A Big Hole in the Ground

Isn’t it funny how so many of earth’s most scenic places are either big holes in the ground or big piles of rock? From a geologic standpoint, many of the prettiest mountain ranges are simply tectonic callouses from two plates rubbing palms. Earthquakes are the tectonic “Ope, pardon me, pal! Let me just scoot on by ya!” And let’s not get started on volcanoes. Science is such a funny way to view the world, if you think about it!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/btbAzGQFXrjqQC5R7

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September 1st, 2024- California Day 9 

A lady was brushing her teeth in the sink. 

It was 7:30 AM and, like usual, we had been driving for hours already. Well, Tyler had been driving. I snoozed in the passenger seat, also like usual. I awoke just as we were pulling into the parking lot for Crater Lake National Park. Still trying to get my bearings, I stumbled into surprisingly frigid air towards a cute cabin-like structure housing the women’s restrooms. A welcome blast of warm air enveloped me as I shoved open the door. A swishing sound accompanied it. A woman with bedraggled hair was brushing her teeth in the park restroom. She looked as sleepy as I did. We made eye contact in the mirror, nodded to each other, and went about our business. As one does.

I am aware that brushing your teeth in a park bathroom sink is relatively normal. For an isolated park like Crater Lake, many people resort to camping rather than driving hours from the nearest Airbnb (like we did). And if camping looks like just sleeping in your car, well, you get creative about filling your cosmetic needs. There was nothing wrong about the lady brushing her teeth in the bathroom. It’s just that when you go from dreaming in a warm car to shivering on a mountain to seeing someone brush their teeth in a public bathroom, it makes an impression. Clearly, the impression stuck with me. At least she had fresh breath, I guess.

After I’d woken up more, I could finally appreciate the park Tyler had driven us to. The last national park on our itinerary, we hadn’t been sure what to expect from Crater Lake. We had heard many good things about it, but even those glowing reviews hadn’t prepared us for its majesty. It lay like a mirror before us, presenting the wispy clouds in duplicate across its surface. Hazy mountainous ridges formed the rear edge of the bowl. The rim where we stood was dotted with thick pines whose sharp edges contrasted the smooth lake curves. The sun rose shyly that morning, barely painting the clouds in pale yellow before bursting into the sky. Its light made the lake come to life. The water shone with the turquoise of the sky, striped with cotton candy clouds. The pine trees glowed brilliantly. The steep declines of the far shoreline were perfectly reflected in the still water, preserving so much detail that one could count individual trees from the reflection. 

A small mule deer picked its way along the hill just beneath our overlook. Its footing was remarkably delicate, carefully stepping where it knew the hillside wouldn’t slide. Its graceful neck was topped with a pair of characteristically large ears, useful for diffusing heat in the summertime. What did such a creature eat on this barren landscape? I looked behind us towards the road that we traveled. It snaked for miles over a field of volcanic stone, the red remnants of an ancient eruption. Besides the pine trees, little seemed to grow with much success. Yet there must have been enough, for the deer looked lithe and healthy. So too did the enormously fat ground squirrel that stared imperiously from its perch on a park sign. It clasped tiny paws in front of a chunky belly, peering down a whiskered nose with nothing but judgement. He was waiting for free handouts, that much was clear. Too proud to deign to beg, the squirrel eventually gave up on us. His chubby cuteness had not scored any food from our hands. He scampered off to go beguile another group of visitors, fluffy body bouncing with each step.

I inched over to read the park sign the squirrel had just vacated. Crater Lake was once a volcano named Mount Mazama. When it last erupted (estimated to be 7,700 years ago), the eruption was so intense that the top of the volcano collapsed inwards, forming an enormous bowl. Over time, rain and snowfall filled the bowl with the clearest, prettiest water imaginable. Given that this mountaintop receives an average of 42 feet of snowfall a year, I figure it didn’t take long to fill the lake! At 1,943 feet, Crater Lake is the deepest lake in the United States and the deepest volcanic lake in the world. It has its own personal volcano, Wizard Island, that juts out of the water like Gandalf’s hat. Crater Lake also boasts its own mythical beast: a 450-year-old hemlock log named the Old Man. The Old Man was discovered floating around Crater Lake in 1896. The decapitated tree stump floats vertically, with 3 feet of aged trunk pointing to the sky as if it still grows. According to legend, the Old Man controls the weather around Crater Lake. In 1988, researchers attempted to navigate a submersible across the bottom of the lake. Concerned about accidentally running into the Old Man, they wrangled him like cowboys and tied him to the shore of Wizard Island. Promptly, storms erupted, so intense that the submersible remained grounded. Shortly thereafter, it began to snow. In August. As a scientist, I can confidently assert that we are a superstitious lot. (I often joke about saying prayers over our analyzers in my laboratory workplace. While I jest, I’m pretty sure it’s happened at least once.) Superstitious just like the rest of us, the researchers soon began to suspect the Old Man’s involvement with the bad weather. Timelines are tight at Crater Lake, so the scientists couldn’t afford to have their submersible stranded on shore longer than necessary. That night, they quietly untied him and let him float back out into the lake. Unsurprisingly, the weather was quickly resolved. The Old Man still floats about Crater Lake, supervising the paths of tour boats and the hikes of visitors. He’ll probably still be there in a century, overseeing his domain like a wizened king. I sure hope he is! 

That night, we took a break from hours of driving to watch the sunset at Lake Siskiyou. This was at my request, as I had hoped to capture a few snapshots of Mount Shasta during golden hour. Google Maps first led us to the wrong side of the lake, to my dismay. When we circled around to the correct side, I was once again dismayed to learn that the beach was a state park. It required an entry fee. We had only planned to linger for 15 minutes, which hardly seemed worth an entry fee. I cast a longing glance at Mount Shasta, then shook my head. I wasn’t going to be obstinate about one picture. Tyler, however, knew my disappointment. In a wonderful act of kindness, he paid the entry fee and took me to the beach. What a blessing marriage can be! 

The beach was full of volleyballers and picnicking families. An old man practiced tai chi on a beach towel, standing perfectly still in a meditative stance. Kayak paddles dipped into the glittering water at the foot of Mount Shasta. It was purple in the evening light, crowned with a solitary cloud. The layers of foothills at the lakeshore created the perfect contrast with the smooth water. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was perfect. 

Technically, as my intro said, I was enjoying the view of a hole in the ground and a pile of rocks. Maybe you have to see it to believe it, but trust me, it was much, much more.