I found
an empty place by the store wall, and set my pack on the ground, then entered
the store looking for something to eat, as I was starved. There was a self-help food bar
with hot dogs and all the trimmings, plus a soda fountain. Without waiting in line to pay
(I did so afterwards), I made several Polish dogs and smothered them with
relish and mustard, ketchup, and any other condiments that was available, and
literally gulped them down.
The store
was crowded with visitors who had come to see the lake; families with small
kids who ran berserk around the store, grabbing at everything they could find;
teenagers with cell phones pressed tight to their ears talking to their best
friend who they couldn’t stand to be away from for even a few days.
When the
crowd at the sales counter thinned, I approached the clerk and asked to reclaim
my package. The clerk scanned the entries in her three-ring binder, but
didn’t find my name listed. Once again, I made a call to Jodie to ask if
she sent the package on time. She said she had and the tracking number
said it had arrived at the village. Again, I asked the clerk to check her
entry book, and she replied that the only Jones she had in the book was a Jodie
Jones. Somehow my package was entered under Jodie’s name, but now the manager
of the store, who went to retrieve the package, informed me that I couldn’t
have it unless I could provide identification for Jodie Jones. I hope the
expression on my face conveyed to him my thoughts that screamed,
“Are you
really that dumb?
Do you
think I carry around identification for my wife?”
When the
package was placed before me, the mailing label showed that it was sent to
Richard Jones, and not Jodie, and I was able to retrieve my box without further
hassle.
Somehow I
always arrived at the next resupply point with leftover food packets. This
time was no exception. I have snacks, Mountain House dinners, MiO drink
flavoring, Clif Bars, etc., that I offered to the other hikers around me.
They in turn shared their extras with me.
Before
leaving the village, Storytime, Brownie, and I walked over to the restaurant to
partake of the all-you-can-eat salad buffet, which we all topped off with a
chocolate sundae.
It was
six in the evening and rain was threatening, but I chose to leave the village
and hike a few miles before calling it quits for the day. It was only
five miles from Mazama Village to the rim of Crater Lake and its facilities,
and I wanted to get there early to have breakfast at the café with others who
left before me.
To return
to the trail required a roadwalk of about a mile, and then it was an easy walk
through the forest to the trail junction at Dutton Creek, where the trail to
Crater Lake departed. There were several official campsites at Dutton Creek,
and I had expected to see other hikers there, but there was no one around except
for a group of noisy boy scouts who were camped around a bend.
I moved
off the trail a few feet and cleared the debris from the ground to make a
campsite. I couldn’t believe how tired and exhausted I was feeling.
I had covered over 1,800 miles of trail so far, and yet had taken only
four full days' time off for relaxation. I knew I should take more, but I
was straddled with that nagging feeling of making every day count, and wasting
none.
The
night’s rest was restorative and it was still dark when I left my campsite, but
I didn’t have to use my headlamp to see the trail. It was only two and a
half miles to the lodge at the rim and I arrived at the cafe parking lot at
7:30 a.m., and was surprised to find the parking lot empty. I walked over to
the front door of the café to see if their hours are posted, which they were,
and found that the café didn’t open until 9:00 a.m. Rats, I could have
slept in this morning.
In the
parking lot was a restroom, a really clean one, and I went in to refill my
water bottles. While waiting for the restaurant to open, I decided to eat
an early breakfast of my own making which I did while sitting on the stone
steps of the restroom. With time to kill, I walked over to the lodge, thinking I might be able to get breakfast there. But once in the lodge, I
felt out of place; it looked to be a high-end establishment, therefore I
assumed that breakfast in the dining hall would be overpriced. However,
in retrospect, after the café opened and I spent seventeen dollars on a
sandwich, yogurt, and chocolate milk, more than likely, I could have enjoyed a
decent breakfast here at the lodge for less money.
After
walking away from the lodge, I should have just left and continued the walk
around the lake, but the lure of cooked food at the café was too much to
resist. Finally, it was 9:00 a.m. and I and several others headed towards
the café to take our place at a table and place an order for a large stack of
pancakes. I arrived at the cafe just in time to see Cookie approaching.
Once
inside the café, we found that it was not a sit-down restaurant, but a way
overpriced buffet of prepackaged snacks – sandwiches, fruit, drinks, yogurt,
etc. Trapped, and not wanting to go back to the lodge, I made my
selections and sat at a table with Cookie. I spent seventeen dollars;
Cookie said she had to limit her selections to about twelve dollars.
At 9:30 a.m., the two of us left the café and
started the walk around the lake. Far in the distance, up high on a
cliff, we could see a tiny mound that we knew to be the Watchman fire tower.
From our starting point, it was a four-mile walk to Watchman.
The fire
lookout station was constructed in 1932 and manned continuously by park service
personnel until 1977, and since then, only intermittently. Because it
offered a clear 360-degree, unobstructed view of Crater Lake and the
surrounding terrain, it had become a favorite hiking destination for visitors
to the park. The lookout station was still manned by the park service,
but it also served as a museum for the public.
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