Iceberg Lake

We sat upon a ledge with our backs to a stone wall, our feet dangling above the rapids that sang over the rocks below.  The wind blew hard -- a frosty snowborne wind cutting through the rocks and canyons of this private place at the crest of the earth. We had picked our way from the trail to this narrow shelf, seeking some sliver of protection.  It was July, the sky sparkling blue, but we were many thousands of feet in the air in a wilderness which does not know true warmth.  To quench our thirst we captured an icy liquid which just moments before had been snow.  There is no finer water in the world.

We were at Iceberg Lake, a sparkling alpine lake at the base of a glacier and the Minarets: rocky stone outcroppings reaching into the sky and standing like sentinels guarding paradise.  The rapids below our narrow ledge ran from a still pool formed from a waterfall flowing from the lake. Despite the roar of the water falling and churning and echoing off the stone, all was peacefully serene, as on that day no other humans had hiked the rough mountain trail to reach this place, and it was ours.

The lake is small, as lakes in that region go, and dotted with two stone islands from which it takes its name.  But it is surrounded by steep stone slopes covered with wildflowers.  The glistening glacier and the Minarets reflect in the still blueness of the water, so it is more beautiful than many of its larger neighbors.  On one slope a goat-path of a trail runs through the loose rock.  It crosses the ridge at the far end of the lake to yet another lake, but we did not follow it to the crest.  At the point where the trail leaves the foot of the lake, where we are sitting, a carpet of small pink wildflowers covers an entire section of the rocky slope.  They are nowhere else.  Just here on this slope in this spot, and they are exquisite in their fullness of color and in the perfection of their tiny blossoms massed by the millions on this private stretch of the Sierra Nevada.

We had been 10 days in this wilderness, hiking from place to place. Tomorrow we would hike back to civilization, to hot showers and good food.  But as we sat on this rocky ledge and ate our cold lunch we did not want to leave.  We spoke of the beauties of this wilderness and the time we had shared with these wonders of nature, and it was with regret that we knew we must return to our homes. 

There was a sadness as we last looked upon Iceberg Lake and its glories, then turned for the hike back down the mountain to our camp many miles away.