When Giants Sleep, They Sometimes Snore

Last fall, I visited Lassen.  Lassen is the southernmost of the big Cascades stratovolcanoes.  It erupted in the early 1900's.  While I was there, there would be occasional ventings of steam or smoke from the crater.

A few days ago, I drove to Mt St Helens.  The Johnston Observatory was open, and I stood near where David Johnston stood 30 years ago, in line with the crater and the blast of ash and debris that overwhelmed him seconds after he radioed a warning of the blast.  I felt like I was looking into the mouth of a monstrous cannon as I looked up at the crater from a mere six miles away.

I listened to a Ranger's presentation about the activity in the Crater of Mt St Helens.  As he was speaking, I watched steam venting from the dome in the crater.

Over the next ten minutes, the steam plume grew.

I know that this is the most heavily monitored and instrumented mountain in the world, but it was still unnerving to stand there and watch vapors escape from the depths of the earth by means of the crater dome in front of me.

Things that go BOOM!

I am in a very nice campground.  To the northeast, about 40 miles away, is Mt Rainier.  It can be seen poking its white top above the nearer mountain range across the valley.

To the south, about 35 miles away, is Mt St Helens. 

Both of the above shots were from the driveway to the campground.

One of the hardest tasks for me, in photographing these giants is that no photo seems to capture a sense of the size of these monsters.  They loom above their surroundings, white capped, and beautiful yet sinister in their potential.

Reminiscenses - Vernal Falls

There is a trail at Yosemite called the Mist Trail.  It leads from the valley, along the side of the Merced River.  As one approaches the base of Vernal Falls, the mist from the falls is guaranteed to drench you.  It also makes the footing a little uncertain, but that has been minimized by carefully formed and cut steps at key places.

From the base of Vernal Falls, the trail rises up the 300 foot drop on a series of steps, some of which are steel, bolted to the cliff face.

At the top, the view of the gorge below is pretty impressive, but what captured me was the sheer scale of the falls, with tourists in the foreground.

The trail continues up a series of switchbacks to the top of Nevada Falls.  For the very fit and more adventurous, one can continue through the upper Merced valley to the northeast side of Half Dome, then up to the top via steel cables mounted in the granite.  I did not make it that far, much to my regret.

Deschutes River, mid-Spring

The Deschutes River is a beautiful mountain river that rises from the western flanks of Mt. Bachelor,

a stratovolcano which while quiescent is an internationally known ski resort south of Three Sisters and Broken Top.  The river runs south to a reservoir, then emerges to flow east and north, eventually reaching the Columbia River.

As the Deschutes River turns north, it drains several volcanic areas including the Newberry Caldera and Paulina Peak, Paulina and East Lakes, and the eastern slopes of Mt Bachelor.  One tributary from eastern Mt Bachelor gave me a reflective scene alongside the road.

Paulina Peak is a shield volcano whose existence is marked by massive obsidian and lava flows which form Newberry Caldera.  At this time of year, it is snow-covered and totally inaccessible to the likes of me.  It rises over the valley between it and Mt Bachelor.  I am camped approximately half way between these two giants.

The view of Mt Bachelor above is from a vantage point a few hundred yards from where I am camped.  Across the road from me is a field which is populated each evening by a herd of elk.

In La Pine State Park, the Deschutes River passes a vista known as MacGregor Overlook.  The river snakes through the area, with Paulina Peak looming above.

Central Cascades

On an intellectual level, I remembered the grandeur of the central Cascades area but, after 6 months of desert... I had forgotten.  I drove between 3 Fingers Jack and Mt Washington on a cloudy, rainy day.  I could see the snow at the sides of the road but I had no view at all of either nearby peak.  The next day, the clouds began to clear.  North Sister was peeking through clouds that surrounded it.  The day after, I finally had blue sky.

West of Bend, the Three Sisters dominate the skyline.  In this photo I am 15 or 20 miles away from them, with a smaller ridge between me and them.  To the south (left), the crags atop Broken Top are barely visible, while the Three Sisters show nicely.

To the north, Mt Washington looks like a Prussian Officer's helmet, with a rounded base topped by a spike.

Further to the north, a basin is formed by Black Butte to the south, Mt Washington to the southwest, 3 Finger Jack to the west and Mt Jefferson to the north.  From this basin arises the Metolius River, formed nearly complete in a meadow and flowing toward a gorge several miles to the northeast.  It reminded me of Alley Spring in Missouri (see my November 22, 2008 post for more on Alley Spring), with a rocky semicircle surrounding the emergence of the river.  What captured my eye, though, was Mt. Jefferson, clad in blindingly white snow, to the north of the river.  Wonderful!

Flowing Water

The Pacific Northwest Coast can be defined in many ways.  The hard land meets and is overcome by the soft sea.  As the sea rolls inward over the land that has been defeated, it gathers its strength and rises up for a new assault upon the battle line set forth eons ago.

Like so many conflicts, the battle along the coast is not always clearly defined.  Water surges seaward from the rocks, is torn asunder by the crags and reforms to join its brethren.

Reminiscences - Mirror Creek

I am back home in Oregon but may not be doing much photography for a while.  It is heavily overcast and raining a lot. 

Meanwhile, here is another of the reminiscences photos.  This is from an early visit to Yosemite. 

Mirror Lake is a small lake that was formed by a geologically recent rockslide that dammed Mirror Creek.  Ansel Adams had taken several photos there.  The high canyon walls to either side, and its location up a side branch from the main valley made this a location somewhat sheltered from the wind.  That sheltering often left the small lake with a mirror-smooth surface that reflected the granite walls surrounding it.

Once Yosemite opened to motor vehicle access, sand and grits were needed for the roads.  These were dredged from Mirror Lake.  Each year, the dredgings were replaced with a fresh load eroded from the surrounding peaks and washed into the lake, where they settled out, awaiting dredging anew for the winter.  This process preserved the lake, but was far from natural.  A newly-aware Park Service halted the dredging.

Since then, Mirror Lake has all but disappeared.  There is now a small pond in its place.

On my visit, I hiked as far upstream as was permitted, and spent the afternoon along Mirror Creek.  As the sun was starting to drop, I hiked down toward the shuttle bus stop, pausing often to look back.  At one point I noticed the yellow cliff face reflected in the water and the blue sky reflecting off the wet rocks.  I love the interplay of light and color, and that gave me this, one of my favorite shots.