Day 5 — Crater Lake National Park

Hello, Baby Nat,

It was a beautiful day at Crater Lake! 

Dad and I woke up early, made coffee and took a little stroll as other campers were slowly emerging from their tents all bleary-eyed and bed-headed, scratching their butts and firing up the little propane burners they pulled from the backs of their early-model Outbacks. I’ve noticed that our Teardrop isn’t the talk of the campground anymore. Remember when people used to stop by our campsite and ask for a tour? Now there are all kinds of far-out, tricked out set-ups. 

Two sites down, there is a Teardrop on steroids; next to our little guy, it looks like a Monster Truck, and the owners need a step ladder to crawl up into it. Not far away, some kind of camouflage sport-utility trailer folds out into a tent on stilts, like a treehouse. Again: ladder required. Clare called it an army base to-go. And there are also a couple of crazy A-frame pop-up trailers and two other teardrops similar to ours. And that’s just in this campground loop.

We took off this morning for Crater Lake Lodge, the historic inn and restaurant built in 1915 on the edge of the lake, seven miles up the road from the campground. We walked around the side of the lodge and caught our first glimpse of Crater Lake. Absolutely stunning. 

At 1,943 feet deep (!) the lake is the deepest in the U.S. — and, depending on where you get your information, it’s either the seventh or the ninth-deepest lake in the world. And the water is so clear, you can be on the surface and see more than 100 feet straight down. 

Crater Lake formed only about 7,700 years ago, when a volcano called Mount Mazama — at the time, probably the tallest peak in what is now Oregon — blew its top and then imploded. Over the centuries that followed, the caldera filled up with rain and snow. (This area, by the way, gets an astounding 533 inches of snow a year. That’s about 44 feet. Of snow. Each year.) 

The lake is so clear and so deep. And so brilliantly blue. This morning we stood on the caldera’s rim, hundreds of feet above the surface of the water, and gazed across the lake, and at the wispy clouds reflected perfectly on its surface. Dad says it’s the sky turned upside-down. It is simply spectacular.

Months ago I had bought tickets for a boat tour that takes guests to Wizard Island, the largest of only of two islands that formed within the caldera after Mazama’s collapse. It is so-named because it looks like a wizard’s hat, I guess. We planned to drive to the other side of the lake, hike the one-mile trail down into the caldera to the boat landing, ride the boat to the island, hike around the island, have a picnic lunch and take the boat back to the landing.

But due to technical difficulties — one of the boats broke down last night and has been taken out of service — our boat tour was canceled today. Oh no! 

Not to be discouraged, we drove to the opposite side of the lake, found the trailhead and hiked 1,000 feet down, down, down to the boat landing, anyway.  Wizard Island and the boat landing, at a spot called Cleetwood Cove, are the only two places where one can get into the water. The sheer cliffs that rim the lake make access anywhere else impossible.

We changed into our swimsuits and spent a couple of hours climbing around on the rocks, taking quick, breathtaking dips into the frigid waters (it’s 55 degrees at the surface) and cliff-jumping 30 feet or so into the water. 

Charlie jumped five or six times.

Dad jumped, too.

It took her a while to work up the courage, but Clare eventually jumped, as well. I did not.

We dreaded the strenuous mile-long hike back up to the rim of the crater, 1,000 feet directly above us. Clare, in fact, was sobbing by the time we made the first switchback — not so much from effort but from the panic she felt over the idea of it. But she recovered quickly and the trip only took us about 30 minutes; about as long as it took to go down in the first place. No problem!

We rewarded our effort with a picnic lunch on an overlook, then spent the rest of the afternoon completing the drive around the lake. Because of all the snowfall, the rim road is only open from late June to mid-October. Last year, it wasn’t completely open until July 4. This year it opened much earlier — due to the fact that the area received only 60 percent of the average snowpack. 

After the 33-mile drive around the lake — and multiple detours to thrilling overlooks, we — of course! — stopped off at the visitors center for Junior Ranger badges. 

Clare asked me today, “When I go off to college, will you send my Junior Ranger badges with me?”

“Sure,” I replied. “But what are you going to do with them?”

“Treasure them,” she answered.

After dinner, we all trudged over to the camp store to use the pay showers — 75 cents for four minutes. (Clare suggests installing one of these coin slots your bathroom at home.)

The tall green trees and the sparkling lake water and the cool shade give the illusion that it’s lush and dewy here. But now that all that snow has melted, it’s the dry season. And everything is covered in dust and dirt. including us. After those quick showers, there is nothing left to do but crawl into bed.

We’ve crossed three timezones since we left Indiana, and each night we’ve been going to bed around 10 or 11 p.m. local time. But my internal clock is still on Eastern Time, and I can’t sleep past 6 a.m. in Indiana, which is 3 a.m. here. I am exhausted. Your brother, by the way, is on Charlie Standard Time. That kid can fall asleep anywhere, at any time and will stay asleep until someone basically blows a bullhorn in his face.

Good night, My Love! Tomorrow we’ll be able to find some cell service, so we’ll be able to hear how your days have been going.

I love you!

Love, Mom

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo