Volcanic Revue October 19 - 23, 2001 On how we got cold feet with lava beneath them.

	Mt Shasta is found between Lassen NP a Crater Lake NP - at this time we skip intimate encounters and admire it only from a distance -- this fourteen thousand feet beauty is a demanding lady.

We thought it was a good idea to introduce my mother, who came from "boring" Czech Republic, to some refreshing volcanoes. The trip was planned for so long that Sid eventually could not get time off, so it was all left up to me. Packing some food, a tent to be sure, we left on Friday noon, just us, ladies. My "poor" Hippo's fate was to tend to the household hearth -- he spend the whole weekend lazing at home, raiding the fridge, to be strong to work on Monday again.

Tourist season was over in Northern California, in the Sierra Nevada mountains -- too late for group hiking, and too early for skiing. First snow may fall as early as October, making the Sierras in impassable barrier. Tioga Pass in Yosemite, Sonora Pass in Stanislaus, a road circumventing Crater Lake, the whole Lassen National Park, they all close until spring meltdown -- which in some spots means middle of July. Then the parks get re-invaded by tourist hordes, and once they recede, only a few days remain for necessary adjustments and repairs in the park before winter.

And so we were faced with an unpleasant surprise in the shape for a closed trail (for repairs) among sulfur springs. They did not really need to threaten with severe prosecution -- it did not seem wise to zigzag unguided between boiling water and reeking sulfur exhausts, on an unstable surface with those convenient plankways removed now. We tried to walk around and take a picture from an opposed slope, but it was not much. Still, at least the park was still open and contained a very acceptable number of people (that is, almost none).

	Lassen National Park - all those feet of snow still wait to fall

	A canyon with a sulfur spring

A hiking trail up to Lassen Peak was fortunately open, from a parking lot at 8,512 feet we wheezed up to the summit in 10,457 feet. Mom gave me quizzing looks, for after my experience of last year's August I frightened her with tales of freezing cold and strong winds like in the Alps, and of a crater with a dozen feet of a snowcap. This time, we walked for about an hour inside the crater on a warm and sunny afternoon, finding only tiny remains of last year's snow in the most hidden and deepest recess of the volcano. Lassen Peak is a place where you will keep feeling a tingling sensation of danger. It was active for approximately seven years, beginning with the year 1914, and eighty years of quiet did not cover up traces of volcanic activity.

My reputation as a guide improved on our way back -- storm clouds rolled in from south and a cold wind picked up. We congratulated ourselves what a great plan we had, and within several hours removed ourselves from a beginning ugly weather two hundred miles up north, to Klamath Falls.

I began to prepare mom for tourist congestion around Crater Lake. But here as well the season was over -- boat trips ceased in the middle of September, at the cafeteria, two temp-working teenagers dithered over leftover hamburgers, and four cars crouched on a huge parking lot. Crater Lake changed color to steel blue and its surface was rippled with wind.

	Lake Helena

	A crater inside Lassen Peak - for scale, notice two sitting tourists indicated in the larger picture (click).

Another mountain ascent was planned next - on Mt. Scott (8,929 feet) with a view to the whole lake. Interestingly enough, even here the sun shone on our way up, and our usual funny show "How to put on a windbreaker in a hurricane while cussing as little as possible" on the summit did not take place.

Coming down, it became clear we were lucky again -- those clouds that haunted us at Lassen caught up with us from the south and the wind picked up again. We still had a descent to the lake surface on our list, but I could not avoid a feeling that I was not doing anything else but racing forward for last few days - either behind the wheel of our wagon (mother does not drive), or with my tongue hanging out, up some hill. So only my ancient mother represented our family, hiking down to the lake (some 600 feet vertical difference, about an hour walk), while I went comatose on a car seat.

I awoke to strange noises. First I thought that one of the squealing children of Mexican families that hung out at the parking lot got somewhat more out of hand, and discovered a new game of throwing sand on my car's roof, but closer scrutiny did not reveal any kids (Mexicans seemed to have left). Besides no children, I also could not see the edge of the lake crater, that is, the close one, not speaking about the five miles far one. Thus I can testify that winter 2001 came to Crater Lake on Sunday, October 21, at 3:30 p.m., in the form of unpleasant rain.

	Crater Lake - clouds on the horizon pretend to have no ill intentions ... for now.

Being at 6,000 feet altitude, clouds soon wrapped us altogether. I admit that rain made me, a newly made Californian, who lives in a semi-desert, unspeakably happy. Though we were in Oregon, but clouds came from SOUTH, which means it also rained in California -- and eco-terrorists, who promise endless drought year after year, may please shut up again. We, on the other hand, were deprived of a romantic sunset. Instead of gazing into bottomless fog, we drove west with a hope that the Pacific coast, behind another mountain range, will have sunshine.

	Winter at Crater Lake began on Sunday, October 21, at 3:30 p.m.

	Mother in a raincoat hood inside a redwood forest -- no weather improvement on the coast, must go south.

All we could reach by the evening was Grants Pass. It was my mom's first night at "Queen of Bombay" (our generalizing name for cheapest motels, usually operated by an Indian family), and my first adventure of finding a place for dinner. Without Hippo's unfailing instinct for nearest good food place -- a challenge.

There's hardly a more desperate scenery than an American small town on Sunday night. All stores on the Main Street are closed, roads are deserted (nobody lives down town, besides a communal homeless person, who is by eight o'clock p.m. safely asleep). Eventually we spotted a light and dined at Shanghai Garden. Never before I saw a waiter so enthusiastic -- we were probably the only event of a Sunday evening -- she asked us where we were from and informed us that as far as she knew, no new wars started meanwhile, nor were there any natural disasters; Sunday emptiness was normal, she said. Her co-worker came to see us as well, followed by a Chinese cook. It's been a while since I was so popular !!!

Steady rain lasted through the morning, and we continued to southwest. Pacific coast was disappointing -- same uniform gray, all we could see. Turning south, we kept going and going, until pine woods turned redwood. It took me a moment to realize what mom meant with her shouts "trees!" She had not seen redwood forest before, and I must say that these giants invoke inside you a feeling of your own insignificance. Rain is not as unpleasant in a forest, and we took an obligatory picture-taking walk.

	Eel River has a deep green color

	Black Sand Beach - finally some sunshine.

The evening found us driving out of the clouds, and we even got awarded by a sunset on Black Sand Beach. My regular phone call to Sid revealed, that more luck was coming, this time directly to my mom -- Sid relayed an invitation from William (the guy who kept meeting us during our previous trip) and his buddy Andrew, to a sailing on San Francisco Bay -- unfortunately only for one person. What would you not do for your own mother? In the morning, we drove straight for Silicon Valley, and by four in the afternoon, mom got on a train to Bayshore.

While I slept off all those miles behind a wheel, mother tested her immunity to sea-sickness. Assuming she told the truth, she was not only feeling well, but gentlemen even let her steer. In any case, we never got any bill for wharf repair, boat repair, or cleaning services.

Copyright © 2001-2008 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.