Sometimes the silence can be like thunder

Sometimes

I wanna take to the road and plunder

In which I come over Muir Pass with my jaw-dropped and decide to live for an extra day in the desolate landscape around Lake Wanda.

I wander wide-eyed downwards past lake Wanda through the evolution basin and I can’t believe this place even exists.

Jaw-droppingly beautiful and breathtakingly quiet. Silent. An eery stillness save for the occasional gust of wind breathing white puffy clouds over to reflect on the perfectly flat sapphire mirror lake surfaces.

Sunday Evening, June 27th 2021

Sunset at Lake Wanda, top of evolution basin, headwaters of Evolution Creek.

I will sleep in one of my best cowboy camp spots yet, right smack in the middle of the lake on the “island” or peninsula that splits the water in half, north side looking directly at the peaks that form the snowmelt that formed the whole valley. As I first walked down from Muir Pass and saw the view out of the shelter, I knew I had to stay up here in the desolate looking landscape. Trippy and foreign, it felt like on the moon or Mars on another undiscovered planet altogether. I was blown away by the milky white shades of granite, lack of trees or bushes or green of any kind, so different from the other high alpine areas we’ve walked through so far. Rocky points like wizard hats looming above and into the distance, reminding me of what it might look like in the Dune universe.

Then, as I got up closer, I noticed the desolation was actually not so barren. I stooped low with my heavy pack on to take a close-up photo of a tiny vibrant pink flower just off the trail, and suddenly became aware of the endless miniature vegetation. In the spots where it looked like just flat desolate rocky boulders, there were actually infinite patches of little grasses, moss, lichen, squishy soil supporting dozens of varieties of tiny flowers of pink and purple, yellow, bright red and orange, little daisies, and more and more. A tiny alien universe contained in each square meter. I was sucked into this tiny world, photographing at 2x zoom in the late afternoon waning sunlight.

As I progressed around the lake shore, I decided to make a pact with myself and Mother Nature - if I was going to leave the trail, and camp in such a crazy spot in the lake, then it would be my reciprocity to leave no trace, no footprints on such a delicate tiny ecosystem. My thanks for such an amazing gift to be able to live and sleep in this wild place, to show my gratitude by not stepping footprints into the fragile vegetation.

It turned into the world’s greatest game of “the floor is lava“ in which I made my way around the lake attempting to step only on solid rock. I made it! The lakeshore had enough rocky boulders and steps for me to hop along as if it were one giant creek crossing, except instead of rushing water the peril would be to step your shoe onto a tiny plant life. I made it all the way to the rocky island mound in the middle, ana spotted a large flat sleeping rock near the edge of the shore facing directly at the mountains, complete with a swimming jump off point.

Just enough sunlight left for a last dip of the day, diving in head first like I usually do (to get the chilly jitters out of the way) and upon kicking my legs I felt that right big toenail flop up finally. What a time and place to lose that purple painted nail! It seemed my “floor is lava” game must have been the last straw, moving on non-level inside the toe box of my shoe finally broke it loose. It was a breath of sweet relief actually, no pain and no longer having to worry about it. A perfect ceremony, almost a thanks back from Mother Earth for my care and concern coming out here. (I obviously saved the purple nail in my med kit).

I had a sunset dinner and prepared my sleep setup to view some extraordinary stars for the evening.

Monday Morning, June 28 2021

It‘s day 8 out of Kearsarge Pass now, and my phone is finally running out of battery now, the reserve charger is dead. Not having my phone screen might be a blessing in disguise, I could use a break from the constant checking for directions and apps. It will be a nice change from documenting abs photographing every bit of natural beauty, and instead become inspired by being more present within it - no music, audiobook, or constant photo moments!

My last photos will be this magical lakeside sunrise and it will fade out on my morning off trail adventure.