A hike into snowfields during the late-June heatwave in the Pacific Northwest may have looked like brilliant climate-change-adaptation planning, but it was merely fortuitous. My husband and I had gotten our permit to camp in the Royal Basin in Olympic National Park (south of Sequim) weeks before the heatwave. And while we did find refuge from the heat at Royal Lake, the trip was not a straightforward escape to a remote and swimmable lake. It was still hot, physically challenging, emotionally difficult, and eventually perfect.

First the heat. Temperatures in Olympia where I live were well over 100 the day before we left and were expected to spike to 110 during our two-night backpacking trip. Knowing that temperature decreases with increasing altitude, we assumed the Royal Basin would be cooler—as in cold. Nearby Port Angeles was still in the 90s, so the temps at 5.100 feet would be in the 70s (not sure what “math” we used here, but probably close to zero). We started hiking in 96 degrees. It was sweaty and hot and…just plain gross if you have gotten spoiled by PNW temps of yesteryear. Things did not cool down for a long while.

The long while included many water breaks and two teary backpack throw-downs by yours truly. One occurred around mile three.

“I hate this hike,” is what I said. “It’s a slog. It’s straight uphill and I hate this kind of hike.”

The challenge: I was mad at myself for not being in better condition for a not-so-brutal climb—about 2,100 feet over 6 miles to our campsite. I spend a lot of time swimming in cold water—horizontal and buoyant and cool. This was the opposite of that and it felt bad though I have hiked more elevation over fewer miles in the recent past. My husband offered to head back down the trail to a campsite along the river. If I could just muster some strength, I could press on. I drank some water, ate some trail mix, and wrestled my pack onto my back again. I put one foot in front of the other and got into the endurance zone.

The second throw down occurred around mile five.

“How much further?”

I was done in. My boots were pinching my toes. I had no energy. There were no benchmarks for our progress, it was just Up—Up with brief stops to think about the Up that lay ahead.

And there was the emotional exhaustion. My father’s memorial service had been held the week before in Virginia. The transcontinental flight back to Olympia afterward and then this endless-seeming hike into the wilderness took me further and further away from my father and family. This hike almost seemed disrespectful. Should i be enjoying a summertime adventure so soon? I had really just begun to grieve his loss. I can articulate this now, several weeks after the hike, but at the time, I was just miserable and not comfortable in my skin or soul. But the lake was calling and I found some inner resource to convince myself I could keep going.

So when we arrived at the campsite at 6 p..m., I splashed my face in Boulder Creek, set up the tent, and was prone at 6:30. No dinner. No conversation. No reading by headlamp. I just stared up out of the tent at the sky that wouldn’t be dark for another 4 hours.

And now the perfection: I woke refreshed enough to head a mile through the marshy meadow and up another 500 feet to Royal Lake. I was wearing my hybrid hiking-swimming outfit and was in the water within minutes. Cool, clear, buoyant bliss. The water wasn’t as cold as I anticipated given the surrounding snowfields. Apparently the lake was shallow enough to have warmed in the sun to the perfect temperature.

I was so grateful for the cool embrace of the water, the soothing smoothness of the water on my skin, and a bit of relief—literal and metaphorical—from the weight I was carrying. This was the perfect lake for a restorative swim. It was enough to float and let the water work its magic. No need for a few down-and-backs lap-style swimming. This lake invited lolling and loafing and scenery admiration.

If you swim in enough lakes, you’ll come to know that each one offers you something different. It’s a bit like watching the clouds for several years—which I did while writing A Sideways Look at Clouds. Clouds appeared in the sky all the time, but sometimes a certain cloud would seem to show up right when I needed it. A happy little “get-over-yourself-and -look at us” cumulus or a fleeting wisp of “carpe diem” cirrus. Lakes have this gift to offer us, too. They can be embracing, bracing, soothing, exhilarating, inviting, unwelcoming, beautifully pristine, and beautifully jungly with lilies and algae. Lakes reflect the sky. Lakes reflect your mood and change it, too. And like the clouds, lakes do all of this while also making life on Earth possible. How glorious that they can make their work look so easy and beautiful.

As you might have expected, the hike down from Royal Lake was spectacular. Mostly because it was down but also because we counted some forty species of wildflowers I hadn’t recalled seeing on the way up (due to my steadfast focus on my plodding feet and the now-formerly wretched hike).

And also. My father was the one who encouraged me to go on my first backpacking trip—5 days on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia with my high school’s hiking club. Now, some 45 years later, I recalled memories his help preparing me for that trip with me now on the cool, shady trail down the mountain.

Here is the Washington Trails Association’s (WTA’s) description and map of the Royal Lake Basin hike.