Day 49 – May 22

Having lost some ground the previous day on our schedule to be in Bend by Thursday, we wanted to head out before 9:00 with a destination of Crater Lake. Before that however we all wanted to take advantage of the pay showers in the park. Diane returned from her venture to the shower warning of scalding temperatures and lacklustre water flow, a combination that required her to step out of the shower stream to rinse off with cold water from the sink taps.

Learning from Diane’s mistake I went into what appeared to be the unisex washrooms on the women’s side of the bathroom building. I settled into what I will call the pay shower routine. Pay showers start timing as soon as you drop your money in the slot, whether you have the water on or not, so the drill for the thrifty is get your clothes off and your soap ready, drop in your coins and then get at it. The shower is timed in minutes so lots of quarters or some quick scrubbing are the order of the day.

I was just about to put my money in the slot when I realized that my shower room, although equipped with a separate exterior door, shared a dividing partition (that didn’t go right to the floor) with the adjacent room. These were obviously not unisex showers. At that same time I also noticed that this partition only went about 5 feet high. Understanding that I was in California where things that shouldn’t be shaved get shaved and things that should be shaved aren’t, I wasn’t sure if my my hairy feet would have been a give away to someone in the next stall but I was pretty sure that my shiny head would be a dead, and possibly unhappy, give away to any female occupant of the next room so I put my coins back in my pocket (euphemistically at least as my birthday suit does not have pockets as standard issue), got dressed and went in search of the men’s showers.

Having located them as one might expect on the other side of the building, I reversed the process and once again stood poised, soap and coins at the ready. Now everyone knows the heartbreaking sound of a coin that slides right throughout a vending machine without catching and exits into the slot at the bottom with a smug clang that in machine talk means
‘I’m not in the mood today buddy’. In disbelief I tried my complete collection of quarters to no avail other than sounding like the first bars of Verdi’s Anvil Chorus. This time I opted for just a few discretely placed clothes as I moved into what appeared to be my last non scalding shower option. Third time was the charm and my 5 minute shower felt all the sweeter after the effort required.

Our drive took us north to Crescent City where we stopped for coffee and wifi. We touched base with the Sean and Carla who were then on their way to rendezvous with us on Thursday or Friday at Bend. At Crescent City we left the northerly running 101 and joined the north east running 199. As we were once again heading inland we were braced for another narrow twisting hilly road but were pleasantly surprised by a much more driveable but no less scenic road than we had been on the previous days. At its start the 199 paralleled the Smith River, a gin clear river that tumbled over falls into deep green pools of water. Even at it deepest you could see the rocks at the bottom of the pools. Although a fly fisherman’s dream, none were sighted along its highly accessible banks. There had to be fish in that river.

We soon crossed over the border into Oregon which was signalled not only by a change in scenery but a decided change in building style. Gone were the manicured properties and pristine houses of northern California, replaced by what I would categorize as a more folksy style, sort of an Alaska South style, lots of low buildings, lots of wood and lots of clutter, junked cars, log carvings, half ton trucks etc. we were back in Bubba country.

We stopped along the way for gas and later pulled over at a road side rest stop where we all had dinner in the BRT before we joined onto the I-5 heading towards Crater Lake. We passed a fishing shop along the way where I bought an Oregon fishing license. There was a photo in the store of a large salmon caught in the river the ran alongside the road which further wet my appetite to get fishing. Not far down the road a group of trucks were parked by the river, a sure sign of fishing activity so I pulled over to investigate. There were several fishermen along the banks of the fast flowing river and as I watched one of them hooked into and landed a large salmon, probably in excess of 15 lb. -another good omen.

