Autumn holiday.
For our annual autumn holiday, Cosmo came out again this way. He probably needed an excuse to drive his new Tesla. With a trip for us in mind I was happy to oblige. We'd hike up to a little spot not too far from home, where we'd hopefully catch the weather before it turned and winter begins to settle in the mountains.
We headed out Wednesday morning. At the trailhead, fittingly we parked behind a truck with Montana plates. Cosmo pointed out it was from the least populated county. Apparently, Montana license plates are coded with the county numerically by population. After a quick clothing change and gear check, we were off into the wilderness. Literally.
After a few hours of climbing and passing a cool waterfall, the view finally opened up from where we had come to where we were headed.
We were aiming for the notch just right of center in the photo above. It looked closer than it was. The trudge was on.
Though the larches had only just begun to turn yellow, the fields of heather (err, Hadley) had already exploded in red and orange.
Having basked in the perfect morning back at home, K and I sipping coffee in ceramic mugs while Cosmo played with S, we didn't start hiking until just after one o'clock. No bother. I love hiking in the late afternoon. The light is always better.
This was from the saddle we had looked up to in that fourth photo. Cosmo arrived in short order and we took a bit of a break, chatting about business and mountains.
Ahead of us was another thousand-foot climb. The wind was picking up and the air was cold. Not chilly. Cold. I whipped out my rain shell, hat, and gloves for the climb to the top. As with all hikes, one foot in front of the other brought us to the final pass and we could see our destination. The light indeed was spectacular.
(Without a trail, Cosmo picks his way down from the pass… )
We didn't dawdle setting up the tent. It would shelter us from the wind, after all. As we cooked dinner, the moon hung between the mountains to the south.
Periods of fitful wind would spring up all night, followed by utter stillness. Calm, surreal.
The next day, we explored the basin. Almost three thousand feet higher than where we first got a view of our climb, the larch around the lake were a little further along.
Lying in the tent, it was again completely still. Absolutely and utterly quiet. So much so that I told Cosmo my ears would ring. I love that, and already miss it typing this in a different kind of quiet at home after our kids have gone to sleep.
Wanting to skirt the oncoming weather, around three o’clock we packed up camp and headed for lower ground. Again, we'd hike through the mountains in the late afternoon. Again, the light would be beautiful.
As we descended, the larch trees got bigger. I came across an aged old one with which I instantly fell in love. I decided as I tried to take some photos I'd be back to check up on it from time to time. I’ll bring K.
We spied smoke to the south. It would first cast a hazy orange glow over the heather and the mountains before shrouding everything in a dim grey. I enjoyed the light while it lasted.
Lying awake that night in the tent, I heard the pitter patter of rain. It escalated to an almost relaxing steadiness. The clouds enveloped everything above us. Had we still been at the lake, we'd be smothered in them. Up there, maybe it was snowing. Likely. The first snow in the mountains. A little sad to have missed it, a little thankful our hike out the next morning in a cold Cascades downpour wasn't any longer.
We bid farewell to the mountains for now.
Crazy to think they're still there. That they're always there. Maybe now under snow, the dashing reds and oranges peeking out in places. The larch, shivering, turning a brilliant yellow before dropping their needles. The water blue. The rock, endless.
