Chapter 20: Crater Lake National Park
Sutherlin, Oregon, to Crescent City, California.
The day began with the early morning sun casting a soft golden light over the Umpqua Valley. I prepared a quick breakfast in the apartment kitchen before we loaded up and prepared for an early departure. As we set out from Sutherlin, the landscape unfolded with rolling hills and sprawling meadows stretching out beneath an expansive sky, and light and shadow played across the rolling terrain.
At Roseburg we turned east onto Oregon-138, or North Umpqua Highway, and pushed upriver following the Umpqua River into the Western Cascades. Ever in the background, the Umpqua River meandered along, its waters sparkling under the morning sun. The river's banks were lush with greenery against the soft yellows and browns of the open fields. Tall, dark trees dotted the landscape, stark against the sky. By now, most had fallen back into an uncontrollable slumber as we continued to meander along the river's edge without haste or concern.
As we journeyed toward Crater Lake, the landscape transformed, and a lone tree stood on the crest of a sunlit knoll amidst the rolling golden hills. Against the brilliant azure sky, the tree's sturdy form made for a beautiful picture.
The hills themselves, clad in golden grasses, undulated gently. The tree, stark against this vast expanse, drew the eye. It stood alone, yet it did not seem lonely.
As we drove further, the clouds began to gather. They loomed large and heavy and cast shadows across the hills. Each turn revealed new vistas, from dense forests to open pastures. Leaving the golden fields behind, the landscape shifted once more as we entered lush forests, and the green canopy enveloped us after the arid hills we had just traversed. The Umpqua River now flowed through denser terrain. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, and the river's steady murmur was a soothing backdrop as we pushed on.
We came across a rustic wooden bridge at Tioga, and its weathered beams seemed both youthful and ancient. Below, the river surged and swirled, its clear waters reflecting the verdant foliage that framed its banks. I pulled into a small parking area near the bridge and took a few minutes to capture pictures from its perch high above the heavy river.
Further on, just south of Diamond Lake, we picked up O-230, or the West Diamond Lake Highway, and began our push south towards the crater. As we continued our ascent toward Crater Lake, the weather shifted dramatically, and the clear skies were soon obscured by thick, swirling snowflakes. The transition was sudden yet mesmerizing. The road ahead was flanked by towering evergreens, their branches heavy with fresh snow. The forest, which had been green only moments before, was now white. The air had become crisp and cold, and the soft sound of falling snow and the crunch beneath our tires was the only sound that broke the silence. It was the most striking winter scene I had ever witnessed.
The winding and slick road led us deeper into the snowy forest. Snowbanks grew higher along the edges, and the trees, laden with snow, bowed over our path. As the snowfall intensified, visibility reduced to a soft blur, and the world around us became an enclosed cocoon of white. The snow muffled every sound, and there was an undeniable sense of peace and isolation. Approaching Crater Lake, my anticipation grew, and the thought of the blue waters of the lake surrounded by the snowy landscape filled me with excitement. By noon we rolled into the Park, the long, sluggish drive through the snow-covered land complete.
As we finally reached Crater Lake, the scene that greeted us was a winter wonderland reminiscent of the North Pole. The lake, typically a deep blue, was shrouded in a thick blanket of snow and fog. The usual vista was replaced by a vast white void. Though you couldn't see it, you could sense the massive cliff and imposing lake in the vast expanse of nothingness. With the lake and crater in which it sits completely obscured, we entered the visitor's center to discover the park's history.
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Crater Lake National Park, established in 1902, is the fifth-oldest national park in the United States and the only national park in Oregon. The park is renowned for Crater Lake, the deepest lake in the United States, which was formed about 7,700 years ago following the collapse of Mount Mazama during a massive volcanic eruption. With strikingly clear blue water, this caldera lake has long been a source of fascination and reverence. The Klamath Native Americans, who have inhabited the region for thousands of years, hold the lake as a sacred site, and their oral histories recount the cataclysmic eruption that created it. European American explorers first encountered the lake in the mid-19th century, and its beauty quickly captured the nation's imagination and led to efforts to preserve the area as a national park.
The campaign to establish Crater Lake as a national park was spearheaded by William Gladstone Steel, often referred to as the "Father of Crater Lake." After seeing the lake in 1885, Steel dedicated his life to protecting it. He lobbied tirelessly, wrote extensively and garnered public and political support for the park's creation. His efforts paid off when President Theodore Roosevelt signed the Crater Lake National Park bill on May 22, 1902. Since then, the park has been a haven for scientists, tourists and nature enthusiasts.
Upon exiting the center, the view had not yet improved, and we decided to make the most of the snowy landscape. There was laughter and shouting as we bundled up against the cold and ventured into the snow. The snow was thick and soft, and we couldn't resist the urge to build a snowman. Our snowman grew with every layer we added, its round, plump body standing against the snow-draped trees. We adorned it with sunglasses, adding a hint of humor to our frosty creation. Nearby, evergreen trees stood tall, their branches heavy with snow.
The children, wrapped in their cozy winter clothes, reveled in the novelty of the snow. Their cheeks were rosy from the cold, and we chased each other, threw snowballs and collapsed into the snow, making snow angels and giggling with pure delight. It was a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting.
