The Hanging Valley

Seven hundred feet above the valley, from where I stood along the trail, I looked up at a side valley opened along the eastern edge. The mouth of this smaller glacial cut had a u-shaped curve. Further back, mist and hanging cloud tore pieces out of the sky, darkening and lighting up a square area of rock. Like all mysteries, I was intrigue and wanted to see more. But I would have to beat a pathway there first to know the answer. My eyes scanned and studied the obstacles contained below the hanging valley. Along the lip of the entrance, a silvery thread of waterfall, its sound distinct, cascaded down through talus and alder. On each side, small meadows of bright green mingled among the tangled shrubbery, making the downhill slopes a maze of confusion.
I could see, that in order to reach the valley above, a passage would have to be found. My choices were: either climbing high above the alder maze on a steep slope of grasses or through the middle of this tangle along the stream. I chose the later. Too much energy and time to climb the mountain. Waist high grass and plants have a way of tripping up the weary hiker, especially on a steep hill; after all, I was already five miles from the road, not knowing the extent of this bushwhacking trip up seven hundred feet of tangled brush. So,the open meadows would be my stepping stones past each alder wall; the spaces and passages between the alder would connect the dots. Higher up I could use the broken piles of talus and open areas where the snow had recently melted. After that, the door to the valley would be open. And when one door has been opened, other doors and windows appear.