Going Out On A Rim Stunning Views In The Quiet Backcountry Await Skiers At Crater Lake, If You’re Lucky

The posturing began at breakfast in Chiloquin, Oreg., a few hours before we skied into the backcountry of Crater Lake National Park.

“I broke my kneecap in a hockey game a few years ago and it’s still not right,” said Steve Weinberger.

“But I’m at least 10 years older than any of you,” said Tom Kimbrell.

“My ankle’s more metal than bone since my skydiving accident,” said Ed Kowachek. “It will hardly flex.”

This was billed as an old-man’s trip, but there was little sympathy for lame excuses. Everybody had one.

Teamwork was the necessary consequence of neglecting to include someone under 40 on the three-day trip. Nobody was going to weasel out of a turn at breaking trail. We’d all have to chip in get around the 30-mile circumference of Oregon’s monument to cataclysmic volcanic activity.

With a little luck, the view would be worth it.

Crater Lake, we’d heard, is a stunning spectacle that’s appreciated mostly by Californians. Washington residents stay away in droves, probably because we don’t want to address what could happen the next time Mount Rainier blows its stack.

About 7,700 years ago, the 12,000-foot Mount Mazama produced a series of blasts 42 times greater than those of the 1980 eruptions at Mount St. Helens. Billowing clouds scattered Mazama’s fury across what would become eight states and three Canadian provinces. The closer 5,000 square miles were buried under at least six inches of ash. So much mass spewed out of the cone, the mountain had no support. The slopes collapsed, creating a deep caldera that burped and belched gas, steam, ash and lava for another few thousand years.

The volcano hasn’t stirred for 4,000 years, giving the landscape time to respond with ancient hemlocks, spectacular summer wildflowers and the area’s remarkable namesake.

Seepage and snowmelt eventually filled the six-mile-wide crater. Even at a glance, the deep blue color suggests something special. From the surface at elevation 6,176 feet, the water in Crater Lake plunges to a depth of 1,932 feet, making this the deepest lake in the United States and the seventh deepest in the world.

Beauty couldn’t overcome the fiery lore of the mountain in the minds of Native Americans. They apparently never even hinted that the lake existed when the first white men explored the Oregon territory.

White prospectors finally discovered the lake in 1853. National Geographic published its first accounts in 1897. Crater Lake was named a national park in 1902.

Our ski party had seen the postcards and books of the 286-square-mile park. We had a good image of the lake in our minds as we set out from the Rim Village at elevation 7,100 feet. But we were in a cloud and couldn’t actually see anything beyond 50 yards.

This is the only point on the rim accessible by road during winter. The parking lot was deserted except for a single ranger’s rig.

“So you’re doing the rim trip,” the ranger said as water dripped off the clear plastic cover on her wide-brimmed hat. “Too bad you weren’t here last week. The weather was clear and the view of the lake was beautiful.”

“I’ve heard that line before,” I said. “I’m a fisherman.”

From a backcountry traveler’s point of view, winter is prime time at the lake, even if you can’t always see.

About 525,000 people visit the park each year. About half the people come in July and August. Only 20 percent of the visitors come from November through May.

The backcountry is never crowded, considering the park issues only 1,000 backcountry permits a year. Just 38 permits were issued in March.

Everything beyond the Rim Village at the south side of the lake is backcountry in winter. No other access is plowed. The classic winter backcountry trip follows the 30-mile paved road around the rim. The road, of course, is covered with snow from November through May.

Covered is an understatement.

Crater Lake is smothered by about 44 feet of snowfall a year, enough to whiten the rim from October to July. Generally, the road is well defined by a corridor through the timber. But in several areas, one must navigate by map, compass and intuition to keep on track.

Anything can happen in the Cascades in three days during March. And it did.

We spread out to cross two avalanche slopes, our transceivers pulsing on our chests, and braced one afternoon against an wind gusts that tried to punch us to the ground.

What started out as poor visibility deteriorated to no visibility on several occasions, bringing us to our knees, groping, probing with ski poles, trying to determine if the next step would be onto snow or into the airy space off the end of a cornice.

On the second day, a whiteout brought us to a halt near the appropriately named Cloudcap Overlook. We milled around like a band of nervous antelope sniffing for clues. About the time a bivouac seemed to be the only sensible alternative, Kimbrell spotted a pole during a slight clearing.

The pole marked the overlook entrance gate the bulldozers would try to avoid in May or June when they rumbled in to open the Rim Drive.

Soon, we were back in trees, lumbering along at a carefree pace.

Despite the deep snow on the rim, the lake below hasn’t frozen over completely since 1949. We were treated to brief glimpses of the lake in the first two days. The first revealed Wizard Island, the cinder cone in the lake that rises 760 feet above the water but looms well below the rim.

On the second day, at Kerr Notch, we saw the Phantom Ship Island. Looking down, we were surprised to see a bald eagle soaring along the inside of the crater rim below us.

But any hope of further views vanished that afternoon. We had just crossed a steep avalanche path beyond Kerr Notch when the wet snowstorm settled in.

Visibility was nil. By the time we put up our tents, our parkas were soaking wet.

Every hour during the night, we slapped the ceilings to shed snow from the tents.

I shivered with a sense of change at 4 a.m. I needed an extra layer of clothing inside my bag. I tapped the tent, but no snow slid off. My parka had frozen to the suppleness of steel.

I crawled outside to a crisp but perfectly clear sky the likes of which an earthling can see only from wilderness. I ogled at the brilliance of the Hale-Bopp comet.

Soon the others were outside the tents in their longies shivering, dancing from one foot to the other and relishing what could be a once-in-a-lifetime sight.

Then we dove back into our lairs like bears in winter.

Sunrise brought dazzle of light on an unblemished blanket of snow. Mount Scott, the highest peak in the park at 8,929 feet, begged for a side trip. To the north, we could see Mount Thielsen, known as the lightning rod of the Cascades. Had we been on the other side of the rim, we might have seen 14,162-foot Mount Shasta, which sprouts up 105 miles away in California.

The slopes between Kerr Notch and Sun Notch were ripe for telemarking.

But after dropping the packs to make a few turns, we saw the bald eagle soaring out from the crater through Kerr Notch. It braced its wings against a draft and swept up toward us. Assessing the incoming clouds, it banked, and made a beeline for the valley below.

He seemed to sense this may be his only fleeting opportunity to break away from the mountain.

So did we.

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 3 Color photos Map: Crater Lake National Park

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: EXPLORING BACKCOUNTRY AT CRATER LAKE A packet with regulations, maps, lists of services and other essential information for winter backcountry travelers is available from the Steel Visitor Center at Crater Lake National Park, (541) 594-2211, ext. 402.