Sierra Deep

   The overnight snowstorm had left as suddenly as it had come. Blowing in from the southwest the evening before like a wall of heavy grey, the storm laid its howling blanket down in swirls and sideways fits. The spring snowstorms in the Sierras have historically been known for their sudden and often deadly arrival, transferring their mountainous clouds into deep blankets of snow in a few hours.

    Charlie looked out from the warmth of the cabin, nose almost to the glass, leaving little clouds of warm breath on the cold window. It had not been cold for the last couple of weeks, but unseasonably warm. The old winter snow had started to cycle through melt and refreeze, and the lake outside the cabin had been deeply frozen for most of the winter.

    Charlie was about to return to the sofa when Zane shuffled into the room from the adjoining bedroom, wearing tousled dark hair and well slept-in flannel pajamas on a lean frame. During the few moments that the coffee machine choked to life, Zane grabbed a few small logs by the inside of the front door and proceeded to stuff them in the fireplace. Charlie watched the ritual and as the logs began to take to the lit kindling, the coffee machine pertly beeped. Charlie didn’t really care for coffee, although it smelled enticing. After pouring himself a cup, Zane shuffled over to Charlie at the window.

    Both of them looked out over the waking day and clear sky. The far end of the lake looked eastward, and as the rising sun’s rays caught the snow on the canyon walls, the whole amphitheater of frozen lake, mountain walls, and new snow gave off a deep rosy glow.

    Zane looked over at Charlie. “I know it’s been a few years since we’ve been back here. I’m glad we came. I’ve forgotten how amazing it is.” Charlie looked back at Zane with deep understanding. Between such good friends, sometimes conversation isn’t needed. Presence and sharing is enough. Charlie was remembering the last time he came to this mountain lake cabin, set up as a lakeside fishing resort on the east side of the Sierras. He had been younger then…they both had. He was just a youngster then, all clumsy with unbridled, thoughtless energy. Charlie felt a bit more seasoned now, with more focus of thought and control of his physical prowess. And being much shorter than Zane, he would need all his strength to power through the deep drifts if they were to go out today.

    And go out they did. The alpenglow gave way to sparkling whiteness as the sun continued its climb, the sky a fresh baby blue like it always is the first day after a good snowstorm. Zane and Charlie spent the morning in the warmth of the cabin over a hearty breakfast while Zane discussed with Charlie what they might do that day. By midday, the temperature had climbed considerably, and the day begged to be explored. So, the two of them found themselves outside, with snowshoes on and plunging deeply through the sunshine and shadow stretched on the unbroken white surface.

    After breaking trail through a patch of heavily snow-laden lodgepole and fir trees, they came to the lake. The winds of the storm had swept it clean of snow. But the sounds it made! Imagine the deepest rumble, the deepest cracking sound as if coming from the bowels of the earth. Squeaks and groans of discontent. The sharp boom and otherworldly gurgling noises bounced off the canyon walls. Somewhere under the lake’s surface were lairs and tunnels of liquid water and air, confined and voicing its complaint.

    Fascinated by this kaleidoscope of sound, Zane and Charlie stood transfixed for a few moments. Zane, attracted by the sounds, began to carefully make his way out onto the ice and then stopped. He turned and called out to his friend, but Charlie had absolutely no intention of going out there. No slippery surfaces for him, thank you. His knees buckled in fear just at the thought.

    But somewhere in Charlie’s mind, a hidden undercurrent began to awaken as if in response to the sounds coming from the lake. As he stood there listening, clouds of deep memory began to lift. Flashes of images cracked in his mind in spurts, like bubbles of air coming up to the surface. It was this lake, this ice and snow, this same fear gripping him like a winter’s fist. Like water closing over his head. He had felt Zane’s hands and arms lifting him up out of the freezing water. And Charlie remembered in a final flash of memory that as he had lain there gasping on the ice, shivering, he saw further away her blonde head go down for the last time. He couldn’t get to her. Neither of them could. He just…could not…get there…in time. He had felt the ice give way beneath him and the cold water sucking the air out of him. No, she was gone.

    Coming out of his trancelike replay, Charlie shook his head and moved his feet. He blinked in the sunlight and stretched, feeling his limbs come back to life. Halfway down the lakeshore, a bald eagle lifted itself from a bare branch with effortless majesty and began to float out over the lake. Charlie caught sight of it and followed it with his eyes. Where was this eagle going? As the lake continued its macabre symphony of underworld sounds, Charlie realized that he was also hearing Zane’s voice. As his eyes followed the eagle, Charlie spotted Zane further out on the ice, apparently also drawn to whatever had attracted the curiosity of the bird of prey.

    A mule deer doe was trying to cross the lake. So far it had done well, but the most recent booming crack had sent a fissure up to the surface, and the deer found it. Or maybe, the crack found the deer. In any case, all one could see was the head and thrashing front legs as it panicked and struggled to stay afloat. And yes, Zane was calling to Charlie. Being the soft heart that he was, Zane was making a beeline to the distressed animal with no real idea how he would manage hauling it out without being hauled in.

    Charlie realized he was shaking. He needed to go out there, but didn’t know which was more paralyzing – his own deep fear bound in painful memory, or the fearful moments unfolding before him. Within about fifteen feet of the deer, and without warning, Zane suddenly went down. Not as completely as the doomed animal, for he was grappling with his arms outstretched over the ice shelf. Charlie watched in horror and his heart pounded in fear and new-found fierceness.

    As Charlie shook his winter coat to free the fear, he tentatively placed one big paw out in front of the other on the clear ice. Gathering up his stout strength and determination, he bounded across the lake as if it were a green lawn. He would not fail again. Zane had been his lifeline once, and now it was his turn to be Zane's.