An Emerald Lake in the Rough

There was a noticeable gap between going to the Bighorn Mountains and the next time we would hit the open road (not until Thanksgiving), so I was going to write about the normal, day-to-day nonsense that goes on when we're not roadtrippin' because we do have home-lives, jobs, responsibilities, and, like, no money. But the thought of writing about that brought me very little joy so if you want to know about the more mundane, and if you're not a creep, go be my friend on Facebook, or follow me on Instagram. (You're welcome to follow me on Twitter, but I use that mainly to talk shit to Trump.)

By the time Thanksgiving 2017 rolled around, whenever one of us scored some time off, driving into the mountains was our default response. So that's exactly what we did on Thanksgiving Day. But with only one day free, and a shortened one since the sun was setting sooner, we chose to go to what had become our default location, this being the fourth time that we would visit Emerald Lake and the surrounding areas.

The first was also on a holiday, the Fourth of July, where we had a picnic in the empty campground next to the raging river (this holiday also landed smack in the middle of the week). The second visit was our second attempt at camping with the full intention of hiking to Mystic Lake the next morning but ended up being sidelined by some serious hangovers and just drove home instead. The third was - FINALLY! - the hike to Mystic Lake, so our Thanksgiving visit would be the fourth, and the first time seeing the area in another season besides summer. We were too late to see the leaves change colors, but winter has its own sort of rustic beauty, I suppose.

 Oh, you wanted to see what's behind me?

The swans and I, we know what's up. It was just us and two other cars, none of their passengers venturing outdoors, either.

There are only pictures of me because I am the only one who got out of the car, ironically, in order to take pictures. Jacob took this from the driver's seat.

Obviously, cooking some extravagant meal was not one of our priorities on this particular holiday, but we made up for it the next day.

I've been making roasted chicken for Thanksgiving since our little family first started (though this was the first year that I wrapped it in bacon). I've made a couple of turkeys over the years because you're, like, supposed to, but I've made several revelations as I continue to get older and one of them is that I do not like leftover turkey. I love the Main Event; the plentiful plate party on the actual day, and I have been known to choke down a turkey sandwich or two the day after, but what can I say? I like the cock, not the gobble. And my family - those who live at the mercy of my fridge - don't seem to really care about turkey the day after Thanksgiving, either.

Unable to stay away from what has become our quick getaway go-to, we went back to this same area about three weeks later - mid-December - and things looked decidedly different.

 This:

Is this. (Taken Fall 2018)

 With snow on the road reaching about halfway up the tires, we powered through to the trailhead parking lot. It fell heavy and silent, like dusted powdered sugar, and it was, of course, freezing. But everyone was in good spirits, and driving me to the trailhead to Mystic Lake and telling me I can't go on it is just cruel and unusual punishment. So - knowing we wouldn't get very far - we decided to see exactly how far we could go.

The way the mountains are shrouded by the clouds is so eerily awesome.

 The snow was pretty deep, but there were other, some-what fresh, footprints so we followed them and stopped when they stopped. They must have run into the same thing we did in that the snow got very deep, very fast, a good indication that we were heading...up.

 So the only real hiking we did was to the top of the butt-slides.

 Butt-bomb of the butt-slide!

We got our fill of the snow before - a week later - we road-tripped even further and had a very non-white Christmas.

Go Bighorn or Go Home

It's a new year so no doubt the last-year-was-rough-but-I'm-looking-forward-to-seeing-what-this-year-has-in-store-for-me has littered your Facebook and Instagram feeds. Last year was rough, just like they all are, because nothing about living life is easy. Whether consciously or not, we're all looking for some kind of escapism and I'm glad that road-tripping and subsequent hiking has become the way I can forget real world issues for even just a few hours. And I've discovered that I don't even have to try to not think about my problems when I'm out in the woods. I just...don't; like some kind of reflex.

