While I was ascertaining the data which I have just been transcribing, the guests had gradually retired to their rooms and we soon followed suit. Despite the very crisp air—there is no heat in the guest rooms of Crater Lake Lodge—we threw open our windows and contemplated the weird beauty of the lake by the light of a full moon. Color had given way to dull, mysterious monotone—the lake had become an ebon mirror reflecting the moon and stars in its sullen deeps. And such starlight I never saw elsewhere. The stars flamed and corruscated like diamonds and the lake reflected them in almost undiminished luster, lending a weird splendor to the scene. We were back at our posts at the windows to watch sunrise on the lake, but it was distinctly disappointing. We saw only a sheet of dull silver which gradually changed to blue as the sun rose over the rim. Possibly at other seasons, under different conditions, sunrise on Crater Lake may be a spectacle worth shivering in the frosty air to witness, but we agreed that the scene is far more inspiring when viewed by starlight.
There was a great spitting and sputtering of motors out under the pines as we descended the stairs, for the very crisp weather made starting no easy task, and when we left the Lodge an hour later, one or two of the refractory engines were still resisting every effort to set them going. Taking on a supply of forty-five-cent gasoline and pausing for one last look at the blue wonder-water before us, we glided down the little vale into the pines. We followed the road by which we came for a short distance until we reached the Sand Creek “cut off” which enabled us to regain the main road to Bend without returning to Fort Klamath. It also gave us the opportunity to ascend the new government road to the summit of Cloud Cap, an experience that we prize more than any other at Crater Lake. The road is part of the new highway which is ultimately to complete the circuit of the lake, a distance in all of thirty-eight miles. This road is about half finished at the present time, extending from the summit of Cloud Cap on the east to the peak of the Watchman on the west. It is being built with moderate grades and wide turns, broad enough everywhere for easy passing. It does not closely follow the lake at all points—that would be hardly possible and certainly not desirable. One of the delightful features of the road is the disappearance of the lake when one turns into the hills and its reappearance in new and often surprising aspects as various vantage points overlooking it are reached. It strikes the senses differently and more forcefully after the change afforded by a few minutes in the wooded hills. The distance from the Lodge to Sand Creek Canyon is about seven miles; here the road branches off to Kerr Notch on the rim, four or five miles farther, at which point the ascent of Cloud Cap begins. A splendid new road—it almost deserves the much-abused term “boulevard”—climbs to the summit in long, sweeping grades ranging from five to twelve per cent, yet so smooth and splendidly engineered as to require only high-gear work for a moderately powered car.
I have already described our impressions of the marvels of Crater Lake to the best of my ability and I can only say that the series of vistas presented in our ascent of Cloud Cap were far beyond any we had yet witnessed. In sheer magnificence, in inspiring beauty and in overwhelming mystery—never absent in any view of Crater Lake—I have seen little else that could compare with the seven-mile run. At times we caught only glimpses of the blue water and mighty cliffs through a group of trees; then we came out upon some bold headland where the lake lay shimmering beneath our gaze with an endless panorama of cliffs and peaks beyond. But the crowning spectacle greeted us from the summit, where from an elevation of two thousand feet above the surface our vision covered almost the entire lake and the greater part of its rugged shore line with an almost unlimited sweep over the surrounding country. Here a new and strange color aspect entranced us—the main body of the water took on a deep purple hue, fading into violet and blue with faint streakings of emerald green near the shores. Light lavender was the prevailing color tone of the encircling cliffs in the floods of morning sunlight, while dark blues prevailed where the shadows fell. Out beyond stretched the densely wooded hills with here and there a commanding peak on which snow flecks still lingered. Looking down the slope which we had ascended, we saw Lake Klamath in the far distance, shining silver-bright in its setting of forest and marsh and beyond it endless hills which were gradually lost in a purple haze.
LLAO ROCK, CRATER LAKE
Copyright by Fred H. Kiser, Portland, Oregon
It was a panorama that held us for some time, despite the fact that our run for the day was to be a long one, over roads for which no one had spoken a good word. Reluctantly and lingeringly we gave the word to depart. I find in my “log book” set down on the spot: “One of the most glorious and inspiring drives in all our experience and all that its most enthusiastic admirer has ever claimed for it”—a judgment we are still willing to let stand. Soberly the big car retraced its way down the long slopes and we soon bade farewell to Crater Lake, wondering hopefully if we should not some time have the joy of seeing its weird beauty again. A few miles through dense forests brought us to the eastern limit of the park, where we surrendered our permit to Uncle Sam’s representative and struck the dusty trail to Bend, our destination for the night—about one hundred and twenty miles distant from the confines of the park.
V
CRATER LAKE TO THE DALLES
On leaving Crater Lake Lodge we were admonished not to miss the Sand Creek Canyon Pinnacles, which we would pass just outside the park. Sand Creek Canyon is a vast ravine several hundred feet in depth with walls so steep that only an experienced mountain climber would dare attempt the descent. At a point nearly opposite the eastern boundary of Crater Lake Park, a multitude of slender sculptured spires ranging up to two hundred feet in height rise from the sides and bottom of the tremendous chasm. These weird gray needles of stone are cores of lava rock left standing after the surrounding sand and silt had been carried away by the floods which cut this mighty chasm in the sandy plain of Central Oregon. A sign, “The Pinnacles,” apprised us of our proximity to these curious natural phenomena; they are not visible from the road, being hidden in the depths of the canyon. They seem strange and uncanny in the noonday sun and we wondered how weird and awe-inspiring they must appear when the pale moonlight filters into the deeps of the great gulch. At the bottom of the canyon a clear stream dashes through a fringe of good-sized pines with here and there a little green paddock. In one of these we saw the only wild animal life—except small birds and chipmunks—since we had left Reno. A doe eyed us timorously and then slipped into the cover of the trees. They told us that there were many deer in this region but they are chary of appearing along the main-traveled roads.