AMERICAN LAKES DAY HIKE
September 2000
 
 
Andra, Frank and I took a leisurely stroll up to the two lakes called the American Lakes. The terminology is confusing. One of the lakes is also known as Snow Lake, so really there is only one American Lake. The Colorado State Forest also calls them the Michigan Lakes, despite the fact that Michigan Lake is up the road about 10 miles. Who knows? Who cares? What we call the lakes is of no importance to anyone as we crunch the gravel of the trail under stiff-soled hiking boots.
Frank handles reconnaisance, and roves from side to side in large, 50 meter sweeps with his nose to the ground. We are the only hikers on the trail that morning, and the peaceful, cool forest is most inviting. A collapsed logging shack serves as our lunch venue, mostly because it is in the sun. The fall air is cool, and the mid-morning sun is warm, providing that delicous dichotomy of warmth on the sunside and chill on the shade side. We walk without speed or any discernable purpose to the outside observer. The trail leads us on up the valley towrads the destination, although the hike is more of the purpose rather than the lake. Still, before noon we reach the lakes, deep blue pools of water barely held back by a slim, insignificant slate of grass.
                 
The upper lake is much higher than the lower one, and is a strenuous hike to reach. Andra stayed by the lower lake and read while I took a quick trip up with Frank. The upper lake was barren, completely lacking in plant life of any kind. It's shores were a maze of sharp rocks and boulders, unstable and wobbly underfoot. While seated at its shores, no green was visible. The only sign of life were the profuse array of lichens attached tenaciously to the rocks, and two talkative ravens, hoarsely cawing from the cliffs on the far shore. These cliffs are the Nokhu Crags, a splendid formation consisting of sharp, unwholesomely barren and jagged pinnacles pointing sharply toward the sky. From the upper lake's shores, they are but a few hunderd feet above me, and I considered trying to make it to the top, for on the other side, over a thousand feet below, are the deep blue waters of Lake Agnes. In the end, I opt to merely sit and listen to the brisk wind howl among the rocks.

Frankie watches the water ripple, and seems very content to be a dog on this day. Dogs need a life, and Frank lives well I think. Back at the lower lake some time later, Andra and I throw rocks for Frankie to chase, a favorite activity sinse frisbee became off-limits. Andra finds a thick stick and tosses it just into the lake. Frank cautiously walks in, then goes completely under as he falls off the shelf and into the deep abyss. He spastically splashes his way to the stick and executes a tight u-turn in mid water before paddling back to shore. We throw the stick a few more times, and he seems to enjoy the swimming. His short hair dries quickly on the walk back, although for him the walk back is a constant state of loping along in the wind-blown grass, searching for uncatchable critters.

           
The sun is low on the horizon this time of year, and the yellow mountain mahogany signals winter's approach. Deep shadows harbor cold breezes, and the air is crisp and light. A certain mournfulness hangs in the air. Puffy cumulonimbus clouds which bring powerful summer thunderstorms have already given way to the high sweeping thin cirrus clouds of winter. One week after we hiked this trail, it was buried under snow for the winter.


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