Hit the trail in the afternoon with the sun shining hot and bright. Now and then a breeze carrying the chill of the last melted snow would fan us. Lots of little wildflowers were in bloom. We walked in green grass speckled with yellows, pinks, and blues.
Max loved the trail, cheerfully trotting alongside us or prancing in water while gulping fresh mountain water like a water bottle turned sideways.
At Island Lake, there was a group camping with horses. The horses were majestic, looking like the rightful owners of the land. We could hear them neigh across the lake as we looked for our camping spot, and as we paused to eat fresh cherries and apricots we bought that morning. Max and I took a short swim together in the blue water, sparkling with summer sunlight.
The mosquitoes woke up while we were setting up camp. We quickly traded idyllic for itchy. For the next 3 hours, Iana and I hid from swarms of mosquitoes inside of the tent. As we sat, we marveled at the growing numbers of mosquitoes gathered on the tent wall, waiting for us to get closer like patient little monsters. We talked about 1984 as one does in times like this.
The temperature quickly dropped after dark and the mosquitoes mostly gave up. No longer held hostage by the bugs, we stood by the lake looking at constellations, the occasional distant lightning strike, and were graced by a single shooting star.
