LIaDVp. 30: A day with the mountain

October 16, 2004

Last day off. I decided to spend it in the park, tracing a lot of my footsteps from the first month or so here. I slept late after drinking a bunch of liquor and beer, and when I finally rolled out of bed, I had a quick meal at the EDR and started driving around the Rim. I stopped at just about every pullout viewpoint I passed. At one stop, a fat guy in a leather jacket had walked right past a "Danger: Do not pass," sign, toward the sheer drop of the Caldera wall, and was out on an outcropping of rock and loose dirt. He was taking pictures. When he walked back he had this stupid grin like he was so proud of his fat self. I couldn't resist and said, "You know, one person dies every year doing what you just did." He said, "Oh I guess that's why there's a sign." "One person every year," I repeated. I felt bad, but he pissed me off. This place deserves respect. You don't have to follow every rule and path, but for fuck's sake, don't walk into the Caldera. I planned to hike up Watchman, a short walk up to the park service's fire tower. I had done it before and decided to take a left instead of a right and scamper up Hillman Peak, the highest point on the Rim. I only made it about halfway up, since there's only a makeshift trail and as you approach the peak it gets pretty nasty. I was also in plain view of the watch tower, just one peak away, and wasn't thrilled with the idea of a federal fine for trailblazing. Still, just halfway up had some incredible views.

The next stop was my old office Cleetwood Cove. I strolled down the trail to what used to be the dock and boat shack, but now is a gangway to nowhere and a pile of wood covered in tarp and netting. I passed a group of young people gathered around the gas tank, wondering how it works. I thought about answering their questions, but seeing as how it was my day off, I kept on walking.

I walked up the hill to the rocky cliffs where people used to jump off into the lake's 40 degree water. There were a few tourists around so I lowered myself down the rocks to the lake's surface, just underneath the jumping overhang. I ate a Clif bar and drank an Olympia beer and started wishing I had swam in the lake more often, cold as it is. I started looking out into the waters feeling great from that deep blue. It was a sunny but chilly day even at 4 p.m., and a strong wind had kicked up the water pretty rough, whitecaps and all. Sheep in the pen and they were standing up. I looked up at the cliff overhead and didn't hear anyone. Besides, the overhang protected me from tourists well enough. In October, after a snowstorm, the water here's probably low 30s. Two thoughts bounced around: Those polar bear club guys in Alaska and that last scene in Titanic where Leo hits the water and dies almost immediately. I hate that movie, so I stripped and shimmied down into the water. The first dip lasted about 3 seconds, but I felt like a coward and went back in for a good 10. I could lie and say it wasn't so cold, but with the wind, those waves and a healthy recent dose of snowmelt, it was downright motherfucking freezing. When I got out, I had a vagina where my penis and testicles once were. "Whoo! Hoo! Shit! Fuck! Omigodomigodomigod!" I scrambled up the slippery rocks and planted my bare ass on a warm shelf of slate, letting the warm sun and cold wind dry me. The dip was so intensely cold I barely remember it, but when I got out, my metabolism was racing, breath and heartbeat pulsing heavily. It feels incredible, and then the nervous system's calming reflex takes over like a shot of bourbon laced with morphine. You just feel good. My penis came back, thankfully. I felt kind of bad about not dunking my head, and toyed with going back in. But I was nearly dry, and my timing was perfect, since just as I dressed I heard some people above.

A pretty blonde perched herself on the rock 20 feet above, in plain sight of my formerly naked self. We gave little waves, and for just a minute or two, I could have been in a Tolkien story, or Shakespearian comedy. Me tiptoeing barefoot on the rocks just over the frothy water and her lounging on a rock, hair lightly tied back with itself. I guess you could say I felt darn Puckish. She sprawled on her rock and I perched on mine and I stared into the water for a good 10, 15 minutes, not wanting to leave, slapped occassionally by flying foam from a good wave hitting the rocks.

I drove the other half of the Rim on the way to Sun Notch, a dip in the mountainous cliffs surrounding the water that offers a secluded, panoramic view of the lake. I wanted to catch the sunset. Just off the trail I found a soft place to sit, popped open another Olympia and waited for the show to start. Without killing it with words, I estimate it to be about the third best sunset I've seen. The other two were in Tucson, where they invented sunsets. One at the tail end of a monsoon storm, the sky a wall of brilliant gold/orange and a purple horizon with lightning and storm clouds in the distant mountains. I saw it from the cop station after visiting Swedlund at work, and then later outside Zachary's Pizza. The second I was on mushrooms, so may not even really count. It was at my old pinkish-adobeish apartment complex. I drank a bunch of mushroom tea that evening and had to walk to my apartment as the sun was going down. My door faced the sunset and it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. The walls were beaming, like they were electrified or on fire. But anyway, this one definitely made the list. We're talking on-the-verge-of-tears, colors-that-you-didn't-know-existed beautiful.

Now I'd like to take a moment to mention something very dear to my heart: The Vietnamese food place in Klamath Falls. I went there tonight for what will likely be my last time this summer. Who knew that in the redneck, right-wing capital of Oregon, Klamath Falls, there would be some of the best Asian food I've ever had? But it's true. You know you're there when you pass the "Ronald McDonald car," a street racer Acura that's painted red and yellow. It belongs to the thrill-seeking, unintelligible, scar-covered Vietnamesian who half runs the place. He has the thickest, densest accent, mixed with American dialect and slang, compounded by the fact that he pluralizes everything (my favorite thing he's said is "Medfords, Renos" when describing the places he street races) When you walk in he's right at your service, making the perfect recommendations from a wall of photos that serve as a menu. My favorite probably remains the "Tofu Vegetable Curry," a yellow mixture of fragrant rice, firm tofu strips, peppers, and shitake mushrooms so meaty you could mistake the texture for pork tenderloin or T-bone. I also like it's sister dish, with thin rice noodles instead of rice. I occasionally request a drizzle of coconut milk on top for fun. Another choice dish is the "Baked Stuffed Tofu," a vegetarian lasagna impostor that consists of a loaf of firm, baked tofu, cut down the middle and stuffed with mushrooms and peppers, then served over rice and covered in a spicy, sweet and sour tomato sauce. Killer. For appetizers, I enjoy the vegetarian spring rolls. Rice noodles, bean sprouts, cilantro and possibly mint, wrapped in thin strips of tofu, then finally wrapped tight again in transluscent rice paper. It's chewy and crunchy and dipped in plum sauce or chili peanut sauce borders on perfection. The service is stellar, particularly for Crater Lake folks. Us earthy types are their bread and butter. They love us. They give us discounted beer and sake, comped desserts of mango and coconut cream over rice. They let us stay late. They talk to us about the lake and K Falls and tell us the unpronouncable Vietnamese version of "cheers." They show us their street racer Acuras and the street illegal nitro tanks. I have an elementary knowledge of the Vietnam war, but as far as I'm concerned, it's all water under the bridge. Me and Vietnam, we're cool.