The Continental Divide Trail: Do all lakes have a name?

Dowry Lake

«Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.»

— Ursula K. Le Guin, The lathe of heaven

YesSometimes the path gives you a choice and other times the choice doesn’t matter. Both paths lead forward. Both forms are beautiful.

SOBOs can exit Cirque in two ways: The red line goes left and passes over some small PUDs. The Climber’s Route turns right and skirts a lake whose shores are lined with rocks the size of a car. We chose the climber’s route, as we were more in the mood for a rock jump than another series of climbs. Either way, it seemed like it would be nice.

Some climbers passed by, carrying huge backpacks covered with coils of climbing rope. We wish them luck and move on, happy to be horizontal adventurers.

Big Sandy Lake came next, along with two guys swimming in the distance in their birthday suits. We gave them Scandinavian privacy and got water from a nearby stream. The water hung and I ate wild currants while we waited. Ice Cream usually chose to filter the water, so I would feed him a berry or two from time to time. However, currants are not his favorite and he left most of them to me.

On the climb from Big Sandy we were passed by another SOBO, McMuff, who had just finished a high route. He was a fast kid, and he looked like one: lean body and tiny legs so full of lean muscle they looked like stalks of celery. We never saw it again, but we would see it in trail logs all the way to the border.

After this, the winds became stronger and wilder. Narrow valleys and wicked peaks towering over one lake after another. We tried to stick to the red line, but here it seemed more like an imaginary ideal than a real trail. Often the paths diverged or disappeared and we did our best to stay the course. Near the top of a pass whose name we never learned, we found La Fuente. At least, we consider it The Source. At AT, a friend mentioned that all PopTarts come from the same source. From the third eye of a Guru at the headwaters of the Ganges River. This was not the headwaters of the Ganges, but it was close enough. I tied a PopTart to my third eye and sat down to meditate. Ice Cream took the photo and we sent it to the friend. We had tried to get him to come on this hike, but he was tired of being a trash hiker and tired of being perceived as a failure by his own family standards. We hoped the photo would make him smile and maybe wish we had come, but to each their own.

Fingers pointing at the moon.

The sun began to set, passing by the sharp teeth of the distant peaks. Anywhere that wasn’t bathed in shadows was gilded with golden light. Below, in the valley, the black silhouette of a fisherman casts his rod. He was a speck within the mountains, like us, and the mountains knew that we were nothing. However, without us, mountains would not be mountains, nor could lakes be lakes. Ice Cream and I stood there and took it in. We would walk into darkness if we stayed, but we stayed anyway, to watch the colors change and the shadows stretch and the first stars peek out from behind the darkening sky.

I turned to Ice Cream and she turned to me. The dying sun made her eyes come to life, like moss-covered forest stones glowing with fairy fire. «Marry me?» I asked.

«We’re already married.» She squeezed my hand.

«Marry me again, then.»

«Okay,» he smiled.

Then I said something I don’t remember now, something from Blarney Stone about love and vows, and there were some tears between us. Then we were married again in that place whose name we never learned, and a little further on, a small lake, also unnamed, lay gently in the shadow of a towering cliff. «This lake is so beautiful,» said Ice Cream. «Something about it. I think this is my favorite in the Winds.»

“Then it’s yours,” I said. «A dowry. The ice cream lake. The dowry lake.» She kissed me for the gift and we walked into the darkness.

Who am I to name a lake? Same as anyone who’s ever done it, I guess. Regardless, most lakes outlive their names and are unaware or uncaring of the deadly claims.

***

Grizzlies behind us and walks in the dark ahead, that night was our first CDT night walk. We guessed our way down from Dowry Lake until we reached a long, straight trail through the valley. By then it was completely dark and we were walking by the light of the lamps. Up ahead we saw the telltale reflections of the rows of tents. «Hello!» Came a voice from the store as we tried to sneak past.

«Hello to you too,» Ice Cream said.

«You guys will probably go to the tents later. FYI, they’re already full.»

«Thank you,» I said. We didn’t know anything about the campsites. We didn’t know where we would sleep. We stopped a mile or two beyond the friendly grocer on a flat spot just off the trail. It started to rain once we were inside, the click click A light drizzle on the tent encouraged us to sleep.

The next morning kinda sucked. The trail eluded us and we ended up walking to the shores of a rock-covered lake much like the one found along the Climber’s route. However, this time we weren’t in the mood to jump rocks. The lake didn’t care. Finally, after some obstacles and a rock jump, we found our way to the red line crossing and the winds began to give way to the Great Divide Basin.

The gray mountains turned into foothills of brown grass and low trees. A mother moose and her calf chewed on rain-soaked grass near the trail. We were cautious at first, but this moose had no fear or concern for humans and barely looked at us. However, his calf was still imbued with instinct and he stomped and stomped on us, ears pricked and eyes alert, but this only made him cuter. We took some photos and passed without problems.

