Turn Around Time.
Catch you on the flip-flop.
About Face.
Execute a 180.
We came and we saw what we came for: Graduation. It was all over, even including the shouting. It was time for the tide of reality to sweep back in and wash over our sandcastles of euphoria and shared good times in Eugene.
We checked out of the hotel and dropped Sue off at Inga's apartment in a typical dewy Willamette wet morning. Inga was to drive Sue north to Portland to catch her plane back to Dallas, while Grant and I said bon voyage to all, and charted a course across the Cascades, down to the Northern California Lava Beds Country, and had plans to spend the night at Lake Tahoe with another of my lost cousins, Norman and his wife and two daughters. However, Norman had to make a quick trip to look after his ailing mother and would not be at home when we came through Tahoe. However, I was encouraged to keep my original plans and swing through Lake Tahoe and meet Natali and daughters Melanie and Lana. I did, and I am glad I did.
As we climbed up out of the Willamette Valley and headed South by Southwest toward the Salt Creek Tunnel at the summit of the Cascade Range, I was awed by the lush beauty of western Oregon as the wetted pavement vanished into a thick palette of various shades of green; bright kelly green sun-lit leaves of the plants next to the road, grading into blue green of spruce set at the middle distance and then the highway was swallowed by a deep, almost black-green of the wooded mountainside ahead of us. This rabbit hole of greens in which we were now traveling was gloriously highlighted with low clouds sifting through the tops of the forest. The lowering soft fog was thick enough to diffuse the morning's light, but thin enough to lose all aspects of gray and in its place, become a radiant silver crown set upon the evergreens, dazzling to the eye and glowing with coolness of fluid silver. I drove on into this contrast of deep green enfolding the road and blazing silver light above; the coincidence of the mundane forest with the mundane low clouds caught up in the every-day morning light that transform the landscape and my mood into something spectacular; it is for the opportunity to witness this confluence of light and landscape that I much prefer to travel along the byways of America.
Cresting the Cascade Range, we dropped down the backside and we were angling toward Klamath Falls when geology once again beckoned. We are this close to Crater Lake. A National Park dedicated to ancient geological earth forces that once built up a towering volcano, only to collapse inward, forming a bowl inside the now hollow volcano that filled with water. I remember the steep rim, from which one can precariously peer 1,000 feet over the side and down into the deep blue waters, like a circular sapphire. I have never regretted listening to the beckoning of spectacular geology that tells me stories of fantastic crustal upheavals, violent ash clouds spread across the continent and the onslaught of glowing magma that now stand frozen in its tracks as columnar basalt. As I learned early on in my geologic studies: Subduction leads to Orogeny. No better place to see the consequence of this than in the Cascades.
I made the decision to turn west off of Highway 97 to see Crater Lake while Grant was dozing in the front passenger's seat. The tach on the dash of The Q told me she knew she was climbing a subtle grade toward the blown-off top of this ancient volcano. The forest trees thinned as we gained elevation and the earth was definitely composed of volcanic cinders. The wind whipped the boxy structure of our vehicle while the dash thermometer indicated a steady drop in temperature as we continued to climb; it was 52 when we turned toward Crater Lake, we were quickly dipping into the 40's and the weather was looking a bit more bleak.
We paid the ranger $10 to get in to see Crater Lake. It was getting cold outside. I turned to Grant a few miles past the ranger entrance station and asked, is that snow up on those hill tops? Mind you, last week it was 102 when we went through Las Vegas.
I'll be, that is snow over there - and look here is a bunch more right up ahead! I threw The Q into 4WD and slowed down as large wet flakes began to build up on my windshield. It was an amazing sight. Grant are you ready for this? He was. I slowly moved up the inclined road, which was still clear on the black top, but was rapidly accumulating snow off to the sides. I peered over my sunglasses, and the bright light amidst the blowing snow made it look like white-out conditions. I pulled up to a viewing area parking lot, and the two of us began riffling through our luggage to find some warm clothing before we ventured into this late June snow storm.
We dressed and zipped up in what passed for snow storm clothes and went to look over the lip of the crater to see the lake. I paid $10, but we could not see the lake, only clouds that were dumping lots of snow upon us. It was now 30 degrees and windy.
We look over what is probably a 1,000; cliff, only to see the inside of a cloud. Nothing. We slip and slide back to The Q and crank up the heater. I say we drive on over to the Crater Lake Village and maybe they have a photo on display of what Crater Lake looks like. We motor on courageously in 4WD and find a place among all of the tour buses hauling Germans, Dutch and Japanese tourists. We tromp around in between snow banks and again lean up against the rail that warns of injury and death if you go beyond that point. We see more clouds. We toss a few late June snow balls and drop to lower elevations. Grant will just have to take it on faith that there was actually a lake inside a collapsed and hollowed out volcano.
