337: THE SCENIC PLEASURE OF RIMMING CRATER LAKE WILL GO DOWN IN THE ANNALS OF HISTORY

The fourteenth day of our scheduled three-week-long trip began on Friday July 18, 2025 when Tom’s alarm went off at 6:00am in our small room at the Timberline Lodge in Government Camp, Oregon. My photographer, his wife Vicki, and I had spent the past day in the shadow of Mount Hood, and it was time for us to head South. I knew the three of us had over a two-hundred-mile drive to our first and only site of the day, and I also knew my time of seeing a Sasquatch in the wild was running out. While it’s a known fact, or at least a fact according to the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization, that those tall, hairy, and elusive cryptids have been sighted in every U.S. state with the exception of Hawai, it’s also a known fact the Pacific Northwest is a hotbed for Squatch activity. Since we were down to our final two days in Oregon, my resin fingers were still crossed for a Bigfoot sighting. And with the state also known as the Beaver State, I was still holding out hope to spot a dammed beaver during our last two days as well.

Shortly after our 8:15am departure from the historic lodge, we left Mount Hood and FDR behind in our rearview mirror as Vicki drove the Jeep Southward along U.S. Highway 26. As I kept my eyes focused on the tree-lined highway for a Squatch, a scenic natural landmark caught my attention roughly an hour into the journey. That’s right – we were within 24 miles of the volcano known as Mount Jefferson, a name that brought a huge smile to my resin face.

Originally, that volcano was called Seekseekqua by the Native American population in the area. But on March 30, 1806, during their return trip from the Pacific Coast, explorers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark renamed the mountain after their boss and then-current President, Thomas Jefferson.

When Seekseekqua is translated from the Indigenous dialect, it means “Place of Snow”. But that 10,497-foot-tall volcano was a lot more than a snow collector to the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs. The mountain was revered as an ancestor and spiritual guide, and their name for it commanded respect for its power and age. The Indigenous people of Warm Springs also believed the sacred mountain held the stories and memories of generations of people connected to the area. Funny thing was, that made me wonder to myself whether or not Seekseekqua held the memory of the day in 1806 when Lewis and Clark wandered by and said out loud, “Hey, let’s name that beautiful snow-capped mountain Mount Jefferson. Not only does that roll off the tongue easier than Seekseekqua, but our boss will be impressed by the tribute as well.”

Roughly halfway through our scheduled four-plus-hour drive to our only “official” site of the day, which I learned along the way was Crater Lake National Park, my companions stopped in the town of Bend, Oregon for a much-needed pitstop where they logged out and to chowed down. It became one of the few times on the trip when Tom and Vicki ate a meal at McDonald’s, which was known by the Indigenous folks in the area as “Mickey D’s”.

Following lunch, traffic was light for most of the remaining 147 miles of our journey. So much so, in fact, I heard Tom say to his wife, “There’s hardly been anyone on the road for the past hundred miles or so. Wouldn’t that be awesome if we had the entire Crater Lake to ourselves – just you, me, TJ, and maybe a Squatch or two?”

But then it happened. While my photographer’s words still echoed throughout our vehicle, Vicki turned onto the Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway, which by the way was the main road into the National Park. That’s the precise moment when we discovered where all the traffic was. The three of us were within a half mile or so of the North Entrance Station when I looked through the windshield and saw what seemed to be a hundred vehicles ahead of us in line to get into the park. In my mind, I knew that horrific scene gave us two options. Tom would either exhibit his usual patience when he faces adversity at a National Park site and we’d simply wait our turn; or he would pull the plug on the whole thing, have his wife turn around, and we’d head to our motel where Vicki had already made reservations. Since it was only one o’clock in the afternoon, my photographer chose door number three, which meant he would cuss, swear, piss, whine, moan, and complain out loud for the next half-hour until we were past the ranger station and into the park.

It was a joyous occasion inside our Jeep when we finally made it past the North Entrance Station. Some of the jubilation was due to the fact we were on our way to see Crater Lake, but another part of the exuberance came when my cheap photographer handed over his NPS Senior Pass, which saved him and his wife thirty bucks.

I figured once we had paid and driven past the entrance station, the three of us would immediately see Crater Lake. But that never happened. Instead, Vicki drove another eight or nine miles before we came upon the first scenic pullout at Merriam Point. But when my photographer’s wife found a parking space, and Tom pulled me out of the camera case, there was no water in sight. In fact, that’s the moment when my out-of-shape camera guy realized something horrible, at least in his mind. If Tom wanted to see Crater Lake, he would have to embark on another hike – and this hike was an uphill walk all the way.

For about a hundred yards or so, I listened as my photographer huffed and puffed his way up the well-groomed dirt and gravel trail. Even though there was a slight breeze beneath the cloudless blue sky, the early afternoon temperature was in the low 90s and a cause for concern for a fat man pretending to be a hiker. Then suddenly, when we reached what I believed was the top of the hill, I heard my photographer say out loud, “Oh, my God!” I immediately figured Tom might be having complications from over excursion, and this just might be his ‘End of the Road’ tour. Fortunately for Vicki and me, I was mistaken.

From the firm grasp of my photographer’s right hand, I saw what caused Tom’s jaw to drop. It was the majestic Crater Lake, or at least the Northern part of it, and the lake was far more beautiful and breathtaking than any picture could depict. In my dozen years of travelling coast to coast with my camera guy, I had never seen any body of water that was a deeper shade of blue – it was truly an incredible sight to behold.

Crater Lake was not formed from a meteor impact but instead is a water-filled caldera from an ancient volcano known as Mount Mazama. The deep blue color and clarity of the water is due to the depth of the volcanic caldera, which at 1,949 feet, makes Crater Lake the deepest lake in the United States. While the Indigenous people of the area refer to the lake as Giiwas, the incredible body of water has gone through three name changes since North American explorers came upon it in 1853. The three names were Blue Lake, Lake Majesty, and finally, Crater Lake.

