Somewhere in the vicinity of Mount Hood, more than 4,000 feet above sea level, it’s 60 degrees Fahrenheit well before this spring midday. It is a world of deep, dirty snow, and pine. Signs say the lake is a two mile walk.

There is another human on the road. We greet each other, wander differently. i like to be alone and far behind, if i can be. i stop to watch some birds in a budding, green meadow before the other hiker doubles back. “You’re turning around?” i asked her.

She explains that she has been losing the trail. Hiking in snowdrifts isn’t easy. i realize i can help. This may be a first for me; i have forest eyes now. And sick boots. My frustrated new friend is determined—it’s her last day in town and she struck out at Mount Rainier yesterday when all the trails were closed. Wildfire prevention and snow have set me back recently as well. i’m stoked to find the path and lead us onward toward the lake. Every now and then my friend’s sneakers break through until she’s knee deep. “When does this even thaw?” i wonder as i stop us, sweating, to take off all but my bottommost layers of clothing. i lace my boots up, not for the first time with sincere gratitude at owning them.

A golden retriever runs up out of nowhere as if delighted to be greeting old friends. He romps around politely, refraining from jumping except for his familiar doggy tap dance. His owners are nowhere in sight behind us, but we hear them call. He hesitates, then offers his goodbyes.

Priscilla and i keep walking, much in silence now we’ve found the way. i show her the blazes, suddenly easy to spot. The lake peeps between the trees, sapphire deep and glazed with sunlight that seems to radiate directly from the giant watercolor background of Mount Hood. Even the pines are gleaming. Later Priscilla and i will find cute, fat salamander swimming in this glorious mountain lake called Trillium. We’ll identify a pair of Goldeneye ducks. We confer and discover they’re the uncommon Goldeneye. Another delight.

Priscilla has to get back to Portland and i am left to walk the lake. There is a path at the water’s edge that i’m interested in. Along the way i pass different kinds of campgrounds, and a rock-hewn amphitheater. It all looks well-loved, and busy. But not now, in the hot but snowy in-between time. There are skiing signs as well, places i as a walker should yield. All the while the lake is there. Occasionally through the trees i can still spy Mount Hood. i’m halfway around the water, thoroughly enjoying myself, when i find a huge portion of the trail flooded and closed. i really do not love doubling back. i make a lame attempt at possibly fording the wet, but wiser energies prevail.

Recently, in a forest not far away, i was out with a pal and thereby able to roam and romp at will. i am not trusting of my own skills enough to enable myself that particular freedom in the wilderness. Being with another person—especially this very experienced one—always makes it easier. i spent that time delightedly climbing and tiptoeing, jumping up to say hello to every new plant. Have you ever spent a full minute walking the length of one dead tree trunk? It had been well over a decade since i’d been reminded of the game Chutes and Ladders. We played a lot in those snowless, warm spring woods.

Now at a crossroads, this wilder fire well-stoked within me receives a fresh draught of air as i realize i know exactly where the first road is. i could walk directly toward it and not have to retrace any steps around Trillium Lake. Of course the area i needed to finagle was the most unkempt along the entirety of the water. Tentatively stoked, i started forward, my boots finding wells in the snow a bit too easily at first.

This isn’t the walking on top of snow on a road, path, or even boardwalk like i’d been doing. It’s also not the woodsy romp of my other recent experience. i am forging through sharp, clingy spring snow and mud in a woods full of debris. i take the clearest paths, but i’m the biggest animal to come through here in a while. Undaunted despite the unending scramble, i look toward the ridge up ahead where i know my original trail will be.

It’s a stream. Okay, but i remember hearing water from that road. Priscilla heard it too and optimistically thought that marshy floodplain was Trillium. i’d said something about it being a lame-ass lake. It wasn’t long after this critique that we spied the real beauty. Bolstered now by this recollection, i move through the woods using every technique i know to avoid sinking or slipping, on mud, ice, snow, or wood.

While we were sitting lakeside watching salamander and ducks, Priscilla had checked our hike. We’d already done five miles by then, tiptoeing and sliding on the snow. We talked about whether sand or snow is easier; she definitively chose sand. Whenever there was solid ground i made sure Priscilla was on it. This is all to say that i’ve been on this new, truly off-road leg of the adventure for a bit now and my old, exercised legs are not loving it. The first parts would have been plenty of hike. Of course, of course this is when i get hurt. It’s over before i knew i was doomed, which is how it usually goes when i get banged up instead of broken. i don’t make any noise, oddly, besides a clenched-jaw groan and a sucking of air as my hands go to my right knee and shin. i’m wearing only my under layer of pants; they’re softer than i’d like to be hiking in, i’m only just realizing. i expect them to be wrecked. It’s a confusing relief to see they aren’t torn at all. i’ll be bruised and swollen, but not bloody. Gotta walk it off.

i plod forward, dogged, wondering if that’s the right word for how stubborn i now feel as i climb the steepest ridge so far, expectantly hoping for the road to appear at the top. i crest breathless and the dependable road is under me again. i giggle and walk on, much more comfortable now back on top of slippery, packed snow. In a hundred feet or so i spy the old lake perimeter path catching back up on solid ground. Of course i forge through some brush to return to it.

Above the lake now i can see a raptor, and hear it. An osprey, i know before i check the book. When i look up again the osprey is gone but there is a bald eagle. i laugh out loud. The eagle finds some trees, then there’s a turkey vulture hovering. “Everyone’s here!” i am a little delirious, but now watered and fed, ready to hike the other two miles back to my car. (It turned out Priscilla and i had chosen the road less traveled. Who’s surprised. We weren’t.) The last part of the adventure feels long, and i’m excited for dinner. Two miles, all uphill. On snow. Surrounded by spring and pine. Slow but steady, i sweat and sing toward home.