The best way to experience this week's Hike of the Week would have been to join me this past weekend.
The second-best way is to experience the multi-media presentation available on YouTube at this link:
https://youtu.be/YNDKzfsU054<
This story, and the video that tells the story, was inspired when I met a friend a few days ago who thanked us for sharing our Hikes of the Week. She can no longer hike the trails she loves, but she enjoys seeing the photos and reading the descriptions we share so that she can vicariously relive her memories of the trails. This week is dedicated to her in appreciation for her kind words, and her reminder that hiking our trails is a gift to be treasured every chance we get.
Be sure to turn up the volume on your computer or tablet (viewing it on a phone will be too small of a screen to enjoy the production).
- A third alternative is to read the text below, but it isn't nearly the same immersive experience.
O dark early. The parking lot was empty at the Whistle Lake trailhead. The sun hinted that it might rise later this morning. I love this time of day, when the stars are fading from view, when the midnight blue lightens with the faintest of blushes. I could see few details as I started up the trail, but I could hear choruses of birds serenading the dawn, an insistent robin’s voice filling the darkness, and the faint songs of a hermit thrush, a creeper, a siskin, a towhee, and a Pacific wren trilling through the trees.
The trail to the lake is a wide dirt road, a safe place to walk when you can’t see rocks and roots as clearly as in daylight. A bird landed on the trail in front of me, but it was too dark to identify what it was.
As I approached the lake, the dawn was now approaching too. I stood at the shore, warmly dressed in a sweatshirt and puffy vest, the wind breezy in my face. Another robin declared its presence, and now a nuthatch joined in with its voice. They were soon drowned out by an incoming pair of Canada geese, their honking echoing off the rock walls around the lake.
I took the east shore trail, and watched ripples of wavelets arriving silently at my feet. I hoped to get to the west side of the lake to see the sun rise, but I was content to enjoy whatever gifts of discoveries I may find along the way, regardless of how long it would take me.
A fir dripped golden sap. An orange-crowned warbler warbled its joy at a place where I could now see Mt. Erie rising in the west, still shrouded in pre-dawn gray and a little bit of fog.
At the south end, the trail rises steeply, and my breathing had trouble keeping up with my walking. I had to shed my vest as I climbed.
I paused many times, enjoying the lilies and other flowers blooming alongside the trail, and admiring the size of the cedars and firs growing in this rocky world. Eventually I was descending to the southwest corner, where an outlet gurgled a simple tune, and where Toot Swamp lay carpeted in pond lilies and the calls of a redwing. On-ka-reeee-a!
The sky was brightening. I could now see blue where there had once been just black. A banana slug moved a quarter inch along the trail; I was hiking a little faster than that. An elderberry bloomed in pure white; ferns unfurled to play their fiddles in the symphony of life. Trees looked like creatures, and calm water reflected the morning sky.
Once again the trail climbed, and once again I had to shed clothing, this time the sweatshirt that was getting sweaty. I was now heading east, and sunlight peeked through the trees. It washed the lake with gold, and made the trunks of madrones glow brilliantly. The energy in the air was electric, at least in my spirit, as I too was bathed in the joy of the new day. I just stood there, soaking up the beauty, grateful to share this time with the sun, the woods, and the wildlife.
I headed north along the lakeshore, being surprised myself while surprising a couple of ducks that quacked off in alarm as I passed above them on the trail.
As quiet returned, I stood on the lakeshore one more time to give thanks for this morning of peace.
Now I was back on the dirt road, heading away from the lake. Robins still sang unendingly, along with dozens of other species.
Trees stood there quietly, busy creating oxygen for us to breathe and seeds to grow new life for the future.
Back at the parking lot, there were still no cars. This day is a miracle that begins every morning in its own way.
For the full media experience, visit the YouTube site at https://youtu.be/YNDKzfsU054
Directions
Directions: Go south (up the hill) from the roundabout at Commercial Avenue and Highway 20. Take a left at the T intersection onto Fidalgo Avenue, left again on Hillcrest at the stop sign, then follow this road as it bends a couple of times to become Whistle Lake Road. Nearing the lake, the road will turn left and go down a hill, then right, then right again onto a dirt road leading you to the parking lot. Signs point the way.
By Bike: Other than the climb up to Fidalgo Road from the roundabout, the route is fairly level until the very end, with minimal traffic, though the shoulders are narrow.
Mobility: From the parking lot, the entrance to the trail is narrow and a little difficult at the gate. Beyond that the trail to the lake is a dirt road that gains some elevation fairly uniformly.
Thank you to the City of Anacortes for managing these lands; to the Friends of the ACFL for their support and educational efforts; to everyone who cares for the lands; and to you for joining me on this wild mountain morning, on a Hike Close to Home.
Republished with permission. Read the original article at Hiking Close to Home.