Everyone does something different to unwind-- to "reset." If you find solace in nature, Icicle Gorge is quite the offering. From the canyon floor and raging white-water, to jagged alpine peaks, from wildflowers to wild wolves, the Icicle offers some of the quickest access into true wilderness found anywhere in the lower 48 states.
Wandering about the dew-stained
undergrowth, I pause to take in the subtle aroma of a fresh mountain rain. My
bare feet settle into moist, ancient earth as I think aloud to myself, “Icicle
Canyon is truly a beautiful place.”
As I make my morning coffee, I glance
longingly at the calendar; it is nearly June. It’s almost summer, but as I
glance out the kitchen window, cold & grey skies come into view through a
patchy morning fog. It may as well be March.
Right: The combination
of morning showers and afternoon sunshine couple to paint a misty scene along
the north wall of Leavenworth’s Icicle Canyon.
Today is Monday and I have the day
off. The tide of weekend tourists has, for the time being, receded across the
mountains to the west from whence they came. Leavenworth has a love/hate
relationship with the throngs of visitors who choose to spend their leisure
time here amongst her whispering pines. Once home to a thriving timber industry, tourism
saved the local economy when legislation and changing public opinion spun Washington’s
timber trade into a period of spiraling decline. Tourism has become the
lifeblood of the upper-valley, allowing Leavenworth to prosper while similar
communities have seen hard times.
For now, the tourists are gone and
it is raining outside. The canyons around town have been carved and shaped over
millions of years by a unique combination of glacial activity and geologic
processes. The entire Wenatchee River Valley was once an immense canyon system.
These canyons of the distant past were gradually smoothed, and filled with
sediment by the movements of powerful ancient glaciers. It was these processes
that shaped the valley, and offered the lucrative agrarian potential that we find
today.
These days Icicle Canyon is a
hotbed for geologists, recreational enthusiasts and sightseers alike. The vast
system of trails originating within the canyon's walls snake deep into the
high-country and offer some of the quickest wilderness access found anywhere in
the lower 48. These trails, along with numerous Forest Service campgrounds are
a heavy tourist draw in the summer.
At present it’s in the 60’s, socked
in, and raining lightly. There will be very few people in Icicle Canyon today;
a perfect time to go play in the woods. After a five minute drive through town
and the farms which surround it, I enter into the mouth of the canyon housing
the boisterous Icicle Creek. With all four windows in my Subaru down, the
persistent dabble of raindrops hitting my windshield at 35 MPH is barely
audible over the roar of the raging creek just yards to my left. The “creek”
would have been called a river where I grew up, in Olympia, Washington. The
Icicle is running strong now, here on the cusp of June. Springtime is finally
beginning to take its toll on the snowpack high above, after a long, hard
winter season.
The canyon road follows Icicle
Creek as it snakes past numerous trailheads and campgrounds, eventually turning
to gravel as it travels ever deeper into the mountains. In February of 2008 an
unseasonably warm and very productive weather system stalled over the area,
delivering between 6 and 10 inches of rain to steep, snow-laden slopes in
midwinter over the course of less than 36 hours. The damage was extensive.
Neighboring Tumwater Canyon saw 16 separate snow, mud and rock slides cross
U.S. Highway 2, closing the highway for the better part of a week.
The sparsely populated Icicle Canyon saw it's share of the destruction as well. The road was crossed in six locations.
The largest of the Icicle slides took place 12 miles into the winding canyon,
between USFS campgrounds at Johnny and Chatter Creeks. This large slide was
left until spring, allowing the sizeable Icicle Creek to actually divert its
path onto the former roadway for about half a mile. For a period of more than three
years, the roadway was left unrepaired—allowing it to be reclaimed by the
mountains that it had once been carved from.
Everybody has a "reset" button-- something that they do to unwind, to assess their current state of affairs. I like to be alone in the mountains with a camera and a notebook. Almost a year ago, on my last trip out the Icicle before the washout was repaired, I sat alongside the chattering creek, alone, eating lunch. It was a drizzly summer morning, I was past the washout. I knew there was nobody around for miles:
The road ends abruptly at the washout. There is a trail, twisting through heavy forest, eventually offering access to the terrain beyond. It is a damp day in an already wet patch of woods. Ahead, the creek has hopped its banks and is running several inches deep, right down the path. I take of my shoes, trudging on barefoot; mud between my toes. The upper Icicle Canyon, already wild country, is well on its way to a full-fledged return to wilderness.
After a mile or so, I reach the roadway at the far end of the washout. It is returning to nature right before my very eyes; again becoming a part of the wild forests it was carved from. I walk on through a river of tall grasses, growing all along the path of the now defunct roadway. In passing, I startle a pair of Forest Grouse. The birds skitter away, guffawing at my lonely presence in their part of this vast woodland. A moment later, two deer crossed the road ahead within spitting distance. The deer pay me almost no mind, offering just a quick glance as they continue in the direction of the ever-present waterway. It's as if they know that I am in their element, and pose little threat to them. Camera in hand, I attempt to follow them towards the creek, but upon reaching its banks, the deer are nowhere to be seen.
The washout is repaired now, one again allowing access to those who might otherwise lack the motivation to trudge on. Yet, even with public access now available, the greater Icicle Drainage is still an enormous area, traversed by dozens of intersecting trails. You need only look at a map, find a route with more than a couple thousand feet of elevation gain to it, and your excursion will be free-- at least mostly-- of Johnny-come-lately's. I don't mind running into other people in the mountains. In fact, crossing paths with a like-minded individual can often be a noteworthy and pleasant experience. But, if I see people littering or disrespecting the landscape I'll almost assuredly say something forward.
Deep in the Icicle Drainage are many of my favorite places. Places that I've been lucky enough to have to myself for a day or two. There are other people in the high-country, but as long as you're high enough above the trail-heads, and no where near the PCT, there is true and meaningful solitude to be had. When you're in deep, and you do run across another solo hiker, a conversation or a shared meal is a pleasant exchange, but more often than not there is nothing more than a smile and a nod-- a token of kinship in passing; mutual respect. Then they're gone, moving in the opposite direction, on their own journey for their own reasons. You move along as well, step after step, to wherever it is that your feet will take you.
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