Monday, July 1, 2013

Days 38 and 39 – June 26 and 27 California Lava Beds and Volcanic Peaks



(Because of time, I'm simply posting all the pictures - and there are a lot - at the end of the post. I'll arrange them appropriately when I'm back from the John Muir Trail.)

I woke up to the sound of rain. Ah, something new and different. Well, it was different in that it quit before I got up and I haven’t seen any since thankfully. I also woke up to a calm lake with herons roosting on the far side. Occasionally one would rise and glide above the water, only to find a little more desirable place to settle into preening and whatever else herons do. It was sunny by the time I broke camp, and I was eager to get on the road to California

After looking at the map, I decided to follow Eric’s advice and take the less populated road.  I noticed one route I could take ran by Lava Beds National Monument, so I programmed the GPS and headed into California.

I don’t know what it is about northern California, and maybe the feeling was enhanced by the strengthening sunshine after so many days of clouds and rain, but I almost always feel as if I’m coming home when I’m there. And this day was no different. It seemed I could breathe more deeply and a sense of ease came over me. I was driving through smallish mountains formed by volcanic activity, and as I approached Lava Beds, I began to see more and more evidence of volcanic activity. Beds of black porous rock lined the highway, and the mountains became more distinctly volcanic, even to a layperson’s eye like mine.

Lava Beds National Monument was such an unexpected pleasure. I kept stopping the car to shoot pictures, but I still was unable to capture the magnificence of the landscape. When I pulled up to the entrance gate, I visited for a few minutes with the ranger there, asking what I shouldn’t miss. Wonderfully friendly and helpful, she said I should hike to the fire tower at Schonchin Butte and suggested I hike into Skull Cave, the deepest cave open to the public at the time.

Thanking her, I headed for the butte. I first saw the fire tower atop the butte, and then I saw the turn off. She had warned that it was a short but steep hike, climbing 500 feet in .7 miles. I figured it would be good practice for the John Muir (which climbs 5000 feet in the first 13 miles) and was looking forward to the hike and stretching my legs again after a few days primarily in the car.

As I was climbing to the tower, the smell of the cedar trees was strong and the air crisp. I was overcome with pleasure as I realized, once again, that this is why I hike. The pleasure and joy I get from the immersion in the purity of all the earth has to offer our five senses cannot be overstated. It feeds my soul as little else does. When I’m tuned into taking it in, there’s a feeling of oneness and belonging I feel nowhere else.

As I rounded the side of the butte, coming around to the north side, the wind hit me, and it strengthened the rest of the way up. The departing storm system was to the north, and the sky was dark there. In places I could still see the rain coming down. I wondered if I should have brought a jacket (“a three-hour tour . . .”) and my backpack. But I arrived at the top without mishap, and the ranger stationed there greeted me warmly. It turned out his wife was the ranger at the entrance, and he was just as friendly and helpful as she had been. I was the only visitor there, and we had a nice chat. I then made the trip around the building, taking in the entire surrounding landscape, seeing the evidence of spent volcanos and the contours and layers of the land.

The hike back down was quick, and I made for Skull Cave. Arriving there, I had a strong feeling of foreboding.  The idea of a cave seemed eerie and more than a little frightening, and the topic of bats had been talked about by both rangers. The yawning opening of Skull cave was not tremendously welcoming, but the path was well-constructed, and there was a man with his two kids going in just behind me. I couldn’t exactly chicken out when a 10-year-old girl was eagerly anticipating exploring the cave. (The younger boy did end up going back to the car to sit with his mother after walking a few feet into the swallowing darkness.)

The cave is an ice cave, meaning the floor is made of ice and rock. This is an important source of water for the animals of the region, and the park management had actually blocked off the floor to protect the ice from foot traffic. To get to the lowest level accessible, I had to descend a number of very steep metal staircases. I thought once again what good fortune it is that I’m over my fear of heights. I could have never made that descent and subsequent ascent if I were still acrophobic.  My little headlight and keychain MagLight were no match for the deep darkness of the bottom of the cave, so I saw very little outside a small area. I didn’t linger long, and I doubt I’ll do much spelunking in the future, but I was very glad to have seen the cave – and no bats.

