My journal entries are starting to appear less often now, the busier I get.
September 18 1976
Bob and I are at the Upper Rush Creek Lake. The children are with Florence and Leonard. I’m sitting on a large granite boulder—not a very smooth writing table.
We started up the East Weaver Lake Trail around 10 a.m. Tried cutting around the hill from one of the turns and ended up in a lot of white fir and brush. Took quite a while to get out of that. My pack shifts from side to side every time I tip a little, which makes cross-country hiking difficult. Finally we came out of the brush and soon saw the trail that comes up to the ridge top from below E. Weaver Lake. We’ll take it going out. We hiked up the open ridge toward Monument Peak and stopped for about half an hour to eat lunch. No water but the carrots helped a little. We zigzagged up the ridge away from Monument Peak, crossed some decomposed granite and headed down a draw. Got very steep and at one point I asked Bob to come back up and get my pack to carry it over that spot (leaving his below). By the time we got here my legs were really shaking and feet very sore.
It’s a beautiful lake. Steep cliffs on three sides, big boulders all around. It’s deep and we can see fish near shore. We got here at 3 o’clock and the sun disappeared behind the cliffs at 4 :00. Cooled off very fast and is quite chilly now.
We had stew, chocolate pie and tomato soup for dinner. Bob is taking a short hike down the creek now. There are supposed to be three smaller lakes below here. There is a tiny (10 x 20 ‘ ) pond, filled with grass and rocks right by me and a longer one, which the outlet creek runs through. Fir and Mt. Hemlock here of course, and golden glow of setting sun on the tops of the steep cliffs.
We can see Monument Peak above us and will probably try to go out that way tomorrow. Shouldn’t be as steep. Downstream we can look across and see the Red Mt. /Silago Meadows area.
Very pretty earlier this evening with grey and white thunderheads and the green of nearer mountains and the greys and reds of that area.
Coming up Weaver Bally this morning we could look out over the whole basin, which was filled with fog. Beautiful.
Bob came back and asked me to look at something. In the growing dusk we went down the creek below the larger pond where the rocks are angled and shelved. The water runs down on beds of thick moss, forming small waterfalls, beds of thick moss, miniature lakes and runs. In one spot the moss is so thick that the water disappears into it, appearing a few inches later. The falls make different sounds. It’s a unique spot and I hope I can get some pictures if the sun hits in there today.
It’s almost 8 o’clock and still no sun in camp although it’s on the cliffs across the creek. There’s a light breeze, increasing the chill factor. I slept fairly well off and on last night. More than most first night’s camping out. Was cold for quite awhile at first.
(Years later, in the mid-to- late 1980s, I hiked to the lower lake from the Highway 3 side and back in one day—it was a long hike. I remember a steep trail and then quite some distance along a ridge. 16 miles round trip maybe?)