Day 1 – Thursday, August 15, 2024

It’s Day 1 of my hike into the Enchantments. Less than a week ago, I logged onto recreation.gov at the exact right time to discover a fresh cancellation of a 1 person permit. Now, I’m hiking the Enchantments solo. I have two nights on my permit, and a whole lotta nerves. 

On day 1, I will:

• hike to Colchuck Lake, 4 miles and 2300 feet of gain – a worthy day hike in its own right, I will be hiking right on by.
• hike around the lake and over a significant boulder field, the path marked only by ever-changing cairns
• hike up and over Aasgard Pass, the steepest hike I’ve ever done at over 2000 feet in less than a mile
• all while battling nerves so extreme they’ve neutered my appetite
• BONUS: try to set up a tent during a surprise alpine thunderstorm

Nerves: Harder to Conquer than any Climb

Three days before my miracle Enchantments permit date,  I find myself merged with my couch, unable to move. I managed to go to the grocery store earlier, and the fatigue of such a huge undertaking nearly did me in. Something is wrong. All kinds of things cross my mind – the flu, food poisoning, COVID. But, I keep coming back to the one that usually gets me: anxiety. On and off throughout my life, anxiety has debilitated my stomach. Sometimes, I can function through the discomfort. This time, I cannot. 

This is pretty rare these days. I started hiking solo in part to gain greater control of my anxiety. Much to my surprise, it has helped far more than I thought it could. Hiking solo over long distances has taught my nerves what real fear is and what it is not. It has made me more resilient and less reactive. But this Enchantments trip was planned over less than week. Now, that lack of time to mentally prepare is backing up on me. 

Thankfully, the next day is better, and then following one even more so. I just know I’m going into this solo Enchantments trip with a much higher level of anxiety than I prefer. I can only hope that hiking puts me back into the right mindset for success.

The Logistics Part

I want to get an early start, so Alex (my husband) and I stay in Leavenworth overnight, the closest town. The Enchantments trail is point to point, so we drop my car at the Snow Lakes Trailhead the night before my hike. My solo permit came with two (!) parking passes. I confirmed with a ranger on the phone that it was OK to park overnight at the ending trailhead (Snow Lakes) the night before my permit date, as long as I had a NW Forest Pass/America the Beautiful Pass and promised not to sleep in my car. 

My plan for Day 1 is to hike all the way into the Core Enchantments Zone. The mileage is low, but the elevation gain is high: about 5000 feet gain to get into the core, over about 7-8 miles, depending how far I make it. 

The crux is the famous Aasgard Pass, the shorter but spicier way into the Core. It gains over 2000 feet in well under a mile, rough and rocky and without much of real trail. This is what I am most nervous about, and what has my stomach sick in anticipation. I have never hiked anything that steep, and a tiny voice inside me doubts whether I really can.

Once over Aasgard, I plan to make it as far as I can into the Core to camp. I am aiming for the middle Core Zone (Perfection/Inspiration/Sprite Lakes) so I have a leisurely hike on Day 2, where I will either travel only to the lower Core, or possibly to Snow Lakes to set up for an easier last day.

Day 1 starts bright and early.

We drive past the parking lot at nearly 6:30 am and it is already full, with hikers parking along the road to catch their shuttles in time. Because of the distance each trailhead is from the other, local companies offer daily shuttles, making it easier for solo hikers. 

We pull into the Stuart Lake parking lot a little after 6:45 am. My husband walks me to the trailhead to see me off.  I’m still feeling queasy. I forced down a donut at the hotel, but have not been able to stomach much more. I just hope the hike to Colchuck Lake clears out the cobwebs of my appetite. Today will be a challenge that I cannot face on just a few calories.

Colchuck Lake

My husband kisses me goodbye and I head up the trail. Sure enough, within about a mile muscle memory takes over. The act of hiking always brings me back to the present, and I start to feel more like myself. By the time I reach the lake 2.5 hours later, I feel more optimistic.

Annoyingly, my stomach still has not settled. I brought a fancy cookies-n-cream donut from my local donut shop specifically for this moment, but I stare at it in disgust. My stomach roils at the thought of it, but I absolutely need to eat. From my break spot, I am looking straight into the legendary Aasgard Pass, and my nerves spin as I stare at it. I can’t make it up that on adrenaline alone.

I force down some caffeinated Sport Beans, my current favorite hiking snack. It’s only 100 calories, but it’ll do for now.

The Pre-Aasgard Boulder Field

I finish my snack and start around the lake. With my Core zone permit, I am allowed to stop and camp here. I could tackle Aasgard with fresh legs (and stomach) in the morning. This thought is quite tempting, and if I had more time, I absolutely would. Unfortunately, my permit is only for two nights, and I want to have as much of that in the Core as I can.

Once hikers reach Colchuck, the first real obstacle they face is the boulder field to get to the base of Aasgard. I experienced this on my scouting trip last weekend, so I am grateful to know what to expect. 

