To visit the lakes, we climbed in excess of 2,000 feet over a distance exceeding 8 miles, maybe a bit more. Our ultimate destination was a free-climb above Ruwaua, selected by Jenni, which has provided much 'ammunition' for me in determining future selections. In addition, her spotting of a path where we could have been 'hopelessly lost' (as opposed to typically lost), 20 feet in front of us, created much mirth, always useful when faced with a long trail ahead. I thought of my Dad who might have commented at the time that even a blind person could have spotted it. Bless her, she's been a tigress, and on the trails, too.
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Welcome to paradise and Long Lake.
The secret of sustaining hiking is having a traveling chef. Above Ruwau Lake.
No Bull, it's the name of the lake. See text at end for an explanation.
It keeps getting better.
A favorite above Ruwau, at 11,300 feet.
Hmm!
South Lake.
Bull Lake again, a different angle.
From above Ruwau, we spot a small lake across the way
We moved up the trail at a slightly lesser pace than normal. It felt disappointing but there might be a reason. Well, reasons always abound. It is often termed rationalization. We were at altitude nearing 11,000 feet, the first time in a while. Hopefully, this was the reason or excuse for a tired feeling. Other reasons that could be offered would be disappointing so we await eagerly for the results—will this feeling abate after acclimating? We hope so.
We made a left swing along the path and ahead lay a typical, large, granite mountain, sharp points, ragged edges, mostly grey and white. Intimidating! Ahead at ground level where we expected a lake stood a pond, overflowing with water from the nearby melting snow—mostly still and partly covered in plant life. Disappointing for a lake, we thought.
We continued for a few yards and noticed massive mountains to our right. At surface level, stood the expected lake. They call it Bull, no kidding. Relatively small expanse of water but sufficient to separate it from a large pond. The mountains reflected off the lake surface, not as sharp as the original but nevertheless awfully attractive. We noticed two fly-fishermen at the water edge. Then the feeling caressed us, engulfed would be more accurate.
We were struck, ever so gently, by a feeling of calm, serenity, stillness and quiet. Other emotions were present, too. I turned to Jenni but could not speak. I wanted to offer some thoughts but felt it wrong to break the silence. It was as if a sound, unnatural to this small area, would destroy its essence. Something urged me to keep silent, to absorb rather than announce myself, to remain where I stood. Be a bystander.
To earn the right to be present, I should not disturb the karma, the ambience, perhaps a vortex...I cannot say what it was. I did perceive it to be bigger than me and, the unstated rule of the site. Quiet. To earn or deserve a right to be there, I should defer to its requirements. Keep silent; remain still; do not disturb.
It was a different form of silence from the towns and cities. For, at times there was in fact, sound. When tree branches rustled in the breeze, sound emanated, but not noise. It melded into the surroundings, almost like strings from a quartet playing the opening notes of a musical piece. The disturbance of reflections as the water moved had a destructive feel as the form of the mountains quivered and disappeared. Fortunately, we knew the picture would return soon, once the wind calmed.
An occasional tweet from a bird sitting in a tree close by and the popping of a fish breaking the surface reminded us silence was not absolute. However, the tweet and pop, followed by others, proved they were as 'Simon and Garfunkel' reminded us, "Sounds of Silence".
We returned to earth, photographed the beauty but failed to capture the silence, inhaled the fresh air tinged with natural fragrances and headed further up the mountain to witness more beauty. To be so blessed, so spoiled.
And it's available to most. It takes some effort, a little perseverance, occasionally discomfort and a fraction of imagination to break the chains, take to flight and if not the stars, to reach the clouds.
'Bye, we have a long way back.'
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
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