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Minam Lake Meadows
Eagle Cap Wilderness Sept 97
Three and half more miles to go
up Lost Creek as it surges and swells
in crevices and canyons
with my pack on my back I look down
to the forested valley below.
Up the trail ahead stands towering old grandfir and tammarack.
Rotted logs are decomposed and the tops of some trees
are broken off or split in two.
Stepping over piles of horseshit and mudholes I climb up
the long gradual incline.
The hike is as important as getting there.
Ascending another two thousand feet crossing a creek
climbing higher into the autumn wind in Minam Meadows
I sit by a slow meandering stream, listening to it
as it trickles down and ripples over rock ledges and stone.
Studying my reflection in the sun, my eyes in the clouds,
I’m standing at the mirror of earth and sky.
At the edge of Minam Lake windy gales stir
and the water laps against the north side of the shore.
A few hundred yards back in a windbreak of pine and fir
I make my camp for the night.
The sun goes out in the west in a heavy cloudbank.
In the east the full moon rises over the lake
and I think of Tu Fu and Li Po.
The moon reflects on the water and the silhouette
of the mountains in the background appear
like a Chinese painted scroll.
A pot of water boils on the stove
for some hot dragon soup
and a cup of ginger tea.
Steam rises off the wooden bowl
in moments of silence with Buddha.
Tonight I crawl inside my warm bag
and read Han Shan’s Cold Mountain
by flashlight, then close my eyes
to the chirp of a squirrel as it scrambles up a tree nearby.
Gusts of strong wind blow from the west out of the pass
and the river sings me to sleep at last.
I hear a thump and a thud, something crashing
through the woods and I think it must be a bear
so I crawl out of the tent and take a look around
but don’t see anything or hear a sound
except the wind in the trees.
11
I wake to the cold sun and morning clouds hanging low
bowing before the stream cupping my hands
and splashing the cold water on my face.
Sitting in the cool wind among the bluebells and aster
I blow a note on my recorder to the Great Mother.
Lying on my back, arms outstretched and taking
long deep breaths I look up at the drifting clouds
swiftly moving across the sky
and no rain yet but cool windy and dry.
From Minam Lake to Upper Lake I climb the switchback trail
crossing barren tundra of broken rock slabs and rubble
with snowfields in the near distance.
Buttercup blooms at my feet and gnarled pine twists in the wind
and a magpie gluides from the top of an old snag to Scajawa Peak.
From the view on Eagle Cap I see Mirror and Moccassin Lakes
encompassed by the thin forests below.
Gray mist rolls off the peaks at some 9,000 feet
and thunderheads build in the west.
I hear a rumble in the sky as light drops of rain begin to fall
and the air turns colder as the high wind blows stronger.
Heading out of the wind I turn around and head back down
towards Minam Lake.
Back at camp it rains all night and turns into snow.
Zipping the storm door on my tent closed
and pulling the draw strings on my bag tight
I take refuge from the cold.
When morning comes I do not see the sun but only the falling snow
so I pack up my gear and head back down the trail, breathing the crisp cold
mountain air, crossing the gurgling stream flowing out
from the snow blanketed meadows above.
I follow it all the way down on the mudsoaked trail of snowmelt and horseshit
back to the trailhead, catching intermintent rays of the morning sun
breaking through the low hanging cold mass of clouds
gathering over the ridges in the east
as I return back to where the trail began.
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(c)1997, Thomas Avery