AdventuresNW
The rain falls for two days and nights, drifting through the trees, chilled by the breath of oncoming winter. Here at the Klipchuck Campground in the Methow Valley at the tail end of September, Jesse, Al, and I are waiting for the weather to turn so we can head up into the mountains. The rain falling here is likely falling as snow up where we’re going, a thought that fills us with anticipation. We’re on our annual quest to commune with the golden larches that illuminate the eastern flanks of the high North Cascades at this time of the year, and the combination of incandescent orange trees and freshly fallen snow is beguiling indeed.
The cliffs across the lake are adorned with rubble and scree, filigreed with freshly fallen snow in chiaroscuro patterns of white, grey, and black.
Finally, on the morning of the third day, the clouds part ways and we eagerly break camp. After the obligatory stop at Cinnamon Twisp (a beloved bakery/breakfast spot in downtown Twisp), we head up into the mountains, following the winding road beside Gold Creek to the Crater Creek Trailhead.
The last time I was here (way back in 2012), mine was the only car in the parking lot. Today, the lot is crammed with cars and bustling with eager hikers preparing to head out to various destinations on the Golden Lakes Loop, a 23-mile circuit that in recent years has become famous as a larch pilgrimage par excellence. The full loop, which I completed on a previous excursion, involves surmounting both Horsehead Pass and the legendary Angel Staircase. Upper Eagle Lake, our destination for the evening, is the first marquee attraction on the loop.
We load our backpacks and head up through the dense forest, quickly leaving the hubbub of the trailhead behind us. After crossing a bridge on Crater Creek and reaching the junction where the Crater Creek Trail branches off to the north, we continue climbing on the Eagle Lakes Trail, gradually reaching more open terrain, small stands of aspen, and eventually the first scattered larches.
The Larch is unique among the trees of the North Cascades, a graceful conifer whose needles turn a resplendent golden color in autumn. The range is home to two distinct species. The alpine larch (Larix lyallii) grows exclusively at high elevations, usually above 5,000 feet, while the Western Larch (Larix occidentalis) occupies relatively lower elevations between 2,000 feet and 5,500 feet.
Generally speaking, their vibrant color peaks in late September and early October. When in their full glory they glow with an incandescent fire that illuminates the forest. For my money, they offer an autumnal spectacle that is unmatched, and the dramatic settings in which they are found only add to the glory.
As we climb through the thinning forest, the surrounding mountains come into view above the Marten Creek Valley. Before long, about five miles from the trailhead, we see Lower Eagle Lake, far below in the darkening forest.
We turn right on the side trail towards Upper Eagle Lake, winding our way among the golden trees over a rise before a gradual descent to the shore of the lake, its surface an unimaginably beautiful mirror reflecting the larch forest, the snow-dappled ramparts of Sawtooth Ridge, and the deep blue of the sky.
We pitch our tents on a more-or-less flat spot beside the lake shore and put on every layer of clothing we have as the temperature plummets in the half-light of twilight before enjoying dinner beside a small crackling fire, then diving into our sleeping bags as a cold wind blows down from the dark peaks.
The morning dawns clear, windy, and cold. There is ice in my water bottle. The rising sun climbs above the ridge to the east, spreading a syrupy golden light across the lake, illuminating the larches in an almost iridescent color. We sit quietly with our morning coffee, bathe in the light, and watch puffy white clouds glide across the lustrous blue sky.
After an hour of basking in the warm sun, Jesse heads up toward Horsehead Pass while Al and I relax beside the lake, entranced by the cloud shadows that dance across the surface. . The cliffs across the lake are adorned with rubble and scree, filigreed with freshly fallen snow in chiaroscuro patterns of white, grey, and black. Scattered stands of larches, like elements in a Maxfield Parrish painting shine like torches. When the wind subsides, the surface of the lake becomes still, reflecting the splendor.
I wander off alone among the larches on a soft carpet of golden needles spread among the shattered rocks and fallen limbs, relishing the intricacies of the golden forest. High above whisps of cloud caress the barren summit of Mt. Bigalow.
In mid-afternoon, the sun drops and the last golden rays stream between the larch-fringed spires as the sun drops behind the stone towers that form Sawtooth Ridge. Finally, with a final burst of light, it disappears below the ridge, and the temperature drops 20 degrees in a heartbeat. The silence is broken only by the vespers of birds and the gentle lapping of the lake.
As darkness settles over the lake, the wind gusts across the water like a coming attraction for winter—waiting impatiently in the wings—on this final day of September. The last lingering clouds are blown away, leaving a crystalline sky and twinkling stars. The wind whips up boisterous waves that splash restlessly in the darkness as a full moon rises, bathing the freshly fallen snow across the lake in pearly light.
We make dinner and lean back in our Therm-A-Rest chairs, sharing stories beneath the star-spangled sky before slipping into the warm cocoon of our sleeping bags.
In the morning, a pastel sunrise ushers in October, and I sit on a rock, swaddled in layers of polypro, fleece, and down, staving off the morning chill, which is finally vanquished by the welcome warmth of the sun.
What a joy it is to sit on a rock, sipping my coffee, savoring the silence in this wild place, watching the light change and the clouds pass. Moments like this nourish my soul and remind me of much that is important to remember but so easily forgotten in my busy life. I savor the warm sunlight and the stillness and rejoice in my good fortune—another golden moment to treasure on my journey around the sun.
The Hike
From the Crater Creek Trailhead, hike the Crater Creek Trail .7 miles to a junction with the Eagle Lakes Trail #431. Pass a junction with the Martin Creek Trail about two miles from the trailhead, continuing upward, crossing Eagle Creek, and turning right on the Upper Eagle Lake Trail at 5.7 miles. From here, it’s a half-mile to the lake.
Getting Out There
Drive the North Cascades Highway (SR20) through Twisp to a right turn on the easy-to-miss North Fork Gold Creek Road (4340). At 6.6 miles, hang a left on Road 300 and follow it for six miles to the Eagle Lake/Crater Creek (431) Trailhead. A Northwest Forest Pass is required.
Visiting Upper Eagle Lakes
Like so many beautiful destinations in the North Cascades, Upper Eagle Lake gets a lot of traffic these days. Larch Madness has become a sort of religion in the Pacific Northwest. As access to many of the famous larch destinations—such as the Enchantment Lakes— becomes ever more restricted as a result of tight permitting, more and more acolytes find their way here instead.
Currently, there are virtually no restrictions in place. No backcountry permit is required to visit (or camp), campfires are allowed, and the Eagle Lakes Trail (although not the Upper Eagle Lakes Trail) is open to mountain bikes (and motorcycles!).
How long this situation will remain so unfettered is anyone’s guess. Therefore, visitors must practice strict ‘Leave No Trace’ ethics. But beyond packing your trash out, hikers must conduct themselves with a high level of consideration for the fragile nature of the setting and the wilderness experience of fellow hikers. If camping, choose an established campsite, and if having a campfire, keep it small and burn only down dead wood. There’s a mountain privy located near where the trail reaches the lake. Use it. Do not wash anything in the lake—not your dishes, not your body. Respect your fellow visitors by keeping quiet. Leave your Bluetooth speaker at home.
Visiting such a pristine and beautiful place is an increasingly rare privilege that should be respected, or, like so many places, the very qualities that draw pilgrims here will be lost.