Catch you on the flip-flop.
About Face.
Execute a 180.
We came and we saw what we came for: Graduation. It was all over, even including the shouting. It was time for the tide of reality to sweep back in and wash over our sandcastles of euphoria and shared good times in Eugene.
We checked out of the hotel and dropped Sue off at Inga's apartment in a typical dewy Willamette wet morning. Inga was to drive Sue north to Portland to catch her plane back to Dallas, while Grant and I said bon voyage to all, and charted a course across the Cascades, down to the Northern California Lava Beds Country, and had plans to spend the night at Lake Tahoe with another of my lost cousins, Norman and his wife and two daughters. However, Norman had to make a quick trip to look after his ailing mother and would not be at home when we came through Tahoe. However, I was encouraged to keep my original plans and swing through Lake Tahoe and meet Natali and daughters Melanie and Lana. I did, and I am glad I did.
As we climbed up out of the Willamette Valley and headed South by Southwest toward the Salt Creek Tunnel at the summit of the Cascade Range, I was awed by the lush beauty of western Oregon as the wetted pavement vanished into a thick palette of various shades of green; bright kelly green sun-lit leaves of the plants next to the road, grading into blue green of spruce set at the middle distance and then the highway was swallowed by a deep, almost black-green of the wooded mountainside ahead of us. This rabbit hole of greens in which we were now traveling was gloriously highlighted with low clouds sifting through the tops of the forest. The lowering soft fog was thick enough to diffuse the morning's light, but thin enough to lose all aspects of gray and in its place, become a radiant silver crown set upon the evergreens, dazzling to the eye and glowing with coolness of fluid silver. I drove on into this contrast of deep green enfolding the road and blazing silver light above; the coincidence of the mundane forest with the mundane low clouds caught up in the every-day morning light that transform the landscape and my mood into something spectacular; it is for the opportunity to witness this confluence of light and landscape that I much prefer to travel along the byways of America.
Cresting the Cascade Range, we dropped down the backside and we were angling toward Klamath Falls when geology once again beckoned. We are this close to Crater Lake. A National Park dedicated to ancient geological earth forces that once built up a towering volcano, only to collapse inward, forming a bowl inside the now hollow volcano that filled with water. I remember the steep rim, from which one can precariously peer 1,000 feet over the side and down into the deep blue waters, like a circular sapphire. I have never regretted listening to the beckoning of spectacular geology that tells me stories of fantastic crustal upheavals, violent ash clouds spread across the continent and the onslaught of glowing magma that now stand frozen in its tracks as columnar basalt. As I learned early on in my geologic studies: Subduction leads to Orogeny. No better place to see the consequence of this than in the Cascades.
I made the decision to turn west off of Highway 97 to see Crater Lake while Grant was dozing in the front passenger's seat. The tach on the dash of The Q told me she knew she was climbing a subtle grade toward the blown-off top of this ancient volcano. The forest trees thinned as we gained elevation and the earth was definitely composed of volcanic cinders. The wind whipped the boxy structure of our vehicle while the dash thermometer indicated a steady drop in temperature as we continued to climb; it was 52 when we turned toward Crater Lake, we were quickly dipping into the 40's and the weather was looking a bit more bleak.
We paid the ranger $10 to get in to see Crater Lake. It was getting cold outside. I turned to Grant a few miles past the ranger entrance station and asked, is that snow up on those hill tops? Mind you, last week it was 102 when we went through Las Vegas.
I'll be, that is snow over there - and look here is a bunch more right up ahead! I threw The Q into 4WD and slowed down as large wet flakes began to build up on my windshield. It was an amazing sight. Grant are you ready for this? He was. I slowly moved up the inclined road, which was still clear on the black top, but was rapidly accumulating snow off to the sides. I peered over my sunglasses, and the bright light amidst the blowing snow made it look like white-out conditions. I pulled up to a viewing area parking lot, and the two of us began riffling through our luggage to find some warm clothing before we ventured into this late June snow storm.
We dressed and zipped up in what passed for snow storm clothes and went to look over the lip of the crater to see the lake. I paid $10, but we could not see the lake, only clouds that were dumping lots of snow upon us. It was now 30 degrees and windy.
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| Grant & Mark Snow Blinded while looking to see Crater Lake - We never did see the lake (but it should be right behind us) |
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| Grant grimaces as he poses in front of Crater Lake |
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| Grant waste-deep in Crater lake snowbank |
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| Incoming! Grant hurls a fresh snowball |
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| Crater Lake National Park Our best view of Crater Lake |
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| What we were supposed to see Crater lake from Google Image |
