Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

There exists, in all the wild beauty of the Pacific Northwest, a perfect slice of paradise. They call it the Enchanted Valley, but it might as well be Eden, for all the natural splendor it contains.

Every green-hearted Northwesterner should make a pilgrimage to the Enchanted Valley at least once in their life. Few other places show off the raw power and beauty of our region, from the snow-capped mountains to the rain-soaked forests, and all the abundance of life found within.



During a recent five-day trip through Olympic, I made an overnight trek to the valley, a tough 27-mile adventure that left me awestruck and aching by the end. There was pain and there was fear, but no Northwest adventure is worth its salt without a dose of danger along the way.

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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I left Portland on a blue spring morning and arrived at the Quinault Ranger Station a few hours later. Backpacking into the valley means packing in a bear canister, which – if you’ve never had the pleasure – is a large, hard-shelled food container that weighs several pounds and for two days was the bane of my existence.

At the ranger station, where I purchased my backpacking permit, the ranger on duty peppered me with questions like “do you have a bear can?” and “what does your bear can look like?” and “do you know how to stow your bear can at camp?” If you don’t have a bear can – dear reader, do have a bear can – Olympic National Forest will gladly lend you the largest, bulkiest bear can imaginable, as if to reiterate the importance of proper wilderness preparation.

Loaded up with a heavy pack, I set off along the East Fork Quinault Trail on a warm and sunny afternoon, ready to embark on a long two days of hiking. The Enchanted Valley lay 13.5 miles up ahead, and I was determined to get there and back by the next evening.

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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As I hiked though lush forest of conifer and fir, I passed other hikers who asked about my plans. A forest ranger who was checking for tags widened his eyes at my two-day, 27-mile itinerary. A trio who left at the same time I did said things like "wow!" and "you're an animal!" and while I smiled politely, I was questioning either their sanity or mine, because while it was indeed going to be a long, arduous adventure, I was under the impression that this was just a thing people do.



After seven hours of hiking I began to think those other people were the sane ones. My back ached under the added weight of the bear can, and my feet were beginning to blister, but about the time my doubts encroached, I crossed a small footbridge over the Quinault River and laid eyes on one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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The river valley opened wide, snowcapped peaks rising all around, the setting sun painting their highest reaches a deep orange. Dozens of towering waterfalls poured from the cliffs, feeding the river and filling the verdant valley with an almost imperceptible mist. On the banks of the river sat a gorgeous three-story chalet, built nearly a century ago but long since closed to the public, as the eroding shoreline continues to force the park to shuffle it back.



As I approached the campground, I immediately received validation for shouldering the weight of the bear can. Before I could even put down my backpack, I spotted a large black bear sniffing around the campground. I pulled out the telephoto lens I so dutifully packed in, and stood with a fellow camper to chat and snap pictures.



"He's just showing us who's boss," the man said, circling around to maintain distance from the bear.



"He's doing a good job of it," I replied.

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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With my canister stowed and camp made, I came to the sudden realization that in less than 12 hours I would have to leave this magical place. Disheartened, I vowed to soak in every second. So, watching the sun set behind the mountains, I laid back in the cool grass and stared up at the waterfalls, listening to the river flow and enjoying my brief stay in paradise.



Sunrise in the valley was as beautiful as sunset, but before the sun could reach the valley floor, I begrudgingly embarked on the long journey back. The forest in the morning was magical, and it quickly lifted my spirits. As the sharp yellow light cut over the Olympic mountains, it bounced off the blue Quinault and filtered through the trees to the trail. The woods were quiet save the rush of the river and deep, sonorous hoots that came from the trees.



A few miles down, as I approached a big, moss-covered log on the side of the trail, a grouse sprinted through the brush to meet me. Delighted, I stopped and pulled out my camera, but as I soon learned, this grouse was no friend. When I moved to leave, the bird flew up and attacked my leg, wings flapping, talons grasping. I gave it a swift kick and hurried off. The grouse pursued. I jogged down the trail as fast as I could, given the weight of the pack and the state of my body, but the bird kept up pace, trotting down the trail until I crossed a stream and got away.



I later learned that spring is mating season for sooty grouse in the park. The sonorous hoots I heard were from the males, and once they mate, the females find a safe place to lay their eggs – say, under a big, moss-covered log. Much respect to the mamas of the woods.

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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After another seven hours of hiking, I made it back to the trailhead. I was tired and sweaty, walking gingerly on tender feet, right knee screaming, my back in wretched knots. Next time, I thought, I’ll take an extra day and camp sooner, taking more time to soak up the valley and letting my body rest.

Even through the exhaustion and pain, I couldn’t help but smile. Every good pilgrimage requires self-sacrifice, and this Pacific Northwest paradise had truly taken it out of me. But in return it offered a vision both awesome and profound – a true religious experience in the rugged Olympic wild.

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

ENCHANTED VALLEY HIKE

Distance: 27 miles, round trip

Difficulty: Moderate

Amenities: Restroom, parking area at trailhead; pit toilets at Enchanted Valley

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While long, the hike to Enchanted Valley is actually pretty moderate, steadily gaining 1,400 feet of elevation from start to finish. The trail, too, is incredibly easy to follow. From the Quinault Ranger Station, take the main road east, following signs to Graves Creek. The road ends at the Graves Creek Trailhead, where there should be plenty of parking.

The only junction on the trail comes at the beginning, where the Graves Creek Trail splits off to the right. A large sign at the fork makes the path clear, but you’ll want to stay left on the East Fork Quinault Trail.

From there, it winds along the gorgeous Quinault River, going up and down small hills and crossing several small streams. All bigger crossings have footbridges, while smaller ones only require some rock-stepping to get past.

The National Park Service allows backpackers to camp anywhere at least a mile from the trailhead, and there are indeed many campsites along the trail – including some incredible sites right on the riverbank. The map notes three places with multiple campsites: Pony Bridge (about 3 miles in), O’Neil Creek (6.7 miles) and Pyrites Creek (about 9 miles). Pyrites is a perfect place to make camp, both for the ample campsites and its proximity to the Enchanted Valley, which makes a great day hike on the second day of a three-day trip.

Once you get to the valley, things get a little tricky. The trail is washed out just before the chalet, forcing hikers to either get their feet wet crossing the shallows of the river, or finding downed logs to get across the gap. I opted for the logs, most of which were sturdy enough, and before long made it to the other side.

The trail continues on through the valley into the Olympic Mountains, and if you have more time, it’s apparently worth some extra exploration. When you’re ready to pry yourself from paradise, head back the way you came, and soak in the wild beauty while you can.

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Courtesy of the National Park Service

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian

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Jamie Hale/The Oregonian