This morning I dropped Cara off at the airport for her trip to the East Coast.
I pointed the car toward Rattlesnake Ledge—not a tough hike, but one I know very well from dozens of hikes with Cara and others. This time though, I went up on my own. While time is never my goal, I am aware of it, and this was my personal fastest at 38 minutes bottom to top. There was a time when I struggled and weezed up. I’ve gained some strength since then.
Rain, sun, or fog, the view at the top never fails to stir the part of me which needs stirring. Once upon a time I may have called that my spirit; now, it’s just me.
Culinary tip: Want to make mandarine oranges taste their peak best? Eat them on top of a mountain.
On the way down, the animal I am felt the call to jog down. It was a first for me, and the path is forgiving, and the footing is solid, so the joy of gravity and movement were mine.
In the way of my mother—the very literal one, rather than the Earth—I called out “good morning” to each climber on the assent and “thank you” as they stepped toward the side to let me pass with my flow unimpeeded. Starting a day with “good morning” and “thank you” as a constant chorus is a prime way to start a week.
On the cool down, I walked through Rattlesnake lake. There are few things that can strike both my sense of beauty and sadness in quite the way as a lakebed all but dry. In the parking lot as I replaced my damp clothes with the fresh, I talked to a man lacing up his boots and a knee brace. He asked if I’d gone to the third peak. I’d gotten so acustom to the one path, that I forgot that there’s a turn off where one can go higher! “10 minutes to the second one” he said, “and then another 10 minutes to from there to the third.” Next time. When I mentioned how dry the lake is, he said “I used to swim that lake end to end.”
There’s not much swimming to do now.
