The parking lot had my head in such a rut of disbelief, I nearly failed to register us at the kiosk.  I swear the last time we came here, people were fumbling through our campsite looking for a place to pitch their red-neck sized eight-room tents while tripping over our guy lines and showing their carpenter's cracks while sitting on the scenic rock six feet in front of our tarp.  It was, for me, a nightmare.  But the memories of the 3.5 mile return, passing nearly a hundred people coming up to a lake with one vacant campsite, made me chuckle.

But alas, we were the only humans here.  We took a small break to eat a snack while staring at the still surface of the frozen lake.  It was peaceful here now, as I prayed it would be, with near-freezing temperatures and plenty of rain the last few days to drive away any potential visitors.  The air was calm, quickly allowing my mind to wander, without the slightest disturbance to the ambient silence other than the far-away whispers of east and west Lena Creeks flowing into the lake.  It was all ours.  We laid on our backpacks, staring up at the clearing skies (forecast called for 90% chance of rain; don't get me started) and said nothing.  All I could think about was a hot brew, the tent surrounded by little puffs of snow, and mountain goats waiting eagerly for our urine.  In anticipation, we shouldered our packs and huffed our way on.

The trail was in rough shape, similar to walking in a creek bed.  In fact, we were.  There were several inches, at times, of rushing water flowing over 100 feet down many sections of the trail with nowhere to walk but the middle.  We leaped, tip-toed, and rock-hopped over 40 small creeks cutting their way across the trail, some creating deep puddles that threatened to fill our boots.  Recently, the Olympics got pounded with several feet of snow and it was now all melting at once, well, at least all of it to 6,000 feet.  As we neared 2600 feet, progress slowed.  The snow got deeper and the route was buried here and there, with drifts covering deadfall.  One would think this would help progress, but the rapidly melting 2 feet of snow had a foot missing from its underbelly.  I donned my snowshoes, but they did little to help as my frustration grew.

Every other step, I would punch my snowshoes through the snow's firm surface up to my knee while the creek below filled my boots with freezing water.  Amber, with her nine pound pack, ambled along effortlessly; A testament to lightweight hiking and its benefits.  I hiked along the edge of the trail when I could, but anyone who has climbed this trail knows it is notorious for blow down and a leg broken from getting wedged under a log did not sound appealing.  At times, the trial would show itself and I had little choice but to hike over the rocks in my new MSRs.  I was getting downright pissed and Boog was starting to wear on me.  I reassured myself it was worth the effort as we came prepared for anything mother nature had in store for us.  We continued to hope for the best and sloged on.

The snow got deeper, but its undermined surface did not improve.  We passed a clearing which marked the joining of all the major washes from the head of the valley before the trail started tilting upwards again.  Even though I forgot my topo printouts at home, I knew we were getting close.  And as I was not very tired, my frustration was increasing with every step.  I could only compare my walking to one walking barefoot up a greased linoleum floor tilted at 25 degrees; hard work for 50 feet of forward movement.

Amber was in good spirits, but started to feel the aura from her daddy.  More so, it was the conditions that scared her, the cold, the wind, the unknown.  I reassured her I was not hauling Boog for nothing as we had 11oz of fuel, food for five days, a bomber tent to handle over two feet of snow load, enough layers for a sleep system good to zero, an endless water supply, and all of this with a short 2.5 miles out of harms way to the lower lake.  She smiled and hoisted her pack with a "Well, let's go!" 

I love practicing route finding and today my practice paid off.  We reached the ford of Lena Creek, just a half mile or so from the lake, but every single log was coated in ice.  The creek was fast, deep, but not very wide.  Any other season, I would have just walked across it at its widest, shallowest point, but not today.  Frozen feet, getting back into wet boots, before another hour in the snow seemed unappealing to me and downright dangerous for Amber.  At best, for her, it would have been survival against frostbite and that was enough for me to wave the white flag.

The End

I felt heartbroken, cheated, and frustrated.  I wanted to see Upper Lena, to make the first footprints in the virgin snow, to climb the summit and end my year the way I wanted to.  The weather made matters worse as it tormented me with gorgeous, cloudless blue skies.  It was all I could do to hold back the tears, so I left Amber and walked a few yards away towards the creek to regain my composure.  I stared at the creek's edge for a few minutes, enough to feel like a fool.  Vacation had just begun and started as a perfect day hike with my best friend.  I was disappointed in myself as often I get so focused on the goal I forget about the journey.  I stumbled back over to Amber, who was loosing the battle of  fighting back tears, and hugged her, telling her how happy I was that we made it this far.  She smiled and reminded me of how blessed we were to even be out here.  The teacher became the student.

The days were short and it was already two in the afternoon as we hustled back to the truck, hiking the last half mile in pitch-black darkness, declining to don our headlamps, letting the half moon light our way.  Amber and I were smiling and singing in the darkness as we knew it had been a glorious trip, even if a failed one.

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