Frozen Lake in the Sky, Sierra Nevada, CA

The views are breathtaking. Massive granite cliffs shimmer in the morning light, radiating beauty and power. I stand in awe of Mother Nature and of God's creations.

One of the things I deeply appreciate about my life now is the softness of how I perceive time. The ability to change my plans on a whim feels like a gift, which is an unexpected pleasure I do not take for granted.

Liz is a Substack friend. Our remote friendship began during my first year on the road. I commented on one of her posts, sharing that I understood her struggle and anguish around trying to get pregnant. I consider both my pregnancies a gift from the universe—a magical miracle.

Recently, Liz reached out to see where I was. She's also traveling in her van and had read my last post. Realizing we might be close, she messaged me. We missed each other by just an hour as she passed through Jasper, Canada, back in August 2023. And now, it seems we've just missed each other again by two days. Hopefully, the third time will be the charm.

She recommended a hike she had just completed at Lone Pine Lake in the Sierra Nevada. I had the time, and since snow was still blowing hard outside, I took a moment to look it up. The trail was right on my way to Sequoia National Park. AllTrails rated it as hard—6 miles round trip with 1,771 ft of elevation gain. The photos captured my heart, so I decided to give it a try.

The drive to the trailhead is stunning. The Eastern Sierra Mountains rise to my right, their snow-covered peaks creating a bold contrast against their dark, rigid sides. The morning sky is a clear, light blue, with no clouds to block the range's majestic silhouette. It feels as if the mountains are floating in the vast blue skies.

The road to Whitney Portal Campground is a steep climb. As the elevation rises, the temperature drops. I brace myself for a cold night and remind myself that everything in life is impermanent.

The campground is almost empty. I have the luxury of picking any site. I chose one beside a roaring stream. Falling asleep to the sound of rushing water feels like winning the lottery.

At 8,000 ft above sea level, the air is crisp and pure. The scent of the trees is delicious.

As evening descends over the massive granite walls surrounding me, I hear music drifting from a nearby site. Like a goat drawn to its shepherd's flute, I follow the sound.

Diana and Gabriel are blending their instruments with the roar of the stream. It is simply magical. (Yes, I did recognize the sound of a flute.)

They are on sabbatical, searching for a piece of land in New Mexico to create a spiritual community and retreat center. Again and again, I witness not only my own spiritual longing for truth but also that same deep yearning reflected in the people I meet. My heart fills with hope for peace, for love, for all of us.

Morning arrives with a shiver. It is cold! I know the faster I start hiking, the warmer I will get, but life outdoors always takes three to four times longer than expected. I aim to hit the trail by 7:00 a.m., which means getting up at 5:45.

I sip my coffee and watch the water rush beside my site—a simple moment that brings me pure joy. Not a bad way to start the day.

I have five hours of driving ahead of me, so I set a plan: hike up for three hours, with the hope of reaching the lake. On easy-to-moderate trails, I usually hike at about two miles per hour. Let's go!

The hike begins at about 8,300 ft and climbs to just under 10,000 ft at Lone Pine Lake. I believe "slow and steady wins the race," so I take one step at a time. The trail, with its many switchbacks, is less challenging than I expected.

The sun is intense. I shed layers faster than I can say "Robinson Crusoe."

After six months of living at 9,000 ft, the altitude does not hit me as hard, and this time I remembered to use my inhaler.

The views are breathtaking. Massive granite cliffs shimmer in the morning light, radiating beauty and power. I stand in awe of Mother Nature and of God's creations.

Two and a half hours in, I am almost at the lake. I am glad I brought my spikes, as the last section of the trail is still snow-covered.

Yes, I know I gave myself a time limit, but rushing past this kind of beauty feels like a crime. Lone Pine Lake, mostly frozen, is framed by jagged peaks and silence. A small patch of open water reflects the sky and the mountains, doubling the beauty. I take off my backpack and wander. It is a sacred moment.

The descent goes faster, except for a delightful detour: a beautiful conversation with Sara from Oregon. These fleeting, soulful connections are such a blessing.

Time to get back behind the wheel. I drive toward Sequoia National Park, aiming to reach my site before dark. By 6:30 p.m., my stove is set on the picnic table. I cook dinner and settle into the quiet, savoring a day full of wonder.

I admit that I am a bit of a snob about sharing nature with crowds. Therefore, tomorrow's adventure will start early.

For now, good night, and sweet dreams, beautiful people.