The scare at Green Lake: Part II

The boys make me uncomfortable. Who knows how long they have been up here before I got here, to Green Lake in Mount Rainier National Park? More than 20 minutes before, anyway, because I stopped at the trailhead and ate an apple and talked with a passing hiker before I started my ascent, and they didn’t pass in that time.

They’re not friendly like are most hikers I’ve encountered. And they don’t look like hikers, or experienced ones anyway, wearing sneakers and skinny jeans. And neither has a pack—no water, no food for this 10-mile hike?

After my quick glance across Green Lake, I retreat up the trail 25 feet, lean against a tree and eat my tuna and crackers, not sitting because the only place to sit is where they are. They’re not looking across the lake, not looking anywhere, just loitering at the water’s edge. What are they up to? Skinny lights a cigarette.

In 15 minutes I’ve finished my lunch and packed my trash. I look out at the lake a last time, and I look at the boys. They’re still just hanging out. Football is sitting on a low stump. Skinny is mindlessly flicking his cigarette and wandering a small area, about four feet by two, like he’s guarding a buried treasure. Although I’d like to sit for a spell to rest my legs after that climb, I think it best to give the boys the privacy to do what they came up here to do, so I amble back down the trail.

In less than a minute, as soon as I’m out of direct view, I start running, just in case what they want to do is ambush an unsuspecting hiker.

After five minutes I stop and put my hiking poles in my pack and take off again. I do slow when going down the natural, twisting staircases formed by exposed tree roots and when crossing the stream. This is the second time hiking in the park that I’ve crossed on a bridge that is a felled tree with the upside chipped off to be somewhat even and a rail at one side only. I cross slowly and carefully, with a slight lean to the railed side so that if I lose my footing, I don’t fall in. Once on soft earth, I’m running again.

What fun running down the trail is! I’m on the road in 25 minutes! Coming down I covered the distance 50 minutes faster than climbing! I am psyched! Stoked! My engines are burning! I want to run more downhill! But, alas, it’s a final, flat three miles from here to the car.

Still, I maintain a fast pace—mostly. I trudge the last 5–10 minutes as my adrenaline high has worn off. I am relieved to collapse in my rental.

I drive away from the park, and as soon as I get phone reception, I pull over and call my husband. I don’t even mention the boys and being scared.

I never gave those boys a second thought until I started writing this article. It was so odd, them not having a pack for food or at least drinking water. Maybe they had a tent set up out of view. Boys will be boys, and there’s no guessing what they were up to. I was scared when I started my descent, and that probably prompted production of adrenaline, which fueled my flight down the trail. That run initiated a runner’s high, my second ever but better than the first. I’m ready for another scare.