There’s definitely fish in there

We pressed on as we were still short of our goal of Crater Lake, at almost 2000 feet deep, the deepest lake in America, formed by the explosion of a volcano that sent debris as far away as Saskatchewan.The sunny skies of the morning had slowly dissolved into overcast with a few periods of rain. As we started to climb closer to Crater Lake I noticed that the rain drops were developing a pattern that looked familiar from home, very much like wet snow. Couldn’t be, two days before we were sweltering in the heat of California. But, considering the chilly outside temperatures and our increasing elevation mentally I allowed for the possibility that some ice crystals formed high in the atmosphere could make it to ground and we braced ourselves for a cold night.

As we climbed further there was no doubt that we were seeing real snowflakes and we began to see areas where there was a light icing sugar dusting of snow on the road shoulder. At this point we found it quite amusing and stopped to take a record photograph – in hindsight let’s say that we peaked a little early on the photo op. The few flakes quickly began to build into a proper snow fall as we continued on the road and the wiper blades began to have some challenges in keeping the windshield clear. The light dusting of snow on the shoulder of the road that we had found so amusing earlier had quickly grown into full blown snow banks three feet deep but the heat of the asphalt still kept the snow from accumulating on the road. Clearly the winter snow accumulation in the woods had not yet thawed.

As we finally reached the entry to the Crater Lake National Park which, surprise, was unoccupied, a sign in the window welcomed visitors and advised that all roads except the one on which we had entered were closed – due to snow. By now the towering ponderosa pine that line the road were hanging heavy with snow. I won’t exaggerate to say that we were in a blizzard but it was certainly a full blown snow fall, very contrary to my driving clothes of light shoes and T-shirt and extremely contrary to a vehicle with summer tires and gallons of water and piping that would not behave well in freezing weather.

We pulled into the park lodge parking lot to find that everything except the washrooms were closed. A quick conference with Jane and Ike lead to the conclusion that we had one option – get the hell out of Dodge as fast as possible – and we swung around and headed back down the road we had just climbed with all due hast possible in top heavy vehicles in a snow storm.

Crater Lake

Oh the weather outside is frightful…

In 15 minutes we passed from waist deep snow drifts to sheep and cattle grazing in green fields. I did note that the sheep were wearing coats. None of my travel partners noticed but trust me they all had on little doggie style white coats. We make winter clothes out of wool and these little wool factories have to wear coats in this weather? Maybe the local Chamber of Commerce thinks seeing fields full of frozen sheep, their rigid little hooves pointed skyward would be bad for tourism and co sponsor some sweaters for sheep program. My hope was that this would be the record for the most dramatic climate change of the trip.

Not far from our exit from the Crater Lake Winter Wonderland and Deep Freeze Amusement Park we found the Collier Memorial State Park. The Oregon Parks info described it as located at the fork of two prolific rainbow and brown trout streams where campers could walk to the streams and fish. Now this sounded like my kind of State Park so decision made. So I am now poised, license – check, fishing gear – check, spot to fish – double check, wife who wants me to go fishing – check, seen fish caught – quadruple check. Imagine for a moment if you will my disbelief as we pulled into the park to read the big yellow sign advising anglers (or in my case anglers in waiting) that trout season didn’t start for three more days. Fishus interruptus, pull out of the stream now buddy before its too late. Re-reading the sign three times and then consulting my regulations didn’t change anything, I was at the pearly gates of fishing and St. Peter was on a freaking bank holiday.

After getting set up Ike and I went for a walk along the river. Deep inside I was hoping to find some dry river bed, incapable of supporting any fish life. I was to be disappointed in that hope as we broke from the woods onto a beautiful deep dark stream with grassy banks, perfect for fly fishing. As we walked further along this stream converged with the second promised stream at a small waterfall. Unlike its mating stream this one was shallower and crystal clear, and what do I see slowly finning into the strong flow but three trout, the largest of which easily had to be 16-18 inches. This was cruel and unusual punishment. This only could have become worse if the fish started to rise to a mayfly hatch. I needed a drink, or two.

Again the chilly temperatures led to another communal meal in the BRT. Pasta and tomato sauce was the fare for the night, good comfort food for the chilly night ahead.