Claire Henley: Adventures West (Deep Creek Hot Springs And Silverwood Lake)

(Editor's Note: Chattanoogan Claire Henley started an adventure of a lifetime on the remote Pacific Crest Trail in April. Along the way, she had many adventures and found herself a husband named Big Spoon).

“Must sight sustain belief?”

-Luci Shaw

It was the morning after Big Spoon confessed his interest in me, and I hiked alone through sand dune shaped mountains and sunny bushes to think. I had been on the PCT for three weeks and had not expected, nor was looking for, this blooming romance to occur. I was scared for all that went with it. But I was also filled with excitement. And because I did not have a crystal ball to see into the future, by the time I reached mile 300, I also reached the decision to take things with Big Spoon day by day to see where things would go, trusting, day by day, that we were in God’s good hands. 

Not long after resolving this, I made it to the Deep Creek Hot Springs. It was a summery day, and many people–filthy hikers and naked locals alike–soaked in the crystal springs that looked like a picture from a travel magazine. Big boulders surrounded the perfectly clear pools that were being fed by scolding water. The water shot from the sandy ground like hot tub jets. It was a brilliant desert haven, and when I arrived I changed into swimwear right away then joined the Tallyhos and Big Spoon for a dip.

The main pool was deep and cool like a thirst quenching drink. We swam to the far end near a small waterfall to access the hottest spring. Slippery rocks circled the spring where steam rolled off the top like a fresh cup of coffee. A velvety green lichen lay on the rocks like upholstery. As I sank into the high liquid heat and leaned against the soft rocks, my sore muscles were soothed, and I knew I was in the right place. 

Later that afternoon, after enjoying several hours in the springs and turning into wrinkled prunes, we sluggishly pulled on our packs and hiked another 5 miles to mile 313. The hike cut through the sloping mountainside, high above Deep Creek. The sun hung in front of us, and though it was hard to see ahead, the very bright glow illuminated exactly the next steps we needed to take.

By dinner time, we came upon the Mojave River Forks Dam–a massive concrete spillway that flowed into the orange earth below. It was like standing on the edge of the world when we walked to the end of the dam and found a bare land of power lines beyond. We sat on the curved ground within the thick walls and called out like crows, “Caw-caw!” for the echo. The wind picked up as the sun started to set, and Saltlick and Pandora headed down the trail to make camp. Big Spoon and I remained on the dam to watch the sky change into night. We only sat next to each other and that was all. We rejoined the Tallyhos after the stars came out, having to take off our shoes to cross the warm creek in order to get to the tent site.

The Tallyhos were still awake when Big Spoon and I showed up. We gathered around on the grass in our sleeping clothes and down jackets, and I read aloud the story of “The Tell-Tale Heart.” The creek played through the gorge like an accompaniment as I spoke Edgar Allen Poe’s thrilling words about the vulture eye and heartbeat. We went to sleep with heavy dreams.

The next morning, Big Spoon pulled me aside by the clear, shallow creek and said he had done a lot of thinking–his heart and mind made up–and that the next town we entered he would make the call to his girlfriend to end things.

“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling both nervous and glad. 

“I’m sure,” Big Spoon said and looked me in the eyes. 

The day consisted of a 22 mile hike along the alluring Silverwood Lake and fully bloomed wildflowers. In the morning I walked with Saltlick and Pandora through the scenery that reminded Saltlick of her hometown on Lake Michigan. She said the water there was clearer than air, and that you could always see what you sailed over. Pandora remembered the river that ran through Decorah, the city in Iowa where she grew up, and how she and her friends would go tubing down it for coolness and fun in the summer. I told of the Tenneessee River in Chattanooga, how it curved like a solid path through the bright, beautiful green and always led to some place spectacular.

For lunch, we stopped at the Silverwood Lake Picnic area where Big Spoon was waiting. A duck and drake floated near the bank, side by side in the big body of water. After a meal of peanut butter and tortillas, Big Spoon and I walked the rest of the way to the campsite at mile 335. On our walk, Big Spoon stretched out his arms to the trail ahead and said he felt like life was starting over in the best possible way. “A rebirth,” he called it, and I told him how I liked that the trail was like life: hard, beautiful, and a definite path to a higher destination that could not exactly be known but was believed to be good if only we kept walking towards it. One of the neatest things about this destination was that it was marked by little signs, gifts, and victories along the way to help keep us aware, refreshed, and going. It was a destination that made us new after the long, tiring journey. A destination that led to a new journey itself.

* * *

Claire's first book on her adventures while living in Colorado can be ordered here:

http://www.amazon.com/51-Weeks-The-Unfinished-Journey-ebook/dp/B00IWYDLBQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394801373&sr=8-1&keywords=51+Weeks