In early October, Celine, Aspen, and I hiked up to the serene lake in the shadow of Mount Ward. We went on a Saturday and planned to stay until Monday. After a short drive and what felt like an even shorter hike, we arrived at the campsite. The steep incline quickly opened to a mountainous bowl surrounded by trees with golden shrubs emerging from the scree.

On our first night, we were accompanied by a few other groups, but they were on the opposite side of the lake. The solitude at our tent plot allowed for a relaxing evening. That night, on multiple occasions, we were awoken by crashing boulders, which we learned is common for that area due to the type of rock the mountains are composed of. Throughout the next day, the other groups left, leaving us in the company of the jumping fish, the fluttering bird, and the chirping pikas. It felt sacred.

We decided to trek up Mount Ward but only made it about two-thirds of the way because I was worried that the loose talus could injure Aspen's paws. Another influencing factor was my dislike of heights in the combination of unstable ground. Celine graciously turned around, and we enjoyed the afternoon reading, writing, and meandering around camp.

Our time was brief and cherished. I made some of my favourite photos since moving to the Pass. Part of the recipe was a time of quiet and focus. I'm so grateful for the luxurious moments where I can dedicate my full attention to Celine, our pets, and a craft that heals.