Eight

After finally choosing more or less randomly, I drive up the Everett Memorial Highway which climbs up the western flanks of Mount Shasta. This being a side trip of sorts, I wind down the windows, drive more slowly and stop a lot for other drivers that seem to be in a hurry. At around 7700 feet the road ends in a medium sized parking lot. There are more cars than it can hold, also some trucks, a catering tent and some noisy power generators. It appears that someone is making a movie. (Googeling afterwards, this appears to be a feature film called ‘Dreams Awake’. Knew I didn’t have to ask them. They all looked so extremely important.) Making movies (the Dire Straits album by the same name happens to be on the car stereo just now) seems to require rather a lot of equipment. Further up the mountain, the sharp eyed or binocular equiped can spot the film crew. Making movies also seems to require a lot of people.

At the parking lot starts the trail up towards the top of Mount Shasta. Going up there involves more than 6000 feet of climbing which from here doesn’t look altogether that dangerous. About 15,000 people try this every year. This is mostly because the main route is suitable for beginners and doesn’t require ropes and such, though an ice-axe is necessary.

Not having brought one, I have to skip on the experience and drive down instead. Back there I explore downtown. Since it consists of a single street and only two blocks of it, the expedition doesn’t take all that long. Since the temperature is well into the eighties (go google if you want to know), I decide that a milk shake is in order. Due to equipment failure, its production takes the cafe I order one at forever. But it is well worth the wait. The shake consists of about two pounds of milk and ice cream and therefore also doubles as diner.

The next morning I have a difficult decision to make. Should I take Interstate 5 down to Redding and then somehow eastwards or should I take highway 89 to the southeast. If I do the latter, I don’t have to do thirty miles of freeway. On the other hand, I will miss Shasta Lake. Unfortunately, this night is also the first without Internet so I can’t ask the magical eightball that is Google. In the end, I decide against the freeway and take off to the southeast.

It turns out to be a good decision. The road is called the ‘Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway’ which proofes that Americans are much better at naming highways than rivers. It seems that Holywood writers have been here as well. The road leads through McCloud, Curtis, and Obie. My favorite name, though, is Hat Creek. Beyond which lies Lassen Volcanic National Park, the first national park I am going to visit (like, ever). The park, also one of the first ones to be established, is there because in 1915, Lassen Peak had an eruption. It became famous when one B.F. Loomis (of whom I seem to be unable to find the first name) managed to take pictures of this eruption.

A sign at the old seismograph built by Loomis ensures visitors that Lassen Peak will not erupt today, so I set off to take the 29 mile road through the park. It first takes you through an area cleared twice by flooding lava and since called the Devastated Area. There you can visit a rock that was hot when Loomis came here after the eruption. Sounds more exciting than it actually is—since then it has of course cooled down somewhat. Nonetheless, I would bet that everyone passing by touches the rock just to make sure.

The road climbs up to its highest point at 2594 meters. There it sports a parking lot from which a hiking trail to the top of the infamous peak starts. The remaining 593 meters need to be done by foot on a 2.5 mile trip. This takes the eager fitness boycotter that I am a bit more than an hour. Interestingly, the first bit is the hardest. It takes a while until I find a rythm. The further up you climb, the windier it gets. Which actually helps, since the wind blows uphill and thus propells you forward.

The climb ends with a view into the crater that is left from the eruption. It is not exactly the crater thing one imagines, but rather a flat bowl full of crumbled basalt. You can continue climbing all the way to the top of the peak, but as happens often on top of mountains, there is a lot of rubble of all sizes. Not the kind of thing you want to climb in sneakers. This is the downside of coming from a rather hiking-fanatic family: All the way up I felt guilty for doing the tour in those shoes.