I wrote this essay for my college writing course. The theme had to be something to do with travel. I remember how much I enjoyed writing about our experience and that was where my idea for this blog began. This is the second part of a two part essay, the 1st half is Sioux Charley Lake.
Mystic Lake is the result of a hydroelectric dam built in the 1920’s, the power plant is 3 miles from the dam and because of its remote location the people who work at the plant actually live next door to it. The trail begins literally begins in their backyard. After crossing an old railroad track that somehow makes it way, perpendicularly, up a mountain wall and an old rickety bridge my Dad and I are on yet another adventure. This journey will prove to be not only a bigger accomplishment than either of us had planned, but will also give us a moment that only we can share.
The beginning of the trail up to Mystic Lake begins much like any other nature hike, but soon turns from a soft dirt path, to a rock-strewn trail switchbacking its way through rock fields. As we scramble our way past boulders the size of small houses, I am already realizing this hike is going to be much more of a challenge than the family friendly hike of Sioux Charley Lake. My Dad, the outdoorsy man that he is, has brought along his trusty GPS and is keeping track of our mileage and altitude. By the time we reach Mystic Lake we have already climbed 1,200 feet.
My first view of Mystic Lake is when the trail breaks over the ridge and it is a picture straight from a postcard. Both my Dad and I are awestruck by the beauty that surrounds this 2 mile lake. Completely encircled by snowcapped mountains, Mystic Lake rests among smooth granite rocks and giant pine trees. As my Dad and I sit on a boulder overlooking this majestic lake we are both silent, yet we both know exactly what the other is feeling, the spirit is once again taking its hold.
The trail continues wrapping around Mystic Lake before it begins to switchback up the steep side of a mountain. As we make our way back and forth along these switchbacks, every now and then catching another extraordinary glimpse of Mystic Lake through the trees, our attention soon turns to breathtaking views of Froze to Death Mountain. High above the tree line, extending off the edge of a mountain plateau, Froze to Death Mountain looks like a deteriorating castle tower. A small stream is flowing down the bluffs base, which is completely covered in shards of fallen rock. We have made our way up 26 switchbacks and are face to face with this magnificent piece of nature’s art. When my Dad ask, ‘You want to go a little further?’
I am sore and tired, but I don’t want to disappoint him so I say, ‘Sure’. After a few more switchbacks the trail flattens out as it begins to travers to another part of the mountain. Making our way across this extremely narrow path is like walking a tight-rope; one wrong step would send a person tumbling down a vertical slope. On the upside, the gullies are filled with colorful wildflowers giving this virtual death trap an illusion of peace and tranquility. Once on the other side of the mountain we come to find more switchbacks, which I am starting to find almost comical. However, I can see a curiosity growing in my Dad’s eyes with every zigzag we endure and even though I am exhausted I too am interested to know what is around the next corner.
Before long we are approaching the tree line and the reality of nature’s abuse at this elevation is evident in the twisted, warped, gnarled trees that are fighting to stay alive despite year of living in a harsh climate. Our rests are becoming more frequent as the higher we climb the lighter the air becomes. At one such break we are joined by a little gray bird that has been following us for quite some time. My Dad tells me the bird is call a Grey Jay, but most people know it as a Camp Robber, because they are notorious for stealing food from people. As the switchbacks start to come to an end I feel like the only thing higher than us are the clouds. My Dad pulls out his GPS and says, ‘We are only about 200 feet below the 10,000 mark you want to keep going?’
I can see the excitement on his face, and although I am physically worn out, the idea of going to a spot few people can say they have been reenergizes my mind and body. The trail soon comes out above the tree line and the landscape is that of alpine tundra. While the scenery looks barren and desolate, upon closer inspection I see many lichens and small flowers growing close to the ground, these plants are the only signs of life on this delicate giant. The sky above fills with clouds that are giving off the scent of rain, but as if someone knows we are here not a drop falls.
As the trail continues towards the saddle of Froze to Death Plateau we can see Mystic Lake sitting in the valley thousands of feet below. We are blessed with a panoramic view of the chain of mountains that make up this vast wilderness. The air is weightless as we finally approach 10,000 feet, a cairn of rocks has been constructed by others who have made this incredible journey, we add two more proving that we too have made it. Six hours after leaving my Dad’s truck and beginning our hike we have covered more than 6 miles, climbed a total of 4,700 feet and shared an experience neither one of us will ever forget.
An hour later when we are back at Mystic Lake soaking our feed in the cold mountain water my Dad says to me, ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’, I ask not sure what he means.
‘Making it to 10,000 feet is something I have always wanted to do and if it were not for you I don’t think I would have ever done it,’ he says earnestly.
My heart fills with pride and I know he is feeling the same.
Romping Tramps 
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