Flutie says:

When I read about this hike it conjured up a sweet, little, ‘red, white, and blue’, patriotic vignette for me based on its name alone. I pictured red-ripened cherries dripping o’er a blue-dappled creek; white-winged moths fluttering alongside scampering kids; cherry pie, whiskey flasks, untamed Americana in short-story form.

What Stu and I discovered instead was a rather torturous trek into hard-core fantasy. Here, abandoned cars grew within tree limbs. Witches’ gnarled knuckles rose accursed from muddied paths. Trees twisted in arched agony. 

Indeed, on the very first step of this walk (yes, the very first one!), Stu twisted his ankle.

Now, a slightly twisted ankle may not seem so ominous, but for someone suffering from perpetual Baby Ankles, (aka Stu), a trail marked ‘Easy! Flat! Five-miles there and back!’ (which in reality is none of those things), is quite a curse.

To understand the story more fully, though, one must journey back beyond the trail. On a winter’s night long ago, Stu was laboriously preparing an enormous banana pudding. This was to be consumed in a hedonistic send-off before I started a workplace dieting contest. But alas – as Stu ran downstairs to present the five-pound fruited ambrosia to us all, he tripped, breaking his ankle rather spectacularly.

Then, two weeks ago, Stu was sitting down to dinner, and once again, while merrily galloping right along, he tripped over our one-inch threshold between rooms and rolled the very same ankle!

Now, here we were all decked out for our nicely imagined, patriotic amble, and before the very first breath was even exhaled, Stu stepped down midway between a rock and a hard place. Ack!! – there went his baby ankle, again. I lamely insisted we about-face to the car (a mere five paces away). But Stu has stoicism down to an art form, so instead he limped the entire six-mile path – up hill, over dale, clear across cricks betwixt the brambled bushes.

Eventually, after incorrectly navigating three unmarked forks in the road, we found ourselves at our wits end, deep within the Witches’ Bowels. If it weren’t for the magically-appearing couple suddenly in our midst, who insisted we keep going, we would surely have abandoned with never a creek, crick, nor bloomin’ cherry tree ever within our sight.

Luckily we kept limping along, for eventually we stumbled upon an enchantment: look! Within the trees tumbled the most glorious, silvered locks, cascading down on golden pond – pure delight after such a long, mismarked, cherry-less trail.

My rating: On a nice day I would gladly walk this way again, with plenty of blankets and towels in tow, so as to properly enjoy the swimming hole. But please do bring your own cherry pie, plus a golden apple or two for good measure!(p.s. Naturally, we did imbibe in some pre-walk fortification within the beautiful Salish lodge, perched above Snoqualmie Falls. I don’t think you can sit and sip a Twin Peaks ‘Dale Cooper’ gin & cardamom drink anywhere with a better view. And afterwards you can indulge in a Vanilla Salish Honey Crème brûlée!)

 

 

 

Stu says:

Ouch.  First step.  Really?

This is a lovely hike through the woods on a nice wide trail that never gets too steep.  Unfortunately, it’s a full three miles to the good stuff (waterfall) and another three miles back home.  The trail is definitely kid-friendly, but it’s length means that you pass a lot of grumpy kids along the way.  (Well, they mostly passed us.)

No cherries, but lots of huckleberries, salmon berries, and blackberries!

Bring a swimming suit!