Let the words of my mouth
the meditation of my heart
and the actions of my life be as one, that I may live each day in harmony with Mother Earth.
Amen
Jennie Frost Butler
I first heard the term paternoster several years ago when I read a book about the Continental Divide, where many of these lakes can be found. The term is Latin for the first two words of the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father. . .”
In geologic terms it references a series of glacial lakes connected by small streams or braided streams, created by receding moraines or rock dams formed by melting ice. Essentially the glacier scoops out the bowl of a cirque lake, one after another as it advances, with streams connecting and flowing into the next one. From above they look like a string of rosary beads, hence the name. I like to think of each lake as a prayer.
After reading about paternoster lakes of course I had to discover these lakes for myself. I was living in Wyoming at the time, so I took an extended weekend to drive to the Wind River Mountains, where I left my vehicle at the trailhead and hiked to Stough Creek Basin. There I pitched my tent near the lowest of the lakes and spent the next day ascending to the very highest one.
The distance was not far, maybe a couple of miles, but the terrain between each lake became progressively steeper with each ascent so that by the time I climbed to the last one, I was scrambling up a near vertical slope to get to the tops of things, something I am fond of doing.
There I was dazzled by a scattering of quartz crystals that covered the barren tundra. It was a cloudy day, so the crystals did not sparkle much, but I held them up one by one to the hazy sunlight and watched the light appear, as if I had called on God to celebrate His creation as I stood there.
Better yet was the view from on high, looking down at the string of lakes I had just followed to get to this glorious spot, each one smaller. The lowest one where my tent was pitched far below was barely visible. It was one of those moments on the trail when you know that you are on hallowed ground. I am not a religious person, but it did not seem necessary to pray. The chain of lakes was itself a prayer.
The following summer I made another sojourn to a series of paternoster lakes, this one in the Bighorns. The lakes are located in the Cloud Peak Wilderness, surrounded by jagged peaks, and beginning with a climb from Lake Eunice, where I had pitched my tent. A waterfall tumbles down the steep slope, and I followed the falls to arrived at its source, an unnamed cirque, glistening blue in the sunlight. Just as I had done in the Winds, I climbed up the barren tundra between lakes, each one closer to the light, each one surrounded by stark cliffs, and once again I found a scattering of quartz crystals on the summit.
A geologist could probably explain why these crystals are so prevalent on the mountains tops near the Continental Divide, but I am not a geologist, only a lover of beautiful places and of things that sparkle in the sunlight. A religious person might explain how God created lakes such as these, but I am not one of those either. Still, I have been blessed to have stood in this place . . .to sparkle in the sunlight, to glow with gratitude for mountain peaks and glacial cirques, to stand on this fragile planet and to celebrate. Is that not a prayer?
The Solitude Trail 