Here’s some fighting words: We need to give the Enchantments a break. I don't think you should head to Colchuck Lake and the Enchantments—a section of Washington’s Alpine Lakes Wilderness beloved to hikers, backpackers, and rock climbers—this year or next. And not just for the reasons you'd think.

To back up a bit: The area near Leavenworth got its enchanting name from the United States Geological Survey worker who mapped them in the early twentieth century. The name fit; there’s something otherworldly about the series of alpine lakes ringed with dramatic rocks and only a few trees. Plus, those larch trees turn an electric yellow every fall.

So it’s no wonder that visitors flock to the area, even though the lakes are only reached through a lengthy hike; to see the core of the Enchantments, most people undergo an 18-mile trek with more than 4,000 feet of gain. Some counts put the annual visitation numbers over 100,000. The two trailheads used by the overwhelming majority of hikers are plagued by overcrowding, and the impossible lottery to get backpacking permits has odds about as tough as Powerball.

I'm part of the deluge; I've recreated in the area many times, and a few years ago I called it "Washington's Most Spectacular Hike." But when The Seattle Times reported on the overcrowding crisis last month, noting that understaffing has led to trash and biological waste buildup, I found myself thinking something surprising: We need to take a serious break.

There's an easy argument that we need to stay away for the sake of the wilderness itself. When too many people flock to one area, the sensitive ecosystem suffers. Wildlife, like the area's signature mountain goats, get too familiar with camper food and human interactions, and water gets tainted with human traces. Fewer people hiking through would help these particular acres recover, especially with too few rangers to uphold the limits and rules.

And the huge popularity of this one area means search and rescue operations, including tragic ones, have become frequent. For being so popular, the region is fairly remote and rugged. The tidal wave of visitors isn't always prepared for the many hazards, from steep cliffs to too-cold lakes and snow-covered waterfalls. Just this week, the body of a New York man was found at the base of Dragontail Peak after a fatal fall.

But there are even more reasons at hand; it's not just the Enchantments, it's us. We need to break up for our own sake, because we've all become a little too obsessed. Take Colchuck Lake, which sits below Aasgard Pass and has become the subject of endless "must visit!" online videos. As lakes go, it's pretty good; its glacier-fed waters are a bright blue, caused by the tiny particles suspended in it. It photographs well, and it's surrounded by some solid lunch-break rocks.

But we've put too much importance on one thing, one view, one experience. I see Colchuck Lake on social media almost daily, the same photos from the same vantage point: the water, the rocks, triangular Dragontail Peak in the background. It's akin to how everyone snaps the exact same picture at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or the Mona Lisa. Harmless it itself, but limiting when they reach critical mass. 

When we take the same photo over and over again at Colchuck Lake, the entirety of the Cascade range shrinks in our collective brain into a single vista.  I worry about all the other images we don't see.

There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of Washington lakes just as striking, most of which don't require hiking in a conga line to access. Some are fairly popular, like Lake Serene, Blanca Lake, and Goat Lake (any of the many by that name). Others you can have all to yourself; last year I discovered Grace Lake in the Chiwaukum Range and Silver Lake in the Pasayten region, both stunning.

And the core Enchantments, with its series of rocky tarns, is similar to so many other Washington spots, too. There's Tuck and Robin Lakes, the upper Necklace Valley, the lakes around Mount Daniel. Parts of the Teanaway, and even lesser traveled trails of Mount Rainier National Park can evoke the same vibes of rocky wonderland. For finding new destinations, few states have a resource as stellar as Washington Trails Association—a massive, free, and accurate repository of trip ideas.

Why deny ourselves this buffet? When hikers start to consider the Enchantments the quintessential hike in Washington, there's so much they miss—the deep forests, the dry coulees, the wild beaches. The Northwest is threaded with thousands of miles of hikeable trails, poking into valleys and tracing the tops of ridges, with a million different views. They don't all have melodious names like the Enchantments or Dragontail Peak or Leprechaun Lake—but if they did, they might seem imbued with magic, too.

A hike through the Enchantments is a day not spent down a quiet forest road elsewhere in Washington. It's a day without seeing a new kind of tree or hearing a new kind of bird. We need to give this place a break for its own sake, clearly—the delicate landscape is being battered by the crowds—but also for our own.

When I say you should back away from your Enchantments thru-hiking plan this year, I know it's not easy. I kinda want to see it light up with yellow larches, too. But I don't mean it's because we don't deserve the Enchantments' beauty. It's because we all deserve a lot more.