Monday was a delicious day.
I woke up late and tangled up hot in my sheets because it’s finally summer here in Seattle and the sun had oozed through the slits in the blinds and filled the room with a warmness that baked me into my bed. I tucked myself into Tim’s folded limbs and we laid there in stillness for a long time. When it was time to get up, I rolled over and stretched my limbs and sighed a deep breath of, “Thank fuck I have the entire day off work today”.
Tim had the whole day off work, too.
Actually, Monday was the first full day that Tim and I both had off together since I can’t even remember when and I was so excited to play with him.
We spent the clement morning sipping on black coffee in our garden. I rolled out my pink yoga mat in the shade of our flowering trees and practiced forward folds and strong plank poses. Lars rolled around on his back on the hot asphalt next to me and Tim suggested that we go for a hike.
Tim loves hiking.
He’s invested in an expensive, heavy-duty pair of R.E.I. trail boots and a book of hikes within two hours of the Seattle area.
Sometimes I like to hike, too.
I like to hike to secret waterfalls and hidden lakes through ferny forests that echo with animal sounds and fill with ghostly mists. I like to hop across stones that traverse bubbly rivers and crooked streams and I like splashing the cold, clean mountain water on my face and arms. I like to go on hikes that kindly challenge me physically.
One time, in Malaysia, my brother Sam and I did a hike that was swarming with monkeys and water lizards and foot-long centipedes. The trail spit us out at a remote beach that was sandy and coconutty. The water was uncontaminated. I really liked that hike.
I remember last year, Tim’s birthday fell on a warm Wednesday in July. He had wanted to spend his day in the mountains and so we drove up to Stevens Pass and leisurely wandered on a fat, flat two mile trail to the flowery banks of Barclay Lake. For most of its course, the easy path hugged close to the bed of Barclay Creek that ebbed with peacock colored water. At the secluded lake that was hidden in the precipitous and rocky creases of Baring Mountain, the shores danced with breezy yellow and blue wildflowers.
Tim had a nice birthday.
On that day, I also liked hiking.
Another time, in Tucson, Tim and I climbed four-and-a-half miles high and deep into Bear Canyon in search of a waterfall oasis called Seven Falls. The steep trail was peppered with saguaros and thorny teddy bear cactus. In the dimming afternoon light, they cast long shadows. Heat vibrated in visible waves and desert hawks circled low overhead. At the end of the hard-ish trail, we were rewarded with dazzling view. A powerful waterfall thundered down granite cliffs into clear pools that I dipped my hot feet into. We listened for owl howls and snake sounds and coyote calls.
The desert was dreamy and for dinner we had tacos.
On that day, I liked hiking.
But sometimes I don’t like to hike.
Like when it’s snowy outside or when the trail seems to be just a path that leads perpetually uphill.
Although I didn’t tell him, I’ d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous at Tim’s suggestion of going for a hike on Monday, and not only because I had already spent the better part of the morning balancing in Three-legged Downward Dog and Warrior 1 (and didn’t that count as enough of a workout for one day?)
I hadn’t been hiking with Tim in a long time.
Perhaps you’ll remember that humiliating day in February that I told you about? You know, the one where I started my period at the top of Mailbox Peak and then bled down snowy the trail in theatrical tears.
That was the last time I had joined Tim on a walk in the woods.
Good Lord, on that day, let me tell you, I did not like hiking.
To my own credit, can you blame me?
But ever since that day, I’ve felt like I needed a do-over. A redemption hike to prove to Tim that I really do enjoy our time together in the wilderness.
Back on my pink yoga mat in the garden, stretched out in corpse pose at the end of my practice, I contemplated that the day was turning out to be a beautiful one. The sky was wide and warm. I agreed it would be a nice thing for us to get out of the crowded city and into the thin, clean air of the nearby mountains.
“Sure,” I told Tim. “Let’s go hiking.”
Tim chose the trail.
Lake Twentytwo.
To get there, we drove North.
Up to Everett.
Up to Granite Falls.
Then, Tim drove us East for 13 miles on the Mountain Loop Highway. The paved mountain road hugged close to and crossed over the wild Stillaguamish River that foamed with teal-blue snow water. Countless wildflowers invited by the recent spring-summer weather decorated the drive with sprays of bright oranges and dusty pinks.
The trailhead was clearly marked and easy to find.
When we pulled off of the highway and into the small parking lot on Monday, it was crowded with cars.
