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Personal Narrative: The Lakes Mountain Trail

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Having had the foresight to properly test and adjust her loaded backpack before we left the motel, Julie appeared to be doing well in the backpack department, While still in the early planning stage, I envisioned a high country hike and campout on a scenic mountain summit or high grassy bald, meeting and exchanging stories with other hikers on the trail. As our gear arsenal expanded, I realized that, not being born a mule, I was neither prepared or willing to climb any long slope with a fully loaded backpack, no matter how rewarding the prize at the trails end. With a reputation of isolation and proximity to water, my daughter favoured the Lakeshore Trail alongside Fontana Lake, a place we 've only seen looking down from nearby mountain summits. The guide book illustrated the Lakeshore Trail to campsite 98 as a horizontal traverse for the most part, with a series of smallish undulating valleys and crests, the largest having an elevation change of only 500 feet. Compared to the long and strenuous hikes of the past week, a 500 foot hill, even with a loaded backpack, was just a bump, or so I presumed. While the prospect of venturing ten miles into a forest that had no spectacular views or features did not particularly excite me, I believed that we could …show more content…

Long and straight with an attractive stonework facade, it appeared to be a typical Appalachian mountain tunnel, except that it has been sitting there for half a century, completed but unused, just marking a point in time. We used headlamps to light the way through its quarter-mile length, not that we were afraid of the dark or couldn 't walk a straight line to its exit, but to observe years of layered graffiti on the tunnel wall. The entire length was decorated with it, some quite artistic and original but most of it just plain

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Hayden, Kason and I were climbing a sixty at lowest. We would use our staffs (a story for another time) to push ourselves up the trail, and would reach our hands out to grab on something. We had climbed about twenty feet of this fifteen foot wide sixty degree trail before it narrowed to a three foot wide path up the mountain. In the mouth of that path, two thick trunks stood close together and the path split between them. That’s where we rested.

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At first, I followed the edge of our property line until I came to a little trail in the weeds that looked like it been made by a deer or another good-sized animal. It descended gently down the escarpment at first, but then I had to quicken my step as it became a little steeper, eventually taking me right down to the Genesee River. The river itself wasn’t as wide and as deep as I thought it would have been, and in spots it looked like you could cross without needing the aid of a bridge, the water perhaps coming up as high as my waist. But that was most likely because it was August and the heat wave we’d been experiencing had the area gripped in a drought. I had followed the river’s rocky shoreline for a little ways while listening

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It was eerily quiet.” (Page 78 WM. Paul Young) In that passage, I picture Mack cautiously walking down into a valley with adroit foot placement. I see a very narrow path with loose rock and tree roots growing within the path like I have seen on my own hikes in the Montana wilderness.

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