Last day at Lake Clark, first solo hike. Better late than never. Finally I have a chance to see things up close, on my own.
Clean new birch bark revealing itself.
Emerging from the trees and getting the first peek at Holy Mountain.
Lower Tanalian Falls. The sound of the falls, while not quiet, is comforting somehow, like a mother’s shush.
Upper Tanalian Falls. Sometimes one begs to be distracted. I am now at the top of the falls. Moments like these, I wonder if there is any color more beautiful than that made by waterfall foam rushing downward.
Patience and fortune. The sun has broken into the sky, now highlighting the mist flying off the falls which rises from the water like breath on a cold day. Is it my imagination or have the falls begun to roar with greater force? Perhaps they are clamoring noisily for the sun. A nice way to end my last day here in the Park.
Distance is so much greater without the Historian’s pace. Dinner seems very very far away, but the lake did not disappoint. It does not have the black and white mystique of the other day but instead has dressed in summer colors – warm greens, blues, and tans. If I sit here and listen carefully, I hear only the falls breathing nearby and the distorted buzz of insects nose-diving for a bite – and the sound of tiny leaves falling from above. Something stirs in the lake! Against the silence, it sounds like a thrashing but disappears as quickly as it came. I must watch more carefully.
9:00pm. The thought of dinner has been a homing beacon. Dinner will be Lake Clark style – what did I pick today and what do I have leftover? The highlights: bolete mushrooms picked during my hike, radishes from my garden, udon noodles from Anchorage, half an onion and a tomato leftover from J. In half an hour, I am eating Lake Clark Minestrone straight out of the pot. I deem it a delicious meal but after the hike, probably would have eaten my own hand.
11:20pm. Accidentally hiked around six miles today. How does such an accident happen? Poor sense of direction and bad math. I had miscalculated the hike to the Lake that I took with the Historian, and on the way back, must have missed the trail that leads directly back to the house. The hike seemed twice as long without the Historian’s pace and conversation. I did stop frequently to inspect mushrooms and take the photos I missed this weekend, such as shots of lone fireweed – fireweed where no other fireweed companion stands. It all reminds me that summer is ending, as usual, a bit too soon.
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