October of 2017 found me in a different place than I had been in in the last few years. Some people suddenly needed me more than before, and some no longer needed me at all, which was good in some ways and unfortunate in others. Among other things, at the job where I am essentially the Bookkeeper Behind the Curtain, I was suddenly needed, and needed a lot; and on the other hand, I had to let go of some friends who I either didn't relate to anymore, or who didn't want to wait for me to navigate the new course my life was taking. It was happy and sad, maddening and fulfilling, and in order to handle the adulting I was doing, I craved literal escapism. And my enthusiasm rubbed off on my children who, when I asked what they wanted to do one mid-October weekend, said, "GO HIKING!" Their moods have since changed since they are 8-going-on-18 and 4-going-on-14 but I remember this even if they don't/choose not to. 😊

Jacob becoming enthusiastic about my new-found hobby started as simply a way to make me happy; he knew it would, so if I was feeling down or upset, he'd automatically suggest (and still does) that we go somewhere. His love for hiking has grown more slowly than mine but it has also ignited an old passion of his of wanting to drive hidden Jeep trails in something that looks like an overgrown Micro Machine. So he has slowly taken over the duty of deciding in what wilderness we will wander, and last October, he took us into the Bighorn Mountains outside of Dayton, Wyoming.

 First of all, if you didn't bring a book on a roadtrip, did you even go?

 The things you find in Wyoming...

 Jacob found this in a convenience store just before we headed into the mountains and snagged it for me because it was at about this time that I would only eat if the food was wrapped in a tortilla, and I religiously watched Pati's Mexican Table on PBS Create. Jacob handed it to me and teasingly called me, "My little Mexican wife." I kept it for sentimental purposes and then finally drank it and understood why modern-day, American soda is so chocked-full of chemicals: this real stuff tasted pretty bad after it sat for a while. But that's ok; that's not why we bought it.

 Sometimes hiking simply means taking a flight of stairs, and that is totally ok. A staircase is what brought us to Fairy Lake, a truly stunning hidden gem that is one of my favorite places.

 After Mystic Lake, Fairy Lake, Hyalite Reservoir, and every lake we've seen and have yet to see in the Beartooth Mountains, we always brake for lakes.

Sibley Lake.

 Fallen City.

A friend of mine asked how we are able to find all of these trails, and what's interesting is that once we started looking for them, we were amazed at how many we could find. So much so that I started to get frustrated because the more signs for trails that we saw, the faster the sun seemed to be setting. This, combined with Jacob's interest in driving back-roads, led us to Black Mountain Fire Lookout.

 At a spry 13-years old, Louis was still up for anything.

 Maybe it's just because I'm their mother, but I feel like Louis and Zoey look alike in these pictures.

 I could hear Holden - and he later admitted - that he was sharing secrets with Louis. And then my heart exploded.

 We figured the word "lookout" had to mean *something.*

 Even Lou couldn't take his eyes off that view!

 To be found in my newest collection, Prettiest Places to Pee.

The view from the other side of the outhouse.

 "Everything the light touches is our Kingdom."

 Hiking back down to the car.

Louis was worn out from this hike but, these days - one year later - he has a hard time moving, a hard time keeping his rear-end up, a hard time not stumbling, and a hard time not coughing and wheezing.

Since Daylight Savings Time had yet to end, we had time to mosey on over to Medicine Wheel.

 On the way up the mountains, I took this picture.

Unbeknownst to me, Jacob took this picture over ten years ago, about 11-months before he (re)met me.

 Another in my series, Prettiest Places to Pee.

 Yo hoo! Anybody home?

Like the trails, once I started looking for the Prettiest Places to Pee, the more I found some Prettiest Places to Pee. This is at Five Springs Falls Trailhead, a must-hike come Spring 2019.

Our lives have continued to evolve over the last year, as lives tend to do, but our (no longer just my) want to head into the outdoors has never waned. We have seen a lot of cool things, and learned a lot about the world and ourselves. But, for the longest time, it's been difficult to articulate just what it is about hiking and getting into nature that makes me (us) feel better. Then one Saturday we were forced to stay home, so we watched what has become my favorite TV show but quickly sucks in the rest of the family so that I eventually find them all on the couch with me, Rock the Park.

The two friends were visiting Glacier National Park for, like, the millionth time, when Jack suddenly broke into tears and said he was having a really hard time. After a minute, he composed himself and put it so well that by the end, our entire living room was in tears. He said that the reason he likes going into nature when he's upset is because you see something like this and no matter how terrible things are, nature reminds you that things are already getting better. And, like I've said before, if you're a good person or a bad person, having a good day or a bad day, nature will continue to exist. And it seems to be the only real place where playing by the rules is not only important, but matters.