A change in altitude …

Husband and I just returned from a week up in the Eastern Sierras, namely, a place called June Lake.

Pretty right?

What you don’t see is the 8,500 foot altitude.  We live at sea level, a few blocks from the ocean, so we expect to spend our first day acclimating.

From experience we’ve learned to take it easy that first day, wander around the area, taking short walks, gulping both water and oxygen.

Day 2 – we decide on a 4 1/2 mile round trip hike up (yes up!) to a hidden lake.  The trail is described as moderate with a only a few steep grades.  We agree it’s a perfect first hike.  As we hiked we both realize something is wrong, we have sore throats, pounding headaches, and we are coughing loud enough to scare away wildlife sightings.  I unearth our first aid kit from the pack and we gulp down aspirin and carry on.

A pretty hike, complete with visiting ducks for lunch —

but we are feeling poorly and stumble gratefully back down to our car.  We have an early dinner and crawl into bed. We are unable to sleep, probably because we are unable to breath.

We finally admit, uh oh — we both caught colds.

I root through our seldom used travel medicine bag (we never get sick) and find two desiccated cough drops and some Sudaphed that expired in 2014.  We throw caution to wind and gamely use both.  (Note to self, perhaps it’s time to update said medicine bag.)

Day 3 – We slowly make our way through breakfast, heavy on the orange juice.  We are staying here and thankfully have a little kitchen.

But, even our home base is in a plot against us –  with an impressive amount of gasp-inducing stairs and no elevator.

We drive into the closest big town which boasts a Rite Aid with ski resort prices.  We buy outrageously expensive (but unexpired) cold medicine and head back.

Day 4 – We do nothing, oxygen deprivation is serious, consider calling for emergency helicopter evacuation, but solider on drinking liquids, blowing our noses, napping and watching mindless daytime television.

We have a lovely view of the lake from our little apartment — but realize gazing at the view actually makes us feel worse.

Day 5 – Cabin fever has proven more serious than our colds, so we drive around and visit some little lakes that we can walk in and out of — never far from the car, water and Kleenex.  Because we are able to breath a bit better today, we gamely decide to take a short hike tomorrow.

Day 6 – Husband gets up early and wanders down to the lake, upon returning, he declares that a hike around the lake would be perfect.  A flat, nice, easy afternoon stroll.  Did I mention we’re still at 8,500 ft? Well, I’m mentioning it.

So we set out.  And it’s nice, we are actually able to talk, breathe and walk all at the same time.  We watch a bald eagle careening in the blue sky and start to feel human again.

Dun Dun Doh…we come upon a huge rock face that is blocking our lovely little stroll around the lake.  No problem says Husband, we’ll just go around.

So we clamber straight up this rock face until we find a service road and follow it until we can get back down to the lake.

Did I mention it’s 95 degrees and there’s no shade?  Well, I’m mentioning it…

The lake continues to beckon, but we just can’t get back down to it for a least another mile on the service road.  Back down at the lake, we make our way around until — drat — again rocks.  Climbing back up now to the main road into town…another mile of hot tarmac until we can find our way back down to the lake again.

Did I mention, one half of our intrepid hiking party is an Eagle Scout and the other half is not amused?  Well, I’m mentioning it.

We stagger into the lake’s marina, where Husband has a beer, and while I’d hoped for an icy cold Margarita, I settle for an ice tea.  (I’ve discovered in these fishing towns the adult beverage of choice is beer, beer or beer.   Trust me on this one, never order the house white wine.)

Thus restored, we climb the endless steps to our apartment.

Day 7 – Wake up feeling great, sun is shining, sky is blue and it’s time to pack and head home. On the drive back, Husband suggests “maybe next time we come for two weeks – that way we’ll have more time to get acclimated!”

Did I mention the other half is not amused?

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