Another push to save Enchanted Valley Chalet
Tristan Baurick
The 1930s-era Enchanted Valley Chalet in Olympic National Park's backcountry is again in danger from the eroding banks of the Quinault River. The chalet was moved in 2014, but the river has quickly eaten up much of the buffer. Tristan Baurick | Kitsap Sun
House mover Jeff Monroe, of Sequim, discusses his plan to move the Enchanted Valley Chalet in Olympic National Park from the eroding banks of the Quinault River. Monroe moved the chalet about 100 feet in 2014 but it will need to be moved again or dismantled as the river closes in again. Tristan Baurick | Kitsap Sun
OLYMPIC NATIONAL PARK — Rod Farlee can't see much in the gloom of the boarded-up Enchanted Valley Chalet, but his nose and hands tell him plenty.
'You smell it. So dry in here,' he says, wandering the three-story chalet in Olympic National Park's backcountry, about 14 miles from the nearest road.
He runs his palm along thick timber walls made painstakingly smooth by broad axes and chisels nearly 90 years ago. His wiry fingers feel around joints, stair railings and window frames. They knock on log posts and beams, and attempt to wiggle into wall slats narrow enough to keep out the glacier-cold winters.
'The way this was built — it's just fabulous,' Farlee says. 'It's locked together tight.'
Built in 1931, the chalet has held up well, but is — for the second time in two years — at risk of collapse. That's because the Quinault River is pushing its banks toward the chalet at a rapid pace.
In September 2014, Farlee helped spearhead an ambitious project that shoved the 64-ton chalet away from the Quinault. Movers relied on mule teams and helicopters to haul in equipment and the steel rails needed to slide the chalet about 100 feet from the riverbank.
They did it in the nick of time. The river had chewed off a section of the chalet's foundation and was flowing just under floorboards when the move began.
Erosion has only quickened, eating up 60 feet during the winter of 2014 and another 10 feet last year. On Monday, only 28 feet separated the riverbank from the chalet.
Odds are on the river catching up. If the recent rate of erosion holds, this year could be the chalet's last.
'Not on my watch,' said Jeff Monroe, the Sequim housemover who orchestrated the 2014 move. He says he can do it again — this time moving it 450 feet to higher, harder ground, just beyond the crumbly gravel soil in the river's floodplain.
He and Farlee spent a few days this week hiking to the chalet to assess its condition and ground truth a moving plan they'll soon submit to park officials.
They know its acceptance is a long shot.
Last month, the park announced a process for determining the 'final' plan for the chalet. The options under consideration amounted to: a) do nothing and let nature take its course, or b) take it apart before it tips into the river. Another move was not an option on the table.
'Their options are not acceptable,' Monroe said. 'All of them result in the loss of the chalet.'
Bending to outcry from preservationists and the chalet's many fans, the park service quietly added the move option last week. Monroe didn't learn of the change until he hiked down from the chalet.
'It's almost misleading to the public that that option was ignored,' he said.
Park spokeswoman Barb Maynes said the option was initially ruled out to avoid giving people 'false hopes.'
'We were going to analyze it, but we didn't think it was likely or feasibly possible,' she said. 'But after hearing from people and the level of interest, we put it on the list.'
Still, the lengthy, federally-mandated assessment process the park must follow puts a final decision somewhere around spring 2018. Depending on the river's mood this or next winter, the decision may come too late.
Monroe said he's ready to move the chalet now.
'All I'd need is a Huey (helicopter), four days and a box of Cheerios,' he said.
The helicopter would be costly and would raise the ire of wilderness advocates. Besides being noisy and disturbing wildlife, they said the use of gas-powered machinery violates the 1964 Wilderness Act, which protects the 'primeval character' of wild landscapes.
No matter, says Monroe. He could do the job with a mule team, a handful of volunteers and a heap of donations he knows would flow in if he and Farlee gave the word.
The rails used to slide the chalet are still in place, ready to be used in 'leapfrog' fashion, moving from the back to the front of the chalet as it glides on a thin coating of soap. Monroe has upgraded his equipment with lightweight jacks and a small generator that could be disassembled and carried by mules. He could do the job with hand-cranked jacks, but the job would take weeks rather than days.
'About four gallons of fuel is all I'd need to get it done quick,' he said.
The last move cost the park service more than $160,000. Money is tight at Olympic, which has cut staff and maintenance budgets in recent years, but liability concerns and federal contracting rules severely limit the use of volunteers and donated labor and materials. As much as Monroe would like to do the project at no cost to the park, he simply isn't allowed.
'We could get 20 volunteers but the park wouldn't let us, and you can't donate (materials) because they have to pay fair market rate,' he said. 'The more I got into this, the more I saw that common sense doesn't apply.'
Monroe says he's had his answering machine filled with voices — some of them sobbing — urging him to save the chalet.
Hikers from California, Minnesota, New York and British Columbia pitched tents alongside Monroe and Farlee during their stay near the chalet this week.
'It's definitely a destination, and it has been for a long time,' Monroe said.
Built before the park was established in 1938, the chalet was one of many wilderness shelters and lodges constructed in the early 1900s to capitalize on a growing desire to see the nation's last wild places.
The 10-room chalet was used as a backcountry hotel until World War II, when it was drafted into service as an enemy aircraft lookout. It was a ranger station and emergency shelter until 2013, when the river's encroachment made it unsafe.
The interior walls are notched with decades worth of hikers' initials and carved messages.
Brian Turner, an attorney for the National Trust for Historic Preservation, hiked up to the chalet on Monday to meet with Monroe and Farlee.
'It's locked up now, but the thing that surprised me is how much it's still a gathering place,' said Brian Turner. 'People come to look, to dry their socks on the porch … and they share stories and tips on their adventures.'
The chalet was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2007. In 2014, the Washington Trust for Historic Preservation named it to the state's Most Endangered Historic Properties List.
Preservation groups are pitted against wilderness advocates over the chalet's future.
Montana-based Wilderness Watch and the local group Olympic Park Associates objected to the last move's use of a helicopter and other machinery.
The park service allowed some special exceptions to the Wilderness Act but they were careful not to push things too far. Wilderness Watch has hinted it would sue if any action is taken to fortify the structure or install a new foundation after its relocation.
'If the chalet just sits there, that doesn't violate the act,' said George Nickas, Wilderness Watch's executive director. 'But what runs against the law is taking action to rebuild it or make it permanent on the landscape.'
The group won a lawsuit against the park in 2005 when the park rebuilt two collapsed shelters. It has a suit pending over Olympic's plan to rehabilitate or reconstruct five aging structures, including the 77-year-old cabin known as the Canyon Creek Shelter. Farlee's group, Friends of Olympic National Park, and the National Trust for Historic Preservation joined the suit on the park's behalf last month and plan to appeal if Wilderness Watch is successful.
Farlee doesn't see the chalet has a blemish on an otherwise pristine landscape. In his mind, it's an important reminder of why the land is protected.
'It brought people up here to see the waterfalls, the glaciers, the high mountain lakes and the elk herds,' he said. 'They realized this area really ought to be preserved.'