An Afternoon at Deception's Pass

Water twists in whirling ringlets nearly 180 feet below me. My mind is already weary from a lack of food in my system. I feel my stomach drop into its own emptiness sending shock waves through my body. No boats motor around — if they did, they’d surely make contact with the cliff at the base of the narrow harbor, like the crashing waves. Yet, I am captivated by the tumultuous beauty of it all. Now I know how Mary Shelley must’ve felt while hiking Mer de Glace during the haunting summer when she first wrote Frankenstein. In a journal entry from July 24th, 1816, Mary writes, “This is the most desolate place in the world — iced mountains surround it — no sign of vegetation appears except on the place from which we view the scene.” Reflecting on her sublime accounts of the French Alps, I grasp the green ledge of the bridge that hoists me far above my own frightening scene of terror.

Deception’s Pass State Park is quite beautiful, but it also has an eerily haunting quality. There’s a long metal bridge with ridges at connection points which make the whole structure rumble as trucks zoom right over the pass which has remained a mystery since its very discovery. Landmasses have come together on each side, leaving this narrow gap where water flies through at around 10.4 mph at peak flow.

After staring into the depths of whirlpools for half an hour, I’m admittedly dizzy. Wobbling off the bridge, my vision slowly returns to normal and I experience a rush of curiosity for what resides within the forest. My friend Nadia dropped me off at the bridge this morning, setting me free to wander for the entire afternoon while she’s at work.

In early March, Washington is covered in fog with a light whispering rainfall that accompanies most afternoons. Mount Baker is cloaked by drooping clouds at this hour of 11 am, but I’m delighted to relish in the sight of piercing sea green water which glitters in the sparse sunlight.

I decide to take the path that’ll bring me to a peak overlooking the entire area, so I set out on a slow pace to account for elevation. Moss conquers most surface area of bowering trees and heaps of stones. By a mere coincidence, I blend in seamlessly with the scenery around me, dressed in my fuzzy, moss-like drawstring hoodie and a scruffy brown leather bomber jacket thrown over top.

Walking along the path, I’m enthralled by the minuteness of life. The tiny seas of moss sprawled across various rocks create petite ecosystems of their own. The pillowy quality of the moss beckons me to reach out and touch it. It has a delicate form, and when I graze over it ever so lightly, a modest coat of dew sticks to my fingertip.

As I continue on my walk I imagine taking a nap on one of these moss beds. How nice it’d be to lay there for a while, joined by spiraling succulents growing between tufts of the magical green stuff and tendril-like plants that are so fine, you’ll miss them if you’re not looking.

Of course, among these finer details, the hunkering douglas fir trees and western red cedars enchant me. I stop and hinge my neck back as far as it will go. I stare at the tips of swaying tree branches far from where I stand at the base of a massive trunk. The firs threaten life with their commanding presence, yet, at this moment, I feel as if I could become one with the forest forever. They hold an inviting quality which incites me to wander, further, further, and still further. The crisp Washington air hugs my lungs. I feel high off of the oxygenators’ essence.

A new path begins to unfold below my feet with each new step.

I hear a rustling sound in the nearby greenery which alerts me to twist my neck back down to ground level. Before me stands a deer with tufting fur, similar to the moss’s texture. However, this deer is different from any woodland creature I’ve ever seen before. There’s a crystal growing on its face, right in the pinpoint between the brows, connecting all of its facial features in a neat prism. Moss drapes over the antlers, like Spanish Moss that hangs from oak trees in the southern hemisphere. I approach the gentle creature and reach my hand out, attempting to make contact. The deer bows its head and shuts its eyes as the gem begins to glow in a radiating yellow hue. I hold my hand over the gem for a moment, and eventually feel a spark. I shut my eyes.

Nothing happens immediately, but soon enough, the deer stares back up at me and swiftly breaks into a sprint, trotting in the other direction. I intuitively take the deer’s lead, following a new trail directly through the forest. At this point, the conventional dirt path is gone. A new path begins to unfold below my feet with each new step, forming a zig-zagging line which navigates me through the massive abundance of arbors. I’ve lost the deer, but soon enough, the path halts in front of a huge root formation from a tree that looks like it was ripped straight out of the ground. It lays flat on its jagged bark while the foundation protrudes into the air, allowing me to see all of the alcoves of dirt and rubble.

All of the tiny crevices at the bottom of this cedar make me wonder if something could live inside. I imagine a tiny creature crawling through one of the small openings — tucking away in the salvation of the planted wood. But trees are solid after all. A hollow trunk would sit begging for spirits of the forest to visit and stay a while. An empty tree would sit as an alluring trap —

My thoughts are cut off by the Earth which begins to shake below my feet. Unable to withstand the rumbling, I fall, and lay on the ground, now myself a tree thrown off of its foundation. Squirming on the ground, my instinct is to cup the sides of my head with my hands in an attempt to shield myself from the tempests. But it’s no use — they find me.

A loud, deep voice reverberates through the air as if trapped within my own mind. Even with my ears covered, I hear the spirit loud and clear: Knock on the fallen tree three times, and you will be granted with a key to continue your journey.

This is all the spirit says to me, and I exit my trance-like state which hit upon my plummet to the dirt floor. It feels like my senses have just been pilfered by an omnipotent being. My thoughts now flit around in an imaginative, all consuming whirlpool, swallowing any feeling of peace or serenity I held before the supernatural’s visitation.

