There's always something new to un-expect when recreating in the mountains. All the wonderful aspects of natures foundations are existing and thriving all at their own pace, synchronized by the seasons awakening and sleep. Growth is sustained through Earths marvelous production methods of energy, keeping a balance amongst all that lives up here. Restraining to change this balance is optimal for our co-existence with our mother earths finest conserved rewards. Concepts greater than humans lust for power and land.
When there's a unique water-body to have curiosity for, I follow the water. Amongst some steep inclines, green meadows, and spring fed marshes, my heading is somewhere new, something exciting I don't know what to expect, that's the way I like it sometimes. Taking my time up this new trail on my pedal fat tire bicycle, It was wonderful while it lasted. Until it said, "no more".
Having historical knowledge about my bicycles questionable free hub components that were compromised, I took my chances thinking if I were careful, it would make it. My bike made it about a mile and a half up the mountain. My "pawl" teeth in my free-hub stuck closed, leaving me with no more forward pedal actuation. Without any prior knowledge at the time about what happened, I was left with the only choice but to lock up my bike to a tree, and continue on foot. Determined to reach my destination no matter what.
Meandering for miles into the forest after mysterious trout gives me this sense of purpose. As clear and clean as spring water, or as awakening as a moist pines pungent clarity. The mountains brings back more color into my life. Every flower in the meadow resembles a different opportunity waiting to be experienced each season to enjoy. I always keep going, broadly marching for that first glimpse of salvation of a blue lake through the trees somewhere.
In time, after a short detour through some trees, I find myself overlooking my happy place. Mountain lakes hold a special mystery for me that I can't undo my curiosity for. The eyes of an eagle, I scan the lake edge to edge, observing for any signal of a feeding trout. A mild breeze swept across the lake, hiding any dimples of fish from afar. An intrigueing mysticism I found this lake, as there were no trout to be found cruising any edges all around the lake, only a few random jumps here or there, out of my reach most of the time. They swim phantomly, never showing themselves to me. After much time passed, and different tactics executed, I couldn't even get a nibble. It was slightly aggravating, I know your in there, just not today buddy!
A change in the air tells me a cold front is on its way, possible rain encourages everyone to find shelter or head back where we came from. Coveting my experience, I walk along the inlet creek to the lake, and soon enough a large cutthroat trout swims in the current holding in a small pocket. My angler instinct kicking in, I walk away from the bank slowly to rig something up quick. Making a significant splash from behind me, the trout swam upstream and it was gone, opportunity lost. A dark cloud brews some precipitation and a light rain is upon me. With positive luck, the rain was short lived as not to douse me and the sun returned. A warning sign for more to come.
Further up the creek I go, and I find a marvelous pair. A beautiful pair of Cutthroat Trout performing their spawning opportunity. The miracle of experiencing the making of more trout is fascinating and blessing to witness. Spring water which feeds the lake provides the fishs' ideal habitat to make trout redds. Oxygenated, cold, pebble gravel. I can be in the presence of trout any day of the year, and still be the humblest man looking for more. I can sit or stand there all day watching, fishing, enjoying them.
The energy of the mind continues, but my body and feet ache of accomplishment and yearns for rest. Miles hiked in must be hiked out, with patience the trail eventually brings me back to my bicycle. A serious rain befell me at this point, making the rest of the trip a slippery conquest. No pedal power, I came down that mountain with all the momentum I could manage,leaving me to kick or walk the bike maintaining route. I survived, and Mystic Lake now has a story in my journal.....
