Snowshoe To Secret Falls

Day 80: It doesn't happen often enough that I can call it a tradition, but when conditions are right, I like to close out the year with a snowshoe hike. Although I had a haggis dinner planned (complete with neeps and tatties), I finally couldn't resist the pull of sunshine (albeit cold) and bare road. I pulled together a quick winter daypack, threw my snowshoes and poles in the back of the car and was on the trail by 11:30.

Westside Road is gated in winter and makes a lovely snowshoe walk with several turnaround-point options which leave you feeling as if you've achieved a goal. Sometimes, I'll just go as far as the Graphis Scripta Grove, a stand of Red Alder about a mile in, the only place in the Park where I've found the tiny lichen which gave the site its nickname. Other times when I'm feeling ambitious, I'll hit Dry Creek or Fish Creek, but at three miles from the car, the trip back feels like it takes forever. On this occasion, I figured I'd just tag Graphis Scripta and be home in time to cook the haggis, but I got a pleasant surprise.

The route is closed to motorized travel, but skiers and snowshoers both use it for winter recreation, as do boot-footed explorers who invariably discover that postholing isn't fun after the first half mile. Consequently, the track is usually chewed up and lumpy, skiers cutting deep, narrow swaths and snowshoers stumbling along, tripping on the raised edges of the ski ruts. Yesterday, however, it seemed that the skiers had stuck to one "lane" and snowshoers to another; in other words, travel was an utter breeze! I was at Graphis Scripta in no time at all and exulting in my good fortune, decided to continue on to Secret Falls.

That's not it's real name. In fact, it's too small to even have a name. A small cascade tumbles over rocks no more than 50 feet from the bed of Westside Road, but is deeply set in a niche which makes it invisible to anyone on the road. In summer, it can be heard, and thus a small social trail leads to it; in winter, it hides from anyone who does not know where to step into the forest. It is always festooned with icicles in winter, but photography is difficult because the site is so shaded. I kicked myself for not having thought to put the tripod in my pack, but then, I hadn't planned to hike any farther than the alder grove. Fortunately, the snow wasn't overly crusty, so I improvised by jamming the camera into the snow covering a fallen log, allowing me to get in the shot to give some size perspective to the icicles. My visit done, I was tempted to go further, but the thought of haggis pulled me homeward. It was delicious, if a little later to come to table than anticipated.