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World-renowned basin in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness has a magical allure
By KAREN SYKES ![[Bio]](../art/bio_bttn.gif){kind=small}
SPECIAL TO THE POST-INTELLIGENCER
Truth is, there is no easy way to reach the Enchantment Lakes Basin, at 7,000 to 7,500 feet one of the most spectacular and popular spots in the Cascade Range.
Like paths in a fairy tale, the two trails to the Enchantments lead to beauty and magic, but the ways are challenging and can be dangerous.
You will travel across mountains black with lichen, through sleeping meadows and deep forests, crystal streams and frozen tarns.
The Aasgard Pass route is a difficult, steep scramble. The Snow Lake approach, while not as harrowing, is still 20 miles in, with a seemingly relentless gain of 5,400 feet.
Most hikers will spend two days getting there, but the Enchantments -- part of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness -- are nonetheless world renowned, and so popular the Forest Service limits entry via a permit system.
"People come from all over the world," says Kerith Cornell, wilderness permit coordinator at the Leavenworth Ranger Station. "By the time you get up there, you've earned the view."
The Enchantments are in a diverse landscape of deep valleys, rock spires, glaciers, lakes set in basins and meadows ringed with alpine larch. Much of the high country is barren, with a scant layer of soil. The Enchantment Peaks (also known as the Cashmere Crags) overlook rocky basins polished by glaciers.
The upper basin is often referred to as the Lost World Pleateau.
Summer is short and intense in the Enchantments. By October, the snow level is coming down. Cornell notes that by now "almost all the time you'll have snow, maybe up to a foot."
In September, my friend Kathe Stanness and I didn't foresee any difficulty. Other than a cursory glance at the map, we didn't pay much attention to elevation gain or heed how the contour lines ran together in dark blots on the map. We chose Snow Lake as our approach, believing it would be easier on our knees, operating under the illusion that we had to climb only 2,300 feet to Snow Lake.
We planned to celebrate my 55th birthday in the Enchantments. We got our permits months ahead for a five-day, one-way trip and with a good weather forecast. It didn't seem that anything could go wrong. The Snow Lake Trail switchbacks through the remnants of a forest fire that raged near Leavenworth a few years ago. As you climb through the charred hillside, you can almost hear the forest making a comeback.
But the devastation of the fire is still apparent. The Snow Creek Wall can be seen through the snags before the trail turns to begin a gentle climb through the forested Snow Creek valley.
As the heat of the day intensified, we climbed and climbed but never seemed to get anywhere. How could 2,300 feet take so long? Little did I know that Kathe carried a secret.
She had taken a good look at the map. We had 3,700 feet to climb, but she didn't have the heart to tell me. We stopped at Nada Lake, too tired to continue to Snow Lake. When she told me how much elevation we had really gained, we had a good laugh.
When the Enchantments were discovered and named sometime after 1908 by topographer A.H. Sylvester, most of the basin was filled with the Snow Creek Glacier. The lakes in the upper basin are remnants of the decreasing glacier with the exception of Lake Freya, whose waters originate from a glacier on Enchantment Peak.
By the 1940s climbers discovered the area and began naming the crags. Bill and Peg Stark of Leavenworth, now in their 80s, became frequent visitors who drew on various mythologies to name features of the landscape.
When they made their first visit in the fall of 1959, they were captivated by the golden splendor of the larch trees, the numerous lakes and tarns, and jagged peaks towering above. They used fairy names -- Gnome Tarn, Troll Sink, Naiad Lake, Sprite -- and King Arthur legends in the Lower Enchantment Basin because "the lower basin was not as austere as the upper basin," according to Peg.
They used Norse names and mythology for features of the upper basin -- Brynhild Lake, Lake Freya, Valhalla Cirque -- because, Peg told me recently, it felt "as if the Ice Age had just gone off." On the second day of our trip, Kathe and I toyed with the idea of moving camp into the Lower Enchantments, but we were tired and a day hike sounded better.
As we rounded Nada Lake before the steep climb to the lower basin, we got our permits checked by the Leavenworth district ranger, Becki Heath. Though Heath was on a private outing with friends, she takes her work seriously and was checking for alpine outlaws.
As the trail climbs from upper Snow Lake, the terrain becomes more challenging as portions of the route wander over granite slabs, marked by rock cairns.
It is hard hiking to Lake Viviane at 6,800 feet, but it is the beginning of the magic. The Temple and Prusik Peak tower above, casting reflections on Viviane when the wind is still. A swordlike rock peninsula is called Excalibar Rock. Above the lake, a tower of stone that's black on top is known as Merlin's Tower.
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Cornell at the ranger station emphasizes that hikers who attempt the Enchantments should be prepared. You have to be in good physical shape and be prepared for cold weather. Even when it reaches the 70s during the day, he warns, "it can be nippy at night."
Guidebook author Harvey Manning writes that many hikers mistakenly believe the Aasgard Pass approach is a shortcut. It is not. It is a climbers' route that is often dangerous, especially when covered with snow. Rockfall, avalanches and steep terrain await the uninformed. When there is snow, ice axes are a necessity.
We wanted to climb Little Annapurna, but it looked too far away, so we contented ourselves with the view. At 8,440 feet, it is a mere hike from the upper basin. Kathe cooled her feet in Lake Viviane and I hiked to Leprechaun Lake in search of larch trees.
I stood on the shore of Leprechaun between the lower and upper Enchantments and felt at war with myself. I didn't have the time or the energy to climb higher, but I did not want to descend.
My spirit wanted to soar, but my body wanted rest. I looked toward the high but gentle rise of Annapurna, wishing I could fly. I could not climb higher. The years held me prisoner at the edge of the Lost World Plateau, peering into a world I could not reach.
As I watched the shattered towers of The Temple spill shadows across the granite slabs, I wondered if I would ever return. I could not help but remember my first visit 15 years ago, when I practically flew up Aasgard Pass and my pack felt like wings, as Colchuck Lake glittered more than 2,000 feet below.
I stood for a long time looking at the bulk of Little Annapurna. I felt the rest of my life waiting in the valley and finally plunged down into the golden meadows and deepening shadows.
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