Thumbing through Tim’s copy of Take A Hike – Seattle on the drive up, I had read a warning that this was a popular spot, but, not to be deterred by the crowds because the mountain lake at the end of the trail is a real jewel.
To me, large crowds signal accessibility. If this was a popular hike, it couldn’t be too hard, right? At Lake Twentytwo, I was encouraged by the impressive number of elderly people we saw coming down the trail because, hey, if they could hike it, I could, too.
The infographics map in the parking lot explained that the trail led 2.7 miles one way (5.4 miles roundtrip) to Lake Twentytwo, where it looped around the perimeter of the water on a paved path. Overall we would be gaining 1,500 feet in elevation.
I could definitely handle this hike.
The sun was so warm. The light sifting through the piney trees was physical and golden. All around us, more and more wildflowers.
White.
Pink.
Yellow.
I liked the hearing the sound of running river water from the parking lot. Tim’s book had not only promised heavy pedestrian traffic, but also, lots of waterfalls along the trail. I was admittedly excited to begin our ascent.
At the bottom, I signed our names into the guest book with a no. 2 lead pencil.
“Kate and Tim, 6/5, Hiking for fun!”
The hike was not hard and although we passed an occasional person, Tim and I hardly felt crowded. And what I like is that these people were respectful hikers. On trails closer to the city, Tim and I tend to like the hikers a lot less. It seems to be a lot of groups of young kids, smacking on chewing gum and blasting bad Pop2k music out of their wired backpacks. They threaten the stillness and tranquility of the woods with their shrieks and shouts. Here, passerby’s politely waved hello’s and continued quietly on.
Considering how many people the Lake Twentytwo trail draws, I was impressed with how clean it was. You can tell that the people who come here care greatly about preserving it’s beauty.
And beautiful it is.
The woods were bright and alive with summer movement. Animals and birds and uncurling flowers. We were surrounded by a forest of old-growth hemlocks and cedar giants that felt haunted or maybe just wise in their age.
One bridge at the beginning of the hike crossed over a powerful cascade of sudsy waterfall water. We climbed down the bridge and dipped our hands and feet in the fast-flowing current. It was icy cold.
A large portion of the first half of the trail was paved with plank paths and ladder steps. It wound gently upwards in countless switchbacks up the shoulder of Mount Pilchuck.
Then, at about 1.5 miles into the hike, the trail got increasingly steep and rocky, and although a tad bit more challenging to climb, not impossible.
Perhaps I didn’t really notice how steep the trail was getting because I was distracted by such sweeping views. The snowy Whitehorse Mountain top and Three Fingers magnified before us in clear vast sky. The sight was endless green and blue and white and the sun.
And trees and trees and trees and trees.
Out of the forest and on the cliff side of the mountain, the trail was knotted with thick huckleberry bushes. The green berries on the vines still need to marinate in hot sun for a few weeks before they’re fat and ripe with wine-colored juice that stains your hands and mouth when you eat them.
As we neared the top, patches of unmelted snow and slippery ice glazed the sides of the trail. It felt strange to feel so warm in the sun next to thick chunks of frozen liquid.
We came to the lake.
The picture was majestic.
The smallish basin of Lake Twentytwo was partly blanketed in snow that was slowly melting away and making way for summer. It was surrounded by the tremendous height of Mount Pilchuck’s snow-dusted North face. The exposed lake water was still and reflective. Tim wondered if maybe this is what Switzerland looks like.
Normally, the trail loops around the entire lake, however, on Monday we were unable to get much past a couple of hundred yards before the path was eaten up by thick piles of unpassable snow.
So, instead, Tim sat on a boulder submersed in the shallow lake water and on the dock-like bridge trail, I laid on my back in the blurring sun. I took off my shoes and bent into some yummy yoga poses. I breathed deep inhales and exhales in cat-cow. We only turned around to head back down the mountain because the daylight was fading and the air was getting cooler.
Roundtrip, including our lounge at the lake, the hike took us about 3.5 hours to complete.
On the way back to the car, I pointed a to slimy, black slug that was chewing on leaf. I had never seen a black slug before. Just brown ones.
We had a great time.
A nice couple at the top of the mountain took a picture of Tim and I in front of the lake and when we got back to the car, I could see that a full day in the woods looks really good on Tim.
It’s like I said.
Sometimes, I really like hiking.
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