Yet, I follow the command. After all, I’m stuck in the forest until four.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I wait for a sign, some symptom resulting from my action. Thirty seconds go by and my heart pounds through the walls of my chest. Then, out of nowhere a tiny hand submerges from the debris. The hand is human-like, but I know it belongs to a being of the forest. It’s cream color, and its little fingers pinch the end of a shiny, gold finished magnifying glass. The handle is engraved with ambiguous text that appears to be some sort of cipher. I naturally take hold of the device, and ponder its enigmatic quality. The hand springs back into the tree where it came from, and after the duration of a blink, the opening has vanished.

The sensation I experienced from the spark of the raw agate mounted atop the enchanted deer returns to me in a fleeting moment of catharsis. A yellow hue envelops the magnifying glass, and I’m compelled to shift my gaze to the surface of the tree. Hovering the magical scope in the air, my eyes linger over the bark in amazement as it takes an entirely new image.

Maybe I’m meant to stay awhile and uncover what lies within the bounds of this forest.

A glimpse through my freshly acquired third eye reveals a secret once concealed by the mist and fog. Land masses crinkle through the sphere of only a three inch diameter. I see visions of valleys and peaks more grandiose than any outlook I could ever imagine to appear at the top of my intended trail.

My mind flirts with this new perspective and I think to myself: maybe there is no succinct endpoint to my journey. Maybe I’m meant to stay awhile and uncover what lies within the bounds of this forest. Maybe I’ve simply been chosen by the forest keepers (whomever they may be) to embark further into the wilderness, uninhibited for an afternoon which may as well constitute my very life’s purpose.

I grasp onto the prophetic glass which holds the contents of my fate. It feels like the weight of the world — of the entire universe — rests within the penetrating force of the magnifier. I continue forward, and notice some of the deer’s tracks still left on the ground.

A peek through the looking glass gleans another detail of the forest and its magical qualities. Subtle bits of moss, invisible to the naked eye, trace the edge of each imprinted mark. And through the glass, the moss begins to glow a yellow hue. The shining plant bits animate and re-shape into one of the non-descript symbols carved on the magnifying glass.

It’s a swirl of sorts with a center that glares back at me, reminiscent of an eyeball. The center of the swirl begins to move like a pupil would, and I follow along the pattern with my own roving look. My view moves up, down, and side-to-side trying to keep up with the fragmented image. My head begins to throb, and then…I open my eyes.

There I lay, atop the bed of moss where I first began my journey into the forest. The moss is soft against my coarse skin and my body is cool to the touch. It was all a dream. Yet it felt so real! In my vision, I experienced the forest calling after me, and I yielded to its influence. In reality, I was only lulled to sleep by the forest’s natural pillow.

So, I stand, gather my things, and trot back to the entrance where Nadia is scheduled to pick me up in a little over twenty minutes. Good timing, I think to myself, cause it’s gonna start raining pretty soon here. And just like that, a bunch of tiny crystal formations begin to fall from the sky of the mystic forest. They all hail down and dance around on the mulch, bouncing upon landfall. I kneel down to pick one up off of the ground. I squeeze the teeniest ice formation between my pointer finger and thumb, allowing myself to squint through. Nothing special catches my eye, but the yellow hue of the sun slowly begins to shift out from behind the clouds.

The sun falters in and out as icy crystals continue to rain down on me. A bunny hops onto the path and sits squarely in front of me. It's a muddy brown color with a spotty pattern running through its fur. It twitches its nose a few times and shimmies off the path, perhaps to forage for some wild blackberries.

I look up, still planted where the bunny cut me off. There are several trees with etchings of names and the standard heart filled with a couple love struck initials joined by a plus sign. But here on the cedar in front of me, I recognize a symbol. I take a few steps closer to ensure I’m not mistaken. Ah ha! The symbol that appeared to me in my dream! I take a closer look.

It appears exactly the same as it did on that magnifying glass. The image remains burned into the backlog of my memory like the contents of a fresh CD. Just below me rest the bunny tracks. I kneel and squint. The swirling eye glares at me through the dirt once more.

My bag begins to rumble from within, startling me. I throw my mustard yellow Fjällräven Kanken to the ground.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.

I scrounge around for a second and realize it’s just my phone. Nadia’s calling me. I answer. The call lasts for 5 minutes, and once we hang up, I release a sigh of relief. Her blue hatchback has already pulled up in the spot where we said we’d meet. I rush over to her car and hop in, ready to return back to reality. As we start to pull away, Nadia makes some passing remarks about her work day and an epiphany instantly strikes her mind. She stares forward for a second in utter disbelief. I dig my nails into the edge of my seat already horrified by my day’s occurrences.

Nadia: I can’t believe I didn’t mention this to you earlier! I guess there’s a weird urban legend surrounding this forest. People say there’s a special type of moss spore growing here with hallucinogenic properties. It’s supposed to drive people mad. It hasn’t been discovered by anyone and there’s really no evidence to prove it, but people like to think this is the case with the amount of weird things reported out here. Most of the strange reports are from weird hours of the night though. Crazy, right? How was your time at the park?

Before I respond, I think to myself for a moment. Could it have really all just been a hallucination?

My afternoon was…strange, I tell Nadia. I think there might be more to this forest than a mysterious psychedelic spore.