Sun, Jul 18 2004 - Picklejar Lakes (View Original Event Details)
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Except for a few minor skirmishes over who got to stand in the limited shade today, we had quite a lovely and civilized time. It was a scorcher, and the views were astounding today. We set out up the hill, and managed to stay together for about 3 1/2 minutes before splitting into our usual "fast group" and "slow group" (we prefer the "stop to smell the roses group"). Incidentally, the Picklejar Lakes are named for the number of fish in them - they are so plentiful it's like pulling them from a picklejar. We did see several fisher-people today, but none with a catch to speak of (apparently the fish were small and got thrown back).
The "smell the roses" group reached the first Picklejar Lake about half an hour behind the "fast group" who were already lounging around digesting the "beer and trout" that they promised us once we got there. Without fanfare, all the guys, with the exception of Ken (the only smart one...?) set off to find the remaining Picklejar Lakes while the gals and Ken lounged around eating lunch and sunning ourselves at the first lake.
Along the way, Cheryl made many friends from the insect kingdom, including a moth who thought her chest was a rest area, and a funky beetle-thing that thought her hip was much more comfy. Because of the heat, I guess, the mosquitoes virtually non-existent, and the biting flies were few, with some exceptions (see Mark's favorite photo - the crushed horsefly). I'm very proud to report that the American among us was razzed with affection and tenderness, and we didn't even TRY to throw him off the mountain.
Returning down the mountain, the "smell the roses" group was joined by a couple of guys normally from the "fast group" who became the "whingeing about going so slow with the smell the roses" group. After trying, unsuccessfully, to get them to just pass us and get on with it, we decided it would be more fun to thwart their efforts and FORCE them to walk behind us while we dawdled along... um... well... smelling the roses. A brief scuffle on the hill, during which I'm relieved to report that the Dictator was NOT thrown from the mountain, and some minor trauma over wet underwear slung from a daypack (wet from swimming in a lake, apparently) and the mental image of said swimmer hiking commando down the hill left us all giddy but satisfied that we must have had a great time.
-- Dictator