The next day everyone but Great-Uncle Bob set out to hike the Bear Lake trail. About a third of the way up P saw some irresistible boulders and took a shortcut, fast. I've mentioned before that he was born climbing. Climbing up our chest when we hold him, climbing furniture, railings, buildings, bodies, anything that allows his legs to imagine they are on a ladder. So boulders, well, that's a given.
Fortunately, Uncle Ian is swift and agile enough to keep up with P's escapades and ventured off with E and I as back-up. I assumed we would wander the rocks for a bit and then return to the trail, but P pushed higher and deeper until we were well off any beaten path. It was some of the most lovely hiking of the trip.
We followed a snow spotted stream up the mountain affording us some really nice light climbing. We eventually hit a snow bank and ate half of it to quench our sun stricken thirst.
P sucks down the snow...
Then, of course, we had to throw a lot of it too. After that we happened upon a little glassy lake; perfect for a picnic. All of the adventure and a full belly made for a sleepy P, so he climbed on my back to enjoy the scenic side of the remaining hike.
We kept heading the general direction of the trail head until we hit dirt. And, though it wove around beautiful falls and rock formations, I was still a little sad to have left our quiet beauty and freedom. It was the sort of peace that even lures a city girl into dreams of quiet mountainside living - I'm pretty sure P had the same dreams on the return hike to the car...
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