Return to Crater Lake!

Naturally, the grace and poise with which I painted the new year in my last post has since shifted. Thus far, it has been a practice in baby steps and cutting the self some slack. What was going to be a dramatic launch into a "cleaner" diet at the beginning of January has sluggishly dragged itself along until today, where I am still slowly easing into things, as opposed to some dramatic gesture to denounce indulgence (my typical all-or-nothing approach). Leo's friend Chris was in town, and having been sick up until the debut weekend of 2016, our little PNW tribe tried to make the last little bit of his stay festive, so the four of us that had been aiming for a January cleanse set aside our will power and jubilantly indulged...all through the next week, thanks to a myriad of various other excuses. It was nice to have people right alongside me for once, being flexible with their goals as opposed to me against the world and my own mind beating itself to a pulp at any shortcoming.

It has always been hard for me to accept that all of the change and shifts I see possible cannot fathomably be tackled all at once. And so like I said, this year so far has really been about making the little shifts wherever possible, and not trying to measure some sort of metered pace. I began to draw for a bit each day, and then lost a few days. I got off Facebook but not other screen time that is equally distracting. But I'm putting forth effort to the areas I want to focus on, testing the waters of how I can shift my attention. And that counts towards something.

The most immediate shift to be addressed was to gain some relief from the stifling holiday season and rediscover a bit of adventure. Leo and I had both been ticking time bombs to get out of the city and vowed that the first opportunity after the holidays died down, we would do just that.

I began to call upon my planning methods which generally means daydreaming until something resonates. Since we only had a weekend, I couldn't daydream too far away, but I didn't need to. Having become completely enamored with Crater Lake's summer scene, I could only imagine what it must look like at this time of year and after some snooping about to figure out how much of it was accessible, I found that the best way to access the caldera was through a free, guided snowshoeing tour.

Anywhere else you go, snowshoes will cost you. But go to a National Park and they give you the equipment and a guide. Take your ranches elsewhere; we need to preserve these kinds of opportunities.

Unsure of how bold we would end up wanting to be in the face of winter weather, I opted to peruse Couchsurfers and made connections with a woman that had recently just moved to Bend...from Michigan!

Leo and I both had to work on Friday, so we weren't able to get on the road until that sweet, glorious, magic hour....rush hour. Way past dark as we neared Bend, the trees grew tall around us and the headlights bounced the gleam of ice off the road. Contrary to all Miami jokes ever, I'd say Leo earned a sticker for his first real wintery drive. It was about 9:30 when we got to town and I felt bad that we would be knocking on Tracy and Brandon's door so late. However, they seemed flexible with the whole thing, affording us the opportunity to go out and grab some late night noms before heading over. I was surprised that nearly every eatery was closed on a Friday night, but we managed to find a place with an acceptably quirky enough name to be lured in. 'Broken Top Bottle Shop' was situated on the edge of nothing special, and appeared out of nowhere after winding through a bunch of residential streets (in the dark, the city's layout was making no sense to me.) They seemed to be a prime stop for "bottle shop" and the food was tasty. We got Banh Mi-ses (plural that, grammar!) which I was failing to remember the origins of. I described it to Leo as simply being a type of sandwich, like a BLT that probably has a standard set of toppings. Alas, I get fail-points. Apparently, the vietnamese "dish" is named after the bread, essentially a baguette sorta thing, but all special and vietnamese-y. There are suggested toppings but it really just means "bread sandwich". That's why America likes to steal other languages, yo. Sounds so much more intriguing.

Arriving in the neighborhood of our hosts, we couldn't make out any numbers and I ended up pestering the wrong door before calling Tracy for guidance. In our meandering about the street, Leo found ample opportunity to commence what would be the ongoing snow-off (although, I think I just won when I later face planted into a wad of snow he was holding and stuffed way too much in my mouth).

Once in the warmth (and safety) of their house, none of us really had any energy to muster for visiting and so we made our brief introductions, they showed us our room and we called it a night.

part of the bedroom decor 

The next morning we had to be on the road by 9:30 (which we sorta succeeded at) to arrive for our 1pm tour, so we didn't have much time to visit then, either. While Leo basked in the snow, I basked in being able to watch someone so newly enamored with it. I didn't half mind it either. Rather than gloomy ice-rain or clumpy hard patches, this snow was doing it proper, falling in a light, powdery flow.

Gassing up on our way out of town, our attendant warned us not to take Hwy 97 , because "people don't know how to drive in this weather". My car proudly waved its Michigan booty as we carried on, 97 being the only possible way anyhow. The roads really weren't that bad. Despite ominous orange reader boards demanding chains or tread, we kept on keeping on. After a treacherous Ice-rain experience in Portland the week before, driving the few patches that got especially wobbly were nothing. Still, a few spots did slow our pace and a capsized truck had us at a brief stand still, carrying us into park territory later than anticipated. I was trying not to feel anxious, but kept thinking back to when we took AmeriCorps kiddos to Rainier for a snowshoe tour and they'd left without us.