The boulder field wraps around the south end of the lake, underneath Dragontail Peak. It is full of sometimes immense rocks for hikers to scale and climb around. Here, I stop to stash my trekking poles and put on my sun gloves. I am an absolute believer in poles, and use them almost all of the time I hike. Today is the rare exception. I expect lots of scrambling and the need to use my hands, so I secure them to the outside of my pack.

I make good time over the boulders and stop at the cold mountain stream at the bottom of Aasgard pass. I filter a liter of water for the climb, and then make a .5 liter Tailwind. Tailwind is a powdered drink I discovered on the Colorado Trail, and it not only has electrolytes, but calories and carbs. I suspect liquid calories may be necessary today.

Aasgard

As I filter, I stare up at the climb awaiting me. There are things you can train for, and mentally prepare for, but still have no idea what to expect. That is Aasgard in a nutshell. I am expecting a climb so steep my legs and lungs burn, people passing me the whole way up. 

I spent so much of my adult life not hiking, or even exercising, that even though I’ve spent three years training, I still doubt my abilities. Attempting this difficult climb and failing would mean that tiny but mean voice is right: maybe I can’t do hard things.

But, I can, and I have.

The only way to silence that voice is to prove it wrong. If only the shaky nerves weren’t part of the equation.

When faced with something that feels daunting, my instinct is to break it down into smaller, more chewable doses. That is exactly how I’ve planned for this climb.

• Take a break every 1/3 of the climb (roughly every .25 mile)
• Snacks and electrolytes on both breaks
• Celebrate when I make it to the copse of trees – that’s a marker of progress!
• Don’t rush. Let my legs lead me slowly and steadily. I didn’t master finding granny gear for nothing.

My granny gear immediately kicks in as I slowly pick my way up the pass. There is a rough trail in this early section, but the “trail” has many branches. If I tried to just follow the beaten path, I would easily go off-track. Thankfully, there are plenty of cairns to follow. 

Looking for my first break spot, I turn up the ‘trail’ and see movement straight ahead. A baby goat! It is hanging out on the trail, eating the vegetation. I see mama’s ears, hidden in the brush. The baby stares me down for a bit before following mama. I sit and force down a small snack, laughing and smiling to myself. 

As I enter the second half of the climb, the adrenaline has worn off. Instead, I’m left with the beginning of a bonk. (Bonking, also called hitting the wall, is when an athlete uses up their glycogen stores and experiences sudden fatigue.) For me, this manifests as exhaustion and nausea, and boy do I feel it. I pause to try eat.

My body immediately tries to reject it. Trying to get anything down on an upset stomach is a hard ask. My stomach remains upset for at least 30 more minutes of the climb, slowly me significantly. The Tailwind drink I made is my savior, and prevents any more bonking. I have never been more grateful for liquid calories.

Don’t Let the First Half Fool You

The second half of Aasgard is, in my opinion, steeper and more difficult than the first. The boulders get bigger, fatigue sets in, and hikers face a soul-sucking false summit. 

What I expected of Aasgard – burning legs and lungs – really has not manifested. Instead, my largest obstacle is mental fatigue. Every step must be chosen deliberately. It is physically draining, yes, but more mentally draining as all focus must be on choosing the right path. My heart rate is lower than expected for most of the climb because I have to stop frequently to find the next cairn and plan my route. 

The hikers are a united front, shouting out to each other – “The cairn is over there!” “Don’t do what I just did – stay on the higher path!” Sometimes, it’s hard to see the next cairn – rocks, wind, other hikers, or goats have knocked them over, so a good amount of the hike is guessing until you finally see the next one. I find that I am surprisingly good at locating the cairns, while some of the other hikers are better at choosing the best paths between them. Together, we find our way. This camaraderie is easily the highlight of the climb, reminding me that hikers are truly some of the best people.

Towards the top, I encounter yet another area full of massive boulders. There is a cairn on top of one of the boulders, so I know I need to climb the rock. It is nearly twice as tall as I am, angled downward, with a steep slope below it.

Try as I might, I cannot get enough momentum to muscle myself over safely. The hiker ahead of me, seeing my struggle, shouts back that he had to remove his pack to climb it. I throw it over, which gets me closer, but not close enough. I am only 5’0”, with proportionately short legs. My stature simply doesn’t work for this.

Tears of frustration well beneath my eyes. I am nearly to the top, and both mentally and physically exhausted.

What if it’s not possible for me to climb this?

Gently, the voice that I’ve trained through all my solo hiking comes through the fog: Children hike this. You can definitely make it. There must be another way. 

I slowly calm, and jump back down. I back up to take in the scene. Sure enough, there is another way. It’s not as well-trodden, and it’s farther from the cairn, but there is a smaller rock to the left that I can use to climb up a different side of this rock feature and get back on track.

