The road begins a steady ascent after leaving Fort Klamath, rising over three thousand feet in the twenty miles between the town and Crater Lake Lodge on the rim of the lake. The whole distance is through pine forests and the road was only fair until we reached the confines of the park. After entering the park we were delighted to find a splendid new road that might almost be described as a boulevard had recently been built by the government. It is wide, smooth, and beautifully engineered and we were told is to be hard surfaced in due time. It passes some magnificent scenery, following for several miles the canyon of Annie Creek, whose commonplace name gives little suggestion of the stupendous gorge through which the diminutive stream dashes. It is a vast, precipitous chasm hundreds of feet in depth, almost rivaling the canyon of the Yellowstone in size, though it lacks the glorious color of the latter. For eight miles the road follows this gigantic gorge and from many points we had glimpses of its pine-studded depths. At one point it widens into the “Garden of the Gods” with green meadows and sparkling waterfalls. Along the sides of the canyon are curious formations—columns, pinnacles, and weirdly carved forms—all composed of igneous rock from which the surrounding gravel has at some time been washed away. Splendid pines border the road throughout the park and most of the commoner varieties of conifers are seen—red cedar, hemlock, spruce, white pine, yellow pine, sugar pine, Douglas, silver, and red firs, and other species—and many varieties of deciduous trees are also represented. There were some fine individual specimens, but in the main the trees along the road were smaller, as though they might be a second growth upon a burned area. Six or seven miles after entering the park we came to the official Crater Lake station, where Uncle Sam’s representative issued the proper permits and collected a moderate fee. While this necessary business was being transacted, the lady of the party was besieged by a score of hungry chipmunks that came from crannies about the ranger’s cabin, having learned that auto visitors are likely to have some odd scraps of lunch about their car.
THE ROAD TO CRATER LAKE
From photo by Kiser’s Studio, Portland, Oregon
Just after leaving the station, we crossed Annie Creek Canyon, passing Annie Spring Camp on the opposite side, where tourists who prefer the out-of-doors can secure a floored tent and have access to a community dining room. Here we began a steady three-mile ascent to Crater Lake Lodge over the splendid new road recently completed by the government. Despite the rise of two or three hundred feet to the mile, heavy grades and sharp turns are avoided and there is room everywhere for easy passing. Heavy forests skirted the road; only occasionally was it possible to catch a panorama of rugged peaks through a momentary opening in the crowded ranks of somber pines.
Near our destination we came into an open space which revealed Crater Lake Lodge standing at the summit of a sharp incline. It is a long, gray building of rustic design, the first story of native stone with frame construction above. It was not completed at the time of our visit, which doubtless accounted for some of the shortcomings that we noticed during our stay. Inside there is a great rustic lounging room with an immense fireplace capable of taking a six-foot log—a very necessary convenience in a climate where there is frost every month in the year.
We were assigned a room fronting on the lake and here it was that we had our first view of this wonderful natural phenomenon. We had resolved not to let our first impression be one of piecemeal glimpses—we did not even look toward the lake until we reached the splendid vantage-point afforded from our open windows. The lodge stands on an eminence nearly fifteen hundred feet above the surface of the lake, commanding almost the entire lake as well as much of the surrounding country. My first impression is recorded in our “log book” to the effect that “no comparison seems to me so adequate as to imagine a huge, flawless lapis lazuli set in a rugged wall of variegated cliffs whose predominating color is pale lavender.” We did not at first observe the slight emerald ring running around the shore—we forgot the play of light and shadow over the still surface; our only thought and wonder was about the blue, the deepest, strangest, loveliest blue we had ever seen in any body of water; Tahoe, Como, Constance, are blue—bluer than the clearest skies—but their blue is not that of Crater Lake. Around it runs a jagged wall of precipitous cliffs, ranging from five hundred to two thousand feet in height and out beyond these lay an endless array of majestic mountains dominated by the spire-like peak of Mount Thielsen. It is six miles to the opposite shore, but so clear is the atmosphere that the wall comes out with startling distinctness and the mountains beyond stand wonderfully clear against the pale horizon. The clouds, which overcast the sky when we left Klamath, had vanished and we beheld the glorious spectacle of lake and mountains in the full splendor of the noonday sun.
When our first shock of admiration and surprise had softened a little, we observed details more carefully. To the right was Wizard Island, a cinder cone rising more than nine hundred feet from the water—it did not appear so high to us. It was covered with straggling pines and its truncated top showed where the crater in the strange island might be found. In front of the hotel the slope from the rim was less precipitous than elsewhere and we noticed a trail winding down to the water’s edge—we learned later the only practicable descent to the lake. At the foot of this trail there is a lovely green cove; we had overlooked it in the overmastering impression of blue that had seized us at first. Then we noticed the faint emerald rim elsewhere along the shore, where the cliffs were not so abrupt, and became slowly aware that there was more of color variation than we first imagined. A slight breeze swept the surface and a ripple of silver ran across the dark blue expanse. In the shadow of the almost perpendicular cliffs, the blue deepened to dark purple, while in the shallow bays and coves around the shores it shaded into pale green.
Our attention was diverted from the fascinating scene by a call for dinner and we descended to the dining-room, a huge apartment with finish and wainscoating in rough pine bark. On one side the windows commanded a view of Eagle Cove and a large part of the lake and cliffs, while on the other, down a vast canyon bounded by mighty hills, on clear days one may see Klamath Valley, with its shimmering lake fifty miles away, and under especially favorable conditions the gleaming pyramid of Mt. Shasta, one hundred miles distant.
The view, we agreed, was much better than the meal, of which we have not the pleasantest recollection, but we made some allowance for confusion resultant on the incomplete state of the hotel. Conditions should be better when everything is in order; with proper management, the Lodge has in it the possibilities of a most delightful resort during the season, which is usually short—from July to October. On the year of our visit the road was not open until August first, snow being ten feet deep about the Lodge on July fourth. One can not remain here after October first without taking chances of being shut in for the winter, sudden and heavy snowfalls being probable at any time.