When I told a colleague about my Sunday hike to Eagle Lake, he asked me what was most impressive. “Getting there at all,” I told him. That trail is never easy.
The first time I hiked it was in 2006, my first full summer in California. My daughter was working in Wyoming that year, and to do our annual mother–daughter backpacking trip, I needed to be fit enough for high-altitude hiking. I therefore chose a training hike that would reach the highest elevation in the fewest miles – Eagle Lake, at 10,000 feet, just 3.5 miles from the Mineral King parking lot at 7,800.
It was a gorgeous hike, but even the early switchbacks were difficult, and for the last half mile to the lake – through the trees after the trail traverses a wall of boulders – I stopped every few feet to breathe and force myself on. What’s more, coming down killed my toes – over the next month, both big toenails came off, and I couldn’t wear boots for the rest of the summer.
This didn’t stop me hiking. We still did our Wind River trip, but I traveled those whole
three days in Chaco sandals… and I never did lose that light-headed feeling. And ever since, I’ve carried the sandals, just in case I need to save my toes. 
I’d been up the Eagle Lake trail a couple times since, but each time, the altitude slowed me down. If I reached the lake at all, I’d collapse at the first viewpoint, eat my lunch, and stagger slowly down.
This Sunday, I wasn’t sure what would
happen. The lower White Chief trail had been rough the weekend before, but hiking up the valley the next morning, I’d felt better.
Halfway up, I met a local woman who was just as slow as I was – and like me, she was looking at plants. We hiked the middle part of the trail together, stopping for penstemon and shooting stars, and I didn’t even notice the switchbacks. It was a pleasant encounter, and it reminded me of something I’ve long believed – Go where you want to go, and you’ll meet the people you want to meet.
Heading up the boulders on my own, I expected the usual problems. B
ut reaching the lake, I felt so good I kept going. The sky was overcast, with thunder threatening from beyond the snowy peaks, but the lake reflected snowfields and interesting patterns of clouds.
At the far end of the lake, the pass seemed surprisingly close. “I could do that,” I told myself, mentally plotting a course across the rocks. But a solo climb above 10,600 feet wasn’t really very feasible.
Instead, I ate my cheese and crackers by the lake. After a while, I headed down, stopping to find the yellow columbines I knew were hidden in the boulders.
Eventually, I drove down the curves toward home, tired but satisfied – and ready to teach my 7 AM class the next morning.
The first time I hiked it was in 2006, my first full summer in California. My daughter was working in Wyoming that year, and to do our annual mother–daughter backpacking trip, I needed to be fit enough for high-altitude hiking. I therefore chose a training hike that would reach the highest elevation in the fewest miles – Eagle Lake, at 10,000 feet, just 3.5 miles from the Mineral King parking lot at 7,800.
It was a gorgeous hike, but even the early switchbacks were difficult, and for the last half mile to the lake – through the trees after the trail traverses a wall of boulders – I stopped every few feet to breathe and force myself on. What’s more, coming down killed my toes – over the next month, both big toenails came off, and I couldn’t wear boots for the rest of the summer.
This didn’t stop me hiking. We still did our Wind River trip, but I traveled those whole
three days in Chaco sandals… and I never did lose that light-headed feeling. And ever since, I’ve carried the sandals, just in case I need to save my toes. 
I’d been up the Eagle Lake trail a couple times since, but each time, the altitude slowed me down. If I reached the lake at all, I’d collapse at the first viewpoint, eat my lunch, and stagger slowly down.
This Sunday, I wasn’t sure what would
happen. The lower White Chief trail had been rough the weekend before, but hiking up the valley the next morning, I’d felt better.Halfway up, I met a local woman who was just as slow as I was – and like me, she was looking at plants. We hiked the middle part of the trail together, stopping for penstemon and shooting stars, and I didn’t even notice the switchbacks. It was a pleasant encounter, and it reminded me of something I’ve long believed – Go where you want to go, and you’ll meet the people you want to meet.
Heading up the boulders on my own, I expected the usual problems. B
ut reaching the lake, I felt so good I kept going. The sky was overcast, with thunder threatening from beyond the snowy peaks, but the lake reflected snowfields and interesting patterns of clouds.At the far end of the lake, the pass seemed surprisingly close. “I could do that,” I told myself, mentally plotting a course across the rocks. But a solo climb above 10,600 feet wasn’t really very feasible.
Instead, I ate my cheese and crackers by the lake. After a while, I headed down, stopping to find the yellow columbines I knew were hidden in the boulders.
Eventually, I drove down the curves toward home, tired but satisfied – and ready to teach my 7 AM class the next morning.
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