Where Morning Breaks

By writing this post, I know I am not telling the stories of my backpacking trip of the Grand Loop in Olympic National Park in order, but sometimes a moment in your trip stands out and it deserves to be told first.

Elizabeth and I woke up early before the light of day and broke camp on our third day in the park. As we donned our headlamps and stuffed our backpacks anew, I looked up at the slope of the first pass we had to conquer today. It had presented as a sheer wall of trees last night when we arrived even though I knew there was a zippered trail along its flank. There would be 958 feet of gain in less than a mile, the first of three similar climbs before we would get to our destination at Grand Lake. We wanted to make as much of the cooler morning hours so we set off with our headlamps lighting our way.

As per our routine, Elizabeth and I start out together on the trail but as it climbs, my quicker pace means I am soon ahead. The skies began to brighten slightly and glow a soft pink, orange and blue. There was slight haze of smoke from wildfires, but thankfully none in the park.

My pictures of our ascent are marginally at best. I choose to just use my iPhone because I don’t want the weight or responsibility of more expensive camera equipment so early morning sunrises are hard to capture. I just tell myself that if they were too good, there wouldn’t be a reason for people to come out and experience the beginning of the day in the wild themselves.

I reached the saddle around 6:30 am and glanced around me for confirmation I was at the top. The signpost for the pass itself did not actually sit on the trail, it stood about 20 feet back in the meadow. I carefully played the lava rock game, hopping over to get a better view and snap a picture without walking on the vegetation. The grayed wood stood guard of its post as the sun rays began to bounce off the dewy grass around me.

I moved to the other side of the saddle and found a place with a view of the Lost River Valley stretching out as far as the eye could see. Elizabeth soon sat next to me (and the bugs) for breakfast. Mount Fromme and Claywood reached upward to our left and Mount Cameron stood proudly to our right. Mount Fairchild and Carrie were off in the distant horizon with their snowy tips.

Sitting there with my good friend in silence, I was filled with gratitude. Thankful to be able to get myself to such beautiful places. Thankful that I have a good friend who likes to, also, find herself in these amazing locations. Thankful that public lands exist so I and others can enjoy moments like this to reflect on life and gratitude.

During our quiet moment at the pass, we heard the soft trampling of the grass to our left and turned to see a golden buck grazing towards us within just a few feet. He was entirely unfazed at our presence and with his fearlessness, I can not help but feel on public lands we are more likely to come in encounter with animals that do not fear us as if they know they are protected here somehow. I was thankful to be reminded that the park is not only preserved for me but for the wildlife that calls it home. And I was again thankful for a parks system that allows me to be connected with other creatures over breakfast, all of us up with the morning sun to make the most of the day.

Mornings are for being thankful and filled with gratitude for a new day and there is no where better to do it than in the wilderness.

Do you have a song that pops into your head in certain situations every time? Like when you remember a special moment or hear a particular word or phrase? For me, when I think about mornings and being thankful, this is the song that faithfully comes to mind. Yes, this song was playing in my mind that morning as it does every time I am feeling gratitude with the gift of another day.