Hiking trip reminds us wilderness is a necessity

On a cold, early-July morning at a high-mountain lake sheltered beneath a towering summit, Westslope cutthroat start rising, breaking the crystal clear glass surface. Well over half the lake is bordered by a basin walled with cliffs and crags rising to the peak that I have gazed longingly at for years. The other portion of the lake is lined with twisted, ancient old growth forest. This is where I choose to be.

Recently, I woke up with a smile, got myself — and my pack — ready in record time, and set out for the hour-long drive to the trailhead that would lead me to the scenic beauty of the Cabinet Mountain Wilderness. There is something about the first few steps on the trail; they are full of anticipation, stiff muscles, joints not quite getting into the rhythm they will be going through for hours, and happiness — always happiness.

Four and a half hours later, I arrived at my destination, a high- mountain basin where snow-fed waters created a liquid jewel. I quickly set up camp, trying to beat the darkness and boil some water to bring my dehydrated Katmandu Curry and Rice to life. I effortlessly fall asleep.

In the morning, I reluctantly crawl out of my sleeping bag and throw on as many layers as possible. It may be summer to everyone else, but it sure doesn’t feel like it here. There is a glittery blanket of frost over everything. It reminded me of a phrase from a short story I read once that summarized alpine climbing and mountaineering. “If you are not hungry, you are carrying too much food; if you are warm, you have too many clothes … ” In some strange way, this made me feel better because I apparently didn’t bring too many clothes or too much food. I was still cold and my infant size bowl of oatmeal left me wanting.

Today’s the day, the day that I will make it to the top of that elevated pyramidal spire, that peak that I have stared at so many times, wishing I could be there. There was always a reason why I couldn’t before, not enough time, something more “important” to do in the “real world,” or simple lack of motivation. But this time, I have all day to spend with this mountain.

No excuses.

I pack my gear and head off. My plan is to make my way around the lake to the base of the crag beneath the vertical cliff overhanging the lake. From there, it appears I can follow the talus rock through a chute that will, hopefully, lead me to the summit.

So far, so good. I’ve made great time with surprisingly little effort.

I am half way up the scree when I notice a yellow-bellied marmot standing in a grassy patch surrounded with Volkswagen-size slabs of rock. I dig the camera out of my pack and make my way toward the green island among the gray rock. I expect him to retreat as I approached, but he instead comes charging like an African Cape Buffalo. Fortunately, it was just a bluff. As I make my retreat, he sits perched high on a rock, watching, making sure I understand that he is the king of this mountain.

Back on track of my original goal, I carefully make my way up through the maze of boulders randomly scattered across the slope.

As I approach the summit, my mind races with a mix of emotions. I am expecting a magnificent view, and relieved the uphill is about to finally run out. I make a point to not look outside my immediate area because I dare not spoil the view from the top for which I have worked so hard.

When I get to the top and do look around, I am speechless. There is seemingly endless trees, peaks and beauty. At this moment, I have no expectations, worries, or really even thoughts. It is peace, peace in its purest form. Moments like these are so precious to me. Wilderness is a necessity.

(Anthony South lives in Troy. He grew up in Bellevue, Wash.  He enjoys hiking and camping. His commentary is part of the Friends of Scotchman Peaks 50 years of wilderness celebration.)