That night we rode on a flat-topped mound. It was rocky, but we found a gravel spot that was pretty flat and comfortable. The tent stakes were hard to hit and didn’t seem to hold well, but it wasn’t windy enough to matter. I wish it would continue like this. We tucked ourselves in and fell asleep with the bright moonlight shining through the dyneema.

I woke up suddenly to Ice Cream’s voice. «My God! What is that!» The adrenaline surged and the world went into slow motion. The tent was falling on my side. In the milliseconds it took me to sit up I thought that maybe some grizzly bear that lived on the edges of its range had found us. Not because the store was falling down, but because Ice Cream never sounds like it did then. There was something in his voice, shades of real fear. Maybe she had seen something I hadn’t seen. He had his headlamp hanging around his neck, like every night. I turned it on while raising it above my forehead, then grabbed the trekking pole that had fallen and braced myself for a hit.

There was nothing there. The night was silent. I looked into the darkness to watch and listen. Nothing at all. Ice Cream did the same on their side of the store.

«Do you see anything?» I asked.

«Nothing.»

I unzipped the tent and tried to figure out what had happened. It seems that the tent stake responsible for that line of trekking poles had exploded in an unusual way. He had gotten trapped under a rock that had suddenly come loose and threw the stake past the tent, sending it towards us and waking up Ice Cream, who had then woken me up. I had to look for the stake, but in the end I found it and put it back in, and this time more securely.

***

The next morning, we met a hiker named Saul, a friendly, recently retired engineer who was making up for lost time on the hike. He had already been at it for three years without stopping and had accumulated more than ten thousand kilometers. Saul had seen Animal Cracker the day before and mentioned that he might run into her again today. We asked him to say hello and, if he could, meet us at Lander.

The terrain flattened completely and the winds were now even less imposing than before we entered them. They are humble mountains, unlike the Tetons, and they hide their grandeur from easy roads and paths. We pass a gate and some snow fences and find the road. Congratulations Harambe, we started hitchhiking.

As we watched car after car go by, Ice Cream said, «You know, this is the end of our Dirty Thirty.»

“Congratulations and thank God,” I put my hands together in a prayer of thanks.

If you don’t know, a Dirty Thirty is thirty days without showering or doing laundry. The dirt had become a part of me, my skin felt thicker, more leathery. I had settled into the dirt, but still, the idea of ​​a shower sounded heavenly.

Full dirty 30!

A satellite engineer stopped by for us. He got out, emptied the back seat of whatever had been there, and quickly tossed it into the trunk. He closed the trunk and immediately opened it again. «Foolishness!» He picked up a green and white cardboard box and looked inside. «I just broke my wife’s cookies.»

“Blame us,” I offered.

«Ahhh, it’s okay. They’ll still taste the same.»

“Specialty cookies?” Ice Cream asked. She is deeply interested in sweet things.

He nodded. «I always buy things for my wife and daughters when I have to visit the city. There’s a bakery they love. Anyway,» he gestured toward the car. «Are you going into Lander? Get on.»

We got on. The man on the satellite put the gear shift and accelerated toward the highway. “Do you like curd cheese?”

I shrugged. «I’m not sure. Although I’ve never met a cheese I didn’t like.»

He opened the glove compartment, took out a plastic bag full of yellow seeds, and threw it at me. “The whole bag?” I asked.

«Yes. I have some for myself. My wife and kids like candy, but I like those. Try one. They’re squeaky.»

In fact they were. I passed the bag to Ice Cream, who loves dairy products as much as she loves sweets, and she ate some of the curd.

Then we were in Lander. Satellite Man dropped us off near the Travelodge. I said, «Tell your wife we’re really sorry about the cookies.»

He laughed and said he would, and assured us that she was a forgiving woman. «She has to be to marry a guy like me!» Boomer’s reverse joke, and walked away into the clear afternoon.

The Travelodge stood squat and practical against Lander’s blue sky. Once inside, the receptionist slipped us a key and pointed up the stairs.

And just like that, the winds were behind us. Somewhere to the north, beyond the dry grasses and brown earth of the basin, there were nameless lakes, paths that were both paths and not paths, and a light that gave life to the eyes and life to the eyes. We would carry them with us forever and time would temper the Winds until they became a perfect memory.

But for now: resupply, a few pieces of new equipment, and most importantly, a shower. The Great Dividing Basin awaited ahead.

one thing at a time.

Unless I am given express permission to use them, all names and path names in my articles have been changed. Any resemblance to real people is a coincidence. If you like my writing, feel free to subscribe or buy me a coffee using the Suggest the Author button below.