The Enchanted Valley
Miles of calm away from home
A long, dark gravel road ran beside the river, the last of many roads that had led each of the old college friends to the trailhead that morning. Tony, who Ryan had not seen in years, had driven down from Tacoma. Ryan and his roommate, Adam, had come up from Portland together. Adam had driven as the two spent much of the early morning quietly drinking their coffees, Ryan scrolling endlessly through his phone. Occasionally he had looked out the window at the cars that reeled by as streaks and pinpoints of yellow and red, and, eventually, when his phone lost signal for the last time, he looked out to see them again to find there were no cars anymore. Rather, Ryan could just make out the black mountains and ridge lines in the distance as they turned onto that long, dark gravel road that ran beside the river, and, after fifteen miles or so, brought them to the Graves Creek Trailhead buried far into the forest.
Before the trip had been planned, Ryan had become restless, retreating into his phone for weeks, spending nearly every waking hour there in the emptiness of his free time. At first it was good and the time passed without him hardly noticing, but slowly the emptiness returned and and all that was left was a compulsion that every day made it more apparent to him how little was happening around him. He resolved to try something different, and had texted Tony to plan a short trip away from the city with him and Adam. Tony suggested they go backpacking. Ryan had never been and figured the isolation might do him some good. And so the men found themselves setting off into the Olympic Forest.
Gathered beside their cars, they did a last inventorying of gear before they hoisted their bags and began up the incline. From the start, the valley was green and lush with hemlocks, ferns, and moss all still in shadow as the sun began to rise. It was quiet and the only noise Ryan heard came from the clomping of their feet, which kicked up small clouds of dust as they went. He tuned into the rhythm of the footsteps and paid little attention to the nature around him. He saw it, but he did not take it in. His mind was off elsewhere, in that compulsion, and the beat of the steps helped keep him there, fixated on the news stories, unfounded fears, and pointless arguments with strangers that all floated around in his mind.
“How far do we want to push today?” Adam asked.
“I’d like to make it to the chalet,” Tony said.
“Why don’t we plan for Pyrites and push further if we feel good about it?” Ryan said, coming out of his head.
Pyrites Creek was about four miles shy of the chalet in the Enchanted Valley, and nine from where they began. Near it was a small camp by the river.
“Feeling a little soft?” Tony said.
“Never been soft,” Ryan said, cracking a nervous smile. “Always hard. Just can’t have the blood pumping too quickly. It won’t get where it needs to be.”
“That’s an elaborate dick joke,” Adam said.
“Accurate, though,” said Tony. “Have to give him credit.” He clicked his tongue.
“Let’s decide at Pyrites,” Adam said. “I don’t want to rush too much. We ought to take our time and be able to stop and enjoy ourselves.”
“Oh?” Tony smiled.
“Not like that, you sick bastard.”
Ryan felt at ease, having forgotten what small conversations like these with old friends meant to him, that freedom to say something stupid and laugh and move on.
The trail was beautiful, rising up with the thick forest before dipping into sweeping glades littered with logs and ferns. The sun slipped through the canopy, teasing its warmth for the first time that day. Further down the winding trail, the river cut through it and they crossed onto Pony Bridge, high above the water. Standing in the middle of the bridge Ryan watched the deep turquoise of the Quinault shift and turn in the land it had carved out, crashing powerfully against rock faces becoming white foam then returning to itself, unrelenting. He felt an impulse to jump into the quick-moving river. And then, as quickly as it had come, the impulse was gone. Don’t think that way, he thought. You were feeling good. Just move forward.
They walked on, the dust shimmering in the light that broke through the valley. Past the bridge, they scanned for black bears, hoping for a glimpse. Instead, two men approached from down the trail, the first people they had seen. One wore a cowboy hat and was tall and skinny with a bushy white beard. The other was short and fat, younger with patchy facial hair. Ryan tried not to look at them as they got nearer. He did not like the demeanor of the younger one. There was no real reason not to like the men, he thought. They looked a certain way, was all. Tony gave them the customary nod and hello and the two men awkwardly returned it as they passed.
The three made good time in the morning, reaching Fire Creek by nine, where they took their first rest. Ryan unbuckled his pack, set it against a tree, and took a long drink from his water.
