We’re always striving to give our kids opportunities to achieve something that feels bigger than they are. That’s what we did with two other families on this hike to Hilton Creek Lakes.
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It’s a sunny Friday morning. We had driven up the day before and camped at Rock Creek Lake, a beautiful spot surrounded by pines and aspens that are just beginning to glimmer gold. The hike to Hilton Creek Lake #2 is five miles according to the map. We set out first, while Kendrick, Rakesh, Kara, Aaron, Noah, and Suri will join us later.
The trail rises to a low ridge, offering sweeping views of the mountains to the east. Soon, we cross the John Muir Wilderness boundary and hop over a few creeks. At about a mile in, we wait, and after what seemed like a long time, the rest of the group catches up and shares lunch. The nearby stream provides refreshingly cool water, perfect for washing up.
Then, we set off, climbing gradually toward the saddle north of Patricia Peak. To the kids, this stretch feels endless. To me, it too seems like we’ve been trudging up this slope forever. But as soon as we pass the flat section and start descending, the kids are off, flying down the trail. I quickly lose sight of them.
At the junction, I find them waiting. I point them down the path to Lake #2, and they take off again.
In less than a mile, the lake appears as if the pine trees parted like a curtain. The gray slopes of Patricia Peak and Mt. Huntington shimmer like silver on the surface. The kids are too excited they forget to put down their backpacks.
Quickly, we set up tents, make camp, and bathe.
As the sun sinks below the horizon, the temperature drops quickly. We warm up with bowls of tofu miso soup and follow it up with a dinner of mild Japanese curry with carrots, onions, and white rice. After doing the first set of dishes, we have dessert of crumbled Oreo cookies and cheesecake pudding with strawberries. Then, it’s the chores of doing and hanging laundry. Soon, the stars take over the sky. The Milky Way glows brightly behind Mt. Huntington, giving the lake an eerie glow.
I’m the first one up this next morning. A lone mosquito buzzes between the tent and the rain fly. Jayden confidently tells me it’s a male. As the first light touches the tallest peak, I step outside to capture the lake, its surface perfectly still, reflecting the world like a polished mirror. The little island in the lake, so close yet unreachable, feels almost magical in this quiet moment. On the opposite slopes, sunlight turns the trees and rock a golden hue. The kids also find this to be an enchanted place, running around, creating all sorts of games, exploring the natural world, making discoveries.
After devotional thoughts for the Sabbath morning by Rakesh, we head up the trail, back to the junction, then higher to Lake #3. Today’s hike will be about a mile.
The scenery shifts as we climb. We’re nearing the tree line, and the landscape feels both lush and stark. We find a sheltered campsite nestled between boulders and trees along the north shore, and once again, the kids dive into their world of make-believe.
Dinner is simple but perfect for the cold: egg drop soup and ramen with dried vegetables and plant-based beef. In this weather, steaming hot soup is warming. I make camp style apple pie after experimenting with the recipe on previous trips to the Cottonwood Lakes and to Anvil Campground. The secret? Lots of cinnamon, extra brown sugar, and a bit of cornstarch to thicken everything. The kids love it.
Later, I set my alarm for 10:25 pm, knowing the Milky Way will be perfectly vertical at 10:39. The lake is too choppy for a reflection, but with a long exposure, the water turns into a smooth, ice-like surface. I capture one of my favorite photos from the trip.
The morning is rushed for some, lazy for others. I’m up early again, capturing the sunrise over our campsite. The first light streams through the pines, bathing Mt. Huntington and the valley below in gold. Breakfast is oatmeal, coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. The kids, as usual, have no concept of time, and that’s exactly how it should be. They’re zipping around, exploring, playing, and bonding.
But soon, it’s time to leave. I suggest we traverse along the contour line rather than hike down to the junction and back up to the ridge. Everyone agrees. What I don’t anticipate is the difficulty of crossing the boulder field—especially with Myles strapped to my front, making it hard to see where I’m stepping. The kids wonder if we’re the first ones to walk through this part of the mountain. Some boulders are the sizes of cars. To everyone, this will be the best part of the adventure. To me, it’s scary. I’m reminded of how terrified I was while boulder-hopping with Daphney in the backpack on the way to Golden Trout Lake.
When we finally rejoin the trail, I’m relieved. We pause for lunch by the creek we met on the first day. The slopes across the valley are even more vibrant now, the aspens glowing yellow in the afternoon sun.
When the road emerges from the vantage point of the trail, the kids scream in excitement. Down they fly. Before long, we’re back at the trailhead.
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What a sense of accomplishment! And as a bonus—they’ve spent the whole time running wild, carefree, exploring the natural world with a sense of wonder.
