Eel Lake

Eel Lake is a reliable go-to hike during Oregon's wet winter and does provide a healthy dose of lakeside scenery while tracing a route along the lake's forested shoreline. And so it was that on a damp and dreary December day, about eight of us set out on the trail to partake of the lake, rain, and all the mushrooms you could ever want to look at. Didn't see any eels though, not that we necessarily would have in any case.

Eel Lake on a gray day

This was mid-December, right on winter's cold and watery cusp, and naturally our venture turned out to be your basic quintessential winter hike. The sky was gray, full of pregnant clouds seemingly just about to deliver the baby, and we hiked underneath them while waiting for the water to break, colloquially speaking. There was nary a ripple on the placid surface of the lake which was as glassy as the eyes of a losing boxer. The recent rains had rendered the trail a muddy mess and the sound of boots slipping and sliding in the ooze could be heard as we hiked. Vegetation was wet and the sounds of complaining hikers with soaked pant legs could also be heard as we hiked. Winter is mushroom and fungus season and the forest was full of all kinds of them, slowing down a certain hiker with a compulsion to photograph each and every one.

A clump of ginormous mushrooms

As the civilized environs of William Tugman State Park receded behind us, we pretty much had the trail to ourselves. The basic rhythm of the hike was a walk through dark and damp woods to a viewpoint of the still and quiet lake on a gray day, then rinse and repeat for about six miles. The path also went up and down along the lake so we were able to keep internally warm from the exertion of hiking. Most of the alder trees flanking the path were bare but maples still sported a yellow leaf or two in a vestigial remnant of the recent fall season. 

The lake had more arms than a mutant octopus

Eel Lake at its widest point is only about a third of a mile wide, but the lake consists of two long arms making the body of water look like perhaps a U-shaped eel when seen from above. Each of the two arms have lots of little coves and bays serrating the eel-arm shoreline. The ins and outs add to the mileage of the hike but the trail only manages to conquer about 3.5 miles or so of lake shore. Frustrating, because there are several dozen more miles of shore to follow. I'd love to see a trail go all the way around.

Some of that swampy mess on the "trail"

    
After passing an idyllic little backpack campsite, the damp footpath rounded the entrance to a small cove and plunged down to lake level. The trail was slippery with mud and we sort of mud-skiied down to the bottom. I say "lake-level" but to call that swampy and fetid water part of the lake is an insult to lakes the world over. Basically, this was where forest met lake and if we thought it was muddy before, this was a whole other level of boot sucking. There was a sign that said "End of Trail" but you know us, we shouldered our way past and continued on to see what we could see.

On a winter's day

And what did we see, boys and girls? Muddy water, muddy boots, and muddy mud! We also saw an impenetrable wall of brush and a trail that faded into all of that tangle. It really was the end of the trail, so we turned around and headed back the way we had come. As we hiked back to the trailhead, the day became noticeably much more beclouded and quiet. The lake was like a slab of polished onyx and the whole lakeside atmosphere had that air of wet expectancy about it.

On a rainy December afternoon

Sure enough, the rain arrived as we were about a mile and a half away from the trailhead. Fortunately, raincoats and rain hats in combination with heavy forest cover aided in keeping us mostly dry. The smooth polished surface though, was now ruffled by thousands of overlapping concentric ripples caused by thousands of rain drops simultaneously striking the surface of the lake. The day was gloomy to start with but had darkened considerably, annoying those hikers toting cameras and trying to take pictures of everything.

It's now official: It's raining!

So, the hike finished with somewhat of a wet splash but you know what? It would have been a lot worse up high in the mountains. Besides which, we were all pretty much in unanimous agreement that a wet December hike was more fun than mowing the lawn in the sun. 

Dainty mushrooms thrive in a bed of moss

For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Eel Lake

Eel Lake isn't very eely, that I can tell. I did do some cursory research into the small mystery as to how the lake came by its name but while bass, trout, crappie, steelhead, and Coho salmon inhabit the lake, there was nary a mention of a historical eel encounter, story, tale, or legend. After walking on the Eel Lake Trail, my theory is that from above, the lake has lots of arms that wriggle out from the main body like so many eels. I'm open to other theories, by the way.

