Before hiking, I had an open-air breakfast of bacon and eggs. (I can now set up a
space, cook myself breakfast, and put things away in less time than it takes to
eat in a restaurant. And I have solitude and nature for companions instead of
waitresses and cooks. During the retreats when I was young, we often had silent
meals.
Two miles into and up the canyon -- some flat land at the bottom and then the climb.
There is another trail for horseback riding.
Across the creek and up.
Hey, that's wild parsley.
At times the entire forest floor was covered with wild parsley.
At first I saw only the trail and the landscape, and not those wildflowers along the
path.
Once I noticed the flowers, they added a lot to the climb.
See the parsley to the right. It's fun to see parsley in its natural state.
I ditched the sandals and wore better shoes.
I've reached a higher plain (in more ways than one). Crossing the logs was
harder than it looks because I was a little rubber-legged from the two-mile,
uphill hike and because the logs were not secure.
See the frog?
Lake Lamoille
If I were staying overnight, this would be my campsite. I didn't see anyone during
the entire walk up or during the hour I spent at the lake.
On occasion, I would hear a rushing noise, kind of like highway traffic in the
distance. Then I realized it was the sound of the wind -- you could hear the wind
coming. I sat and let the wind talk to me.
My shirt -- a bit of philosophy that I picked up in Moab.
This one's for Gail -- she'd want to go in. But the bottom is way too muddy for me.
On my way down, I see the road where my van is parked.
The shirt (from Moab) that I am wearing as I post these pictures.
Posted with special greetings to Cole.
Renewed.
Lamoille Canyon
From 1963-69 I lived the lifestyle of a monk, deciding if I wanted to make a lifelong commitment. It was a good experience for a variety of reasons (not the least of which was that I grew through adolescence away from parents).
During much of that time we had a weekend retreat every month, and a week-long retreat each year. "Retreat" is just what it sounds like, a chance to pull back, to escape from the routine, to talk less, and gain a bigger perspective. When I decided not to be a monk, one of the things I missed was regular retreats. Once a year I would get in my car and drive around the country, sleeping in the back seat, and talking to nobody. It served the purpose.
For the past three years, my drive across country has served as a wonderful retreat. During the trip this year, I hiked two miles up into Lamoille Canyon.