The weaponry cabinet 

all geared up : ) 

Fortunately, Crater Lake time is my kinda time, operating on nature and working with peoples needs. Things like driving on roads with 20-foot walls of snow accounted for more than one party being slightly behind schedule. While we were catching up and latching our gear on, the rest of the group had gone over to the edge to see if they could see the caldera. There had been a thick fog sheltering us the entire drive through the park and I couldn't imagine how the lake would be visible through that.  Sure enough, we heard our guide dismiss the view and say we'd try again later. Then, just as we were about to get going, we noticed a break in the sky above the lake.

The view was incredible, perhaps even moreso with the clouds. Shadows and light transformed the landscape with each passing minute, first illuminating Wizard Island before gliding across the water, turning it from the silvery shade of clouds to a shimmery blue and hitting the farthest walls of the rim. Even if we'd missed the walk, the drive would have been worth it.

But carrying on, we trekked further into beautiful, snowy abyss. Our guide was a wonderfully passionate older man who seemed to be enjoying his retirement with his wife, park hopping as volunteers. Besides some of the geological history that I'd learned from our summer visit, he shared little pointer for being attentive to our current winter setting. One interesting tool that our surroundings provided for measuring how much snow the park gets on average was the lichen on the trees. Because Lichen need to photosynthesize, you can always tell how high the snow had reached on a tree by where the lichen stops. So, when we're back in the summer we can look up at the lichen line and know just how high up we were. It was odd to be reminded that we were over 20 feet above the ground. Amongst the giant, looming Pines, droopy Hemlocks had been reduced to little 5-foot looking shrubs, reminding me of little cloaked villagers under the costuming that the snow clumps provided. At one point, a break in the snow allowed us to see that we were in fact standing on the tippy top of one!

And when we weren't standing, we were sliding. Plundering through the snow with snowshoes is no act of grace, and going down hill, we frequently did half-splits or feigned a pseudo-snowboarding pose to look mildly cool as our ass hit the ground (but all with the upmost level of enjoyment).

Back at the parking lot, I could finally assess how brickish my brick-feet had become and waddled to the car so we could drive up to the lodge for something - anything - hot. Shitty coffee has never felt so good. The lodge closed around sunset, and as we were headed to the car, I saw a wash of peach entering in behind the trees so we ventured out for one last look at the lake under the glow.

Between thus far having been ships in the night with our hosts and the amount of BRRRrrr that we'd just thawed out from, we vetoed the winter camping idea and decided to head back to Bend to take Tracy and Brandon to dinner at Brother Jon's Public House. It was good to finally have a chance to get to know them, and compare notes on Michigan, traveling, photography and the like. They also shared some of their Bend discoveries and seconded an earlier recommendation from Dean that we should swing by Smith Rock on our way out of town the next day.

So on Sunday after visiting a bit more, our landscape took a 180 as we drove north into desert. It was strange to see the rock that I associate with New Mexico sprinkled with snow and ice. Smith rock is tucked way back, past acres and acres of farmland. From the flat expanse, it suddenly shoots up, split off from a larger ridge by Crooked Creek which carved through the formations over thousands of years. As opposed to Crater Lake - the results of a collapsed caldera filled with water - Smith Rock formed from the hardened debris of ash and dust that settled in a caldera there.

We had no plans for the day, so when Leo pointed out the longest hike on the map he'd been given, I didn't see any reason not to. I mean, it's not like the title was of the "Take heed all ye who approach" variety...

Leo also went house shopping

It actually wasn't that difficult, and certainly was far from miserable. The only real challenge was the first 1/3 of a mile, which accomplishes the total 900 ft elevation gain for the whole trail. And it wasn't the gain that made us take stock of our sanity, but the ice. Because it was on the...northeast (?...I might be bullshitting that...so we could also just say "cause it's winter and ice happens") there was still lots of ice on the trail, which had us moving at a hand-and-knee pace most of the way up. But it was worth every step. Surmounting the top of the ridge, we were bathed in sunlight again and just ahead was a ledge with a view. And well, what more do you want when you reach the top.

We trekked along the ridge in bliss, which got more blissful as we rounded the corner that opened up onto a view of the Three Sisters mountain range...and Monkey Rock! We'd passed some monkey rock babies on the way up, but they seemed sort of undistinguished for having been given a namesake. upon seeing the real thing though, there is no mistaking it. The massive stand-alone pillar looks like a monkey head impaled on a stick. From where the trail split off, we were able to climb down onto a ledge that climbers from the world over have been utilizing as a prime claiming site since the 80's. It was daunting to experience "a climber's eye" and we both began to feel uneasy the longer we lingered.

Safely back on on solid ground, we moved on to less-safely navigate our way down another zig baggy slope of ice. This side wasn't as bad though, and once I gained momentum, I could sort of get going in a wide, plodding gait. Then from the bottom on, things became less of a hike and more of a stroll (the definitions of which I have full credentials to convey accurately...) along the creek back to the lot.

Conveniently situated as a stand-alone building, and one of the first that you come across upon leaving the park, Terrebone Depot easily lured us with the promise of food and drink. With a wide variety on the menu, steak for Leo and Fish Tacos for myself, we left heartily satisfied and restored for the drive home.

It was difficult to come back, to notice that the norm of my life is not the norm that I would like. But every excursion, every taste is an opportunity to be re-invigorated and to learn more about what really matters to me. Sometimes, life can't be all or nothing. Sometimes it just has to be baby steps.