Only thirteen miles from where the Pacific Ocean crashes upon the shores and cliffs of California, there is a hidden lake high in the Santa Cruz Mountains named Loch Lomond. Little-known and only accessible March 1st through Labor Day, it keeps true to its Irish nomenclature with its misty atmosphere and deep green surroundings. On the day Tucker and I visited, we can’t say so much that it was raining, but more that we were walking through a raincloud that had dipped below the mountains’ peaks. It seemed the perfect hiding place for a sea monster.
We took the advice of some hikers in AllTrails and began with the forest portion of the hike, and then looped around to the lake to try to spot an ancient denizen.
The forest portion of the hike was exactly what I had needed:
The forest portion of the hike was exactly what I had needed:
It was difficult to spot anything in the lake—even a dinosaur—with how murky it was up close. I was surprised to see some brave folks fishing in it. A few people were in boats, headed to the island in the middle of the lake.
From the lakeshore itself, it was simply a lake in the woods: serene in quiet to most; the inspiration for camp horror movies to others; and for others still the place of legends and mythical transpirations.
But from high atop the trail, the lake was a stunning beauty—even under the cover of clouds—a reflective glass in the valley between the peaks.
That’s the thing about hiking—and life: it’s all about perspective. The world doesn’t change; we do. We walk a little further down the trail and we see things we hadn’t before. On out-and-back trails, even though our feet tread the same soil, we experience a whole new view facing the opposite direction on the way back.
Just last weekend, Tucker and I were traipsing over boulders at a beach and now here we were deep in the mountains at a lake. Yet both times, we were hiking in Northern California. Labels and boundaries aren’t natural elements. It is us as humans who set boundaries—on land and for ourselves. We delineate one space from another using names; one time from another with age. We separate ourselves from our experiences and others. Hiking takes away those boundaries. From ocean to mountaintop, it is all one world—one world that is constant in its diversity and uniqueness. As we walk through it, it is not the world that changes, but us and our perspective. From every vantage point, there is something to learn and experience. We just need to be open to it.
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