Steadfast

View from the cinder cone of Mt Lassen

From the euphoric high of the cinder cone I could see for miles. Way off to the west the mass of Mt Lassen, the plug volcano, overshadowed everything. Tree-covered hills traversed the miles until the 20,000 acre Reading fire burn scar, still clearly marked by the roasted tree trunks covering the hills. My north side was filled by the nearby shield volcano, Mt Prospect. To the south the painted dunes which made up the foothills of the cinder cone morphed into the fantastic lava beds then Snag lake and finally into the far distant shield volcano, Mt Harkness, identifiable by its fire lookout tower. To my east was more cinder hills and lava fields until Butte Lake caped off the view with a entourage of much older cinder cones, all tree covered. From my 700 ft perch I picked Snag Lake as my destination, hoping for some reflective photos of Mt Lassen. All I had to do was go around the lava beds, or cut across them.

The Cinder Cone with Mt Lassen behind it

This was the wilderness area. This is what my job was all about. I had twelve weeks to help put together a list of measures to help the national park track if the wilderness areas were being managed to preserve their wilderness character. One of the aspects we were looking at was the ability of wilderness to provide for primitive and unconfined recreation. That means you can walk off the trail. Upon reaching the base of the cinder cone I headed into the lava field to face new challenges and learn what this wilderness could teach me.

The crater inside the cinder cone

The lava beds were about 350 years old, dating to the same eruption as the cinder cone I had just climbed. Apparently all the cinders had burst out the top while the lava oozed out the bottom. At first it was only about 20 feet tall, made up of volcanic bombs about the size of a microwave piled on top of each other. Not neatly. Some of them were loose and rocked at I began boulder hopping. The lava seemed to have formed in small ridges. I would try to walk along to top of one for a while and then dip down 10 or 15 feet to the bottom only to climb up 15 feet on the other side. It was wave after wave of black lava boulders. After a few tipsy boulders gave me the desire to take a breath I realized the danger of my predicament. I was off the trail on a Saturday in late September. I was heading deeper into the wilderness away from the parking lot at a time when most people were hiking out of the wilderness. If I broke a leg or twisted an ankle no one would find me on accident. I kept going.

Snag Lake off in the distance. About three miles.

The sun warmed the black rocks and reminded them of their fiery past. They willingly gave back the heat they adsorbed from the sun. I stumbled upon one or two saplings as I walked but mostly there was no life among the rocks. At the top of the waves I could see the tree-covered hills in the distance. I fixed my eyes on Mt Hoffman as an anchor point. If I kept moving towards it I would reach Snag Lake eventually. Probably less than two miles away. At the bottom of the ridges I could see nothing but lava. Dark, rough, sounding like glass and with incredible variety of form and color.

After an hour I regretted my decision. It was incredibly hard to judge distances in the lava field. My hilltop goal seemed no nearer for all my boulder jumping. I kept checking the clock to see if I had lost enormous amounts of time. Was this lava field much larger than I had gauged from atop the volcanic summit? My stomach reminded me of the hour and the bagel hiding in my backpack. No, I could eat it in the shade by the lake, wouldn’t that be nice? And the water? I had only brought a liter intending to go and return without much effort. And the day was fairly cool. Okay, I can have a little water.

The fantastic lava bed

I frequently stopped to confer with my official park map. It distinguished the lava flow with a slight pinkish color. The area I was in consisted of about an inch of paper, not much detail there. I lined up my chosen summits to reassure myself that I had picked a wise direction. And kept walking. What else was there to do?

Finally reaching one particularly tall ridge I saw Snag Lake again. Glorious! A destination at hand. Except for the field of lava still to cross. I knew that the lava had poured right into the lake meaning if I went directly for the lake I would find no easier terrain along the way. It would be water and lava. I could choose between going to the closer west side of the of lake (and then hiking 4 miles around the lake) or crossing more lava to reach the east side of the lake, closer to the car and more in line with my original plan. I ate some carrots, checked my map and my clock. I was actually right on time in spite of the paranoia of my thoughts. Crossing the lava had been easier than walking the miles around the flow. I continued to the east side.

Butte Lake with the lava flow behind it

If life were nothing but mountain peaks our decisions would be remarkably clear. We would see the miles into the distance and every option would have clearly defined consequences. We could see each step of the trail leading up the summit and know each tree that must be passed to return. But most of the time we aren’t walking on mountain peaks. We are down in the trenches, or covered in the trees. Every now and then we might glimpse the far off goal so that we might know which direction to walk but mostly we can only focus on the 20 feet before the next ridge, and often only on the next boulder to see if it will bear us or rock under our weight. When we are down in the lava we can check our map, drink a little water but ultimately we just have to keep walking and so reach the sparkling blue lake beyond. If we stop walking, we get nowhere.

There was nothing particularly spectacular about my hike through the lava. I’m sure others have gone before me and I escaped without injury of any kind. I reached the lake, found some toads, and had a lovely (long) hike back to the car (around the lava beds). However I am a bit more determined to keep walking when I am lost in the depths of the lava fields. To keep my heart focused on the distant promises even as my eyes carefully weigh each step. To resist the temptation to change course or turn back. Continually moving towards the goal regardless of conditions along the way.