When the South Crestone Lake hike washed out on Monday -- and after I talked to you about it here -- I reset my sights on Friday. Cindy & I wanted to go back into Alamosa for lunch on Tuesday and then visit Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, just down the road, on the way back to Nada. That would give me Wednesday and Thursday to get my head together, read and write a little more, and re-gather my gear to head up the trail. Then on Wednesday afternoon, both of us concluded that Thursday would be the day. “Just do it,” Cindy said. I agreed.
When I woke up at 5:30 this morning with light on the sage and grasses outside our hermitage just starting to brighten, I got up, stuck my head out the door to check the temperature, and saw it would be a clear morning. I made my peanut butter sandwich quietly, but Cindy was awake anyway. I gathered some trail mix, an apple, a couple bottles of water, and the water filter. Along with the binocs, Sibley’s western bird book, my camera, bug juice, and the only neoprene knee sleeve I had, I was out the door by 6:15.
My goal today was, of course, to reach an alpine lake. South Crestone was it. By the time I got on the trail, dawn was brightening, but I was at least 30 minutes away from the sun making it over the mountains. The air was cool and the mosquitoes seemed pretty light. I set out.
The trail turned from sandy to rocky by the time I passed the Sangre de Cristo Wilderness sign. I was not aware that I was heading into official wilderness. I was pleased. The trail kept rising, and soon I found myself in an stand of aspen with the sun just peaking over the range.
The trail kept rising as I encountered a few stream crossings and lots of rocks on the trail. I stopped now and then for a handful of trail mix and a sip of water. It was good to be on the mountain on my very first solo hike into wilderness. I felt good.
The trail notes I read said to give myself three hours to reach the lake. At two and one half hours, I thought I should be getting close. I had kept up a good pace, though slow. My breathing felt good and my body was behaving nicely.
That’s when I began to feel the tightness in my right ‘bicycle muscle,’ as I call it. It had been working hard in tandem lifting my body and pack up the trail. Now it was starting to tell me it had limitations. I massaged it some, but was concerned that it would cramp up even more.
As I climbed the steep trail still more, I recognized an opening coming up ahead. I hoped it was the lake. Alas, it was a lovely wet meadow. But no lake. Again, I was concerned. I was feeling tightness start in my left thigh muscle, too.
Looking ahead and up, I concluded that South Crestone Lake had to be, at least, one more long, hard pitch up the trail. I looked at the steepness of the trail, feeling tightness in both thighs -- and knew I had been beaten. It wasn’t going to happen. South Crestone Lake would not be known today. My legs could not get me there.
After uttering a few expletives, I settled down on a sunlit rock and assessed where I was. I had a great morning on the mountain below Challenger Peak. I had lots of pictures on my camera. Other than my legs, I felt good. And I was sitting on the mountain. I had done what I could do. I ate my lunch.
The trail back saw the pain shift from my thighs to my knees. The neoprene sleeve helped the one, but the other now was barking pretty loudly. I kept up a steady, slow pace -- not able to stop for long because of the clouds of mosquitoes now active -- and three hours later was glad to see the car at the trailhead.
The mountain beat me, like I had feared. Still, I had many mindful moments this morning, watching the sun rise through aspens and hearing the laughter of mountain streams. All in all, I had gotten what I had come for.
I refer to Mr. Denver for today’s elder idea.
Today’s elder idea: Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and streams seeking grace in every step he takes.
John Denver
‘Rocky Mountain High’
PS: Cindy wanted you to know that she is glad I’m home. Safe.
syzygy II
ReplyDeleteYour words started harmonic vibrations that led me to a line I've long known from Emily Dickinson's letters:
"Not what the stars have done, but what they are to do, is what detains the sky."
The sympathy with your words is the thought that accomplishments mean less than goals, or as Emily would also have it:
"Life is so strong a vision, not one of it shall fail."
Both quotes are from the same letter, written in Summer 1883 to Maria Whitney. I had not known the rest of this letter before today. I was prompted to find it so as to give the best reference I could for that first quote. Reading it whole, I am startled by the syzygy of her thoughts (oblique as they are) with yours -- both in this post and in the ones that precede.
I will risk overstaying the invitation to comment by posting the entire letter:
Dear Friend,
Your sweet self-reprehension makes us look within, which is so wild a place we are soon dismayed, but the seed sown in the lake bears the liquid flower, and so of all your words.
I am glad you accept rest.
Too many disdain it. I am glad you go to the Adirondacks.
To me the name is homelike, for one of my lost went every year with an Indian guide, before the woods were broken. Had you been here it would be sweet, but that, like the peach, is later. With a tomorrow in its cupboard, who would be "an hungered"?
Thank you for thinking of Dick. He is now the horse of association.
Men are picking the grass from father's meadow to lay it away for winter, and it takes them a long time. They bring three horses of their own, but Dick, ever gallant, offers to help, and bears a little machine like a top, which spins the grass away.
It seems very much like a gentleman getting his own supper - for what is his supper winter nights but tumblers of clover?
You speak of "disillusion." That is one of the few subjects on which I am an infidel. Life is so strong a vision, not one of it shall fail.
Not what the stars have done, but what they are to do, is what detains the sky.
We shall watch for the promised words from the Adirondacks, and hope the recess will be all joy. To have been made alive is so chief a thing, all else inevitably adds. Were it not riddled by partings, it were too divine.
I was never certain that Mother had died except while the students were singing. The Voices came from another life -
Adversity if it shall be
Or Wild Prosperity,
The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight
Before my Mind was born -
Not even a Prognostic's push
Could make a Dent thereon -
Good-night, dear. Excuse me for staying so long. I love to come to you. To one who creates, or consoles, thought, what an obligation!
Emily.
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The connections are so numerous, my spine tingles every time I read it.
Syzygy, indeed.
Thanks, David. As always, a thoughtful response.
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