A bittersweet Geezer Adventure as Thor and I return to a favorite hike, reveling in the mountain beauty even as we must acknowledge our physical limitations.
When Thor and I met in our fifties, our first “date” was a hike on Ptarmigan Ridge in the Mt. Baker Wilderness of our Pacific Northwest Cascade Mountains. Until recently, we have been hiking and snowshoeing those mountains regularly. Staying active and healthy all my life (as did Thor), I figured I’d be hiking until at least 90, like my dad who was hunting and fishing until 90. But “life happens,” and both Thor and I have been hit with unexpected health challenges in our early “golden years” of retirement. Working at rehab, we winced away from glimpses of the nearby mountains, but last week it was finally time to “carpe diem” and head toward Mt. Baker for what used to be a fairly easy hike up the track to Twin Lakes.
So we donned our knapsacks with lunch, and set off with Reo dog up the rutted road. We didn’t make it far before I realized I just wasn’t getting enough air into my lungs. I’d thought I was doing better with my conditioning after a couple surgeries and chemo/radiation for recurrent never-smoker lung cancer, but nature has a way of reminding one of reality. Thor, after multiple back surgeries, was realizing that the nerve damage in his leg, requiring use of an assistive brace, was making it all just too much work. So we decided that we would drive up the track and at least hike a bit up at the lakes.
The poorly-maintained road (no funds — sound familiar?) is an adventure in itself, with huge ruts and very steep dropoffs. This photo doesn’t quite capture it, but for anyone who does make the drive, it’s considered a triumph if you don’t scrape the bottom of your vehicle. And don’t think about running into a car coming the opposite direction, and deciding who has to back up to find room to pass.
We made it without bottoming out! Once we accepted the change of plans, it was lovely just to be up at the snowmelt lakes at the edge of the wilderness, breathing that fresh mountain air.
The lakes are surrounded by peaks, including the rugged Canadian mountains just across the border.
Even in August, at this elevation the snows are recently melted, and the wildflowers are still fresh.
We carried our picnic — and the cushions Thor had carried, my crazy hero, to make me comfortable! — around to the end of the second lake. Reo went wild swimming and retrieving sticks. This was our first time taking our new pup to the mountains, and he decided that, yes, he was a mountain dog.
After lunch, we left our knapsacks and decided to poke around above the lakes. We found this very steep goat track leading up to a flowering meadow. (We started at the road you can glimpse below.)
After we almost had to crawl up the trail (it was that steep), we came out onto this plateau, where Thor burst out in song: “The hills are alive with the sound of music.” He told me to remember to mention here his beautiful, deep singing voice….
The ring of mountain peaks seemed almost close enough to touch, and we sat for some time just soaking in the grandeur.
Even Reo seem awed by the spectacle.
More lovely wildflowers:
These are monkeyflowers:
Not sure what these are:
Back down at the lakes, we ran into this fellow heading into the wilderness with his pack goats.
We weren’t quite ready to leave, so decided to take one more short hike up the trail into the wilderness above the lakes.
Finally, tired and happy/sad, we headed back, catching a last glimpse of snowclad Mt. Shuksan.
Snowmelt creeks headed downhill with us. Like nature, ever-renewing, we haven’t given up on the mountains, just adjusted our perspective. We’ll keep working out, and maybe we’ll hit those trails again.
*****
You will find The Rambling Writer’s blog posts here every Saturday. Sara’s latest novel from Book View Café is Pause, a First Place winner of the Chanticleer Somerset Award and an International Pulpwood Queens Book Club selection. “A must-read novel about friendship, love, and killer hot flashes.” (Mindy Klasky). It’s also a love letter to the breathtaking wilderness of Sara’s native Pacific Northwest. Sign up for her quarterly email newsletter at www.sarastamey.com
