken camaraderie amongst Trail Friends. We have a common goal - to reach the end of the trail - and to enjoy the process. “Tonight around midnight we should be able to see the Northern Lights,” Brian told us, nodding his head toward his full-frame camera attached to his pack. “I plan to get some photos if it’s a clear night.”
We look out for one other. “Let’s wait for Brian before we keep going,” Brandon said to me after he and I descended a tricky downhill section of snow that Brian was just getting started on.
Whenever I interact with a Trail Friend, I’m reminded of how I want to interact with everyone, whether I’m on a trail or not.
After reaching Inspiration Lake, the sun was starting to set. This was simultaneously glorious, and a bit frightening. It was glorious because you can’t beat hiking at sunset in one of the most beautiful places in the world. The sun illuminating Prusik Peak in front of us, creating perfect lighting for outstanding photos, was simply incredible.
And frightening because, well, we aren’t super experienced backpackers, and we really wanted to set up camp before dark. We weren’t sure what camping areas in Snow Lakes would be available, and we didn’t want to be searching around in the dark. It was starting to look like getting to Snow Lakes before dark wouldn’t happen, but we held out hope, at least until Lake Vivian.
Lake Vivian was rough in every sense of the word. It was unlike any of the other lakes that we’d passed. Just getting there from Leprechaun Lake was a journey in and of itself. We had to cross a stream, which was nothing we hadn’t already done that day, but this one was rushing FASTER and the water was HIGHER. We made it to the other side without being picked up by the water, but let’s just say, socks were soaked.
Then, to our dismay, we started going up again. There were boulders to climb again, and these ones hugged the side of a cliff. Have you ever climbed up the side of a cliff under a full moon? I now have.
We had come to the conclusion that despite still being within the Core Enchantments, we were going to camp here at Vivian, the last major lake before arriving in the Snow Lakes Zone, but still 1.5 miles away (and as we would learn the next day, it was basically 1.5 miles of “Do you see the next cairn?” and “Can you help me down from here?”).
We passed the first human in what felt like hours after descending down closer to Vivian Lake. “Hey guys, no campsites here, but I think there’s one up there,” said a friendly guy from the group of six that won the walk-up lottery. He pointed up about one hundred feet. Turns out it was the home to a large family of goats, so we opted to continue on for a bit and seek out other options.
Then, we passed by a woman in a sleeping bag sans tent; there was space next to her for our camp, but her bag of food was hung from a tree really low to the ground. We didn’t want to be nearby should a bear discover the makings of a delicious second dinner.
Everything within me relaxed when I heard Brandon yell from above, “I’ve got the perfect spot! Come up here!” After a bit of climbing, I discovered what was probably more of an overlook than a camping site, but it would work. We were once again at the top of a cliff, overlooking an almost purple-ish Lake Vivian, the full moon glowing above.
It was one of the more difficult camps we’ve set up. Two of the stakes were impossible to lodge into the ground, due to the fact that we were partially on a boulder. Thankfully, we used the abundance of rocks to our advantage, placing them inside the tent to support our shelter.
After our tent was set up, we had a European-style dinner (I.e we ate dinner at 9:30pm). It was an undesirable medley of dry salami, crackers, and peanut butter accompanied by increasing wind speeds. It wasn’t until we got inside the tent and laid down that we realized just how windy it was.
Were we going to be blown off the side of the cliff? Unlikely. But we were obviously not going to get any sleep, given that the 35-40mph gusts were loud AF, not calming down at all, and increasingly giving us the impression that the tent could rip at any moment. We tried moving the tent a bit so that it was partially protected by a boulder, but the wind was making more of a swirl than coming in one predictable direction, so it was clear we would have to get more creative. Eventually, we came to the conclusion that if we wanted to get any rest, and be able to hear each other speak, we would have to find another campsite.
Thankfully, we made do with what was previously our pee spot. We worried we’d wake up to mountain goats licking our tents in the morning, but honestly, that was preferable to staying up top on the cliff, exposed to the wind and enduring a sleepless night.
This spot wasn’t exactly flat, but thankfully, there was plenty of vegetation to protect us from the fierce winds of that evening. We set up our tent once again, and this time, for good. We could finally rest.