❤️ Twelve years, one closed trail, and a drone that tried to land in Baker Lake
Our anniversary plan disappeared behind a 'NO ENTRY' sign. The weekend got better from there.
Our twelfth wedding anniversary had a plan.
Technically, our anniversary was July 26. But the following Thursday, I took two days off work and Alizée and I escaped to Baker Lake (one of our favorite places) to celebrate properly. Fewer weekend crowds. Two nights in the van. And, most importantly, a return to Watson and Anderson Lakes, a hike we had been talking about since we last did it in 2024 (read full story here).
The hike was the whole reason Louie stayed home with his pet sitter, Syd. He is getting older, and this one is no longer fair to ask of him. Leaving him behind felt strange, but it also gave us a rare couple-only trip built around something we had wanted to do again for two years.
We reached Shannon Creek Campground early, scoped out site 7, and at around 4 p.m. made a very reasonable decision:
Why wait until tomorrow? We could hike now and catch the sunset on the way back.
This is the kind of optimism that usually introduces itself right before reality enters the room.
We started up the gravel road toward the trailhead. Eventually, we reached a ⛔️ NO ENTRY ⛔️ sign. The road was closed. The trail was closed. And according to our map, there were still about 40 minutes of gravel driving between us and the trailhead we had spent two years romanticizing…
Alizée and I looked at each other.
We had left Louie with Syd, taken two days off, and spent two years talking about this hike.
The sign had a much shorter plan for us: turn around.
So we did.
The substitute hike and the soap confession
We found another trail nearby: Anderson Point via the Baker Lake Trail.
Was it Watson and Anderson Lakes? No.
Was it still good? Very.
The trail was empty, the forest was glowing, and nobody forced us into a premature retreat. Not even a collection of snakes, unlike our recent Sunshine Coast experience (read the full story here). Apparently, this is now how we review hikes: views, difficulty, and whether reptiles negotiated our surrender.
Back at camp, it was still light out, so Alizée decided to shower in the lake.
We must admit guilt here…
On our previous trip to British Columbia, we had watched a woman jump into a lake and bathe using what looked like some highly evolved, biodegradable, nature-loving body wash. The kind of product whose packaging makes you feel that purchasing it has already restored three wetlands.
We thought: clever.
So I went to REI and bought the fanciest version I could find.
Alizée got into Baker Lake and showered while I watched from shore, amused and apparently unwilling to perform even the most basic duties of product-label oversight. She came out feeling refreshed. Then, while she dried off, I read the instructions on the bottle.
Do not use in natural lakes. Use well away from the water.
Yikes.
The bottle was biodegradable. Our reading comprehension was not.
We know now. So does everyone reading this. Please enjoy this public service announcement at our expense. (Luckily, Alizée had only use 3 tiny drops of it.)
By 9 p.m., we were asleep. Site 7 was quiet. The anniversary was going beautifully, provided you ignored the closed trail and our minor environmental confession.
A peaceful morning, briefly
We woke early and went straight to the water. The wind was calmer than the day before, and I made a romantic sacrifice: instead of taking my beloved SUP, I joined Alizée in the tandem kayak.
After all, this was our anniversary escape. We would paddle together.
While we inflated the kayak, a fisherman named Vlad offered us his electric pump. He was from Ukraine, had lived in the U.S. for 30 years, and loved fishing. He had caught nothing that morning and was already packing up at 8 a.m. We forgot to ask what time he had started, which feels like the most important part of the story.
We launched and explored the northern side of Baker Lake, somewhere we had not paddled before. The water was calm. The mountains reflected perfectly. Everything was peaceful.
So naturally, I decided to fly the drone.
Taking off was easy. The drone lifted from my hand, I got beautiful footage, and for a while I felt like a competent filmmaker documenting a loving morning en amoureux.
Then it was time to bring it back.
On land, a drone’s return-to-home point is comforting. Home is where it took off. Home is solid ground. See where I’m going with this?
On a kayak, home is a coordinate in the middle of a lake. And the kayak has been drifting ever since.
