pinnacles – Josh Hodge blog

Before we arrived at Crater Lake National Park, the day had started off waking up at the Oregon Caves Chateau, tucked away in the woods, in our secret little attic space high up in the Chateau. There was no central air system in the Chateau, so I undid the latch and swung open up one of the rustic windows in our attic. to let the cool night air in. The room was pretty warm during the day but by the next morning it had certainly cooled off.

We made our way down a few flights of stairs to the diner-style cafe on the main level. It too had its own vintage charm. It had probably not been touched much since the 1930s when the lodge was built, but maybe it was tweaked a bit in the 1960s or 70s to give it its distinct color palette of yellows, browns, yellowish-browns, and oranges. It had a dining counter with swivelling stools that snaked around. It was smaller but very similar to the one in Jackson Lake Lodge in Grand Teton National Park, the one in which the “cougars” bought me dinner. Here I feasted upon some buckwheat pancakes and bacon, with a cup of coffee. This was the more economical dining option at the Chateau. Last night, feeling fancy, and knowing this was probably the only time I’d be out this way, I splurged, and Zach joined me. We ate at the lower level dining room in which the bubbling brook from outside flowed into the dining room in an inlet of rocks.

I’ll admit part of me felt guilty for spending so much on a meal, and dining on tablecloths and placemats, while camping and trying to be economical. but I also felt like for such an experience, it was worth it. I had also planned on eating here, so the cost wasn’t unexpected. At the time this was the most expensive meal I had ever purchased at around $30. I had braised pork with sauteed carrots, asparagus, mashed potatoes, and a side salad with dinner rolls. It was very savory and done right.

Before we left the Chateau in the morning, I hopped on the piano bench in the lobby, and I left a tune for the old place, a song I had written on the piano as a teenager. The piano had been calling out to me everytime I passed by, and so I finally responded.

Leaving the Chateau we uneventfully traveled through the forests of Oregon, and as we neared the small city of Grants Pass, I decided to browse the radio stations and see If I could get an idea of the local flair. In southeastern Kentucky, I can tune into some bluegrass and Southern gospel stations with local news of who died and who has married. When I drove across the Navajo Nation, I listened to traditional Navajo music in native tongue. When approaching Chicagoland, there is a wealth of Spanish language stations with a lot of ranchera music, indicative of its large Hispanic population.

The number of country music stations, I believe, is also very telling about the overall culture of a place. There are a lot of values embedded in most types of music. In the country genre there largely is a love for country, family, nature, the land, sentimentality, hard work and blue collar grit. Rap music is another example, very telling about values. It overwhelmingly values pimping and prostituting, debauchery, carnal desires, stealing, raping, disrespecting authority, and killing. The prevalence of such stations in a particular region is a small glimpse into the overall and dominating culture. So what did I find in Oregon? Well, I landed on a yodeling station. What does yodeling tell me about the people? What values are embedded in the yodeling genre? I couldn’t tell you, but my ears were fixated and pleased. What talent! How does one even do that? Is yodeling a part of Oreganian culture? Are there little mountain yodelers atop the Cascades? I still hadn’t figured out Oregon and wasn’t sure if this was an essential part of it.

After departing Grants Pass, we were traveling along Oregon’s Rogue RIver, which flows western to the sea from its headwaters in the Cascades just next to Crater Lake. We were zipping along highway 5, the Pacific Highway. We could see mountains ahead and heavy greenery and foliage along the highway, with a glance every once in a while of the river with its craggy natural embankments. When we split from highway 5, we started to ascend, and pine trees took over. They were not giant Redwoods from days prior, but thick groves of moderate size pines standing perfectly straight and pointed on a dry, barren, and at times dusty ground.