“Those men gave me the creeps,” he said.
“Which ones?” Adam asked.
“Which ones?” Tony said. “You know, the only ones we’ve seen this whole time.”
“Ah, yes. Those ones,” Adam said. “They seemed okay. Maybe a bit country looking, but all right.”
“They put me on edge,” Ryan said. “They looked like the last two people you’d see in a horror movie.”
“They might be out here committing a goddamn Olympic massacre!”
“You gotta get out more,” Tony said, gnawing on an energy bar. “Lot worse people than that.”
“Yes, and there’s people that let you know they’re crazy from the start,” Adam said. “They do things like play electronica from a boombox while they hike.”
“Try to have small talk with you as you pass,” Tony added.
“Ah, yes. There’s a firing squad in hell reserved for those types.”
“But men who look like back country murderers?” Ryan asked.
“They are the firing squad!” Adam said. “You need ‘em. Good people to do bad things.”
From Fire Creek, they continued on until No Name Creek, which was a short distance from Pyrites. Now the hike became busier—there certainly was no Olympic massacre. They walked through more glades, over creeks, and occasionally close to the river itself, the sun moving as steadily as they were, now nearly completely overhead.
Ryan’s feet ached more and more as they went. The trail was beautiful, but had looked much the same for the past few miles. The men talked occasionally, though were mostly quiet, which gave Ryan time to think. He had thought about an argument he was having online with some stranger on the ride up that morning. They had been going back and forth about whether graffiti made the city better, allowing everyone to express themselves on the city’s topography. Topography—his words, not mine, Ryan thought. It was absurd that it made things better. Then, his mind shifted, as it did. To the realization that they were truly out here. He was many miles in from the trailhead and tired and it would be very difficult for him to hike the same distance back out if he needed to. What if there was an emergency? He would be spending the night. And then another night. He was responsible for many more things out here for his own survival. Ryan’s mind shifted again, back to the argument, and now it seemed silly to him, even though moments before he could feel his blood begin to race about it. What did it matter? I have no control over it, he thought. It didn’t have any relevance to him now. Did it actually have any relevance before? And, again, his mind shifted, uncontrollable. What was that jumping into the river business earlier? Again. It was foolish to think they were truly out in the wilderness. The trail was clearly popular. What danger was there really? They had food, shelter, a small first aid kit. They even had whiskey. But still, he thought, there was a danger. Again, back to the river. You can’t be thinking things like that anymore, he thought. You’ve gone down that road before and came back. You couldn’t do it. Again. Was life more dangerous in the city? At the very least, even if it was less of a danger here technically it was a danger he was not accustomed to, and really, in the city, he hadn’t experienced anything like crime personally, just things he was told were happening, and—
“Young Ryan here’s lost in his mind,” Adam said.
“He’s probably rotating through a carousel of girls in that head. Has to keep hard!”
“Oh, no doubt about it.”
“What a sick, little man.”
“Would you two kindly fuck off?” Ryan said.
“Very well might be the one thing we can’t do,” Adam said. “You got my tent poles. You’re essential to me, babe.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m self-contained. I can head off,” Tony said.
“Like hell. Whose got the bear can?”
Tony clicked his tongue. “Forgot I gave that to you. Oh well.”
“How much further is it to Pyrites?” Ryan asked.
“A bit over a mile,” Adam said.
“How are we feeling about the chalet?” Tony asked. “There are much less trees out there and the stars are meant to be incredible.”
He was really pushing his agenda, Ryan thought. Mulling it over, though, he said he could make it. He didn’t want to look weak.
They continued on and soon passed Pyrites Creek, finding a row of long since toppled trees, their stiff roots radiating out and shooting into the sky, each as tall as five men. They marveled at it. Ryan had never seen anything like it and they took a photo perched in the middle of one of the trees. Hopping out, they walked on and just around a bend in the trail, stopped.
A black bear sat in the middle of the path. Alongside it, the land was an expansive meadow lined on either side with ferns and bushes and fallen trees, one side cut through by the Quinault. The bear saw them and rolled his head and looked away.
“Does someone have bear spray?” Ryan whispered.
