8:30am. We arrived at the Glacier Gorge Trailhead, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. As one of the more popular regions in the park, we had set our sights high. Sky Pond.
Nestled between Taylor Peak, Powell Peak, and Thatchtop Mountain, Sky Pond couldn’t have attained a better moniker. At 10,900 ft. this jaw-dropping lake had become that of myth in the weeks leading up to our trip. I familiarized myself with the trail and day by day, fixated on reaching our goal. In my mind, the hike to Sky Pond had become a beast we were meant to conquer. I write this with sore, shaky hands to tell you how the beast kicked our ass.
Seven hours. Seven hours we drove from the comforting buzz of suburbia up the California coast. Two hours of which were spent slogging through Los Angeles freeways in the thick of rush hour. It was night time before we were able to leave the city.
Chatting passed the time, as there was little to look at beyond headlights behind us and the whale-like semi-trucks we passed. Eventually we exit the highway, wandering into unknown territory. A narrow, two-lane road through what seemed like endless rows of an orchard. It was somewhat eerie, only making out the passing lines of trees that the headlights illuminated, but knowing the labyrinth that laid beyond. There would be no charity for hitchhikers here.
Finally, we reached the coast. Backs sore, Spotify-exhausted, and out of politics to discuss, we began the treacherous drive along PCH, just south of Big Sur.
Primitive extraterrestrial communication.
Kidding. Man’s best friend’s wild cousins have been making their voices heard for almost 1 million years now and as long as humans have been around, we’ve been fascinated by it. Whether it’s watching The Wolfman or listening to Ozzy Osbourne, you’ve heard it. But aside from looking cool and inspiring decades of cliches, why do wolves howl?