I drove south out of the park, taking the volcanic parkway scenic drive. The road was very rough and narrow, but again, the views were wonderful. It was really interesting to see so much of the land altered by volcanic activity. The drive took me down to Lassen Volcanic National Park where Lassen Peak, the southernmost high peak of the Cascade Mountain Range, rises. Eric had explained to me that the Cascades, which end around Lassen Peak, are all volcanic, and that the Sierra Nevada, which begin their run south near the same spot, are granite and upward thrust mountains. (Forgive me for not knowing the proper term here).

Lassen Peak rises out of the surrounding mountains pretty obviously, and I was surprised about the amount of snow on it. I decided to camp there in the park’s campground, knowing I could shower there and have running water. I settled down for the night, built a rather weak fire – everything was still damp – and retired to my tent fairly early. I didn’t sleep well though – it was cold and damp and I was feeling lonely.

It seems I feel more lonely when I stay at large campgrounds where everyone around me is camping with family and loved ones. I feel rather isolated as I can’t help but observe the interaction among the campers. I had debated about staying two nights at Lassen, but I decided to move on the next day, after maybe a short hike and driving through the park. I yearned for one of my inexpensive, primitive campgrounds.

The next morning, after a much-needed shower, I began driving the one road through the park. I had planned on maybe hiking King’s Falls Creek, but for some reason, it just didn’t feel like the hike for me. Eric had suggested I hike to the top of Lassen Peak at just over 10,000 feet, but the ranger at Lava Beds told me they only allow hikers to summit the peak a few days of the month in June and July, and I wasn’t there one of those days. So I had given up on that idea, and was just basically looking for what looked like a good hike.

When I got to the parking area for Lassen Peak, I pulled in to check it out. After reading the information posted, it was clear that although I couldn’t hike to the peak, I could hike up a little over a mile toward the peak. The trail was closed after 1.3 miles, but I could hike to there. It was a steep climb, but I was excited to do it.

Lassen Peak, by the way, is a volcano that blew in the early 1900s. It blew twice, a few days apart. The destruction zone is large, and the evidence of the volcano’s power is still evident.

The trail led up steeply, and then began making switchbacks as it climbed. There was a good deal of snow on the mountain, and some of the trail was still snow-covered. There were also some downed trees that I had to navigate around, but it was still an invigorating hike.  I was stopped about a mile up, talking with a couple from southern California, when park workers began passing us, carrying all sorts of surveying and other equipment. They were doing some extensive trail maintenance and had been for a few days they said.

About the third group that passed us stopped just as they went around. One of the crew exclaimed as he sat on a rock outcropping and pulled off his boot. Blood dripped from the top of it, and his sock was saturated. He dumped blood out of the boot, and it continued to drip from his sock. The other crew member with him began to administer first aid. It was horrific. The injured man said he’d had a blister the day before, but it didn’t seem too bad. If this was a blister that was neglected and ignored, it certainly has driven home the importance of not doing so.

I asked if I could do anything, and the one asked if I would go back down the mountain and tell the crew members who were on their way up. They were bringing up a motorized wagon and would be able to help the man down - he wasn’t coming down without assistance. So I cut the hike short, but I figured helping with the situation was more important than hiking that last third of a mile to the turnaround point.

I still don’t know what happened or how long it took the man to get down, but I’ve thought a lot about him and his bleeding foot since leaving Lassen Peak.

I left Lassen Park and headed east toward the Sierra Nevada. I always enjoy driving 395, the highway that cuts across northeastern California and then down through Reno and Lake Tahoe, and finally running along the east side of the Sierra Nevada. The first part of the drive, as it cuts mainly east, is wide open high desert. I can’t drive that portion without thinking of the time Jesse and I came across there late at night and stopped for a while to look at the night sky, arguing over whether the star near the moon was Jupiter or not. After checking Google Sky, I was proved correct – it was Jupiter. But the night was so dark and the stars were so bright, it didn’t matter who was right or who was wrong. What mattered was the brilliance of a sky full of stars and little else in the way of light.

But this drive was in daylight, and I admired the landscape as it changed along the way. I found Lover’s Leap campground southwest of Tahoe in a little burg named Strawberry.  I settled into the primitive campground and thought about the upcoming hike through the Sierras, feeling anxious and worried about my foot. The undertaking seemed unmanageable that night – all of my doubts and fears wore large and frightening shapes, and I had another night of little sleep. I hoped I would have some direction the next day, and finally fell into a restless sleep.  






















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