When we arrived at the park, our first order of business was setting up camp. Crater Lake has two park villages, Mazama Village and the Rim Village. We were staying at Mazama, and we were not going to do any backtracking. We had a lot to see for we only had one day to experience Crater Lake National Park. Mazama Village comes right after the park’s entrance station, thus it was our first stop. The campground was average, nothing remarkable, with large flat pine-laded tent pads under pine trees. After we set up camp we went to the visitor center, and from there we had our first glimpse at the remarkable Crater Lake, but I didn’t want to give it too much attention right away. There is an order of events for visiting a National Park, at least in my book(s), quite literally. First I had to orient myself with the park film to be able to better appreciate and understand the vista before me. The visitor center was a small cabin, half built of large chunks of rock, the other half of wood. Next to the main room was a little side room with an ad hoc set up with a television playing the film. I learned just how Crater Lake was created by a volcano. To put it simply, much simpler than the film’s details, a large and powerful eruption caused a crater, and then over time rain water and melted snow filled the crater, creating the lake. One of the many unique characteristics of Crater Lake is that it has no water flowing into it, making it one of the most pure natural bodies of water in the world. I was really fascinated how something so destructive and violent, such as a volcano, created a place now so beautiful and serene. There was a message here to unpack. There is a universal truth to be explored. I’d get back to that thought later.

From the visitor center we began the thirty-three mile Rim Drive around Crater Lake. We stopped at just about every wayside overlook. The lake is enormous, with a six-mile diameter and about twenty miles of shore line. It is quite serene, and truly is just a giant bowl. One can see the rocky and steep rim of the bowl all around and always look at the lake from a great distance above on the rim’s tall cliff edges. The most striking feature of the lake is its color. It has the richest blue water I’ve ever seen. It’s so bright, vibrant, deep and royal. Such a particular and unique color almost makes it look artificial, as if the water was dyed, like the color of those faux waterfalls of a mini-golf course of the 1990s. But of course I knew better than to think it was fake, and it wasn’t tacky but beautiful in its surreal display.

Surreal is a word I’ve landed on to describe the place, for to be surreal something incorporates characteristics of reality combined with fantasy. Crater Lake, though very real, seems to incorporate elements of sheer fantasy. Even apart from simple visual observation, there are names given to the places in the park which give way to fantasy, such as Wizard Island, Phantom Ship, Castle Point, and Wineglass. Even the visitor center and village buildings look rather fairy-tale-like, reminding me very much of Snow White’s cottage.

We took a five-mile side trip from the rim driving down Pinnacle Valley to an area simply called “The Pinnacles,” where large sharp, pointed piles of gray and brown volcanic pumice stick up from the ground, like the fingers of a giant beast reaching up to emerge from the depths of the earth. I had never seen anything quite like this before, although they did remind me a little bit of the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon. These did not, however, have the flat capstones as hoodoos. Rather these were pointed, like smooth delicate giant stalagmites. They also didn’t have the warm orange and red colors of Bryce Canyon, but rather they were mostly a ghostly pale gray and actually not beautiful at all. They were rather ugly, but in nature’s most intriguing of ways.

Back on the Rim Drive, a very notable stop was at the Phantom Ship Overlook. From here we looked out at the lake at just the right angle to see a small island that looked like an abandoned pirate ship. It had craggy rocks that pointed like the masts of a ship, and a few pines and shrubs adorning it, looking like seaweed or barnacles, as if it had been some sunken ship summoned up from the depths of Davy Jones’ locker by some dark magic.

Along the drive we also stopped at the Cleetwood Cove Trail, a one-mile, very steep trail of dramatic switchbacks which led down to the cliff in which I jumped into the lake. I was excited to get down to the lake and see this fantastical water up close. So far I had only seen it from high above the lake on the rim. So in excitement I suppose I was walking quickly down the trail. Zach complained I was walking too fast and then brought to my attention that he thought I always walked too fast and that I should be waiting for him. Initially I felt sorry and was more conscious of trying to walk with him instead of getting ahead, though this was nothing I was doing consciously, and by no means an indicator of me trying to put myself first, elevating myself to a position of superiority. It was just my sheer excitement propelling me forward and putting me ahead of him. This may seem like an unimportant detail, but I only note this because it was the first in a series of complaints, or at least the first I recollect in a pattern that started to develop. This pattern of complaining would eventually really get to me, but with that detail aside…

Crater Lake is by all means beautiful, but there is a very similar view from whatever side of the rim one is at. The terrain surrounding the lake is very uniform with its display of pine trees, rock and arid ground. Minus the novelty of the ghostly Pinnacles, this park doesn’t provide the diversity which some of the units of the National Park Service do with varying views, flora, and fauna. The attraction here is not much else than Crater Lake itself. However, alone the lake is a great treasure and worthy of the National Park title. I suppose if I had given us more time to spend in this park, we may have discovered more, and thus this view would change, but from my one day visit to the park, this is my impression.

