I woke at 0300 and broke camp, reacquired the ridge above the lake before sunrise. The lake was pale like a dime in the predawn as seen from above. From the ridge you could see the snow-covered peaks surrounding the area I’d wanted to camp, but the ranger told me that area was booked. And there was a lesson in that.

I didn’t expect to have cell reception (and didn’t want it) so I didn’t see a call come through while I was trying to nap in my tent. It was the hiring manager calling about my new job saying I’m sorry but we just received some bad news and we can’t move forward with the role at this time. We wanted you to know as soon as possible. I sat there in disbelief, then lapsed into self-pity and couldn’t shake it.

Getting bad news like that the first thing I wanted to do was share it. But it was the middle of the night in Germany and I didn’t want to upset Dawn. I had to process it myself.

When I unzipped my tent there was a falcon of some kind soaring over the lake. There was no one anywhere for miles. That could be frightening or peaceful depending on your point of view. I’d just published a blog post and wandered down to the lake for a swim when I saw that sow and her cub. There is something so startling about seeing a bear in the wild. That moment of acknowledgement when the two of you just stand there regarding one another. This time I felt no fear, just bad for disrupting them. The way the cub craned its neck beside its mom it looked like a dog.

So I was not really alone, but alone with my thoughts. It was too early to sleep so I followed the lake trail in the opposite direction of the bears. I’d talked to Dawn at the cooking area (a designated place for campers to eat that’s well away from the camp spots); she was concerned about me and the bears. I’d forgotten my spork and had to use a stick to eat my freeze-dried chicken dumplings. It hadn’t worked. Little bits of bark had flaked off in the stew, so had some pine needles. I wound up cupping it in my hand and drinking from the pouch.

The lake trail was very narrow and curled through some meadows but was mostly overgrown and hard to follow. They’d even marked the route in places with pink flagging tape. There were better water sources here but it got quiet in a way that was unnerving. I realized I was mentally distraught about not getting the job and prone to bad choices. The trail was littered with blowdown from a past winter storm, here an upturned tree with its root sack exposed. You could see little white rocks trapped in the dried soil, dangling roots like fangs. I heard Dawn imploring me to please be safe so I turned back. There was another trail leading up to a lookout over the lake and I followed that.

Surely I should be able to let go of this feeling of disappointment, I thought. There could be nowhere more beautiful than this. Most people would never see it; the trail had been so awful coming up. There were no jets or cars or highways, just a river wiggling through the valleys. Some glacial errata along the trail smashed against the mountainsides, overgrown with moss.

I scanned the lakeshore and rock gulleys for the bear but saw none. There was only me. Me and all this microscopic life, the little bugs and and birds chirping, the life here on this rocky outcropping overlooking the lake: little blueberry bushes with just one berry, rust-colored lichen that grows where bird or rodent droppings provide nutrients, turns that color from minerals in the rock, feeds off the iron. I did not need screens or alcohol to distract myself from my bad news, I had only to be present to all this.

Driving out to the ranger station that morning I’d played a radio program about the tarot from the station’s streaming archives. It was the second to last in a series the DJ started in January. I’d only just tuned in and here it was already the end, Judgment and then The World.

Judgment is also called The Messenger or Angel card: it’s about receiving news and using it to transform. No, the news about my job was not what this was all about. Still I could use some transformation.

At the beginning of the deck, the major arcana cards, is The Fool: zero numbered, that young man smiling and looking listless, gazing off into the distance. He is unclear in his footing, about to step off a precipice. If there was some message or news to receive it was seeing myself in that card.

The tarot series starts with The Fool and gradually evolves. The Hermit card, that old man with the robe and lantern, comes later: he’s lived most his life and is now looking down at The Fool, who’s looking up. I could play both roles and often did.

And that was the thing maybe, seeing yourself splayed out across these different cards. I was never so much into the tarot or the occult but there was some ancient wisdom in it. Many of the cards featured snow-covered peaks just like the ones I was looking at and drawn to. The mountains symbolized imagination, creative inspiration, for dreamers like me. We were all embedded in those cards and it changed based on the day and what card was drawn. Sometimes we had agency over it and other times, not.

When I got home I checked the hanging baskets and roamed our yard. The grass was turning that light brown color I loved that reminded me of the Scottish Highlands and the backside of summer as it tilted towards fall and the light softened.

I sat on a foldout chair with a fake beer and our old dog who looked to be smiling in the direction of the fading light. And I thought there was nowhere better to be than this. And I still had some ground to cover too.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, prose

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, pacific northwest, Tarot