Crater Lake, from Above and Within

            Standing at 8,934 feet on top of Mt. Scott last week, gazing down at Crater Lake, I imagined being the first person ever to see Crater Lake, enraptured by the enormous, ultra-blue body of water in the deep caldera of the mountains and finding the scene impossible to grasp. That big, that blue – nothing could have prepared the first-time viewer for it, not the ocean, not any other lake seen from any other mountain. The sight would have been, almost is, beyond comprehension. 

            When Mike and I arrived at the top, four or five people were already there, chatting with each other. Where are you from? Where did you stay last night? Where will you go from here? – the banalities of vacation talk. I was impatient with their chat. They might as well be at Annie Creek Restaurant, I thought, at the entrance to the park, exchanging the same pleasantries over a cup of coffee, instead of here, where all the power of Mother Nature had provided a soul-lifting experience, which they were ignoring. It was like prattling with the person kneeling next to you at the altar at communion or reading your phone messages during a performance of the Brahms piano concerto.

            Nonetheless, I allowed these pleasant people to have their own experience and tried not to let their conversation drown out the conversation the grandeur would speak with me. Stopping my ears on one side, I listened on the other.

            Once off the mountain Mike and I drove to Cleetwood Cove to walk the 1.1-mile trail 700 feet down to the lake’s shore. At the boat dock I found a swarm of people waiting for their boat ride and, on this hot day, shores crowded with swimmers, waders, and sun-bathers. At the swimming area, people were jumping off the high rock, taunting each other with dares to jump, splashing, swimming, screaming at the shock of the cold water.

            Ignoring the crowd, I made my way down the rocks to the shore, Mike behind me. I stripped off my hiking dress to the swimsuit underneath. I submerged to my knees, pushed into the water, and was off.

            Mesmerized by color and clarity, hardly conscious of the movement of my body, I headed for the center of the lake. My legs hit ice-cold pockets of water, but the surface water was surprisingly warm. The sounds of laughter and screams of rock-jumpers gradually diminished. I kept on swimming. The blue was all-encompassing, the clarity absolute transparency. I kept on swimming. I stopped and turned around to look. The swimmers and sun-bathers were no longer visible. I was alone in the blue universe of Crater Lake. No one’s banal conversation could destroy my spiritual experience. The lake was mine. “I own this lake,” I thought, and kept swimming.

            Finally, shaking myself from my trance, I trod water and looked around me at the blue universe and remembered that I need to save half my strength for the return. But how would I know when I had used up half my strength? I swam a little farther. I trod water again, looked around, and finally decided to be wise and return. I swam back towards shore until the people took on dimensionality and their voices audibility, and then, since I hadn't used up half my strength, after all, I swam parallel to the shore for a bit before again heading toward Mike, whom I could finally discern on the rock where I had left him. I pulled myself from Crater Lake onto the rocks. Gradually my amphibian nature slipped away until I was land creature again.

            Earlier in the day I had looked down on Crater Lake from above, capturing its entirety in my sight, seeing it in its context. Now I had looked into Crater Lake from within. I had immersed myself in its being, had become one with its element, had known it intimately in its molecular form. Because it is the purist lake in the world, I had drunk of it as I swam.