Exiting the deciduous forest (beyond the talus)
The air quality has been steadily improving as I climb. The horizon is still murky to the east, but the peaks to the west are only slightly softened by a delicate impressionistic haze. The trail here zigzags back and forth between short steep rock faces and climbs aggressively. The first few times I climbed Timp there was a snow field just below the cliffs at the top of the talus field. We would sometimes climb the snow field and skip several switchbacks. It was this field that would keep the trail nearly impassable until late July or August. The spring runoff would hollow out the snow down each little crease of land, while the top of the field would be smooth and softly undulating. An unwary hiker might suddenly break through the snow crust and drop to the hidden streambed. I remember climbing up to the snowfield one June and meeting a ranger coming down. A hiker had fallen 30 feet the day before. He'd broken both legs and died of shock and hypothermia in the frigid rushing water before he could be rescued. The mountain is not cruel, just indifferent and unforgiving.
The zigzags repeatedly cross the dry stream course that leads from Emerald Lake to the exuberant falls now far below. The rocks are streaked black by the memory of running water, and in my mind's eye I see several spectacular falls. I settle on a stump in the back of an undercut grotto that would be curtained by the freefalling stream if it were still running. I stretch my legs, drink some water and nibble a few nuts. The last of the young hikers pass me as I sit. They are followed closely by a man of about my own age. He's carrying a large pack and moving quickly. He's wearing hiking shorts, and his bare legs are tanned and knotted with straining muscles. He grunts in response to my greeting, but does not stop to chat. Behind him the trail is empty again. I haven't kept count, but I would guess that there were about 12 to 18 young people that have passed me. I watch the last of them disappear up the trail ahead, and I feel old.