The trailhead is not deceiving. It begins at 9,000 feet, is rock strewn and rises sharply, and continues that way for 2.7 miles and an additional 2,000 feet into the sky. Aspen, beech and downed trees line each side of the narrow trail, broken only by two small meadows during the ascent. For those who, like me, are unaccustomed to hiking at altitude, breathing becomes immediately labored and legs become leaden. My cousin lives and hikes often at this altitude, so it becomes quickly annoying to watch her move effortlessly up the rocky incline.
Two hours to make the climb, but after fording a creek and reaching cool, level ground, a turn reveals Whitney Lake. The view is breath-taking in a different way, and this pristine, prehistoric mountain lake becomes an instant reward for the effort. The cousin suns herself on a warm boulder with a book. I assemble my fly rod and watch the trout rise to a late morning hatch on the water. Elk hunters wonder from the woods to the shoreline to enjoy the view and rest. Squirrels chatter in the pines at Lillie, my cousin’s tireless dog, as she runs along the shore.
A cold wind eventually turns thoughts to the descent which, while infinitely preferable to the climb, and much quicker, is brutal on the ankles. I’m so very happy that I have the correct foot ware. Soon we are back at the trailhead, leaving the the silent lake in its two-mile-high dwelling place here in the magnificent White River National Forest. It was a tough hike but highly satisfying, and we are pleased to have our boots off and aching bodies seated in the car for the drive back.
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