I’ve had the chance to make some of the best friends a person could ever ask for in life. I’ve had the chance to keep some of them close over the years, and the misfortune of losing too many good ones. I’ve had the chance to share my passion of the outdoors with many of those friends, and I’ve had the chance to teach them all a thing or two about making life in the wild a little bit more enjoyable, or at the very least, survivable. But of all those friends, one of the dearest and longest I’ve had is my friend Chance, and this trip was a farewell to him and our very close buddy Matt, as they both prepare to make a move from Utah out to Colorado.
The trip was a last minute scramble of sorts, Matt having texted me the weekend prior but my committing only three days beforehand. We made our way up around Noon on Saturday, the short excursion would only be a stay of 24 hours, but in that days worth of outdoors I think we had a wonderful time. We were talking about meeting up at the lake, but ran into each other at the fee station while I was filling out paperwork. Heading up along the dusty trail, I lost the lads in their Subaru as I rocketed down the trail in my new and dear Tacoma—Diana—rolling out about 40mph on the long and open stretch. Once I got the the lake, I began setting up my tarp immediately, foreboding clouds on the horizon were whispering about a storm to come and I wouldn’t be caught having my camp unprepared. It’s a quick process for me now, but not quick enough to make up for the fact the they still hadn’t found their way to camp yet. I wasn’t too concerned that they’d get too lost to find the place, but I did have some doubt that they’d have a comfortable camp setup before the rain came in. Just as I finished up my end of the trees, I heard their car doors swing shut a few hundred yards away and knew they’d made it.
After a few greetings Chance gets to work right away at setting up his sleep system for the night, and Matt asks if I’m able to give him a hand on his, which I’m more than happy to pitch at. I was surprised to see he’d be attempting to sleep in an 8ft eno-style hammock, even moreso when I folded out a tent tarp and said it’d be his rain cover for the night. I was pretty skeptical of it’s efficacy, but rigged it up as best I could figure for the odd pattern to hang between trees. Once the rain started coming down though, it was clear that Matt wouldn’t be sleeping in an elevated position, as the hammock beneath the tarp began to pool with water and eventually hail. We hadn’t tossed his sleeping bag or pad in there yet, and I’m damn glad we didn’t otherwise he may have just froze in the dark.
The rain coming down was mesmerizing and cozy, bringing with it rapidly cooling temps that would climb back up with the intermittent sunrays. Eventually once the aforementioned hailstorm broke, we had to throw on the heaviey jackets and hunker down for a bit under the cover of trees or tarps, brilliant flashes of lightning striking no more than a mile away, snapping the air around us into a cacaophony of CRRRRRAAAAAACCCCKKs and thunderous roars. We waited about two hours before the storms let up, and once the weather was done, Chance and I hit the lake to cast out lines one last time. I was throwing flies and Chance had worms on tackle, myself wading in about 5 yards and chance casting from shore 20m on my three. Beth Lake had just recently been stoked with Brookies about 3 months ago, but they were just young guns and nothing larger than 4 inches would be in the lake. We were out there probably another two hours until, after 4 strikes, I was finally able to land a small, 3.75” Brook. It’s not much, but it is a fish, and those little guys always seem to have the most vibrant colors when they come out of the cool water. Looking over the lake during the sunset, the sweeping post-storm clouds tall and fresh ran across the horizon, the rays of light weaving between to gradient cobalt nimbus like scenes of biblical rapture.
Once the night had fallen and the stars burst out from the dark, we shared a few drinks and put log after log into the ember pit. One by one we’d put our words into the fire, sharing stories of the times we’d come out before, reminiscing our lives up to the point, and thinking of plans for the future. The stories would revolve as they often do in the cold black pines; Jokes and songs and singalongs, sob stories from best friends past, growth and moving on from things that can’t be saved, and concluding with the desperate desire for just 5 more minutes of warmth around the dying coals. We extinguished the fire, Chance set back to his hammock while Matt made his way back to the car for the night as I snapped a few more shots, not putting too much effort into it all now that I was tired and exhausted from the day, then finally falling into sleep in my cozy cocoon.
The next morning I awoke first at just past 7am, having to jump out for a bathroom break. Seeing the fog on the lake and the morning sun showering Haystack Mountain in amber and gold, I grabbed my camera and starting taking a few snapshots. Once I saw a fish rise, I half-reluctantly agreed to the morning fishing in the frost-covered dew, and tied on a few flies. I tried the creek for a while with a dry, then back to the lake with a dry dropper—four different sets—but the trout seemed more interested in territorial battles rather than food, and after an hour and a half not finding any luck, I tucked myself back into the hammock. As soon as I was settled, I heard Chance from his, “Damn, I did not get any sleep man.”
”Really? I heard you snoring a good bit.”
”Oh wow, what time? It didn’t feel like I slept at all man, I was cold as hell all night. I need to get me one of those underquilts.”
I was fighting my eyelids and the soft call of a quick morning nap by this time. “Oh yeah man, they’re awesome. Out in Colorado though, you’ll be pretty close to Warbonnet, they made all my gear and are one of my favorites now. You can’t go wrong with ‘em, all their stuff is just ready to go.”
That was the last thing I remember saying before I drifted off.
What felt like a few moments later, I heard Matt ask where I was, then I glanced out beyond the mosquito mesh and hollered to let him know I was, in fact, awake and very very cozy. His report of the night’s sleep was akin to Chance’s; cold and uncomfortable. I felt bad for both of them, I’ve certainly been in those situations before, where you never find an ounce of sleep, either due to cold or terror. Both seem to subside as the sun rises and warms the soul.
We got to packing up, the lad’s having things yet to do with their weekend time, and we set off just around 11:30. We fired off a few rounds from my recently acquired 1859 New Army .44 black powder pistol, and hugged each other in the way that brothers often do, knowing it might be a long time, if ever, that we share this adventure together. It’s not something you can dwell too deeply on or you’ll lose yourself in the sorrow, so you have to keep a stiff upper lip, shine a smile, and rip past the Subaru that’s got your friends in front of you as they avoid a puddled pothole, splashing the side of the hatchback as you whip your hat out and let loose a "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWW!!!” that could be heard all down the valley.