The conclusion of our self-directed tour ended back, full-circle, at the Rim Village. I was looking forward to eating at the Rim Village Cafe. Some National Parks offer great food services, such as the Grand Canyon and Yosemite which have great cafeterias in giant scenic halls. Yellowstone has some really good options as well. Even Oregon Caves National Monument surprised with its Chateau. But at this point, I hadn’t fully understood how food service works in the National Parks. Different parks have different contracted concessionaires. Some are small businesses, most are parts of giant conglomerates, and some are certainly better than others. Some are dedicated to the guest experience and quality. They have integrity. Others solely value profit and how to trick and trap the tourists to empty their wallets. This was one of the latter. In my first two National Park adventure books I was very careful not to criticize anything in relation to our beloved National Parks, but I have changed my approach. I believe through honesty and sincere critique about how these parks are managed, we can bring about improvement or preserve that which is good. The National Parks are our great treasures as American citizens. We should not let them become exploited and degraded, and therefore I speak honestly only out of my deep love for, and interest in, these places.

After Zach and I disappointedly purchased some highly-priced cheap food, we went snooping around to find a place to sit down. We made our way to the second level, which was probably used only for special events. It was largely an open space, but at the end of the room there was a couch and coffee table in front of a big window pristinely displaying before us Crater Lake. We found quite a scenic place to dine on our less than desirable food, thus our dinner experience was redeemed by the view alone.

After we ate and enjoyed the view, we went to Crater Lake Lodge, another lodge on the National Register of Historic Places. It opened in 1915 and was similar in style to the outside of the Oregon Cave Chateau, except maybe three times bigger. Inside there was a lot of wood, giving a very cabin-like feel, especially with its exposed timber frames, and large stone fireplace. But its lobby was small and not very notable otherwise. There we sat and rested for about an hour. I used the time to write a postcard to my parents, enter some of the day’s events into my journal, and revel in the fact that I did overcome a fear and jumped into Crater Lake. We then went back to our campsite in Mazama campground, and just like that our visit to Crater Lake National Park was coming to an end. The next day we would get up very early and make our way northwards to Washington State to Mount Saint Helens, another volcanic wonderland.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Jumping Into Crater Lake”

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I was venturing out of Pinnacles National Park in a landscape that I still struggle to describe. There were trees, and there were plants, but everything was extremely weary and dry. Drought, and too many days like today, with 104 degrees, had taken a toll on the landscape. I was fortunate to get my hiking done very early in the morning, before the sun came out to scorch. Everything around me was so thirsty. Stream beds were dried up, bridges that once passed over water passed over rock and dust, and adorning all park structures were signs warning of extreme fire danger.

Despite its conditions, the park was fascinating with enormous volcanic boulders to crawl and climb under and around. Also, no one was there. The heat and threat of fire was probably enough to keep most visitors away and allow me to have the park to myself.

The plan now was to drive to Los Angeles, a seven hour journey to the great Pacific coast and the energy of the city. This was a change from my original plan. I had been set on visiting San Francisco, staying in a hostel, and visiting the Walt Disney Family Museum, but for the past four days I had been plagued with an uncanny feeling- a strange uncomfortableness with my plan. I would be out hiking, enjoying the wonders of nature, and then my mind would wander off to my San Francisco plan, and I would began to question if I should follow through. At night I would study my road atlas, trying to find good reason to change the course of my journey. I really found no legitimate reason to all my hesitancy, and that perhaps is what troubled me the most. I had done my research. I had made my plans and reservations. On the surface, everything was in order, but this hesitation would not leave me. So after four days of wrestling with my decisions, I changed my plan. My reason for this was not a very logical one, but rather based seemingly on intuition. Later I would discover there was something much greater behind these feelings than my own intuition.

Thirty miles removed from Pinnacles National Park I still hadn’t seen anything noteworthy, just the peculiar desert-like landscape and an occasional tumbleweed, but then finally the first sign of life- a mother and what appeared to be her daughter waving on the side of the road next to their car. They obviously needed help, but I continued on driving. I had a new plan to follow, and I knew the trip to Los Angeles would be a long one. Then suddenly my mind was prompted to recall my canyons and my most sprawling canyon of all: selfishness. I knew in that moment I needed to let light into my canyon of selfishness. I needed to turn around and help these people. I felt convicted.