We were at least 200 meters from our original position. The drone was about two kilometers away. My controller announced that the battery had reached 20 percent.
I dismissed the warning and started searching for our tiny blue kayak on an even tinier screen. A blue kayak on a ridiculously blue lake.
Mission impossible.
At 10 percent 🪫, the controller began producing a loud, non-dismissible BEEP BEEP BEEP, which added exactly the energy our peaceful anniversary morning needed.
At 3 percent, alerts filled the screen. I finally spotted us and sent the drone straight toward the kayak. It arrived overhead, and the controller delivered its final decision:
Battery too low. Landing now.
This was no longer a discussion. The drone began descending toward Baker Lake.
Alizée maneuvered the kayak underneath it while I reached up. The drone came down, down, down… and landed smoothly in my hand.
Success.
Nothing says twelve years of partnership (+4 bonus non-married years) like one person steering an inflatable kayak while the other catches a small aircraft moments before it enters a glacier-fed lake.
We made it back to shore with the drone, the kayak, and the marriage intact.
Curious what all that panic produced? Some of the drone footage made it to Instagram.
Finally, nothing happened
After lunch in the van, we moved to Horseshoe Cove campground. Our campsite was arguably the best one there: flat, large, private, with direct access to a trail and the beach. I am not publishing the number because marriage has taught me the importance of boundaries. (Just kidding: site #15)
This time, I returned to my preferred vessel: the SUP.
The lake was 22°C. The water had this surreal green-blue color, and swimming in it felt almost luscious, which is not a word I normally use for water, but I have no better one.
We lounged together on the paddleboard. We swam. We paddled a little. We may have napped.
And no, this time we did not bathe in the lake.
This was the quiet center of the trip. No original plan to recover. No battery warning. No need to turn the weekend into something impressive.
Just the two of us floating on Baker Lake, twelve years into a marriage built largely on making plans and then figuring out what to do when those plans become unavailable.
We made dinner and fell asleep beneath the stars.
Parents on the loose
Saturday morning arrived with clouds and rain in the forecast. We considered driving to Bowman Bay for one last swim and paddle, maybe even spotting dolphins, but the wind, cold, and rain made the decision for us.
We bought groceries and headed home early.
Then came the van reset. I had assumed cleaning would be easier without Louie’s hair everywhere. Incorrect. The gravel roads had coated the van in dust, so cleaning and refilling the water were still non-negotiable.
But Louie was still with Syd, which meant neither Alizée nor I was on Louie-duty. We felt like parents on the loose.
How could we extract one last date from this anniversary escape?
We went to Café Lolo in our Capitol Hill neighborhood. Everything is made there: focaccia, buckwheat crackers, pasta, ice cream. We ordered enthusiastically, ate extremely well, and, miracle of miracles, I remembered to photograph the food.
The weekend had started with a favorite hike we could not reach. It ended at a neighborhood table with the two of us smiling, eating pasta, and enjoying a final few hours without dog-parent responsibilities.
Twelve years of marriage has not made us better at controlling what happens. Roads close. Trails close. Weather changes. Drones attempt water landings. Labels reveal important information approximately five minutes too late.
But we have become very good at the pivot.
Would I still like to return to Watson and Anderson Lakes?
Absolutely.
Would I trade this version of the anniversary for the perfectly executed one we imagined?
No. This one sounds much more like us.
Yalla, bye ✌️
A few useful lessons from our improvisation
Check both the road and trail status before committing to the long gravel approach to Watson and Anderson Lakes. Both were closed during our visit.
Biodegradable soap still does not belong in a lake. Read the label before the shower, not during the post-shower glow.
Launching a drone from a drifting boat turns “return to home” into a threat. Leave a serious battery reserve and have a recovery plan (or, better yet, enjoy the kayak without creating an aviation incident.)
Horseshoe Cove gave us beautiful water access, and Café Lolo gave the weekend an excellent ending. Both earned their place in the story rather than becoming a list of recommendations.
