The lake is a lie

After watching an episode of The West Wing wherein Martin Sheen gets all patriotic about the National Park System, I decided that I really need to see all of the national parks. After a quick trip to Wikipedia-- okay, who am I kidding?-- after a 2-hour wiki-walk, I decided that in order to keep this reasonable and with the assumption that there are not going to be any medical advances in the next few decades that will increase my life expectancy by 50 years, I would limit the self-imposed requirement to places that actually contain the label "National Park." Partly because there are a lot of national lakeshores, seashores, monuments, historic sites, historic reserves, recreation areas, and much, much more...but mostly because national forests are really, really boring and better lend themselves to being driven through at high linear velocities.

So I set off to plan a solo vacation. My first stop was to be Redwoods National Park. Oh, how I've always wanted to see those majestic trees! Majestic isn't a word I use often, but it definitely applies to those beasts. Upon researching the area, it became clear that I could see Crater Lake National Park on the same trip. Wonderful, I thought! I didn't have any preconceived notions about Crater Lake, having only a passing knowledge of its existence from the backside of a quarter shortly before using said quarter to buy something far fizzier and tastier than a pressed image of Crater Lake. So I did what I always do when I don't know enough-- headed out to the internet to research like a mad person. I started to get really excited about seeing Crater Lake! It was huge! A volcano collapsed and made this fantastic bit of nature! The photos I saw were breathtaking. I wasn't just doing this to meet some arbitrary goal; I was doing this to experience the beauty of our country, one crazy volcanic structure at a time!

There was some foreshadowing. A friend suggested that, based on weather predictions, I should arrange to go on a different day. First of all, everybody knows that weather prediction is some sort of crazy crystal ball voodoo. Second, I'm from Minnesota and you can't scare me off with a little "28 degrees and snowy." Third, I had my trip planned down to the hour and couldn't wouldn't change anything. On my way out of town, I stopped at a small gas station in Oregon that had one pump and a sign stating that their hours were "10-5 starting March 16." What good fortune! I had managed to catch gas season by just a few short days. The man of few teeth who sauntered out to pump my gas was a bit surprised to hear that I was planning a trip to Crater Lake. "Today?" he asked, his head askew, shaking slightly.

But I was determined. I was going to Crater Lake because I said so.

Everything was going so well at first. I zoomed along in my rented Chevy Aveo, like a little red bullet of moderate and efficient speed. As I increased in elevation, I saw the first little bits of snow on the ground. I was so excited! I was going to snowshoe around the rim of Crater Lake and it was going to be magical and awesome. It started raining, lightly at first. As the Little Aveo That Could steadily chugged along, we kept going up, higher and higher. We were on the park road now, bracketed by 12-foot banks of snow with heavy duty plow marks streaked along them. The rain turned to sleet, and then to snow. I slowed down a bit; I could feel the little Aveo starting to slip and slide as snow accumulated on the narrow, winding road. It may have been my imagination, but heavier duty vehicles seemed to being going out of their way to avoid me-- a feat on a two-lane road. It may have been the Arizona plates I was sporting.

We must almost be there. I was going 15 mph now, with a white-knuckled death grip on the steering wheel. It was snowing harder, the flakes wet and heavy. I wouldn't normally drive in conditions like this. Back in Minnesota, I would have stayed inside drinking cocoa and playing Scrabble against myself. But I was going to see Crater Lake. I came all this way, and I was not going to turn back now.

45 minutes later, I arrived at the rim gift shop/snack bar/parking lot of Crater Lake. I bought some magnetic hematite for my refrigerator, because I thought my refrigerator might like it. I went up to the second floor where you're supposed to be able to look out and see the lake. I should have gotten a clue when I couldn't figure out which of the four windowed walls I was supposed to be looking at the lake through.

Never one to give up, I went back to my car and donned my snowshoeing gear. Boots, snowshoes, jacket, gloves, scarf, hat. I was all ready for some awesome national park fun. I walked as jauntily as one can while encumbered with snowshoes out to the rim of the lake. I stood right next to the rope that they had there for our safety. I looked down, and I was forced to confront the reality that I had been avoiding at every opportunity that day: there was no lake. This is what I saw, in all of its sordid, disappointing glory.

I still don't believe there is one. Roswell, the moon landing, Crater effing Lake.