“You don’t need it with black bears,” Tony said. “We just need to wait.”
“Can’t they attack you?”
“Sure, but usually they do not.”
“Try to enjoy it,” Adam said.
“Enjoy it, I can hardly breathe.”
The bear stood and ambled about. He rolled on his back, his black-brown fur glowing in the sun. The creature was beautiful, in its way, Ryan thought. Then, the bear stood and looked at them again and looked off again, still for a moment. The bear let out a sneeze and shuffled off the path, away from the river, and disappeared into the brush. Ryan had not felt a rush like that in a long time. No, he thought, jumping back to his thought from before, there is real danger here but there is also real life.
By five they neared the Enchanted Valley. At first it was difficult to tell, but then, as if suddenly, with the clearing of a few trees, the valley jutted up violently, high on both sides, though really it was always this way, only unseen. It was so high and wide that it felt like an optical illusion to Ryan, who, once the trees cleared fully and he could see the mountains which made the valley, craned his head left and right, witnessing the landscape warp about him. Little patches of snow clung on in parts, particularly where jagged gray rock protruded from the tree line. Straight down the valley, where it appeared to swoop up as a bowl, another craggy peak stood high above. The men hiked slowly now, almost tiptoeing in awe, especially when the brush too cleared and then the river, across the expanse of rock and pebbles, made itself known with a beautiful sight and sound.
“I felt awful a moment ago with that bear,” Ryan said. “But looking at this, I feel great.”
“Absolutely,” Adam said. “But you liked the bear a little bit?”
“Of course.”
“Can’t believe there’s so many open spaces by the chalet,” Tony said.
Ryan hadn’t noticed it until Tony had pointed it out, but there it was—the chalet. It stood in the middle of the valley next to the river, a two-story wooden building with its windows shuttered. A few paces off was a small outhouse.
Exhausted, they hiked the last bit of trail to the chalet and set up camp on a bluff beside the river. The sun began its descent behind the ridge as Tony lit a camp stove to boil water for their dinner, Adam sorted through the bear canister for the evening’s food, and Ryan set up the tents. The meal was bland but nourishing and Ryan raced through it to get what he needed.
“Should we stay up?” Tony asked. “It’s going to take a while, but there aren’t many opportunities like this.”
“I’m exhausted,” Adam said, “but if it keeps this clear, then yes.”
“If there’s no moving, count me in,” Ryan said.
The three passed around a small flask of bourbon and waited for the stars.
The sun was beautiful over the ridge. The sky was clear save a few scattered clouds and the sun’s last light scrambled red, yellow, and purple over the valley, accenting the few clouds wonderfully. Finally, with its last gasp, the western sky was a deep red that faded slowly into purple and then black, and just as soon as the light was nearly gone, pinpricks of new light emerged from the darkness and twinkled in the black of the river. They sat awhile longer, chatting as the darkness crept further and further west until it was everywhere and the little lights became more and more numerous and uncountable across the sky. Now with the pinpricks the darkness was gone except under the trees, which shaded out the starlight. Slowly the milky way appeared in patches of patterns from the stars and planets. At first it was hard to discern until enough of the patches blended together and the mind could complete the picture, illuminating the sky white and yellow and purple and radiant with the galaxy. In bands it cut across the former darkness from ridge to ridge and even made the mountain’s jagged peaks visible again. The men sat for a long while looking up in silence. Ryan felt he might be content if he could see this every night. Then he considered that perhaps he would grow tired of it, like he did with so much else. For now, though, it was new and humbling and, just as the bear had in the afternoon, made him feel present, and he had no thoughts of looking at his phone to distract himself, except to think that he wasn’t thinking of it.
In the morning Ryan woke with the sun. His back ached from sleeping on the hard ground but straightened itself out as he rose from his tent. The air was cool and crisp and the valley was bathed in a pale pink-blue haze. Ryan moved awkwardly down the bluff to where the river was weak and split amongst the rocks. He was tired but very awake and sat for a long while on a large rock by the river, his feet dangling over the slowly lightening water. The river is very calm here, he thought, tracing it back down the valley from where they had come. Down there, he knew it was fast and chaotic.
