A loop from the cabin.
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J.D. and B.A. Yule.
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My brother is eleven and a half years older than I, lives in Los Angeles, is a Geology professor, is married to an art curator, and has a three year old son. I do not get to see much of him anymore because he lives so far away and has such a busy life.
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Growing up we hiked some. He led me on memorable trips into the Wind River and Snowy Ranges of Wyoming and the Gore Range and Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. When he was in graduate school I helped him with his project in the Kalmiopsis Wilderness of southwest Oregon. Many a mile we tromped on and off the trails taking measurements of the rock outcrops we passed. We were always collecting rocks, and sometimes packed out 30 pound samples for radiometric age dating.
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That was several years ago. This overnight venture was our first outing since.
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We left from our grandparents’ cabin at mid-day under a hot sun and building clouds in a humid atmosphere. Several miles up the trail we passed a few park rangers coming the other way as the clouds grew dark and began to rumble. They advised us to "be careful!"
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Soon we arrived at a lake. A tear came to my brother's eye as a memory of hiking here 30 years before came to him, when he was 11 and with Dad and now deceased Grandpa Bice.
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The lake had changed. A dam had been removed by the Park Service to restore the area to its natural state. The lake was much smaller now and surrounded by a beach of light salmon colored sand. As we ate lunch rain began to sprinkle down and thunder began to rumble more consistently.
From here there is no more trail. We bushwhacked over a rocky moraine to a creek and followed it upstream. It was raining heavily and we still had a few miles to go to make it to our chosen destination, a lake just below timberline. We slogged through stunted and mossy forests in cold rain, crisscrossing the creek and following bits and pieces of game trail that had been marked occasionally with cairns by over-exuberant outdoorsmen.
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Finally we arrived in the wide open head of the valley which contained our chosen lake. The lake was hidden behind a few hummocks of broken boulders surrounded by bunches of scrubby trees and patches of willows with icy raindrops clinging to their leaves. As we struggled through this maze lightning struck only a couple hundred yards away. Our hearts raced as we made agonizingly slow progress toward the cover of taller forest tucked below a steep slope on the far side of the lake.
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When we finally made it we clumsily set up my tarp with our numbed hands, changed out of our wet clothes, and crawled into our sleeping bags. I heated some water and we had tea and cookies. Warm in our bags and with a comfortable consciousness we settled into a nap as the rain pattered on the tarp, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled around the giant crystalline amphitheater.
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The clouds parted briefly as the day's light began to fade. We got up and scrambled around on the slabs of rock above camp to stretch our legs and to view sculpted and shattered granite peaks, weather tortured forests, turquoise lakes, and brewing moisture in the heavens. As the alpenglow faded we came back down to camp and made dinner. Another wave of violent weather rolled through after darkness fell.
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Morning came bright and cloudless but we knew it wouldn't last for long. After a quick breakfast we loaded up light day packs and headed for a knife-edged summit. Up and up we climbed to the base of a towering petrified fin flanking a precipitous peak. Then we scrambled down to and around a small desolate lake and up a sandy and grassy incline that quickly gave way to a steep sea of boulders. Up and up and up we pushed to the summit where, off the other side, it drops straight down 1,500 feet. On a large slab I laid on my belly and peered over the edge. I saw narrow green grassy ledges breaking up the vertical granite and the nasal squeals of pikas echoed up to my ears.
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Our perch is over 13,500 feet but many peaks around us reach higher. Strategically in the middle of them we commanded an uncommon view. My mind grew numb taking it all in. We snacked and took pictures and storm clouds began to gather.
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On down the knife edge we scrambled a ways, and then on down the boulder field to the sandy, grassy slopes. We followed a grassy shoulder above the high lake and on around to above the lake where we left camp. Down a steep, rocky slope and through some willows and we made it back to camp.
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A light rain started as we packed up. A shame to leave so soon, but my brother had other commitments to keep.
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On down we went through primeval forests in a light rain. A large Goss hawk circled and lighted on the green tuft atop a stunted spruce. It eyed us, then took wing and circled out of sight. On down and down we followed a cascading creek. Water pulsed over and around black mossy boulders. Occasionally cutthroat trout darted in shadowy pools.
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We reached the trail and made the many long steps down and around back to the cabin.
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Brewing heavens.
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Gazing into the turquoise depths.
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The petrified fin.
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The precipitous peak.
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1,500 feet streight down.
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A stone spaces summits.
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Coming down. The black/blue speck is my brother.
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A sleek marmot.
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Water pulses over a rounded rock in the creek.
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