I turned around and drove back. I rolled down my window, and they immediately started speaking in Spanish. Not a problem. I speak Spanish. They told me that they ran out of gas. “Have you called anyone for help?” I asked. They informed me there was no phone service in the area. We were in the middle of nowhere. I had never run into this sort of situation before. How does it work? Are they trying to trick me into something? How do I help them? Well, I guess I need to drive to the nearest town and bring them back some gas. “I’ll go and get you gas. Wait for me. I will return,” I told them.

I searched my gps for the nearest gas station and the screen displayed a forty mile distance to the nearest one. Forty miles there and back would certainly put me behind on my journey, but I knew that I needed to help these people. This moment was actually a pinnacle and pivotal moment in my summer.

On my way to the nearest gas station I was overcome with the most joyous and fulfilling emotions as I put the puzzles of the past few days together. There was a reason for everything. There was a reason I was plagued with uncanny feelings about going to San Francisco. There was a reason why I changed my plan. There was a reason why I decided to head to Los Angeles instead of San Francisco. If I didn’t have those feelings, if I didn’t change my plans, if I wasn’t on my way to Los Angeles, these people would be stranded and at the mercy of the desert in the 104 degrees. But random events and purposeless intuition were not the reasons for all of this coming together. I knew this was orchestrated and that’s what filled me with this joy. We could say this all started weeks before in Canyonlands National Park, when God made me aware of the canyons in my own life. Being aware of my selfishness made me more sensitive to my actions and the need for change. The hesitation about going to San Francisco was not solely my intuition, but rather the Holy Spirit alive and at work in me, prompting me and guiding me to this moment.

While I could have felt burdened by my own obligation to goodwill, rather I felt extremely blessed. Because this moment was verification for me that God has been and is working in me. I felt so humbled yet empowered to be a part of God’s plan. I felt so purposeful.

After my drive, which was more like a rocket ship ride of emotions, my gps led me to an abandoned factory, but there was a gas station in front. I pulled up to the pump, only to notice that this gas station too was part of the ghost town. I drove a little further and rolled into a small McFarland style town with a gas station and people selling tacos on the side of the road. I went inside to the convenient store of the gas station to explain my situation. They informed me that they didn’t have gas cans. I left and found an auto body shop. I filled up a gas can and bought some water to take back to these stranded acquaintances.

On the drive back, I was at first concerned that these people wouldn’t be there, and all of these feelings of purpose and pieces coming together would actually prove false, but I came to the conclusion that this would still be very meaningful and worth my time. I knew that what I was doing was actually an act of worship. I was getting gas for God, considering him in the least of these. I’m entertained with the thought that the high church could list fanciful things to bring before the altar of God, but I would bring my gas can to God, and it would be very meaningful.

Despite my speculation, they were still there and extremely thankful when I poured gas into their car. “Muchisimas gracias,” they told me. It wasn’t just convenient that I could communicate to these people in Spanish. I knew this was on purpose, and there was something important I needed to communicate to them. I told them, in all sincerity, “don’t thank me, thank God, because He put me in your path.” They agreed with me and said in Spanish, “thanks be to God.” I gave them the bottles of water. They insisted on paying me, and then they took off, and that was that. I stood alone in the desert next to my car with a feeling of fulfillment and a smile on my face. Life is beautiful, I thought.

I know these people may feel blessed to have received my help, but really I feel more blessed to have helped them, knowing that God was working through me and brought meaning and fulfillment to all my feelings and changed plans.

I share this story not to brag on anything I have done, but rather to bring glory to God. I just find it so awesome how God coordinates to provide. I also think this story serves as an example of how the Holy Spirit may work in one’s life. Next time you have hesitation about something without good reason, I say stop, pray, and be still. These feelings may not be plain intuition or a bothersome anxiety, maybe these feelings are not bad at all, but rather the Holy Spirit prompting you. Listen. Just listen. Don’t get caught up in your emotions, but listen for purpose. Maybe God is trying to put you on the path of someone to help or is trying to help you out of your Canyon. If you haven’t invited God into your life and are struggling to find purpose and meaning, it is in Him that you find it. Reach out to him. His spirit wills and acts in his people to fulfill His purpose and fill your life with meaning, even in the simplest of things.