That's what I thought as I emerged from a lush pine forest into a clearing and was surrounded by two-thousand-foot-high mountains, each a mere two miles (3 km) from where I stood.
We left the trailhead at 7:45 a.m. on a five-mile trek to a place called Sky Pond. Frankly, I didn't know what the trail was going to be like -- I only looked at my topographical map really closely the moment we arrived at the trail. Five miles of uphill climbing, I discerned, though not too steep; trail was rated "moderate"; and the elevation gain of 1,660 feet over 5 miles was not bad at all. The only things about this hike that made it a trifle daunting was 1) the altitude, with the trail starting at 9,240 feet (2,816 m) and 2) the distance; 10 miles out and back is looooong!
We headed out under a gray, cloudy sky with icy gusts of wind, the smell of wet pine, and intermittent spells of gentle rain.
The trail was indeed long, yet not too difficult. We climbed two miles through pine forest, with a narrow river twenty feet away, gushing with snowmelt from yonder peaks. We would cross wooden planks that carried us across lush, wet meadows, with foot-high grass reeds of a vibrant green, dotted with wildflowers, purple and yellow.
Forest gave way to tundra, where the mountainsides were covered with steep piles of boulders and moraine, evidence of age-old glaciers that sculpted these sheer faces but are now gone. Thousand-foot high walls surrounded us as we passed alpine lakes so tranquil, all of them appearing so unexpectedly on the trail.
At last we were above treeline, totally exposed to the elements. Good, because were nearing our destination; bad, because if a storm rolled in, we would be fair game for lightning. "This is the danger zone," said Billy, though we both knew what it meant. "If it gets dark, we start heading down."
We approached a waterfall called Timberline Falls, which was about 30 feet high, with clear mountain water cascading quite decisively down its path of rock. I looked at my topo map and learned that we would have to climb these falls to get to Sky Pond. Uh-huh. Well, half a dozen people were doing it right in front of us, and it didn't seem too difficult. I scramble up, one step and handhold at a time, plunging my fingers into the icy water for purchase on stone.
Five minutes and a bruised knee later, I made it up and continued my trek. By this time, I had been hiking up for more than four miles, and for four straight hours. My breathing was alright though more labored than normal, but my legs were just dead-tired. I rounded a corner of boulders and was greeted by the sight of the Lake of Glass, huge, tranquil, and (like all lakes on this trail) suddenly right there, just twenty feet away. Its translucent gray surface reflected the somber clouds above, and the wind rippled along its face. Fellow-hikers stopped here, some to have a snack, others to fish.
But not me. Our destination was another fifteen minutes away. My legs were complaining angrily.
At last we arrived at Sky Pond, a haven at the bottom of a basin guarded by 2,000-foot (600 m) jagged towers of rock and ice. Glaciers hung along the mountainsides like flowing ice at a standstill. It was windy, and the sky still gray. We hadn't seen the sun yet, and wouldn't for the rest of this hike. I took photos and we sat down for a snack of beef jerky and trail mix, and before you could say "get back down the falls before a thunderstorm rolls in," we started our five-mile journey back to the trailhead.
It seemed a lot longer than five miles. Worse, my knees started to feel the brunt of hiking downhill. The last half-mile was the longest half-mile I've ever hiked. We were back at the car 7 hours and 15 minutes after we left that morning. We were both so exhausted.
On the way home, I hinted that maybe we could do a shorter hike tomorrow to recover. Billy said, apologetically, "Uhm... there are no short hikes here. Sorry!" Although I suppose one could just pick a trail, start walking, and turn back anytime, it's just not the same as getting to that valley, that ridge, that summit where you want to be. That little space of dirt your heart was set on inhabiting even before your boot first hit the trail. Turning around is almost like giving up. But what can one do when one's knees are shot?
Today's hike was classic, (long,) taxing, (long,) and offered unbelievable, magnificent views of the Rockies' peaks, lakes and glaciers (and yes, it was long). Five miles into the wilderness, everything just seems so... wild.
As for tomorrow, let's see what the future holds, as we embark on another ten-mile journey in and out of the backcountry. Will my knees hold up to the beating? Not just tomorrow, but for the next three days?
Let's take it one day at a time.
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