My name is Kerr. In the spring of every year after the snow retreats to the high places, I walk into the mountains to peel away the layers of habit and sloth that have accumulated in my head during a winter of work. It's just an annual thing I do. Early this June I started from Cairn Lake with my life in my backpack and headed up, climbing west on the trail that followed Mine Creek. I planned to stay all week. Walking slowly and steadily, I tried to forget that I had a destination and just enjoy the sight of barren, knife-edged ridges flanking fortress peaks.
Rushing torrents crossed my track, noisily impatient with the lichen-covered boulders that frustrated their abrupt descent to the lake. The first night I camped at 10,300 feet under the dark shape of Mount Edloch beside an unnamed mountain tarn with a wizard island in the middle. The night was spectacular. Galactic clouds of starlight outlined the peaks. I felt as though I were looking out across the universe. The air was cold and dry and I crept into my bag and slept, drunk on the purity of the night.
The next day I went even higher, switchbacking up to Lyla Pass, a ridge of broken stone capped by one gigantic flat boulder that could only have been placed by some race of extinct Druid giants. At noon I sat upon the stone and ate my lunch, looking down into the Dendran Valley. Dendran was a magical place, ringed with peaks. Though the rest of the mountains might be icy cold, Dendran could be warm. Dendran had many small lakes, a chain of alpine jewels full of trout, but none had names because so few people came here. Guidebook hikers did not come. No trails were marked on pages. In fact I had never seen another person in the Dendran Valley in the three times I had walked here. I would be alone for the whole week in natural beauty and solitude and that's the way I wanted it.
The way down into the valley was across treacherous slopes of shifting talus, so I went slowly. Not until dusk did I reach the third and largest Dendran lake and set up my tent on its shore under lodgepole pines. I unpacked what I needed. My little stove roared to life and soon I was drinking hot soup and watching the last fiery rim of the sun glowing on Cloud Mountain, a black, cold, inhuman peak, the highest in this region. Tired and sore, I went to bed when the sun was gone.
The next day was warm and sunny. Without the need to carry my heavy pack I could wander the valley at ease. The meadows sparkled with pink and yellow wildflowers. I climbed up into a notch that held the highest of the lakes, really more a pond than a lake, found a sunny place on a gargantuan boulder and sat to watch what might appear at the water. I have always found it easier to see the inhabitants of the mountains by remaining still and letting them come to me. They did come. A pair of young male elk came to drink, as did a black bear investigating for berries at a boggy section of lake's edge. Fish jumped. The day got hotter and soon I removed my clothes, bunched them under my head as a pillow and stretched out in the sun. I fell asleep. When I awoke it was with a start, as though a black cloud had passed over the sun. I had a strong sensation that I was not alone, but when I looked about I saw nothing moving except a catspaw of wind on the lake surface. Groggy from sleep I rose to clamber down to the lake to wash my face in icy water and clear my mind. As I stooped to the
water, out of the corner of my eye I was sure I saw something move, but when I looked in that direction nothing stirred except some flycatchers dining on midges. After one has spent a year surrounded by people being truly alone takes getting used to.
I was sure my mind was playing tricks, creating imaginary people so it would not feel alone. The feeling that someone else might be watching me led me to want to put my clothes back on, but I denied that urge. No one was here. I could do as I pleased. I stuffed my clothes into my daypack and wandered off to another lake with nothing on but hiking boots. I'd teach my mind to be alone and try to catch some dinner.
It took awhile, but late in the day I caught two trout in quick succession and headed toward my tent. I built a small fire, cleaned and cooked the trout immediately. No meal cooked in any city restaurant could ever compare with the taste of my dinner that evening. The happiness that had been missing in my work-shrouded life began to return and I felt more like the person I was meant to be as I ate those fish and gazed at the ring of mountains that surrounded me. Soon Cloud Peak again devoured the sun and the dry mountain air chilled quickly as darkness gathered. Clothes were put on again and I sat by the embers of my tiny campfire and watched the stars come out. I fell into a dream as I sat before the nearly extinct fire. My mind turned inward and unconnected images and memories played unceasingly in my dream. I let them go on without trying to understand them or stop them. Perhaps voices that had been obscured by my noisy civilized life were being heard in this mountain silence. Perhaps my mind was coughing up its untidy trivia. A real voice woke me.
"Good evening."
At the edge of my firelight stood a tall woman covered in a gray cloak. I jumped. I was so surprised I momentarily felt the urge to run away. Earlier I had been training myself to be alone but now that I was clearly not alone, I found it hard to deal with another person. I was dumbfounded and speechless.
"I am sorry I startled you. My name is Selene. I saw you earlier today and have been debating whether I should come and introduce myself or not. I do not usually see anyone else when I come here. Are you alone?"
"Yes," I said, recovering a little. I wondered if seeing me earlier had meant seeing me walking around in my skin. "I come here to be by myself. I apologize for jumping so. I too have never ever seen another person in this valley. You were unanticipated to say the least. My name is Kerr."
"I also come here, Kerr, because it is a empty place but I'm never lonely here. This is one of my favorite places on the earth. I do not mean to disturb you. I won't stay long. May I sit by your fire a moment before I disappear into the night? I feel cold."