August 2: Up to the rim

People say that Crater Lake is one of the most stunning, beautiful places on this planet. In my short time, I've poked my nose into some far off corners, taken a good gander at some of the world's many natural, wild wonders and I must agree. What a place it is. The bluest of blue waters; an untouchable serenity afloat out over the immaculate caldera's lip. On this Tuesday afternoon, with a filing line of billowing, cartoonish, puffball clouds taking turns under the sun, even the steady stream of tourists -- motorcycle engines roaring, RVs lumbering by, ridiculous seeming people machines that they are (a Chihuahua sqeualing on the dashboard, beckons its goofy, elderly caretakers back from the rockwall of the viewpoint -- "Come back," he whines, "I am so alone!") -- even the camera carting caravaners are kept at bay, background fuzz behind the beauty of the vast crater.

We took the six-mile rim walk around a portion of the crater's precipice, passing parking lots and scenic viewpoints. I recall being here two years ago in July with Kevin and Eric, friends from back east at Cornell. We stood together and smiled down, had someone take our picture overlooking the half-submerged cindercone of Wizard island. We took the one trail down to the water's edge and dove off the rocks into the chilly depths. Today, however, we just walk, happy to have come to the place, to have our feet beneath our legs, carrying our minds and bodies and eyes, to bear witness to such a creation.

***

We had heard rumors on the trail this past week of "86-B". It was a code of some sort. Trail angel code. Apparently, three summer staff park ranger employees were taking in hikers. It was nearly 8 pm by the time we walked up the steps to the visitor gift shop at Rim Village, looking and feeling filthier than we have in months. I tried the magic words at the counter. "86-B?" I intoned. Nothing. The cashier, wanting to pack up an leave for the night himself, wore a blank expression. So, I asked where the rangers lived, and again, "86-B?"

The magic number had no effect, but we were directed to the park headquarters three miles down the road. This is where the rangers lived, perhaps our magic number might still come in handy . . .

A quick hitch and a brief search around the park info center grounds took us to the door of now legendary "86-B". We were limping by now, having put in 30+ miles as the sun descended over the tree. And before we could even lift a hand to knock, the door flew open and Mariah took us in, smiling angelically . . .