In each of you there is a call, a will, an impulse of nature, an impulse toward the future,
the new, the higher. Let it mature, let it resound, nurture it! Your future is not this or that;
it is not money or power, it is not wisdom or success at your trade – your future,
— Hermann Hesse
I slept in the next morning, to rehabilitate my abused body after its recent ordeal. In that half-awake state where dreams and reality intermingled, I wondered: did I really experience such a magical moon dance the night before? Or was that also a dream? It really didn’t matter – the effect on my soul was the same. I woke up feeling well rested for the first time on this trip. I had literally risked my life just getting up here, and I intended to make the most of it.
As I went through my morning routine, I could see that the snow banks had receded from the near shore line since my arrival, while the far side retained its thick, glacial frosting. The lake surface itself was still 90 percent covered in ice, as if it had made a slight comeback last night… with the help of the ice queen, Luna. The spots that used to be clear were now covered in delicate patterns of ice crystals; submerged just under the surface. Those would be gone in an hour or so, but it was interesting to imagine how they had formed during the night. I measured the lake’s temperature, and it was 34 degrees! I did some camp chores and ate before any other campers were stirring. The sun was already hot, so I sat in a cool spot near the shore to read my book. Diane Ackerman is a terrific writer, and dishes about how we humans are shaping the world in dire ways. She also intersperses many positive suggestions for what we can do to mitigate the damage we are causing, which is a refreshing viewpoint; in contrast to the alarmist rhetoric and fearmongering that passes for news these days.
When my neighbors got active, and began spreading out for their lakeside explorations, I headed for the woods and high places. This time, I circled around the back of Lothlorien, gaining altitude wherever it was pleasant to do so, and gradually ascending laterally, up the side of Dat Butte. I wound up on a large, flat spot a couple hundred feet above the lake. Twenty people could easily bivouac in the space provided, furnished as it was with boulders of all shapes and sizes. One as big as a freezer was balancing on its tip. Wind and snow had collected billions of rock particles in this shallow basin, and ground them into a thick carpet of sand. Shy, retiring wildflowers hid in the shady cracks and crevices. Best of all, this platform offered sweeping views of the entire area: from Sawtooth, rising center stage as a modern cathedral, to frosted Little Bear Lake on my left. Wee Bear nestled below, sleeping at my feet with the loyalty of a favorite dog. To my right rose the sharp corner of Cheops, angling up to where the Pharaohs gazed in wonder at the same scene I was enjoying rapturously. The name immediately came to me: this safe, sandy spot with a full field of vision must be the tower of Ostirith. It had the same visionary purpose as the one in Middle Earth. The wind was picking up as I tried to shoot a video panorama, propped up against a boulder to avoid toppling. The resulting images jiggled a little, but clearly demonstrated the majesty of the landscape. That really has to be done from a tripod!
I ate my humble lunch of gorp and jerky, washed down with pure alpine water filtered from melting snow. I looked up longingly at Cheops, wishing I could fly up there to explore the forested mountain of the Pharaohs. Alas, my still-healing legs didn’t have the fortitude for such a climb, so I picked my way down the natural staircases that led to Wee Bear. I could see waterfalls below the Beater Cedar, but resisted visiting them, also. Coming back up would be brutal! I had achieved my goal for the day, to get above the lake and take it all in. I didn’t want to push my luck. Instead, I sat on the Stone Throne at the base of that singular, noble tree, and gazed over the entire sweeping expanse, with the satisfaction of one who admires the aged face of a lifelong lover.
While the clouds proscribed a slow-motion ballet on the sky, I used my binoculars to locate features I knew. I could see 1,000 feet down to where I camped the first night, next to the Twin Towers. To the east, Queen Shasta was mostly obscured by clouds that soared over 30,000 feet high. Closer at hand, the huge black ants of this area were exploring my legs, to see if they were edible. They’re so big that enough of them could probably carry me off to their nest! There must be over 20 species of ants up here, and they are always active… which is why I get the creeps sleeping in the open, where they can crawl all over my head. But I still haven’t seen any mosquitoes, which makes it tempting to drag my sleeping bag out under the stars. The young campers next to me were all doing it, but I hesitated. Ever since that nebulous incident up here the night my father died, when I dreamt of being abducted by aliens, I had an aversion to being too exposed. If there’s anything I have learned in my sorry life, it’s that there barely exists any barrier between dreams and reality… and it’s permeable.