As we prepared to leave Crater Lake, the snow stopped falling and the air grew still. Something urged me on, so we decided to take one last attempt to glimpse the lake, hoping for a break in the weather. We loaded the van and headed toward the overlook, and then the fog and mist began to lift, revealing the most stunning scene I had ever witnessed. The lake, a deep blue, stretched out before us, surrounded by the rugged, snow-capped peaks of the caldera. The clarity of the water was astounding, and it reflected the sky and the encircling cliffs. Wizard Island rose from a corner of the lake, covered in a layer of snow. What was once an endless void was now a beautiful, clear view of the entire caldera, some 27 square miles. A few dense snow clouds floated across the lake. The surrounding trees, still covered in snow, framed the view. The contrast between the snow's white and the lake's deep blue was striking. We stood in awe, soaking in the majesty of Crater Lake, and the sheer scale and beauty of the landscape were overwhelming.
We captured the scene with our cameras, yet no photograph could truly convey the wonder we felt standing there. It was a sight that would be etched in our memories forever. It was that impactful. If you are looking for your next vacation in nature, come here, man, do it. We reluctantly turned to leave. The unexpected unveiling of the lake's beauty after the snowfall, after I had written it off, was a gift. Patience, it would appear, is a virtue.
Leaving Crater Lake behind, we descended the mountain, and the road wound through a forest gradually shedding its snow. The trees, still dusted with snow, glistened in the soft light, and the air was crisp with the lingering chill. Pockets of blue sky peeked through the canopy.
As we continued our journey, we encountered a charming picnic area beside a bubbling stream. The snow had begun to melt, and the forest floor was a patchwork of white, brown and green. We parked and unpacked our lunch beside the rushing water. The stream, swollen with snowmelt, flowed vigorously around rocks and fallen branches.
I took some time to explore the area while Diem prepared sandwiches and fresh, steaming bowls of noodle soup. The picnic area sat within a dense forest of towering evergreens, and a single tall, weather-beaten tree, stripped of bark, stood alone at its center. The deep blue sky, dappled with fluffy white clouds, peeked through the canopy above. Nearby, a babbling brook wound through the lush forest, still partially covered in snow. The water was mesmerizingly clear and briskly cascaded over rocks and fallen trees.
I stood outside the van enjoying my sandwich while the girls tucked into lunch in the warmth of the van. All around the tree stood tall and fast. Snow patches lingered, softened by the warmth of the forest floor. It was a moment in time, a fleeting touch of human presence amidst the grandeur of nature, highlighting the hopefully harmonious coexistence of man and wilderness.
As we continued our march to the coast, the forest transformed quietly. The snow was melting steadily and revealed rich, dark soil and the first hints of spring growth. Moss-covered rocks glistened, and tiny rivulets formed where the snow had retreated and joined the larger streams and rivers rushing down the mountain.
We picked up O-230 at Union Creek again and turned southwest toward the coast. I saw a sign for a natural bridge on the Rogue River and pulled off to take a closer look. Everyone was tired and enjoying a quiet time in the warm van, so I set out alone. As I meandered along the maintained path through the lush forest, the sound of the rushing river became constant and unmistakable. I frequently paused, mesmerized by the beauty and ferocity of the frothy, glacier-tinged water as it surged over rocks and cut into narrow channels, creating eddies and powerful whirlpools in its wake. The air was crisp and cool and filled with the earthy scent of pine and the subtle fragrance of damp moss.
At one particularly striking vantage point, I stood on a rocky outcrop, gazing down at the river as it tumbled and roared below. Across the river, I could see the natural bridge, its water rushing out from underneath to rejoin the mighty river. A sign explained the scene; the ground beneath was an ancient lava field. Far beneath, massive lava tubes diverted water from the river to deep underneath the surrounding landscape, spitting the rushing water out at various locations, including the natural bridge. I continued along the trail, and the river's roar grew softer, an indication the path was leading away. After a short walk, I returned to the parking area and rejoined the crew, and we pushed on.
By evening, we had crossed into California, greeted by the iconic "Welcome to California" sign, and spring again had covered the land. The sign, adorned with bright golden poppies, stood tall against dense evergreen forests. Our excitement was briefly tempered by a border stop on Highway 101, where all of our produce, particularly our cherished cherries and citrus fruits from Mt. Rainier we had purchased in Washington, was confiscated.
Despite the inconvenience, our spirits remained high as we continued southward, and we arrived in Crescent City as the day waned. The coastal town sits by the Pacific Ocean, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore welcomed us. The late sunlight was warm and golden and cast long shadows. We settled in for the night, and as the sun dipped lower, we ventured to the beach for a stroll. The sandy shore stretched before us, and the cool ocean breeze carried the scent of saltwater and seaweed. The children, filled with energy despite the day's travels, ran ahead, their laughter mingling with the sound of the surf.
The gentle waves lapped at the shore, and the sky's soft blues and pinks reflected in the wet sand. The distant hills, cloaked in lush greenery, framed the scene. Walking barefoot along the shoreline, we felt the cool water wash over our feet and the soft sand beneath us. The ocean and the late sunlight made for a perfect end to the day, and the children's joy was infectious as they splashed and shouted with delight.
I felt a profound sense of gratitude and accomplishment as we watched the sun set over Crescent City. The day's journey, with its challenges and surprises, brought us to this beautiful place where we could pause and appreciate the world around us.
The day's journey, with its challenges and surprises, brought us to this beautiful place where we could pause and appreciate the world around us.
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Click here for the National Parks website.
