In the midst of an emotionally turbulent weekend, celebrating my cousin’s wedding in Salt Lake City and mourning the sudden loss of my grandmother back in Nashville, I hiked Lake Blanche Trail in Wasatch National Forest. I explored this trail two days after an incredible hiking experience on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake with my parents, and my beloved grandmother unexpectedly passed on the day in between these two hikes. The trails pass through vastly different environments, despite their proximity to each other. They lie on opposite sides of Salt Lake City, separated by an hour-long drive, but they may as well exist on two different planets. This profoundly resonated with me, and still does, because in the midst of simultaneous joy and tragedy, I felt very thinly stretched between two extreme states of mind. The severe highs and lows aggravated emotional wounds that hadn’t yet healed after losing my grandfather only three months earlier and a week after mine and Andy’s wedding celebration in Nashville. I can’t really describe the amount of joy that my wedding brought into my life at a time when I so desperately needed it. However, the grief of losing my grandfather at the same time, filled me with so many intense and conflicting emotions, and all of these returned in full force when my grandmother passed away the day before my cousin’s wedding.
My hike to Lake Blanche, on my cousin’s wedding day and in the immediate aftermath of my grandmother’s death, felt incredibly selfish. I can’t think of a more accurate way to describe how I felt about it as soon as my boots hit the dirt. I honestly don’t know if I process grief in a healthy way, but I do know that the part of sadness that I struggle with most is the suffocating weight of it. I need room to breathe and time alone to grieve, and this (unsurprisingly) can create an inadvertent distance that raises concern among people around me who rely on the community of loved ones to carry them through difficult times. I certainly appreciate the power of family and togetherness in times of joy and sorrow, but I have little faith in my ability to provide comfort to others when the burden of our collective grief makes all my words and actions feel so insignificant. So much sadness under one roof just makes me feel like we’re all being buried alive by circumstances beyond what we can control. Spending time alone outside helps me find the clarity and strength that I need to heal.
There’s so much about my experience on the trail to Lake Blanche that felt surreal, but I can say with unflinching certainty that I felt the presence of my grandparents on this hike. Maybe that feeling was just the result of wishful thinking during a time of immense vulnerability. They never hiked this trail, but I felt their presence there as strongly as I felt the crisp mountain wilderness around me. This hike was a deeply personal experience for me, and as a result, I’ve been on the fence about sharing it. However, I’ve learned that writing about my hikes, especially the ones I take while I’m experiencing significant life events off the trail, helps me process my thoughts and emotions in a more rational way. Hindsight from a comfortable distance often provides perspective that makes me feel just a little less crazy than I may have in the moment.
Logistically, the trail to Lake Blanche and back covers about 7 miles and almost 3,000 feet of elevation gain. This one burns the glutes, but it’s entirely beautiful. As the trail climbs, the views get bigger and the spaces between patches of sparkling snow and ice get smaller. Hiking here in late November, on the verge of winter, I felt grateful for the opportunity to experience this trail just days before it’d become indistinguishable beneath a thick blanket of snow. Snow and ice presented a challenge in some places, especially on the upper mile or so of trail, but I didn’t use crampons or microspikes and managed to stay upright with some careful foot placement when necessary. The weather forecast on the day after my hike predicted at least a couple of inches of snow, which would have complicated this hike that’s far from easy under the most ideal conditions. The opportunity to hike this trail, on what may very well have been the final day before winter truly encompassed the area, felt like a magnificent and much needed byproduct of divine intervention.
Start to finish, views of stunning peaks and serene woodlands surround the trail to Lake Blanche on all sides. Everything within sight, in every direction I turned, appeared to be so naturally and majestically flawless. The trail’s strenuous and rocky incline, combined with the altitude, exhausted my body. Mentally and spiritually, however, I’ve hardly ever felt more alive and energetic. AllTrails and many other sources rank the trail to Lake Blanche as one of Utah’s very best, which shouldn’t be taken lightly in a state that’s home to five national parks and some of the country’s most diverse environments. After experiencing this trail for myself, during a time of seasonal (and personal) transition nonetheless, I’m a believer. I can’t appropriately capture the trail’s immense natural beauty with words or photos.
The trail offers plenty of panoramic mountain views on the way up, but Lake Blanche isn’t visible from the trail until its crest at nearly 9,000 feet. The frozen lake, sparkling beneath the mighty profile of Sundial Peak, comes into view all at once in a moment of triumph after a grueling ascent. That’s the moment when I felt the presence of my grandparents more strongly than any other on this hike. I heard their voices and felt the excitement in their cheers as my tired body finally emerged on the rocky terrain above the edge of the lake. They followed my hiking journey more closely than anyone and loved hearing stories from my experiences. They read every blog post and cherished the photos I’d send after every new hike. They traveled all over the world when they were healthy enough to do so, and I believe they saw something of themselves in me as I developed a similar passion for exploring new places. I believe that brought them joy, and I find comfort in knowing that their everlasting spirits can experience these wild and wonderful places with me now.
The purity of the Wasatch National Forest and the trail to Lake Blanche that runs through it, somehow made me feel simultaneously vulnerable and invincible. I needed to feel vulnerable to open myself up to the healing process, and I needed to hike this very challenging trail by myself to affirm the strength and courage I’d rely on to carry me through the difficult days ahead. Adjusting to life without their physical presence hasn’t been easy, but the legacy they’ve left behind inspires me to continue writing my own adventure. And from this first adventure after grandmother’s death until the day when I take my final hike, I know they’ll be with me every step of the way.
