Legend:

Pushpin=sigificant place

Line=approximate route travelled

Warning sign=warning

• Deep Lake’s water is clear with algae in shallow areas along the shore
• areas around deep lake look like seasonal flood plains.  These areas are characterized by fine sediment, extremely arid sediment, and a lack of vegetation.

• Water lines are visible on parts of the shore and on nearby rocks indicating that deep lakes depth has varied over time.

Pothole

• The structure of the pothole is circular
• The Basalt walls of the pothole are heavily fractured.  One is able to remove pieces of basalt with bare hands.
• The pothole floor is littered with lichen covered rocks, with some moss present in the persistently shaded areas.
• Various trees and shrubs inhabit the pothole floor

We walk along a seemingly endless road, with smiles on hand until we come upon Deep Lake. The lake is the ultimate symbolism of life itself; a green tint shows thriving algae and the reflection of Autumn’s deciduous trees are crystal clear in the water. As I walk to the end of the dock, I spot a cave about a half-mile away in the side of cliff and decide to pursue. The walk there is a bitch; wet sand crawls into my socks and a spider web tickles me every other step – I fucking hate spiders. Upon reaching the cave, we realize we were mistaken. What we thought was a cave is actually a tunnel that slips all the way through to the other side of this massive rock. For whatever reason, no one immediately checks what lies ahead, and everyone sits down, free-writing simultaneously. I notice this group of classmates barely knows one another, yet has an ability to silently communicate. Silence – a perfect time to convey thoughts, especially when the only pretty flower for miles sits next to you and is rooted inside a god damn rock of all places.  With rumps sore from writing on jagged rocks, we move on, into this mysterious tunnel. On the other side lays a pothole, no water, but plant life flourishes here. The place I thought this would be was a place I didn’t want to visit – another boring stretch of eastern, WA terrain. Yet, to all of our dismay, a roughly 75ft diameter pothole rests, the only green tree for quite a wander sleeps here, small caves probably sheltering slithering serpents are scattered throughout. Climbing the pothole to the peak, an absolutely vivid photo is branded into our heads – Deep Lake at its best. The reflection is even sharper than before, so perfect that we almost believe a cliff and trees are lying underwater. As if things couldn’t get better, the sun begins to seep through the atmospheric sheets and I feel comfortable in every sense of the word, and the instant I feel too warm, a light drizzle kisses me. Inside my notebook, words flow like the very breeze that grasps me.  Now, meditation, without proclamation. A place so unfamiliar to me, making me feel so wanted. The breeze, the sun, the rain, birds chirping… This place… It gives me permission to leave my body, permission to become one with it… This place… This place is my place.

I can fly…

A dock provides an embassy for terrestrial creatures to mingle with their aquatic counterparts. The frogs and birds still sing out in the familiar tones, my wandering minstrel troupe singing the songs of home and childhood. The icy depths sink into my body, refusing to let me move, a white flash, hard to breathe; suddenly I’m free, moving as fast as possible towards the dock, towards warmth. I feel lighter when I emerge, the weight of my old self still gripped by the icy lake: I am reborn, baptized in the waters of Deep Lake. The lake washes away all the dust of travel, then down to the deeper filth of the past; I am reborn in my image.

A sort of homecoming occurred: alienated by all this brown and gray a return to cool water and green plants set my heart at ease. A familiar world seen with eyes newly opened by an alien landscape. Wandering the water’s edge becomes oddly similar to navigating life: know boundaries by watching their edge. If you cannot be inspired through silence, then you will not be inspired by actions or words either. Silver sage and yarrow dance in the wind, I pluck a few, leaving my complete story; my hair in its stead. A night time visit reveals a new landscape, a gentle mist rising off the water’s surface, drawing the eye upwards only to be intercepted by the celestial plane displaying the most astounding light show since the Acid Tests. The fluid and flexible will always prevail with time; power, not force

The only sound here is that of my fellow travelers writing. Rolling ridges of broken basalt. Winding paths, leading from mans road to earth’s open arms. A vast lake reaches it icy depths into the twisting cynon. Patches of green spotted from above. Upon closer inspection massive algae blooms explode in the underwater world. Swaying with the waters current, a magnificent dance of blue-green reflections mesmerizing my mind..

Deciduous trees display their yellows, greens and reds, like ripe fruit falling from their limbs.  The water slows as it reaches the western bank, liquid versus solid.  The fluid and flexible will always win over time, using power instead of force.  The cool air pushes its way across a still and mirrored lake.  Fish wait patiently below the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch a passing meal.  The reflection of the northern slope paints a surreal replication.  It looks as if I could fall into the mirror and maybe land on the peak of a false hill.  When I walk the sloping hills along Deep Lake’s southern edge, I remember the importance of walking through diverse terrain.  It pushes my mind to shape a way, a path with multiple choices.  I must measure my known and experiential capacity against what I see ahead, obstacles between my goal and I.  Critical thinking and creativity flourish, a freshness arises from somewhere deep within.  You are challenged only by your self.