Just Keep the Lake on Your Left and Walk Forward
Life lessons from a simple walk around a lake that wasn’t quite so simple.
Golden light filtered through the pines. The sky was a deep, rich blue, the kind you only get at higher latitudes and altitudes. A crisp, light breeze blew gently. Overnight, the temperature had dipped into the fifties, but it had risen rapidly with the sun and was hinting that the day would be warm.
My dad and I were about to embark on my first big hike. It was my eighth birthday. I was now big enough, strong enough, manly enough to be capable of circumnavigating Redfish Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. Today was the day.
We had camped overnight in the Point Campground near the lodge at the north end of the lake. Redfish was a long and narrow lake carved by glaciers during the Ice Age. We needed to start early, before it warmed up too much. Fueled by a bowl of Apple Jacks cereal and a cold glass of milk, I was ready to go. I had on my hiking Stride Rite Zips, Toughskins jeans, and some sort of button-up, short-sleeve shirt. Dad was dressed and ready too.
Dad had our supplies: one and one-half Chocolate Frosted Chocolate Pop-Tarts.
Knowing that I was always a bit of a worry wart, I suspect that I had a few concerns, but I don’t remember them. What I remember was excitement, and confidence that I was ready and that I was big enough, and strong enough to complete the hike. After all, Dad had waited until now. And Dad knew what we needed to do. So, I didn’t question things-he was confident, so I was confident. The hike stretched out before us. It was as simple as walking around the lake. All we needed to do was keep the lake to our left and put one foot in front of the other until we reached the campground again.
We set off with our one and one-half Pop-Tarts and our street clothes on our journey around the lake. Dad told Mom that we should be back in about three or four hours. I think he estimated that the hike would be around eight miles.
My father actually was smart and relatively careful. But he didn’t have a lot of backcountry experience at this point. All I knew was that he knew what he was doing and he knew we could do it. That was enough. He had confidence so I had confidence. We’d be back in time for a late lunch and an afternoon swim in the chilly water of the lake.
When we left the campground, we weren’t on a trail. As we left the campground, the land gently sloped toward the lake. It was a beautiful open meadow. We hiked along the shoreline but as we moved forward, the ridge got closer and closer to the lake. The ground underneath us began to tilt more and more toward the water. The grass and brush got thicker and thicker and thicker and we began to encounter downed tree trunks that I had to climb over. Honestly, I don’t really remember much other than the going got very hard and we started to go very slowly. Dad had estimated that we were covering about a mile every 20 minutes. But as the ground tilted, we moved more and more slowly forward.
Forward was the only direction considered though. We just kept moving forward. This may be the moment that defined my approach to life. Move forward.
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After what seemed like forever, Dad and I reached the “inlet” to the lake. The inlet is at the opposite end of the lake from the campground where we had started. It wasn’t quite halfway around, but it is generally considered the halfway point of the hike. It was time to stop for a snack. The Pop-Tarts didn’t last long.
Dad explained that the creek water was safe to drink because it was flowing quickly, cold, and clear. This was snowmelt that hadn’t had the opportunity to be contaminated with things that would make us sick. We cupped our hands and drank from the stream and rested briefly. It was probably two or three in the afternoon, and we were approximately halfway there. We’d left at about nine.
Fortunately, we’d joined the actual trail that goes around the lake-yes there really is one. It had started a little way up the road from the campground and had followed the top of the ridge above the shoreline until it dipped back down at the inlet creek. It led back up the ridge on the other side of the lake. Signs indicated that the trail led back where we were going, so Dad chose to follow it.
When you don’t have your own experience, you rely on the experience of the people around you, the people you know and trust. Dad knew we could do this and I followed his lead. Confidence in childhood is often borrowed. As an adult, I don’t always have someone around who I can “borrow” confidence from.
But, as an adult, I do have my own track record of successes and occasional failures to fall back on. I have knowledge of what I’ve been able to do before. Sometimes I even have confidence, but I still often question myself and have the distinct feeling that I’m just winging it and hoping for the best.
My next memory of the hike was reaching the road on the other side of the lake. We were probably a mile or two away from our campsite. Dad knew I was tired. Dad was tired too-we’d been hiking since nine in the morning and it was about six in the evening now. We were inside a developed “park” in the Sawtooths with multiple campgrounds and a boat ramp so there were cars going up and down the road.
I suspect Dad stuck out his thumb because we were soon in a car that was driving us back home. If memory serves, a white Plymouth Valiant, but it really didn’t matter-I didn’t need to keep putting one foot in front of the other at least for a short time.
Mom must have been worried about us, but I was eight and tired so I can’t really recall. We had conquered the hike. It was time to eat. While I don’t remember anything except a long, long day, I know that I had to have been on the top of the world.
This was the first of many times that we hiked around Redfish Lake. But it was the ONLY time we did it without adequate snacks, water and a map, and without following the trail. The seven- or eight-mile journey was really 12. But we finished.
On future trips, I knew I could do it-confidence from experience! That’s what it is like being an adult. You figure things out. You know what works. You learn what you are capable of doing.
Usually at least.
Originally published at https://notesfromtheroadtaken.substack.com on September 29, 2026.