Eel Lake, in all its eely glory

The lake is part and parcel of William Tugman State Park, with the western shore being the only civilized portion of the lake, what with campgrounds, park, boat ramps, docks, and kiddie swimming areas. The lake is not all that big but with all those eely arms, it would be a 40 to 50 mile hike if one were to hike the entire shoreline. However, that would be a venture with a high degree of difficulty as the Eel Lake Trail only follows the shore for about 4'ish miles; the remaining 35 to 45 miles would be by bushwhack through the densely forested slopes surrounding the lake. 

If Richard were a mushroom

When I started hiking, it was a crisp winter morning where the sun was out in full sunshiny glory that did no good at all, seeing as how it was 27 degrees. Naturally, the swimming area was devoid of any aquatic-inclined humans. The trail immediately crossed over Eel Creek and ducked into a well shaded forest that quickly had me rummaging through my daypack, searching for a few more layers of clothing. That was the only thing that was quick about this hike.

Orange eels emerge from the depths of the black earth

The mushrooms were out in full force on this chilly morn and I spent a lot of time lying on the ground, in search of the perfect photo of the perfect fungus. Not much hiking got done while engaged in this particular activity. Anyway, after photographically cataloging every fungal specimen sprouting from the ample decaying biomass flanking Eel Lake, I was grateful to continue hiking and warm myself up a little. By the way, there was a clump of orange eely fungi emerging from the earthen depths, maybe that's how Eel Lake got its name.

Alder grove

The trail spent about 90% of its time in the well shaded woods but on occasion, brief glimpses of the lake were seen through a frame of cedar and rhododendron branches. About 2 miles in, the cedar and conifer gave way to leafless alder, their bony arms stretching to the heavens in supplication. You could almost hear their anguished cry "Hey, give us our leaves back! We're freezing down here!"

Ankle-breaker bridge

And now a word about the "bridges" and "boardwalks": Numerous creeks crossed the trail and the path also ran through some swampy patches; both of these situations required some kind of human invention to ensure hikers remained dry-footed. The fine folks at William Tugman Park have fashioned crude bridges and boardwalks by laying poles across the various wet spots, with the poles oriented parallel to the trail. The cracks between the poles were then chinked up with mud. Those things were slippery and there was a high likelihood of a an ankle slipping between two such poles if one was not careful. I safely negotiated the obstacle course by keeping with my feet perpindicular to the poles, but sheesh!

Eel Lake, from the trail

The shoreline was quite serrate and the route spent a lot of time weaving around small coves and bays, ducking in and out like a boxer looking to land a punch. Eventually the path rounded an arm of the lake and began heading north, there was much rejoicing at the sunlight slanting through the trees next to the lake. The temperature became relatively balmy and all those additional layers of clothing were soon stowed back in the pack. There were several viewpoints along the way with benches strategically sited for some lakeside contemplation and I partook thererof.  

Fungi was everywhere

The length of the trail is officially advertised as a 3'ish mile long trail. But really, it sort of depends on the mood and ambition of the trail maintainers. Prior to this hike, I had perused a couple of hiking blogs and the consensus was that the trail disappeared into the brush long before 3 miles. However, I shall sing the praises of the trail crews for at the 3-mile mark, I was still hiking on a well-maintained trail. At the 3.7 mile mark though, the trail was following an eely arm that soon became choked with brush and debris. It became downright swampy even, and the trail quickly degenerated into a muddy mire. My brand new boots were sinking into the goo with attendant sucking sounds as I extricated one foot while the other one sunk into the smelly black muck. Past the fetid swamp, the trail disappeared into the brush on a faint track that looked like it was used by deer more than hiker, and that was my cue to turn around and head back to the park.

A mushroom sprouts from a stump

On the return leg, the trail angled up a short but steep incline and I lowered my head and focused on the hard work of hiking uphill. Suddenly and without warning, a wolf entered the limited field of vision underneath my hat brim and I pretty much near voided my bowels. Turned out the "wolf" was a friendly German shepherd whose owner was laughing pretty hard at my discomfiture. He said I squ-eel-ed like a little girl but I also flopped and twitched like a landed eel. Maybe that's how Eel Lake got its name!

Eel Lake, at the end of the hike

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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