After I posed for a few photos with the lake behind me, Tom continued his hike along the rim’s winding foot trail. As we passed between several weather-beaten trees and up another slope, the true majesty of Crater Lake came into full view. That’s when I got my first glimpse of Wizard Island in the distance.

Although Wizard Island is technically considered a cinder cone, it could be construed as a volcano within a volcano because it’s capped with its own volcanic crater that measures 500 feet in diameter and 100 feet deep.

For two hours, Tom, Vicki, and I explored the Western and Southern rim of Crater Lake. While each stop was filled with dozens of other eager visitors all trying to take photos of the same scenic landscape, each viewing area offered us a unique look at the huge lake, which was an unbelievable six miles across from rim to rim. Our first view of the lake came at Merriam Point, and our final glimpse came from behind the Rim Village Cafe, which was located just a few hundred yards West of the historic Crater Lake Lodge. While pictures have been said to be worth a thousand words each, no words could describe what I saw during our time at Crater Lake. With that said, please enjoy Tom’s images he had captured at Crater Lake National Park.

Our final stop along the rim of Crater Lake was at the Rim Village Cafe, where my companions enjoyed ice cream and wet doggie kisses from a Maltipoo named Buffy, who had travelled from Utah with her owner Robin, who was a pickleball enthusiast. The friendly dog not only sat on my photographer’s lap while Robin used the cafe’s restroom, but Buffy also licked the ice cream remnants from my sloppy photographer’s face.

When Buffy was safely back in her owner’s possession, Tom carried me back to the viewing area for one final look at Crater Lake. Although the view wasn’t quite as spectacular as it was at some of our earlier vantagepoints along the Western rim of the lake, getting one last look at the deep blue water made it a breathtaking experience for me.

Just as the clock on the Jeep’s dashboard hit 3:30pm, the three of us began the 47-mile drive South to our hotel, which was the Crater Lake Gateway – Highway 140 Hotel, located near Odessa, Oregon on the Western shore of the mammoth Upper Klamath Lake. My companions had reserved a room in that hotel several months before our trip began because of its reasonable price and its proximity to Crater Lake. After all, that area of Southern Oregon seemed fairly remote with lodging accommodations being few and far between.

The entire drive to our hotel took our Jeep along the Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway, which was only scenic for Sasquatch enthusiasts because of the thick forest that lined both sides of the two-lane road. I figured there was a pretty good chance we’d see a Squatch run across the highway in front of us, but once again, that never happened. I also began to wonder if I’d have a better chance at spotting a Bigfoot if we travelled at night, but I knew that wasn’t likely going to happen as my companions never travel after dark unless it’s absolutely necessary. While Tom and Vicki aren’t nocturnal, both the elusive Squatch and beavers are – which diminished our chances of spotting either.

At roughly 4:45pm, we arrived at our motel; an old-school place that also featured a gasoline station and general store. While Vicki registered in the store, my photographer went inside as well and axed for recommendations on a place to eat. The manager of the hotel was extremely nice and highly suggested a place called the Restaurant by the Lake, which was located at the nearby Rocky Point Resort.

The hotel manager was right – it was only a short drive to the Rocky Point Resort, which reminded Tom and me of ‘Kamp Komfort’ in the movie Vacation. Once parked, we walked to the resort’s Restaurant by the Lake, which wasn’t by the lake at all. Instead, the place was situated along the Western shore of Recreation Creek, a tributary of Pelican Bay and Upper Klamath Lake.

Being misnamed was the least of our issues at the restaurant. Both Tom and Vicki ordered the restaurant’s highly recommended fish and chips, which turned out to be expensive and not overly good. Then our server, who shall remain nameless because I’m a nice bobble head, was horrible at her job. Although she was easy on my painted eyes, the young girl wasn’t overly friendly, and she didn’t seem very anxious to serve my companion’s needs. When the three of us walked back to the Jeep following dinner, I heard my cameraman verbally chastise the place, calling it, “The worst dining experience on the entire trip so far” and told his wife he wouldn’t have left a tip had she not forced him to.

Back at the hotel, which was less than five miles from ‘Kamp Komfort’, Vicki retired to our room while her husband shopped for some much-needed supplies at the general store. Tom purchased a bag of ice, donuts, chips, and candy; all staples of a sweet-toothed fat guy. And before he left the store, my photographer couldn’t keep from mentioning the horrible dining experience we endured at the Restaurant by the Lake, which had been recommended by the same woman.

Finally in our room, Tom placed me on a table next to the television set where I spent the remainder of the night. When the lights were extinguished at 8:45pm, I was left alone in the darkness where I had a hard time seeing anything. But even with the lack of sight, my resin ears were on high alert – and I listened intently for the sounds of anything rustling through the nearby forest or next to our hotel.

But on that particular night, the only rustling I heard was the rhythmic pounding that came from the room alongside ours. Initially, I thought perhaps a Squatch had broken into the neighbor’s room, as the moans, groans, and occasional howls sounded very animalistic. I hoped my camera guy would awaken and try to catch a photo of the Bigfoot activity through that room’s semi-opened curtains, but he remained fast asleep. One thing was for certain; I had never heard those types of strange sounds in all my years of travelling with Tom and Vicki; and I definitely never heard them when we were with Bob Moldenhauer.

Suddenly, everything became eerily quiet. I was left to wonder whether or not a Sasquatch had destroyed the room in search of food and perhaps it left two corpses lying in the carnage. But when I heard the sound of water begin to flow from the neighbor’s shower, a huge smile filled my resin face. After all, there’s nothing better than a squeaky-clean and nice smelling Squatch.