Reaching Swan Peak

Yesterday we hiked to the top of Swan Peak.

From our deck, it’s the mountain we look at most often—sometimes even more than the lake itself. On certain days it feels moodier, more mysterious, maybe because it changes so constantly with the light. Yesterday seemed like a good day to finally go see it from the other side.

The unusually dry winter helped our cause. By mid-May, we expected mud, slush, and at least one regrettable footwear decision. Instead, the trail was clear and surprisingly kind to us.

I’m also prepared to confidently claim that Bob, our two hiking companions, one enthusiastic dog, and I were the first to summit Swan Peak this year. There’s no official verification process for this sort of thing, but it feels true, and that’s enough for me.

The climb itself was steep enough to reduce me to a very slow pace and some impressively deep breathing. Still, a little over an hour later, we were standing at the top with a view that somehow made Bear Lake look both enormous and tiny at the same time. From up there, you can see nearly the entire valley stretching out in every direction.

Wildlife sightings were limited mostly to evidence that wildlife had recently been there first. Moose tracks. Deer tracks. The occasional reminder that we are never the main characters out here.

We did stumble across a massive ant colony scurrying about on a dome of pine needles nearly two feet wide. Thousands of ants moved in organized chaos over the mound like they had important meetings to attend. Honestly, more productive than most corporate environments I’ve experienced.

Spring is arriving slowly at this elevation. The aspens are right at that perfect stage where the leaves are almost emerging, glowing with that electric green energy that lasts about five minutes before summer takes over. The wildflowers are lagging behind, but a few tiny yellow blooms and sharp white petals are beginning to appear along the trail.

In the distance, the rugged mountains beyond the valley were still holding onto patches of snow like stubborn winter souvenirs. (And yes, I had to look it up. We are, technically, looking at part of the Rocky Mountains.)

It felt good to reach the top. But more than accomplishment, the day felt like another reminder of how necessary nature is for the soul—and how lucky we are to have all of this sitting right outside our door.

We’ll make the climb again soon.

That’s the thing about places like this: even when the trail is familiar, the view never really repeats itself.