Day 3: to Thousand Island lake, 5 ½ miles, 2500 elevation
change
Truly unbelievable site – granite slabs, trees for hanging
laundry, stream gurgling to sleep by, warm evening and morning, rugged skyline
of Banner, Ritte1000 r and glaciated Mt. Davis.
The morning quiet was broken with an awe struck girl
skipping across the granite declaring with all her being, “This is absolutely
the most amazing thing I have ever seen”.
She had discovered a whirlpool created by the flow of the river that
split flowing half the water below the rocks half over the top of the
rocks. A little hole between the rocks
created a strong down suction through that hole that no ant, pinecone, or twig
placed near it by curious kids could escape.
While we could have stayed at this idyllic spot for hours
more, after Cory doctored Bekah’s heels, we began our gentle morning hike of 3
½ miles with a ft elevation gain to Thousand Island pass. As we hiked and passed like minded sojourners
with jolly good morning and smiles, I thought to myself, “These people don’t
seem extreme to me!” sporting various sized packs, a variety of
Patagonia/Merrell/North Face hats, shorts, and polyprop shirts, everyone shared
one thing in common – we embrace simplicity and find solace in the quiet. My mind wandered back to work where a
co-worker, surrounded by the din of the city, remarked, after hearing of our
plans to hike the JMT, that, “Well, you are quite extreme though. What’s it like to interact with such extreme
people all summer?”
*****************
At lunch, I did a reading of my journal so far. We sat under Banner peak on a granite island
near a reflective lakelet as I read. Of
course, it’s fun to star in your own story so the family loved it. But Bekah’s eyes were wide as she asked, “
Could I write a story like that? How
can I write like that?” She immediately
pulled out her notebook, which at this point contained more, a bulleted list of
the day’s events versus a narrative story.
She went at it right there beginning at day one, writing a story of our
trip thus far, asking every minute or so, “Here’s what I wrote…Is that Ok to
write that?” For the rest of the day, whenever there was a down moment, out
came her journal.
******************
I blew it. As I walked down to Thousand Island Lake
from our more remote campsite on the Northern edge of the lake, I caught a
scene that caused me to pause. Side by
side they sat on the lakes edge, quietly talking. Her pink bonnet danced with the wind in perfect synchronization
with her daddy’s hat. I couldn’t hear
their voices but I teared up as I watched a daddy and his little girl catching
a priceless moment together. Oh how
easy it can be to get caught up with emails and to do lists and miss times to
just sit together, soaking tired feet, in the afternoon sun.
Why I was walking the path and only observing the bonding of
two souls and not sitting there with her was why I was silently berating
myself. A half hour earlier I had
volunteered to take our Boo down to the lake to soak her feet. So far, every other time she soaked, she
just enjoyed being lakeside, chatting with her visitors. So, I grabbed my mat and book and prepared
to enjoy some peace and quiet, until she started crying, loudly, because her
heels burned in the water. My reactions
were at first sympathetic but when she wouldn’t stop, my fears that our trip
was in danger (Shocking to realize that’s what I thought) and my frustrations
that I couldn’t just relax with her made me miss a chance to guide her through
this. At least I admit that I’m still
in process and have a lot to learn (and always will). Seeing her daddy patiently sitting with her on the lake’s edge
gave me the full contrast of a different outcome.
Amazingly, as I sat back at camp sadly reflecting on my
missed chance, Bekah came skipping up the hill proclaiming, “I’m getting so
much wisdom from that guy!” Further inquiries
revealed how her Dad taught her that her blisters will heal after explaining to
me that every time she dips her heels into the cold water, the cells will get
tighter to finally make the skin tougher and turn into superskin.
“What are you learning from me?”
“Oh, you’re teaching me how to be
a mama!”
Precious words from a babe, shook me into reality and I
joyfully determined to spend the rest of the afternoon with her. We spent the entire rest of the afternoon
side by side, writing in our journals, reading parts to each other, giggling
about memories. Thank goodness kids are forgiving, especially when they are on the receiving end of genuine effort, a
simple, “I’m sorry” and love through togetherness.
We sat on a delightful (giggly so!) grassy ledge that jutted
out from a tall granite rock that provided the perfect back support. With our ribbed sleeping mats beneath us, we
had discovered a perfectly ergonomically cushioned wingback chair at 9,800
feet. For hours we sat in our luxury
chairs, writing in our respective journals, interrupted by an occasional check
for spelling or an excited updated reading.
Children are watching us – for better or for worse – and
they do what we do. The pride Bekah has
in her version of the narrative story of our trip is now weaving together our
time as she diligently is writing everything she experiences and then reads to
us as she progresses. She is taking her
book project dead serious because she could see that I am.
Tonight cheers were loud as we ate our rehydrated pasta and
meatballs. A resounding score of 10
echoed off the granite slabs.
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