Portland 2019: Lakes, Obsidian, and a New Perspective

Paulina Peak and Paulina Lake

Between the mosquitoes, the lack of view, broken water pipes that led to no available water, and surly campground hosts, we decided that we were leaving Lava Lakes Campground the next morning and finding somewhere else. Fortunately my headache was gone, although I was feeling a bit drained, and I helped pack up so we could get on the road.

We stopped at nearby Elk Lake, which five years ago Zach and I had visited while hiking the PCT. I remembered Elk Lake as being unremarkable, probably due to my rock-bottom morale because of a foot injury, but seeing it now made me gasp at how beautiful the large, bright blue lake was. Not being in pain really colors your outlook!

Gary hung out while Zach and I hiked up a mile-long spur trail up to the PCT, then trekked over heaps of leftover snow, recounting our memories and visiting an old campsite of ours, before hiking back down. Again, it was much more beautiful than I remembered: we had a great view of Mount Broken Top and Mount Bachelor.

After that we drove about an hour toward the next campground Gary had found, which was called Little Crater. We stopped at a resort town for some Mexican food, then rolled into Newberry National Volcanic Monument soon after.

The monument (a designation one step down from a national park) turned out to be the sort of place that, were it in another state, everyone would visit— but here, neither Zach nor I had ever heard of it. The campground alone, perched on the edge of electric-blue Paulina Lake, was noteworthy to begin with, and even more interesting was nearby "Big Obsidian Flow," a square-mile, 100-foot deep bed of lava rock with boulders of obsidian. A small lollypop trail took us over the landscape, offering views of snowy mountains in all directions.

The flow as seen from a hike we took later that day. It's crazy!

We also visited Paulina Falls near the entrance of the park, a double waterfall that tumbled into a canyon. The landscape was scrubby and wild, almost like what you'd see in Hawaii rather than Oregon. 

That evening, we sat on the beach of Paulina Lake near our campsite and spent almost a solid hour just watching the sun go down. I wasn't feeling very well, so I brought my sleeping pad and laid down, tucking my hat down to avoid getting sun in my eyes. I listened to the lapping of the water and breathed in the smell of algae and sand, watched a white bird of prey wheeling far above. I watched tiny beetles crawling across the water-weeds, and cowbirds edging close to us to nab the beetles. The wind grew chilly, and the waves lashed against the shore, and the sun sank, a golden orb tumbling in slow motion onto the mountains.

Zach terraforming things, as usual 

Gary was smart and brought a chair

As I lay there, breathing in and out through dry lips, I realized that I felt deeply, inextricably connected to the ground beneath me, the water of the lake, the fire in the sun, and the air I was breathing.

And completely disconnected from everything else.

A thought, clear and unmistakable: Why on earth did I ever try to settle down?

I flinched from the thought, my rational mind snapping awake to catch up with it. What are you talking about? It was so hard for you to settle down and become normal, but then you really loved it! Don't you remember that? Don't you remember sitting in the backyard being so perfectly content? Don't you remember how happy you were? What about being a tree instead of a bird? What about roots and home and giving back instead of taking? You told everyone that you weren't going to be a nomad! People know you as a garden person! You had your story, don't you remember? Don't you remember?

I gazed at the sun just starting to touch the mountains. 

No, I didn't remember. 

I didn't remember anything but this moment. Full of earth, water, fire, and air. Ungrounded, untethered, irresponsible, alive. 

I didn't know, and I still don't know, what this thought means for my life. But it was one of those moments of clarity, of realizing that you're far, far away from where you thought you were.

I needed a jacket, but by the time I got it, the sun had disappeared, and I'd missed the sunset. I pouted.

Later that night, I walked to the dark lake shore and saw over the dark mountains, in place of the sun, a waxing crescent moon.

~~~