Simple Twist Of Fate

The blanket of water is blue and green and glistening, crystal clear and biting cold. With all the snow the mountains received this year the water levels are high. All the alpine lakes are full, and this one is no exception. It is full up to the steep granite slabs that surround it in some areas. And as luck would have it we happen to be standing at one of those submerged steep granite slabs right now. Last year's drought conditions would have made this section walk-able, do-able as we say, but not this year. And so we find ourselves here; a beautiful pristine alpine lake expanding off to our right and a harsh angled impassable granite slab, too sheer to traverse by hands and feet, crowding in at our left.

The three of just us rushed down the mountain pass that now stands directly behind us to get to this very lake we are now finally at the foot of. Only we see now that we’ve tumbled, crawled, sank, and hopped our way down to the wrong side for the lake. Instead of coming down on the side that is adorned with a well traveled trail to a picturesque campsite and swimming hole, we are on the side jackknifed with a granite slab and deep water.

The doom of having to climb back up the mountain to get to the other side of the lake is trying to push its way into my mind, but instead of letting it in I allow myself to be swept up in the mesmerizing mirror of water that lays at my feet. I can see far below the surface of the lake, and after an arduous day of backpacking under the burning heat of a thousand suns, plummeting into the freezing lake water seems the only redemption possible.

The dreaded doom of having to climb back up the mountain to get to the other side of the lake is trying a little harder to push its way into my mind, but instead I’m glaring deeper into the water only half thinking about my hotheaded idea to take a shortcut to the other side of the lake by crossing a portion of the actual lake. I’m only half thinking about it because only half of my brain is currently available for conscious thought, the rest of my brain - and arguably the better part of it - is all held up with involuntarily daydreams and desires about eating something other than trail mix and taking these damn boots off my blistered and currently bleeding feet.

It’s 6pm, I’ve been up since 5am, and we’ve been hiking and climbing all day. And as I mentioned before it’s been a tough and long day. Needless to say, my irreverent, ‘I don't give a shit’ attitude is in full swing. So I throw caution to the wind and with nonchalance I mutter my lake crossing shortcut idea aloud in the direction of Zack and Geoff.

I’m not looking his way right now, but I know Zack is looking at me squarely. I can feel his hot, confident gaze burning into me as he says with unwavering certainty, “ You’re not going to try to walk across a part of the lake with your backpack on, Erin. It’s a terrible idea. We’ll just have to go back up and around this granite section and come down on the side we need to be on”.

The even more dreaded doom of having to climb back up the mountain to get to the other side of the lake rears its head again and tries to force it's way into my mind, but I am still not ready to let it in. So, much to Zack’s chagrin, I’m not convinced my idea is a terrible idea.

And, more importantly, neither is Geoff…

We watch as Geoff peels off his socks and boots and ties his shoelaces together to hang them over the back of his neck. He rolls up his tattered shirt sleeves and makes his way into the water inch by inch. He’s decided to extrapolate on my probably terrible idea with his own probably terrible plan to traverse the ‘less steep’ part of the granite slab that was submerged a couple feet under water.

Geoff and I are very different people in many ways. He is a goal oriented, destination seeker, eats salami and flaming Cheetos, and puts hazelnut syrup in his iced coffee kind of person. While I am a goals are anxiety, the journey is more important than the destination, organic and vegetarian food snack’r, and keep my coffee black kind of person. He practices law and favors logic, I practice yoga and favor creativity. And while our differences are many, our similarities are too. For one, both of us sometimes believe that not so good ideas can be spun into not so bad ideas with a little elbow grease and optimism…

It’s important to note that Zack does not share this similarity with us, and I’m grateful for that.

One foot at a time Geoff tests his traction on the slippery submerged granite slab. One foot in, then the other foot in. Within two or three steps he is knee deep in the water and rejoicing in the feeling of the freezing water on his scratched up and mosquito bitten legs. Within a few more steps he is waist deep in icy mountain water.

“This is definitely doable you guys. Definitely a good idea”, he says as he carefully scoots his feet on the slippery unforeseeable path into the unknown.

Meanwhile, Zack is walking parallel to Geoff on the same granite slab but on the part that is above the water, and busting Geoff’s chops. Neither of them has made it to the most vertical part of the slab that makes it impassable.

With childlike excitement and a ‘can do’ outlook on life, “Oh Dang!” Geoff says. “There’s a really good ledge to walk on right here! I totally got this, bro”.

Literally, the split second he spits out the ‘bro’ of “ I totally got this, bro”, with a sense of timing reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin and the slapstick gold of Buster Keaton, Geoff’s entire body wobbles hopelessly on that little slippery ledge he is so confidently standing on, his feet then slip off of it and out from under him, and he plunges with a roaring splash into the ledge-less depths of the lake; not only fully clothed - and in the only clothes he has mind you - but also with his backpack on - the entire contents of his life literally on his back.

It’s dead silent, save for Geoff’s slashing. My eyes expand to the size of dinner plates and my jaw drops open as I stare in utter disbelief, unable to believe nor process the picture developing right before my very eyes.

Second one, I’m stunned.

Second two, once he turns himself around to swim back to the granite slab of dry land I notice that Geoff’s boots are floating up around the side of his face. I tell myself firmly, “ Erin, don’t laugh”.

Second three, he’s now flat out doggy paddling his way back to shore. Because of his chosen swimming technique his big backpack is beginning to resemble a puffy, oversize life vest, like a dog life vest. And for some reason this whole charade reminds me of my little 10 pound dog, Ellie. “Erin. It’s not funny.”, this is my mantra.

Second four, I can’t take it anymore. I burst out laughing. And it is a pent up, unrelenting and utterly unstoppable laugh, a laugh that sounds explosive and almost wicked; the best kind of laugh if you ask me.

Zack, also now laughing at Geoff, helps pull his dripping wet body and soaking wet backpack out from the lips of the mercurial lake. By this time either out of shock, humiliation, stupidity, or all three, Geoff himself is laughing. It is certain now, my shortcut is in fact a terrible idea. And it is official, this granite slab is not passable; and therefore our only option is to hike back up and bushwhack our way over before hiking back down to the other, kinder side of the lake.

So that is what we will do.

I gradually stopped laughing so hard I cried and was able to collect myself. Geoff eventually slapped back on his dripping wet socks and soaking wet boots. And Zack forged on ahead dry as a bell and right as rain.

Onwards and upwards.