I was getting hungry, and low on water, so it was time to head back to camp. I stopped by the Altar to pay my respects, and frame a few more pictures. From Wee Bear, I was still able to walk all the way to Little Bear on top of the well-packed drifts of snow. When I arrived, the summer campers were engaged in a full-blown snowball fight. “Hold your fire! Don is coming through!” one boy yelled from his rampart on top of a boulder. It was an uneasy feeling, walking the gauntlet between the opposing teams of boys vs. girls, when they all had ammunition at the ready. The girls seemed to have the upper hand, as they were cranking out a large pile of perfect snowballs, using a bowl and a ladle. “Hey, no fair making those during a cease-fire!” The tension in the air was palpable. As soon as I passed, some boys slid down the steep drifts on their feet, tossing their soft missiles ineffectively, and getting pelted mercilessly on the way. I wished my grandkids were here for this – they would have a blast!
Then things got serious.
A tired truce was called, new mixed teams were chosen, and rules were agreed upon for a lakeside variation of Capture the Flag. I could hear the shouting and commotion resume as I prepared my afternoon coffee. The contest lasted a long time, as anyone who got hit by a snowball had to return to their own side. There was a lot of territory, an ample supply of snowballs, and many possible hiding places for the flags. Energetic platoons of campers planned one raid after another, and basically wore themselves out. A cheerful draw was declared, and the ladle, bowls, soup pot, and other implements of battle were returned to camp to resume their intended uses. They’re good kids, I observed as they all came back into view, chattering excitedly about the highlights of their games. That Unalayee camp seems to know what it’s doing, giving these city kids a chance to play outdoors (with no phones, video games, or computers for distraction). Tomorrow they will pack up and return by way of the same ridges they crossed to get here… with no trails. The sheer amount of terrain they were covering was daunting, and meant for young legs only! I wished that my parents had sent me to that summer camp, instead of the fake cowboys-and-horses place I went to called Cloverleaf Ranch, in the Bay Area.
The more I thought about it, the more I wished that type of wilderness summer camp could be a mandatory part of all young people’s education. They were experiencing more useful life skills in two weeks, than they probably learned in the entire school year! This new generation, and those that follow, will be faced with multiple, enormous challenges in a rapidly changing world, and the artificial skills of technology are no substitute for hands-on experience with one’s real place in actual nature. Not watching a documentary about it, sharing interesting links, or streaming YouTube videos. It’s important for a young human’s development to sleep out under the stars, cook on an open fire, and occasionally have snowball fights!
By late afternoon, the clouds that had been gathering all day were pressing ominously down on the lake basin. Distant rumbles of thunder had gotten closer, with a few sharp claps that quickened the pulse. There’s nothing like a mountain thunderstorm to remind one of one’s place in the natural world! We are all part of the authentic environment, no matter how much we try to isolate ourselves with our toys and conveniences. I’m prepared for rain, but the summer campers have no tents, and only a tarp to shelter eight people in a downpour. They had discovered the cave during their games, and I could hear some of them speculating about moving inside for the night. I installed my tent fly, and strung it up so my backpack would fit underneath it, if necessary. Other things wouldn’t matter if they get a little wet, and the hot sun would dry everything out quickly the next day, anyway. The counselors called in on their radio to get a more detailed forecast, so they should be okay.
It began to get darker, and I decided to retire to my tent to do a little more reading, and see what happened. Each day, those clouds had merely been an afternoon nuisance – by morning they’d be gone, and the sky would be clear. I reasoned that they formed over the mountains due to all the water vapor from snow melting during the hot days, and dissipated when the colder night air pulled them apart. Anyway, there was no thermostat or iPhone app to make them go away, so the best bet was shelter. The birds knew this, but didn’t seem too concerned about it, as I could still hear them singing defiantly in the distance. Later, while snug inside my tent with the backpack stowed under the fly, it spattered half-heartedly for maybe 10 minutes, while the clouds grumbled about their lack of fulfillment, and moved on to other realms. It was kind of a disappointment, after all my excellent preparation. I fell asleep thinking of a Jimmy Buffett tune written by Jerry Jeff Walker, called Biloxi, and I adapted the lyrics for the magnificent day.
Way up in the Trinities
Pretty birds are singing in the trees
They all look like sisters in the mountains
The boy will drink his fill from crystal water
And the sky so blue, it sweetens all his dreams.
Evening in the Trinities
Stars will show their faces above the trees
They all dance and swirl above the mountains
Their soft light shines like diamonds on the water
And the sky so wild, it shines in all your dreams.
Sunrise in the Trinities
The air is filled with vapor from the trees
They all climb the hillsides of the mountains
The boy will dig a pool beside the water
And the sky so red, it colors all his dreams.
Way up in the Trinities
Life can find its purpose in the trees
They are happy growing in the mountains
Their love will fill your soul with joy like water
And their branches hold the memories of your dreams.