Crater Lake Blue.
Well folks, I have added a new national park into my top five favorites. If you’ve ever been to Crater Lake National Park, you will understand why. The deepest lake in America, diving to depths of 1,943 ft., and also one of the purest and clearest waters in the world, Crater Lake is completely Mother Nature made. Driving around the rim was incredibly rewarding, every new view of the lake was breathtaking. Wizard Island (hopefully named after Harry) jutting out of the center, the water somehow getting more and more blue, it was hard to imagine what I was seeing was really real. It was the kind of blue that you color something in with and then think to yourself how unrealistic that shade is. I am here to tell you all that Crayola got that right, there really is a blue that blue out in nature. Once a 12,000 ft. volcano, Mt. Mazama would have been the tallest peak in Oregon had it not erupted 7,700 years ago killing everything within a thirty mile radius and imploding in on itself. Over those thousands of years, snow and rain has been accumulating in the basin and has created the gorgeous lake that I got to witness first hand. Each year the lake accumulates an average of forty four feet of snow, this year a whopping fifty five, which explains why the rim drive was only opened to the public maybe a week before we got there and snow still clung to the scenery. The water looked like glass and the perfect reflection Crater Lake is famous for was cast from the caldera walls surrounding it. It was honestly hard to tell where the mountains ended and Crater Lake began. A friend of both Thatcher and mine from home, Brielle, has the awesome job of trail maintenance this summer at the national park. Lucky for us, she let us crash on her short but comfortable couches and enjoy a delicious taco Tuesday while getting to meet everyone else who worked there. I shouldn’t have been surprised by her hospitality and love for the outdoors, I may not have seen her in a while but I do remember her always being awesome and sweet.
The first night we got there it hailed, a first on this trip for me. We picked up Brielle and drove to the first vista around the rim hoping for a beautiful sunset and instead finding something better. The wind was vicious and hail came down and pelted us hard. I decided to brave the elements outside of Bertha, laughing, and enjoying the change in weather when the hail stopped for just a moment and the grey clouds opened up a smidge to reveal a hint of rainbow, a beam of light shining down from it onto only a small section of the lake below. I had never seen anything like it. That actually wasn’t the only time it hailed while we were there. Be careful what you wish for, I guess. The not so challenging hike up Mt. Scott, the tallest point in the park, took us along the side of the mountain when all of a sudden we heard thunder in the distance. Deciding we had another minute or two before it reached us, we continued on a little bit farther. Boy, was that dumb. I kept hearing my Mom’s voice in my head to turn around. The few people that were up at the top started to run past us down the trail to cover. That should have been our first clue, as if the thunder wasn’t enough, when all of a sudden a piece of hail hit me so hard on the head I thought Thatcher had thrown something at me. Hustling in between trees for shelter while the hail bounced off everything it hit, we safely made it out of the storm wondering how the clouds above the lake in the distance looked so perfect while ours looked so gloomy.
One thing we got to do that I would have been very sad to miss out on was jump into Crater Lake. Make sure you do this if you visit! Even if you only walk down to the water, it’s memorable. You’ll never understand just how crystal clear and blue its water is until you’re right above it staring down and about to jump in. Walking a fine line of freezing and just plain cold, the water was maybe sixty degrees and the fifteen foot jump off the side of a massive rock was just enough time to brace yourself for impact into the, I’ll call it “refreshing,” water. I decided not to hesitate before jumping. I could have and honestly knowing me I probably would have. There was a time when jumping into water not knowing what lies below me from a height just on the verge of nerve-racking for someone with a fear of them, would have made me hesitate; not this time. After all, if this trip has taught me anything - if you hesitate then you’ll never leap.
After camping for a night in the Deschutes National Forest at Odell Lake and spending a few hours the next morning in a rented canoe trying to catch rainbow trout for breakfast, lunch, or even dinner and coming up empty handed, we decided to keep moving. Thatcher has been trying to catch a fish for I can’t even tell you how long. To be fair, he did catch two but they were too small to eat, unfortunately.
Next stop; Bend, Oregon.
What a great little town. This welcoming town came with an equally kind host, Shea, who showed us the best part of Bend with a free outdoor concert the first night we were there. Of course I went up front and danced all the while poking fun at Thatcher when I caught him bopping up and down when he thought I wasn’t looking. The Brothers Comatose were too good not to groove with just a little bit. Drake Park is right along the edge of downtown and home to free concerts on Thursday nights during the summer. Its backdrop, the Deschutes River, can be floated down in about an hour and a half. We didn’t time it right during our day out exploring but you can rent or bring a tube and lazily lounge, beer in hand, down the river. It’s a really common thing to do there actually. We walked over the bridge later in the day on our way to yet another brewery and looked up river to find at least a hundred people on floats relaxing and slowly progressing downstream. Bend’s downtown is adorable and lined with cute stores boasting their love for Oregon and Breweries galore. There’s even a “trail” that’s more of a walk through and on the outskirts of downtown connecting you to each of the fifteen breweries. Collect enough stamps from each, bring it back to the visitors center, and you get a prize. Luckily the stamps never run out so we didn’t have to drink at all of them in one day. Three out of fifteen isn’t too bad, right? One of the breweries is the Deschutes Brewery, there’s that name again. I definitely recommend this stop. It wasn’t my favorite beer but our free tour of the distillery came with four free tastings in their bar. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, I must say.
The last thing we did before we moved on from Bend was summit a mountain. I’ve done a lot of hiking but this is the first time I have ever summited and it probably will not be my last. It may have only been a little over 10,000 ft. at its peak, laughable to anyone who has hiked a fourteener, but it was still really rough. Of the three sisters, the North, Middle and South, the South is not only the tallest but is also the second tallest peak in Oregon and one you can do without any mountaineering gear, thank goodness. The six mile hike up was a big undertaking in one day but we started at 7:30 AM, summited at 12:35 PM, started to make our way down at 1:30 PM, and got back to Bertha at 4:55 PM. We crashed and burned early that night. The beginning of the hike was through a covered forest and the gradual incline was nothing compared to what we’d be facing soon. It leveled off about 2.5 miles in and for a little less than a mile was a casual stroll that looked out over a small lake and kept our gaze wandering off to the other sisters around us. Then the real work began. The snow-covered mountain loomed above us and we started to make our ascent. Purple and pink flowers peaked out of the rocks and I tried not to look back too often, wanting to give myself a new view to look forward to when I finally made it to our goal. We reached a stretch where it was all uphill and huffed and puffed until we made it to the boulder patch, the overlook to the world below completely worth the exhaustion. What we would soon discover to be a false summit ahead, we slowly worked our way up to along rocky switchbacks, slippery gravel under each step. My legs felt heavy and I tried to keep my breathing slow and steady, just like my pace. So far so good. Rewarding ourselves with a ham and cheese sandwich at what we had hoped to be the actual summit, we stared down at what we had accomplished so far and what was left to achieve, the snow creating trails of their own below us.
The last 1,500 ft. of elevation was only about 0.8 mile and would take easily over an hour. That’s steep by the way, really steep. The red, snowy mountain top seemed so far away but we hadn’t come this far to turn back now. The ridge that the trail continued on encircled a lake piercing the snow. As I was staring down at it thinking how refreshing that water must be in the blazing mid-day sun, a snowboarder whooshed by, flying in the air and doing tricks on his way around the lake, careful not to disturb the already precarious wall of snow ready to fall in the clear, blue water. If only I had a snowboard, I thought, if only I knew how to snowboard, I thought. Moving on. The small pieces of lava rock came in all shades of red and were loose and slippery; not ideal for a steep climb. The higher I got the more I felt like I was about to slide right back down and knock out all that hard work I had put in. Thousands of orange butterflies fluttered around us, occasionally flying into my face like they were still drunk from the night before and struggling to fly straight. Holding onto my walking stick and the few boulders that felt sturdy enough for balance, I finally made it, just behind Thatcher, to the summit of the South Sister. What looked like a large snow crater was cut out the center of the summit as a rocky trail created the ridge all the way around.
After an hour admiring the view of the sisters in the distance, the many lakes down below gleaming in the sunlight, the patches of snow decorating the mountain facade, and the trail winding its way to the forest, we decided to make our descent. We slipped and slid our way down the ridge and finally made it to the lake and beyond when we saw a man in cargo shorts and a fleece walk out to one of the walls of snow, sit down, and slide. I looked at Thatcher in excitement. We had just talked about how we wished we had a sled. Turns out, we never needed one at all. The man was eager to egg us on and clearly having done this before we followed his lead. There was one hill where I was going so fast, I am not kidding, I didn’t think I was going to stop in time. I did, phew. The snow burned my butt on the way down, the cold going right through my leggings, and my socks filled with icy water. I didn’t care though, that’s the only way to get down a mountain. It saved us easily thirty minutes of tedious hiking and knee pain. I’d trade that for a cold ass any day of the week. Note to self, bring a sled next time. The rest of the hike felt like it went on forever, our legs dead from the way up. We made it back to Bertha beaming with pride and accomplishment, relieved that Shea had offered us a bed and a shower for one more night.
We took over 39,000 steps that day and hiked close to 16 miles, a fact I almost forgot. That view of the world far below and the feeling of success summiting a mountain, however, that’ll be hard to forget that.
The Photo:
The Jump.
Crater Lake National Park, Oregon.
7/25/17.
Photo Credit goes to Thatcher Brusilow whose photography can be viewed at somewhereexploring.com and should not be missed, it’s amazing.