Tony and Adam emerged from their tents just after the sun peeled back the eastern ridge line’s shadow from the western’s, making it look as though the mountain had caught fire. They made breakfast from prepared dried foods again. and again they were bland, but even bland they tasted better the second day. Before he ate that morning Ryan had felt more hungry than he had in years. And, he thought, perhaps this was the first time he’d even felt hungry at all in those years, so infrequent had long stretches between meals been for him.
“When should we leave?” Adam asked.
“Maybe after lunch?” Ryan proposed. “We could dawdle around here a bit and head off.”
“Sounds good to me,” Tony said. “I think we should try to get as far back as the camp by Pony Bridge today. Make the last of the hike out tomorrow easy.”
They agreed and each set on their own paths for the morning. Tony wanted to hike out a bit towards Andersen Pass. Adam wanted to sketch. Ryan, for the first time in a long time journaled. He wrote about the hike and the milky way and the calm, early morning. Soon it was lunch and they made simple tuna salad sandwiches, which were the first thing to taste like anything on the hike, and devoured them.
The sun was well overhead when they packed up their site and headed off for Pony Bridge Camp. They passed where the bear had been, where there was no bear anymore, passed the radiating tree roots, and passed many other things. It all went very quickly until the last few miles as their bodies fatigued, tiredness compounding from the day before.
They took a long break at O’Neil Creek, propping themselves up against large rocks and trees in the shade. The heat of the sun was intense and the coolness of the creek as it flowed by felt good. Tony and Ryan almost fell asleep as they rested, but Adam kept them from it and egged them on down the trail for one last push. And, in very little time, they found themselves at Pony Bridge Camp setting up their site.
They were the only ones at the camp and for Ryan it was more unnerving than having neighbors. He tried to enjoy it, though. The camp was perched on a cliff overlooking the Quinault, just beyond where he had seen it crashing and foaming the day before. It was calmer here, though it still moved rapidly and flowed straight and clean through the valley, keeping its turquoise color.
“How are you feeling?” Tony asked Ryan.
“I feel dead tired and amazing at the same time,” Ryan said. “I think I’m working up quite the blister.”
“Thats that’s the way to feel,” Tony laughed. “Not the blister, though. Blister’s bullshit.”
“That bear, man.”
“Just a black bear,” Adam said, taking a sip of whiskey. “If it was a mom and her cubs, that’s a different story. But a grown one all by itself?” He waved his hand forward, dismissing the notion.
“Exactly,” Tony said.
They sat near the edge of the cliff, tired and loopy, the light growing dimmer and dimmer. Ryan thought for a bit about something to say, unsure of whether to say it.
“It’s hard to think this is always here,” he said. Ryan paused and laughed at himself and looked over at them. “It honestly boggles my mind that rivers keep flowing sometimes. It’s just so much water. How stupid is that?”
“That’s what I love about coming out to these places,” Tony said. There was a long pause, then: “How much were you thinking about anything but what you were doing that last mile to camp?”
“Today?”
“Just now.”
Ryan sighed and considered the question. “I wasn’t thinking at all.”
“Exactly. It’s the best thing about this place.”
In the morning, the men broke down their site and hiked the last couple miles, reaching the trailhead before nine. They divvied up supplies as they said their good-byes.
“It was a wonderful trip,” Tony said.
“Beautiful,” Ryan said.
“I suppose I have to say it was mediocre now,” Adam laughed and slapped Ryan on the back. “We have to do it again somewhere new.”
“I think so,” Tony said. “And sooner than a few years from now.”
They loaded the car and drove off.
Adam and Ryan were quiet in the car and it was a good quiet where both knew neither needed to speak or to be heard, and it endured until they reached Quinault Lake, where the long river they had followed the last few days terminated. They turned around a bend that revealed the small town about the lake and their phones began to buzz. Ryan’s hand, as if instinctually, grabbed the phone from his pocket. He hesitated for a moment and held it facedown above his thigh as he gazed out the window, taking in the lake town and the rain clouds rolling in over the horizon. Soon the blocks of buildings broke and the lake was clear in view. Ryan could see where the river and the lake met. The river, once violent, now dispersed slowly into the lake, returning to that same calmness from which it had come so many miles before.
2022
