At the Enchantment Lakes
     Last week the lakes called Enchantment Lakes, in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area in the north Cascades, cast their spell over me. Leprechaun Lake, at 6680 feet, enticed me into its snow-cold, Irish-green water, then kept me there for a long swim. I looked for water sprites as I swam through dainty little Sprite Lake, but they must have hidden in the lakeside snowbanks (or was I the sprite?). And then the perfectly named Perfection Lake (at 7000 feet), with its magnificent granite walls and cascading snow-melt waterfall on the far side, whispered, "No lake is perfect until you swim in it," and so I did, and so it was.

Swimming in Leprechaun Lake

     To swim in a high-altitude lake with snowbanks melting into it and granite peaks towering over it; to swim through that deep blue or emerald green water, my mother's diamond ring flashing sparks of color in the sun; to swim with my head up so I can look at the mountains around me because if my head is underwater I might as well be swimming at the Y (and because to get the top of my head wet intensifies the cold when I get out of the lake); to immerse myself slowly – stepping to my knees, my thighs, my belly, then ("This is the hard part; once I'm in it's easier") the full plunge, the sudden intake of breath at the cold, the readjustment of the body to the temperature, and then I'm swimming for five, ten, twenty minutes; to be so fully at one with the water and the mountains – this is to fall under a spell of enchantment. Just as every time I set off on a difficult backpacking trip, I wonder if I can still do it (71 being different from 41 or even 51 or 61), every time I contemplate swimming in such lakes, I wonder if I can still do it. Either I can, or the enchantment worked, for last week in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area I had thirteen swims in eight different lakes.

From our campsite on Snow Lake

     The enchantment also worked on my feet. On the steep, hot hike to Snow Lake, where my backpacking partner, Mike, and I would camp for the night, after a swim in Nada Lake I balked at putting on my boots. My feet had been much happier as I walked back, barefooted, from swimming the length of the lake than they had been in the boots, and even with the weight of the pack, they preferred being bare to being shod. So I walked barefooted, figuring I would put my boots on when I needed to. When Mike pointed to the rocky hillside we would be climbing, I said, "That looks like boot country," but when we got there, I didn't put on my boots. Some enchantment was protecting my feet, the danger being not so much stepping on sharp things or twisting an ankle as stubbing my toe, which I did several times but never to the bleeding point. I continued walking barefooted the final 2 1/2 miles to camp, over hard rocks and soft forest duff, through squishy damp ground where water seeped through the hillside, over rough roots, sharp rocks, and springy moss. My feet were so much happier that the next day I climbed the rock cliffs up to the lowest of the Enchantment Lakes, Lake Viviane, barefooted, too. The next day when we hiked back up to Lake Viviane and beyond it to Leprechaun Lake, Sprite Lake, and Perfection Lake, I was sometimes shod and sometimes not. For the trip down the mountain I wore my boots.

Barefooted backpacking

     It was an enchanting backpacking trip with many swims, strenuous walking, beautiful jagged peaks reflected in lakes, an occasional mountain goat on the rocks,

white granite against green lakes, powerful waterfalls and crashing cascades, some challenging rock climbing and water crossings on logs and rocks, but the descent into 107º heat at Leavensworth just about did me in. I thought I would suffocate with the heat. Once in the car, Mike and I headed immediately for an ice cream. Then we had a shower at a friend's house, and I spent long luxurious minutes putting cream on my feet.