Chapter 12 ~ Page 159
This field was quite aged—although geologically the lava eruptions of the Cascades are all quite recent—and a forest of determined pines had succeeded in planting roots down through the cracks in the jagged and inhospitable rock. Perhaps in another 10,000 years the lava will decompose into soil, and all signs of the doomsday volcanic activity will disappear. Yes, in all things, life goes on.
We camped early that afternoon at another lake to take advantage of what had turned out to become a very warm day, by going swimming. We also had a new toy to play with. An inflatable boat. It wasn't very large, and weighed only twelve pounds. We had made up many excuses why we needed this luxury. The best was if we came to a deep river without a bridge, it would come in handy ferrying supplies across. Should be just the thing for fishing, too. As it turned out, the boat was eventually mailed home. The only time it was ever used, as Bernadette expressed, was to, "dink around in the drink."
Further on, we came as close to a town as we were going to in Northern California. Our way through was an abandoned logging railroad grade. Our pack 'train' chugged along happily making "whoo-whoo-whoo," sounds right to the doorstep of a little grocery store where we stopped for ice cream.
Barry Jr., Bernadette, and Colette, all had money to spend however they wished. To speed up the packing process in the mornings, I had promoted a contest to see who could breakdown a tent and have it in it's bag the fastest. Every day, the winner received a big nickel.
This might seem a paltry sum today. To my children, at this time, it was a fortune. This understood, my offer of rewarding the person that was the first to spot Mt. Shasta ahead, a quarter, deserves much more appreciation.
Colette won. She came galloping up from the rear to claim, "I see it...I see it...I win!" She had caught a glimpse of this snowcapped majesty through the trees that the rest of us had mistaken for a low laying, puffy, white cloud. Standing 14,000 feet tall, this peak, and her sisters in the chain of dormant volcanoes stretching northward, isn't that high when compared with the Sierra upthrust, or the massive Rocky Mountain Cordillia. What makes them impressive is that they climb rapidly from a low altitude timberline, and stand alone, quite visible from a long distance.
Up until this point, the farthest we had been able to see ahead was about one days' travel. After Mt. Shasta, we would be able to look ahead to Oregon's Mt. McLoughlin—and from there onto the Three Sisters, then Mt. Jefferson, to Mt. Hood, and so on up to the Canadian Border.
We camped early that afternoon at another lake to take advantage of what had turned out to become a very warm day, by going swimming. We also had a new toy to play with. An inflatable boat. It wasn't very large, and weighed only twelve pounds. We had made up many excuses why we needed this luxury. The best was if we came to a deep river without a bridge, it would come in handy ferrying supplies across. Should be just the thing for fishing, too. As it turned out, the boat was eventually mailed home. The only time it was ever used, as Bernadette expressed, was to, "dink around in the drink."
Further on, we came as close to a town as we were going to in Northern California. Our way through was an abandoned logging railroad grade. Our pack 'train' chugged along happily making "whoo-whoo-whoo," sounds right to the doorstep of a little grocery store where we stopped for ice cream.
Barry Jr., Bernadette, and Colette, all had money to spend however they wished. To speed up the packing process in the mornings, I had promoted a contest to see who could breakdown a tent and have it in it's bag the fastest. Every day, the winner received a big nickel.
This might seem a paltry sum today. To my children, at this time, it was a fortune. This understood, my offer of rewarding the person that was the first to spot Mt. Shasta ahead, a quarter, deserves much more appreciation.
Colette won. She came galloping up from the rear to claim, "I see it...I see it...I win!" She had caught a glimpse of this snowcapped majesty through the trees that the rest of us had mistaken for a low laying, puffy, white cloud. Standing 14,000 feet tall, this peak, and her sisters in the chain of dormant volcanoes stretching northward, isn't that high when compared with the Sierra upthrust, or the massive Rocky Mountain Cordillia. What makes them impressive is that they climb rapidly from a low altitude timberline, and stand alone, quite visible from a long distance.
Up until this point, the farthest we had been able to see ahead was about one days' travel. After Mt. Shasta, we would be able to look ahead to Oregon's Mt. McLoughlin—and from there onto the Three Sisters, then Mt. Jefferson, to Mt. Hood, and so on up to the Canadian Border.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia