Crater Lake: The most beautiful blue water

11 August 2011

Crater Lake:  The most beautiful blue water

The cold morning air rushed into the tent as I unzipped the door.  It was hard to peel my body out of the warm sleeping bag.  I had actually gotten quite a good night sleep thanks to my new sleeping bag mat.  After deconstructing the dew-covered tent, we ate breakfast.  The farmer’s market bread was delicious with the goat cheese, blackberries and granola; better yet, all were locally made.  We made a pit-stop for some coffee, before continuing on to Crater Lake National Park.

About three hours later, we arrived via the north entrance to the park.  Bettina climbed up a few more steep inclines, and finally, we were on the rim of Crater Lake.  It is hard to do justice to the awesome beauty of this lake.   Crater Lake is referred to as a caldera lake that was formed about 7,700 years ago when the volcanic Mount Mazama collapsed.  The lake is about 6 miles across and more than 1,900 feet deep in some areas, which makes it one of the deepest lakes in the world and the deepest in the US.  There are no rivers feeding it, just rainwater and melting snow.  It is one of the most pollutant free natural water sources in the US. 

To me, the most striking aspect of Crater Lake is the clear sapphire blue water.  I have never seen a blue this pure and dazzling, the clarity and brilliance of a sapphire gem was the closest resemblance that comes to mind.  This clear blue was mirrored above the lake in the cloudless sky.  The water’s color is truly unreal, and Crater Lake, in general, feels otherworldly.  I felt like I was on a computer-generated set of a beautiful alien planet.

There is a 33-mile drive around the rim of the lake.  We followed this road until it took us to the lodge and visitor’s center.  There are dozens of hiking trails throughout the park and we decided to start our day with one of the highest ones along the rim.  The trail guide said the hike was a strenuous 3+ mile hike round-trip.  It said to expect to take 2-3 hours to do the hike.  “Two to three hours?” I said, “We are in much better shape than the average person so it should only take us one to two hours.  Start your watch, Jason.”  Jason laughed, told me I was too competitive, and added, “You must have received a lot of positive reinforcement as a child because you really think highly of yourself!”  “Well,” I responded, “If I don’t think highly of myself, who else will?”

This was the kind of hiking I had been looking forward to doing all week, I was ready to get my heart rate up and sweat.  I warned Jason that I was going to hike up as fast as I could and so I might just meet him at the top.  As Jason pointed out throughout the week of vacation, I am not really capable of walking at a slow pace.  He said he could just picture me power-walking with hand weights as a middle-aged woman one day.  I have learned this joy of speed walking from my parents, who even at 60 years of age, are still difficult to keep up with.  I remember complaining about all of the walking we’d do on family vacations or even day trips to New York City, but now I appreciate the desire for mobility that then instilled in me.

Even in August, there was still snow on the ground which actually blocked off the trail.  Even though the orange sign said to hike no further, I ignored it, like many other hikers, and continued over the large compact snow mound.  I waited for Jason there.  “Kate! What are you doing up there?  The sign says ‘Danger!’”  I urged him to follow me and we continued on.  Further uphill, there was a slightly more treacherous section where the snow still clung to the side of the mountain.  We safely and quite easily made our way to the other side.  The sunshine was blinding as it reflected off the white snow.

The views from the top of Mt Garfield were stunning.  It took us just thirty minutes to get to the top!  I felt great; I knew we could hike it roundtrip in one hour!  We chatted with a man from North Carolina who was also savoring the view at the top.   After snapping dozens of photographs, we walked back down the mountain at a more leisurely pace. 

After refueling at lunch, we continued our drive around the Crater Lake to the trailhead for Mt Scott.  This is the highest peak in the park at over 8,900 feet.  The mountain seemed huge from where we parked our car, but we could just make out a small hut on the top.  That was our destination.  This hike would be a bit longer than the last one, at 5 miles roundtrip.  “I’ll see you at the top, Jason.”  And we were on our way.

This trail was not quite as scenic as the last hike.  Mt Scott was set back from the lake quite a bit further than Mt Garfield had been and for most of the way up I couldn’t even see the lake.  It was a steady upward grade the whole way and the afternoon sun was strong.  I stopped a few times to drink water and catch my breath, but kept on trucking.  Was it my imagination or was I feeling the altitude?

The trail finally opened up on a ridge and finally the small wooden look-out building was visible ahead.  It had taken only forty minutes to get up to the top, but I was ready for a break.  The wind whipped around me as I sat on a rock with views of Crater Lake a few miles in the distance.  I enjoyed about ten minutes of solitude, completely alone up there.  Jason arrived and we took in the view together.  We could barely even make out Bettina from all the way up there.  She was parked somewhere near a snow bank down there.

Feeling like we had a very beautiful and fulfilling day at Crater Lake, we decided to start our drive towards the coast.  Just like yesterday, our plan was to find a campground somewhere on the way.  After studying our map, I figured we could make it to the Oregon Dunes Park before sundown and settle in to one of the many campsites there.  Most of the drive to the coast was downhill through dense forests.  We drove through a number of small rural towns which seemed to have more cows and churches than actual human beings.  It was a sunny and pretty drive, in fact there really hadn’t been much about Oregon that wasn’t aesthetically pleasing all week.

The sun was getting low in the sky when we finally reached the coast.  I expected to be immediately driving along the shoreline, but we were still tucked away in the dense forest that covered the rugged coast in southern Oregon.  We pulled off at the first campground we found.  They charged a hefty $20 per night for a spot.  After driving around, we laughed at how incredibly NOT outdoorsy this campsite was.  It was paved better than most of the roads in Houston and had bathroom and shower facilities.  It even looked like there were electric plug-ins.  This wasn’t what we had in mind; we pressed on.

The next spot was definitely prettier.  One end of the campgrounds had a tree-lined small lake.  The other end bordered on the huge sand dunes and the beach.  It looked like the families that had parked their RV’s here were planning on staying awhile.  There were sand toys, bicycles, lavishly laid-out picnic tables, and even a purple tricycle.  Can you really even call that camping?  We parked the car anyway to have a look.  Once we climbed up a huge sand dune, we could finally see the beach below.  We arrived just in time to see the orange sun slip below the horizon.  Figuring we only had about thirty more minutes until complete darkness, we decided we’d try one more campground before giving up.

A few miles up the road, we turned off again.  This was like the Disneyworld of campgrounds.  There were even different “neighborhoods” with cutesy names that ended in well-paved cul-de-sacs.  It was landscaped.  There were waspy women pushing double-wide strollers.  I offered up the idea of just ditching the car and lugging our tent out to the beach and spending the night there.  I wanted one last chance at camping.  Jason logically said that we’d probably get kicked off the beach by rangers eventually, he was probably right.  It was time to look for a place to stay.  I was hoping for a quirky motel.

I’d heard that the coastal of town of Florence was pretty, so we stopped off there.  We tried out a few different motels until we bargained a deal at the VillaWest.  It had been quite a long day and Jason was particularly frustrated by the experience.  We headed over to one of the only still open restaurants in town for a late dinner.  Jason said their food probably came from Walmart.  It definitely was not the best meal we’d had all week.  They had some good Oregon beer though so I was happy.  At least we both enjoyed cleaning our smelly and dirty bodies off in the hot shower before getting some much-needed sleep.

The Scenic Route from Eugene to Bend

10 August 2011

The Scenic Route from Eugene to Bend

The chickens were squawking when I woke up that morning.  The air was cool and crisp outside the cozy little house.  I threw on my running clothes and crossed the street to the trailhead.  After just a few steps into the woods, it was cool and quite dark with very little light getting through the dense pine trees.  Jade said this was an old growth coniferous forest.  It certainly felt prehistoric with the huge ferns shooting out of the ground and the giant trees.  The fragrance of pine needles and bark was soothing.

The run turned into more of a hike at times, as the path got pretty steep.  I cannot say that trail running is my forte these days given that there really aren’t any woods in Houston.  I did my best and walked the steep ascents.  I later learned that this path would actually climb over a thousand feet to a peak.  I wasn’t ready for a run like that until I’d at least had some coffee and breakfast.

We reluctantly said our goodbyes to Kirk and Jade.  They said we were more than welcome to stay with them again if our travels landed us in Eugene later that week.  Kirk said he’d see me when I moved to Oregon.  We laid out our map of Oregon in the morning sun on the roof of the car and Kirk helped us plan our route to Bend.

Jason and I made a stop off at a breakfast joint called Off the Waffle before we hit the road.  We ate our local and “mostly organic” waffles with some coffee in the sun.  The waffles were crispy and delicious.  On top of mine there was a fried egg, spinach, tomato, red onions, feta cheese, and garlic yogurt sauce.  

We followed a scenic road along the McKenzie River as we went from Eugene to Bend.  It was a gorgeous drive full of evergreen lined mountains, wide valleys, raging rivers, expansive farms, and colorful wild flowers.  I drove Jason crazy as I asked him to pull off the road when a photo-worthy scene pulled into view.  Had I been traveling alone, I would have been stopping every few miles to take pictures and made it into Bend a week later.

There was a white covered bridge over the McKenzie and we pulled into the shoulder by the McKenzie Hatchery to take pictures.  We ran across the old bridge, not as old as the ones you might see in New England but still pretty.  There was a man fishing with his dog under the bridge.  I picked some raspberries off of a bush.  I had pee before we got back in the car.  Note to self:  squatting in a raspberry bush is a prickly experience.  Jason was kind enough to capture it on film.

It was a steep, winding road to get over the mountains into Bend.  While we drove, Jason decided to name our little silver Ford Focus, Bettina.  He gave Bettina much positive reinforcement and encouragement as she chugged along through the switchbacks and vertical climbs.  I was impressed to see cyclists riding up the same roads that our car seemed to struggle with. 

When we finally got to the top of the mountains, the tree lined opened and we were in a huge lava field.  Jade’s description was right; it looked like Mars.  We jumped out of the car and climbed up the sharp old lava rocks.  A fall on these stones would be treacherous so we took our time.  It reminded me of the volcano hike I’d done with my family in Guatemala, except this time there was no molten lava nearby.  Further down the road, we also stopped at the Dee Wright Observatory which offers great views of all of the surrounding snow capped mountains and the miles of lava fields.

Before long, we started our descent from the mountains.  The sun was blaring in a cerulean sky as we drove in to Sisters, the first large town we’d encountered in miles.  There were vast ranches in the valley of the mountains we’d just passed through with horses frolicking.  The historic downtown of Sisters looked like it could have been the scene of an old country-western film.  We pressed onto Bend.

It was lunchtime when we arrived in Bend so we made a stop for lunch as our first priority.  Bend has the most breweries per capita of any town in Oregon (and probably the US).   We chose to stop at the Bend Brewing Company, which is right on the river.  We sat outside in the midday sun and chatted with the friendly waitress who had recently moved there from West Virginia.  She moved here for the rock climbing.  I tried the brewery’s dry Irish Stout and then got the last glass of their sour beer, which was made with pomegranate and hibiscus.  It was one of the most interesting beers I’d had in a long time.  I could take a growler of that home with me.

After a stroll around the quaint downtown of Bend, we took the waitresses recommendation to visit Tumalo Falls, just outside the town.  It was about a twenty-minute drive to the falls and short hike up from the parking area to get a good view of the falls.  It was already about four o’clock in the afternoon at this point.  We wished we had more time to explore the area around Bend, but we wanted to find a campsite for the evening.  After making some phone calls and talking to a ranger, we discovered that virtually all of the campsites in Bend were reserved. 

With all the many miles of wilderness, I suggested to Jason that we just leave the car, hike into the woods with our gear, and find our own “illegal” campsite.  Jason is much more a practical rue-follower than I am, and he vetoed this idea.  Instead, we hopped in the car with plans to head towards Crater Lake and hope to find a place to camp at one of many of the sites that our map said would be on the way.

On our way out of Bend we drove through a beautiful park full of people running, cycling, lounging, walking, and swimming or tubing in the river.  I had never seen a town quite as athletic and outdoorsy as Bend.  There was a farmer’s market taking place that evening.  When I spotted it, I screamed, “Stop! Here! Turn!  Let’s go to the farmers market!”  Jason rolled his eyes, “You are ridiculous, Kate.”

I think he was happy about the stop, because we got some incredible food to take on the road.  We had both developed quite an addiction to Oregon berries, so we picked up a few more pints.  There was a fantastic bakery on site.  We bought a loaf of bread made with porter and carmelized onions.  I got a slice of the marionberry and rhubarb galette, and the friendly lady who worked there gave Jason a free garlic, parmesan baguette.  I grabbed some goat chevre from the dairy people.  I learned that we were lucky to have been in Bend that day, because this beautiful market just happened once a week.  It was such a pleasant, sunny evening in the park.  I could hear bongo drums in the distance. I wished there was more time!

About an hour south of Bend, we pulled off the highway near a town called, La Pine.  From the looks of the map, there should be about a half a dozen designated campsites in the national forest here.  The first campsite we found was a paved circular drive with some RV parking spots.  We pressed on.  The next camp area seemed more legitimate.  We had to drive down a dusty dirt road to get there.  There was a river running nearby.  There didn’t seem to be many other campers there.  The only other sign of life we saw was a pair of motorcycles. 

Jason and I were filling out the campsite form and were about to pay our $10 when a 1990s Honda came tearing down the road.  We watched as the blonde man inside drove donuts in the dusty road.  He stared us squarely in the eyes before speeding back down the road.  “Oh no, we are NOT staying here!”  Jason said.  “I do not want to be hacked up into little pieces by some serial killer while we sleep.” 

A few miles down the road we followed a sign for another campsite.  It was about a 10 minute drive through the woods down a desolate road until we arrived.  It seemed to be a popular site as there were quite a few other groups occupying the campsites.  There was a lake and a river in the vicinity.  It was not the primitive kind of camping experience I had envisioned we’d be doing in Oregon, but it would do.  After we scoped out the place for any would-be murderers, Jason gave the place his seal of approval and we unloaded our gear. 

I was excited to use my new tent for the first time.  We set it up behind a large pine tree just before the sun set.  It quickly got chilly, and I put on all of the warm clothes I had.  We weren’t even that hungry after all the farmer’s markets snacks we’d eaten on the drive from Bend, but Jason wanted to try out his camping cookware. 

While we waited for the water to boil, I walked around the campground.  Even though it was August, it felt like an autumn night.  The air was cool and dry and I could smell pine needles, leaves, and a campfire in the distance.  I stood at the still edge of the lake and watched a flickering fire reflect off the water.  If it weren’t for the bright, full moon, the evening stars would have been brilliantly visible in the clear night sky.  All of these sensations took me back to childhood memories of Girl Scout camping trips in the Appalachian Mountains of northern New Jersey when we’d sleep in cabins, make smores in a bonfire, and tell ghost stories all night.  It also made me miss of the wilderness New England where I’d hiked and camped with my good friend, Mike, before moving to Texas.

The water had just finished boiling when I returned to our campsite.  Jason poured it over our freeze-dried macaroni & cheese and we waited while it soaked.  It was soothing to be in the peace and quiet of the great outdoors.  After we ate, there wasn’t much else to do but retire to the tent, and frankly that was the only way to keep warm.  I read my book with my headlamp while Jason snored next to me.