Klamath River, CA (aka the bowl the PNW shits all of its heat into)
Elevation: 4,090ft.

It was good to be on the road again. Loaded packs pressed against extra gas and water, beers chilling in the yeti and assorted gear hanging about Rhyhorn’s trunk - I was finally on an adventure again. Work has been wearing me down mentally and physically and the heat has been a cruel bonus. Gripping the wheel tightly, sitting back in my seat I pulled out onto Hwy 96 east - the destination was Crater Lake.

Driving northward on I-5 we passed the familiar, steep windy roads we usually drove for work. Passing lumbering tractor trailers we chugged along towards Ashland. In my mind we were heading to the bluest, deepest lake in America and, hopefully, cooler weather. Pulling into the park we headed westward along the Rim Drive figuring that we would hit as many overlooks and hikes as we could, camp in Mazama Village in the south for the night and then tackle the bout tour and Wizard Island the next day.

Hiking through the sandy soils of the caldera’s rim we encountered a lot of sun-bleached snags and exposed rock. No matter where you hiked you could see down into the massive lake. It clocked in at 80ºF which, while not as cool as I would have liked it, was a welcome respite from the 100ºF averages we were working through last week. We stopped at a lookout and hiked up to Discovery Point where gold prospectors first encountered Crater Lake.

From the Lightning Spring pull-off we hiked northwards towards the Watchman Overlook. The winding road tok us up a few mild switchbacks but granted us amazing views of the lake and the lands to the west. To the northwest you could see Desert Cone, an old cindercone, a landmark I would rely on several times over the rest of the trip.

Much like any major National Park, CLNP was extremely built up and accommodating to the average tourist. This meant well-maintained trails, nice roads, occasional restaurants and gift shops and signs. Signs signs signs I love signs! Signs and maps always translate to not being lost. The comforts of the park were welcome luxuries and made the lake all the more enjoyable and vacationy for us.

A view of the road below where the hike started.

Driving northwards we passed Cleetwood Cove Trail where we would eventually board the boat tours that take visitors down to Wizard Island in the center of the lake. But that was for the next day. Today was “hike all the overlooks” day. On the east side of the park we parked Rhyhorn, geared up and made our way up Mt. Scott. The 2.5 mile trail would gain us 1,479 feet and would be a test to our underfed (our faults) and field-tenderized bodies. Gazing up through the thick air I made out the small dot that was the watch tower.

“Fuck”

Making our way up the trail a cool breeze whipped at our sweaty bodies. Everything seemed to hurt. Disproportionally so. We were both realizing how much this season was affecting our knees. I like to think that I am fairly resilient and built fairly tough but at my ripe age of 24 (going on 25) you begin to realize that there is “good hurt”, “hurt that hurts but then heals stronger” and then there’s “fuck these are my only knees and it hurts to squat down to shit I’m in trouble”. But for now, there was this lovely cool, moist-ish breeze cooling down our elevation-stricken panting light headed bodies. Looking out to the south I could see misty blue mountains topped by endless skies.

To the west I could see storm clouds coming to kill us.

Getting worried about the encroaching storm we sped up our pace. We were so close there was no turning back now. Turning the last corner we could see the watch tower.

Plunking down at the tower’s base we busted out some snacks and took in the well-earned view. There was still a surprising amount of snow scattered about the summit. Not enough to really warrant being called significant snowpack but enough to breed “snow mosquitoes” which promptly attacked the hell out of us. The good thing was that, unlike the smaller lowland variants, these were big, brown and clumsy. Killing them was child’s play.

Sweaty, tired and satisfied we pulled into Mazama Village wild-eyed and ready for bed. Unpacking our gear it was funny to look around at the assortment of car campers that were our neighbors and seeing how much fun they were having. I personally love seeing people, no matter how tacky and over prepared, out and about enjoying nature. Put it simply, if they were here sweating, hiking, complaining, driving, gazing through the window of a massive camper at the lake with us they came here for the amazing experience of sharing these natural places with others. In a way I realized, as I systematically set up my tent and ate a cold can of Chef Boyardee, that I missed when the outdoors were fun and not work. I realized that I was dancing on the edge of the fragile balance all people face when their passion becomes a job and they just need to let go of the gas a little lest they burn out. I know that I want to work for the earth. I want to work long and hard and to spend my days out here for as long as I can and that it just means climbing the conservation ladder systematically and tactically. Choosing jobs wisely and not being too picky - but making sure that each one counts and pushes me further. I am determined not to burn out. The next morning started at 0545. We needed to get to the boat dock by 0730.

Looking down into the water, no matter where you were on the caldera’s rim, it was clear that getting down and back up was nearly impossible. The soft, sandy sediment of the inner walls of the caldera were constantly eroding into the water. To think how early adventurers and animals made it down to the water was mind-boggling. We were lucky in that there was a reinforced 1 mile trail leading down to the dock. We were part of the first tour that morning and it was obvious that the other early birds waiting at the dock with us were prepared to hike and explore.

The climb was steep and, as we neared the top of the cindercone, sandy and barren.

Reaching the top of the rim I was unsure of what to expect. It was the first time I had ever seen a cindercone let alone climb one and here I was face to face with an old volcano.

“It’s crazy to think that, at one point, this was the spot that it all went down. Everything around here knew that it was going down. This is where all of the shit gathered to hit the fan.”

Realizing we were the first folks to summit the island we laid our packs down and I grabbed my DSLR and we hiked around the rim. From the top of Wizard Island it felt like we were in a gigantic bowl; deep blue water stretching out below us towards towering walls of rock, the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed flowing around us through the dry heat.

The red soil contrasted so beautifully with the blueness of the water. These were the first DSLR photos on the blog that didn’t need to be edited.

The ridge across the water is Mt. Scott which we hiked the day before.

We stopped for lunch before hiking back down. Sliding as close as I dared to the rim of the cindercone I ate my nuts and meat sticks. It was definitely the coolest lunch spot to date.

We had about an hour and a half before the boat returned to get us leaving us just enough time to hike down, hike to the bay and take a quick dip. At the bottom of the cindercone the soil became much more volcanic and by that I mean it was hell to hike in chacos.

It was hands down the coolest place I’ve stripped down to my undies and washed myself in.

Back on Rim Drive we headed clockwise south and hit overlooks we didn’t have time to hit the day before. In the bright summer sun we could see further to the east than we could yesterday.

From Cloudcap Overlook we could see the tiny island we had just climbed.

Our last stop of the day before heading back south for home were The Pinnacles. Hardened pipes of exposed fumaroles that gave the dried up stream valley an eerie look.

Driving closer and closer to the cabins we watched the temperatures climb. Stopping in Medford for a resupply for the nest spike the temperature clocked in as 107ºF. This spike will be mainly southern Oregon and at high elevations. Fingers crossed that that means less mosquitoes, poison oak and cooler temperatures but I have learned not to really rely on these mountains for reliability. Halfway done with this season and it will be back on the market for work. Fall and Winter will be around the corner and I can be back in my element. Until the next adventures my friends.

Chris