This is what hiking solo has taught me: seeing problems from new angles, and solving them on my own.

I have to dig deep into my confidence and intelligence to help myself, and the more I do it, the easier it becomes. 

When I put my pack back on at the top of the giant boulder, I look back at the lake below. It is slowly moving out of view as I near the top of the pass. As they have been, my feet take over the pace, forcing a slow but steady march from cairn to cairn. A day-hiker and I help each other find the final paths until, with little ceremony, I am over the pass and resting at Tranquil Lake in the Upper Enchantments. 

It took me just over 3 hours to climb Aasgard. The bouldering problem and bonking in the middle cost me some time. But speed doesn’t matter – I finally made it into the Core! 

Not Done Yet

The clouds above me seem unusually dark, so I use my InReach to check the weather. There is a predicted thunderstorm in about an hour. I force down a bite or two of my lunch (my stomach still can barely handle food) and head farther into the Core, hoping to find my spot before the storm hits.

The upper core, with Tranquil and Isolation Lakes, is an otherworldly moonscape. There are hardly any trees, and the rock is bare and milky white. It is beautiful, but I would like to be a little lower if it storms.

I pass by Lake Olrun with several tents, and then head into the fairy land of Snow Creek. Here, there is not a lake, but creeks running along the trail, small copses of larch trees, and peaks surrounding us. I stop and take it in. There’s even a privy. I strongly consider camping here, and if not for the approaching storm I would. For safety, I want to move lower. Next time, though, I will absolutely camp in this highly underrated area.

Not Quite Perfection

Once in the middle core, the trail continues left, skirting Inspiration lake. I go right, to an outcropping with views of both Inspiration and Perfection Lake, with a waterfall below. It is an incredible and pristine landscape. I find what seems to be the perfect spot and start setting up.

Immediately, I face difficulty. I cannot get my stakes into the ground, a requirement for a trekking pole tent. Somehow, in 3 weeks of hiking on the Colorado Trail with a similar tent, I never had this problem. I did practice using rocks to stake my tent, but since I never put it to use the knowledge is rusty. With the mental fatigue from Aasgard, I can’t even remember where I put my extra guylines. (Spoiler alert: they were already attached to the peaks of the tent. I was not firing on all cylinders.)

The wind is gusting, and thunder cracks overhead. I have 2 stakes in, another loosely tied around a rock, and the tent insists on trying to fall sideways. As the rain dumps and wind blows sideways, I am trying to hold up my tent from the inside as it repeatedly falls onto me. 

The hails arrives next, collecting outside the rain fly in giant clumps. I blow up my air mattress to sit on, worried about sitting on bare ground should lightning strike, and place it haphazardly on top of all my things. (Error alert: do not do this!) From inside the collapsing mesh, I realize that rain is pouring off of the nearby rock and pooling under my tent. It is a river, aiming for the sloped rock on the other side. I am holding up my tent with my arms, watching water flow underneath. At least the piles of hail serve as a bit of a dam, re-routing some of the river outside my rain fly.

The Calm After the Storm

Eventually, sun returns, wind calms, and I emerge from my tent to survey the damage. The good news: the waterproof floor worked perfectly. The bad news: I chose a terrible spot. I know better, and silently curse myself. While examining the spot I chose, I realize that just 20 feet above this spot is a better one, with less likelihood of water pooling and a better view. I missed it in the rush to set up the tent. 

In one motion, I collect my tent with everything inside and move it to the new and improved spot. This ground is more stake-friendly, too, though I do still stake out my guylines in case of another storm.

The storm really shook me. With little ability to emotionally regulate after such a mentally draining day, I sobbed in my tent through the thunder. But now, with both sun and my mental faculties returning, I feel new. Raw, renewed, and very present. 

I eat dinner over Perfection Lake, watching the water still as the night deepens. More goats visit my camp, likely looking for fresh urine to lick. (Yes, this is real.) I choose my peeing spots carefully (always urinate on rocks here), and crawl into my quilt feeling accomplished and calmed.

Oh, You Thought the Day Was Done?

That is, until 30 minutes later. Laying on my sleeping pad and writing in my journal, I suddenly notice I can feel the ground. That’s odd. 

I roll off. Oh, no. I can feel the ground. Please don’t be a leak please don’t be a leak.

I blow the pad up again and continue writing. Sure enough, 30 minutes later, I again can feel the ground. 

In an effort to save weight for the big climb, I did not bring my 1/4 inch foam pad for underneath my Nemo Tensor pad. Additionally, my tent is so new I didn’t have a groundsheet for it yet. It seems that between those two factors, sitting on my pad on top of all my items, and moving my tent quickly, I have sprung a leak. Shit.

I do my best to sleep (fitfully), intending to figure it out in the morning. Turns out Aasgard may not be the hardest thing I face on this trip.

Miles hiked: 9
Elevation gained: 5000 feet